The Takedown(36)

“That they’re awesome?”

“That they’re skanks. And right now, confirming everyone’s opinion of me is the last thing I need to do.”

He quietly studied me, squinting. “Nah, that’s not what this is about. You care even less what those Park Prep clones think than I do. This isn’t about them. It’s about you. So tell me, princesa, how long before you stop thinking I’m a skank?”

Step. Back.

“Don’t you dare ‘princesa’ me, Mackenzie Rodriguez. It’s not like I’m making this up. How long did you date Monique after you marauded her at the welcome-back junior picnic? How long did you and Lizzie last after you did the vertical grind at junior prom?”

“It’s called the reggaeton.”

“Is that also the name of what you two did in the parking lot after? I’m trying to keep you in my life. I’m not trying to be that girl who—still—buys you energy water at your soccer matches months after you dumped her. I realize your brain might be kind of fuzzy because you haven’t kissed anyone for a record-breaking number of weeks—”

“Weeks? Try, like, almost four months.”

“But history doesn’t lie, Macky. We’re essentially perfect as is. We see each other all the time; we’re constantly on txt. You practically equal my favorite. Do you really want to mess with that?”

“For the chance to kiss the girl I like? Yeah, I’m willing to take the risk.”

“But I’m not. And for what it’s worth, my biggest priority right now isn’t hooking up—”

“Neither is mine.”

“—and that doesn’t make me a high-maintenance princess.”

Fine. Maybe I’d been suppressing some resentment. And maybe my delivery was harsh. But it didn’t make any of what I said less true. He sprawled away from me, frustrated. Grabbing onto his headboard, he stretched backwards so I could just see his perfect stomach.

“I’m not the opposing side, Kyla. You don’t need to decimate me.” When he sat back up, his features were smooth again. “So indefinitely, then. The answer is you’ll hold my past against me indefinitely. Bien, bien. Ahora yo sé. Somos solo amigos, Ms. Cheng.”

In an exact mirror of his mom, whenever Mac got flustered or upset, he spoke more Spanish.

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad. Just, no lo sé, disappointed.”

I didn’t know what was supposed to happen next. We’d never talked about any of this before—it just kind of lived between us—and when I’d imagined doing so, things went smoother and there was more hugging involved. Maybe this was where he rolled his eyes and said, What am I going to do with you? Because he realized that the question was more what would he do without me. I couldn’t deny that he was right. Barring the completely inappropriate timing, I wanted to date Mac. So how long would it take to stop worrying that doing so would mean losing him?

“Maybe we can just table the discussion until I can sort out the video mess.”

“Sure. Aces.” He got to his feet and pulled on a hoodie. When I got to my feet, Mac lightly put a hand on my shoulder. “Can I just ask one favor?”

“Okay…” I stretched the word out with wariness.

“Do you think maybe we can be, I don’t know, less affectionate? ’Cause I know we’re only friends, but sometimes we act like more, and I think it’ll be easier if I, like, touch you less.”

This day had officially grown as terrible, humiliating, and heart-wrenching as any day ever lived by anyone in that exact five-foot radius. (President Malin always said it was important to keep a healthy perspective.) He let his hand drop. This felt like my driving test all over again. I could see all the errors I was making; I just didn’t know how to correct them in that moment.

So, dumbly, I nodded. Sure. Yes. Less physical touching would be aces, Mac.

BTW, I also failed my driving test.

Mac sighed with relief. “Gracias.”

“De nada.”

Unfortunately, we were standing toe to toe, nearly right on top of each other. This was normally where he’d hop around and pretend to box with me or swipe a finger down my nose or tug my earlobe or flap my hood over my head or fix my bangs or touch me in another hundred little ways that made my tummy constrict.

How were we supposed to say good-bye now that we had “no touching” restrictions in place? How were we supposed to do anything we normally did?

Mac held up his fist. I bumped it with mine.

Oh, terrific.

“Come on, I’ll grab Victor’s bike and escort you home.” Then he scrunched up his nose in a way that meant that whatever was about to come out of his mouth would make for one irritated Kyle. “Unless you’re afraid that might make you skanky by association.”





When I got home, Dad was in the living room, waiting. He clicked pause on the anime he was watching as I collapsed on the couch next to him. Mom and I had a general script to follow at times like these. Huge fight. Tension ebbed. Tension built. Huge fight. Repeat. But this was new ground for me and Dad.

“A new anime, huh?” I said.

“Boy-Kyle turned me on to this one. It’s stupidly good.”

“I’ll believe half of that last sentence.”