Chapter Thirteen

Kiev + Party

 

Monica’s alcohol-flavored breath enters my lungs as she asks, “Have you missed me?” She squeezes my shoulder.

I don’t know what to say to that—she’s already too drunk. I regret calling her to meet me here. Besides, I promised Cole I’d get him a date with Monica. And now stupid Cole isn’t even here. “I’m waiting for Cole,” I say and turn my attention to Lia, who’s walking toward the trees in the back.

“Cole?” Monica’s alcoholic stench assaults my nose again.

Stopping, Lia pulls up her blouse to cover her shoulder, then keeps going.

I shrug Monica off. “I’ll be right back.”

Lia disappears through the trees. I stride in her direction, passing a lot of guys and girls sitting by the warmth of the bonfire. Soon, I enter the tree area, but it’s dark and there’s no sign of Lia.

Sighing, I stop and touch my cheek, bringing back the moment when Lia cupped my face and squinted at me. The warmth of her hands and her brown eyes made me feel strange and weird. No. I shouldn’t be thinking about her this way. I shake my head, but with the movement, my nose throbs a bit, a reminder of her punch.

When I exit the tree area, Monica is waiting for me with her hands on her hips.

“Where’d you go?” she asks.

If I tell her I was searching for Lia, she may get upset. I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. “I was looking for Cole.”

She lifts a brow. “You two have a date or something?”

“No.” You two have a date, I think. She just doesn’t know it. I pull out my phone. “I’m texting him… No. I better call him.”

Monica folds her arms across her chest.

“It’ll take a minute.” I unlock my phone and call him. As his phone rings, I notice how different Monica and Lia are. While Monica wears tight jeans, tighter shirts, and heavy makeup, Lia usually has on comfy jeans, comfier t-shirts, and zero makeup.

Cole answers, “To what do I owe the honor of the call, Mr. Kiev Jimenez?”

“Where are you, dude?” I ask, annoyed.

“I’m riding an Uber because Mr. Corey died on me—funeral’s tomorrow.” He sniffles into the phone.

This is the first time his rusty Corolla refused to start. “How far are you?”

“Is Miss Monica Serrano with you?”

“Answer my question.”

“Answer my question first.”

I frown at the phone, as if Cole could see me, then peer at Monica, who motions for me to hurry. Forcing a grin, I say into the phone, “She’s here. How far are you?”

“According to my calculations, I’ll arrive in three.”

“In three minutes?” I ask Cole.

“Two.”

“Two minutes?”

“One.”

I take a breath. “You’re confusing me, dude.”

“Zero. I’m here. Where should I meet the mother of my future offspring?”

I glance around. “By the bonfire.”

“Ten dollars?” Cole shouts into the phone. “That’s plain robbery—three sounds fair.” A discussion follows.

I hang up and look at Monica. “Let’s go to the bonfire.”

She steps closer and grabs my upper arm. “Why do they start a bonfire in this hot weather?”

“It’s a life mystery,” I say, feeling uncomfortable with her hand on my bicep. “I think bonfires are all about roasting hot dogs and marshmallows.” Yawning, I stretch my arms up, and get rid of her hand. “I’m sleepy.” I pace faster.

“You’re like an old man,” she says behind me.

“What can I say? I’m seventeen going on seventy.”

Soon, we reach the bonfire. I recognize a few people here and there, but my idiot best friend isn’t here, yet.

Monica wraps an arm around my shoulder. “You look hot tonight,” she whispers, brushing her lips against my ear.

“Nah.” I wiggle her off and gesture at myself.

She hugs my waist. “Wanna go to my house and practice lines?”

“No.” That sounds a little harsh. “I mean, you’re drunk.”

She releases me and shakes her head. “I just had a few beers.”

I stare at her for a moment. Her speech is pretty good—she isn’t that drunk. Still. “A few beers can get you drunk,” I say.

She stomps a foot on the ground, like a little girl throwing a tantrum. “I’m not drunk.”

“Who’s drunk, Mr. Kiev Jimenez?” Cole shows up.

I take a deep breath, and exhale. “Finally.”

He flutters his lashes. “Did you miss me?”

I want to smack him upside the head, but nope—not in front of the crowd.

Cole turns his attention to Monica. “Buenas noches, señorita Monica Serrano,” he says, using the right Spanish words with a horrible accent.

She gives him the high nose.

“I agree with you.” He takes a whiff and moves closer to her. “The aroma in the air is that of deep love.”

Monica rolls her eyes.

“I fell into an affection-at-first-eye-contact precipice, Miss Monica Serrano.”

She smiles a little.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I say. “But I have to…” Think, Kiev, think. “Take a leak.” I dance a little for effect.

Cole waves me off. I stroll away without looking back, really wanting to run to my car.

Behind me, I hear Cole asking her, “Would you be interested in a PG-rated beverage, Tex-Mex Queen?”

“Not really,” she says.

Before she adds that she wants to be with me or something, I rush toward my car.

As I drive on the highway and enter the city, thoughts swirl in my head. I think of home—Dad and Vienna will be there. But I want to be alone, so I head to the nearest Sonic and park on the most secluded spot. I rest my head on the steering wheel and try to keep my mind blank. And fail, because Lia’s face comes to mind again, her expression all rage as she curls a hand into a fist and punches my nose. I chuckle at that. Thinking about the punch made me upset before, but now … now it makes me laugh. She looked cute with a thin vein protruding on her forehead. Cute? What’s with me and this frustrating girl?

I raise my head, tap my forehead, and glance at the crowd—a lot of teens seem to be eating or making out. I roll down my window, letting hot air and the fast food’s aroma drift into my car. Although I’m not hungry, I order a hot dog, tater tots, and a Coke.

Minutes later, a lanky girl in roller skates arrives and hands me a plastic red tray. “Ketchup or mustard?”

“No, thanks.” I wave her off.

Roller Skates stays in place, observing me.

I set the tray on the passenger seat and turn to her. “Yeah?”

She leans down, placing her hands on the door. “Aren’t you Vienna’s brother?”

Who are you? I want to ask. “Maybe.”

She tucks a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and furrows her brow. “Vi and I used to hang out, but she distanced herself from me and everyone at school more than a year ago.”

I inspect her green eyes and crooked nose—I’ve seen her in school. “O-kay.”

She offers me a hand. “I’m Faith.”

Hesitantly, I clasp it. “Kiev.”

Faith glances over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” She straightens. “Please don’t go—I have something to tell you about your sister.”

“Um, sure?” I say. As she skates back to the building, I wonder why the mystery.

While waiting, I grab a tater tot, toss it in my mouth, and chew, while Faith skates toward a car on the opposite side of me, carrying a tray full of food. I wolf down my meal, washing it down with the Coke, before texting Cole.

Me: How’s Monica?

I wait for several long minutes. No reply. Faith keeps skating and delivering.

When I’m about to give up and head back home, she raps on the passenger’s window, and I roll it down.

“Can I get in?” she asks.

“Now?” I cock an eyebrow.

She smiles. “Just got off work.”

I unlock the door, and she slides in with shoes now on, like we’re best friends or something, making herself extra comfortable.

Faith points her chin at the exit. “Can we leave?”

I lock my eyes with hers. “Why the mystery? You can tell me right here.”

“I feel uncomfortable being here.” She motions a hand at the little building. “My boss is very strict.”

“Do you have a car?” I ask, and when she shakes her head, I turn on the ignition and add, “Okay if I give you a ride home?”

“Can we go to Lucky’s?” she asks. “I live close by.”

We drive in silence in the dark of night for a few minutes until arriving at Lucky’s, the old diner that has existed since forever. We jump out and walk toward the entrance without any words.

I push open the door. “Ladies first.”

As she walks through, I notice she towers over me, and she actually looks young—more so in her black pants and blue and red uniform. But she must be a Junior, like Vi.

The place is deserted with most people probably at the kickoff party, Dairy Queen, or Sonic. Later, they’ll come here for late dinner or early breakfast. I lead Faith to an empty table in the back. A waitress approaches us, and Faith orders a peanut butter milkshake while I get a cup of coffee.

“So?” I ask Faith after the waitress leaves.

Faith grabs a fork and inspects it, like it’s worth a million bucks. “As I told you before, it’s about your sister.”

With Vi always being upset after Mom left, I could expect anything. I fear she’s hanging out with the wrong crowd, getting high or drunk. I lean closer. “What do you know?”

“Things.” Faith sets the fork on the table and looks down.

Man, this girl is strange. I wait for a minute until she looks up and smiles.

“Milkshake for you,” the waitress says, appearing from nowhere. She sets the drink and a straw in front of Faith. “Coffee.” She places it beside me. “Anything else?” she asks, hand on hip.

I want to wave her off. “We’re fine, thanks.”

“Okay, honey.” She walks away.

Faith unwraps the straw and takes a few sips. “I needed this.”

I pour two sugar packets in my coffee and swirl it with a spoon, then give it a try. “Ahhh.” I fan my mouth for a moment. “So,” I say when my tongue comes back to life, “is Vi in trouble?”

Faith takes a napkin and wipes her mouth. “I think?” She sips at her straw. “I mean, I’ve seen her talking to that creepy guy who hangs outside the school.”

Creepy guy. The Emo who dropped out of school last year. “His name’s Chris. He’s not that creepy.”

She shivers. “He gives me a bad vibe—my classmates and I avoid crossing his path.”

I sigh. “How many times have you seen Vi with him?”

“Most days after school.”

“Maybe they like each other.” I cringe at those words.

Faith wrinkles her nose. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

“Anything else?” Please, no more.

She shakes her head. “Just that. I thought you needed to know.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Nodding, she takes another sip of her milkshake. I glance at my coffee—don’t know why I ordered it.

Faith pushes her milkshake toward me. “Wanna try it?”

Is she hitting on me? This whole thing is getting weird. “I’m fine, thanks.”

She shrugs, takes her milkshake back, and sips without pausing to take a breath. She downs her drink in a minute.

I look at my barely touched coffee, produce my wallet, and throw a ten on the table. “Let’s go.”

Hot air and a hovering moon greet us outside, but as I walk toward my Jetta, Faith touches my arm, making me stop.

“Thanks for the shake.” She points to the left. “I live in that apartment complex, so I’m just going to walk.”

“Are you sure?” The building’s only a block away, but being this late at night, I have to ask.

“Yup.” She turns to leave.

“Thanks for the heads up,” I say.

“No problem,” she says without stopping or looking back.

Darting to my car, I leave the parking lot, then zigzag my way to my house, park in the driveway, and jump out. I check the time on my phone—almost midnight—before entering a dark, silent house. I don’t flip on the lights as I trudge toward my bedroom in darkness.

I stop by Vi’s bedroom, and the closed door tells me she’s here. I want to check on her, so I twist the handle and push the door, which opens with a groan. Moonlight filters through the curtains in the back, making a figure on the bed visible—Vi’s curled in a ball, sleeping with her clothes on.

Stepping a little closer, I touch Vi’s shoulder blade. “Hey.”

Vi doesn’t move, but she seems okay. After I cover her with a blanket, my phone vibrates in my pants pocket. Before checking it, I take a long look at my younger sister. I miss her. What happened to her? Why did she turn into this … this strange creature after Mom left? I close the door with a sigh.

When I step into my room, I check my phone.

Cole: Mission Tex-Mex Part 1 achieved.

Me: You still at the party?

Cole: Negative. Transport yourself to my place tomorrow morning for a debrief.

I examine the phone. Cole asking me to go to his house? Must be important. I mean, he isn’t proud of it, so I’ve only been there a handful of times.

Me: Nine okay?

Cole: One.

I chuckle at that. For Cole, morning stretches all the way to four in the afternoon.

Me: One it is.

Cole: Bring some Whataburger awesomeness.

Me: Pancakes or burgers?

I have to ask since it’s morning time for him, not that he won’t scarf down whatever I bring.

Cole: Both, with a side of jalapeño biscuits.

Me: Sure.

Cole: And Dr. Pepper of the gigantic size.

Me: Okay.

I set my phone on the night table, peel off my clothes, and put on my pajamas—shorts and a loose t-shirt.

Loose t-shirt.

Like magic, those words bring Lia’s image to mind. I still can’t believe she really does have a hot bod under her baggy t-shirts.

My phone rings, and I grab it—Cole. “What’s up?” I answer.

The “Love is In the Air” song plays on the phone. I know it—Dad plays it in his car all the time.

“Dude!” I say into the phone. “Not funny.”

As the old tune keeps playing, I shake my head and hang up. A moment later, I get a text from him.

Cole: We’re in love.

When I’m about to reply, the phone dings.

Cole: Not with each other! But with two hot chicks.

I roll my eyes.

Cole: I’m in love with a girl with Aztec blood and dangerous curves.

I can’t help myself from texting the truth.

Me: You’re in love with all the girls.

Cole: You’re in love with a hidden jewel of the hot kind.

I want to teleport to his room and shout in his ear that I have zero feelings for Lia. I want to—no. This is stupid.

Me: Whatever.

Cole: Whataburger.

I chuckle—no matter how tense a situation is, he can say the stupidest shit to make me laugh. I get in my bed, thinking about the party, picturing Cole trying to charm Monica with his words, and failing. I sigh. He’s been my closest friend for years, since elementary school, and he’s cool and all, but when it comes to girls, he’s disconnected from reality. Maybe he needs to take the red pill? I smile at this stupid thought.

Seriously, I need to talk to him about this whole love business, not that I’m an expert or anything. He needs to focus on girls who like him back. But so far, I don’t remember one who has ever been interested in him.

I cover myself with a sheet and peer at Pepe, who’s curled in a tight ball, sleeping.

“Good night, little fellow,” I say.

As I close my eyes, Lia pops in my head again. She cups my face, looking concerned, but at the same time, she examines my lips, as if lusting for them. I open my eyes and lick my own lips. Shaking my head, I thrash in bed for a long time before falling asleep.

****

A knock on my bedroom door wakes me, and I flip my eyelids to daylight.

“¿Puedo entrar?” Dad asks if he can come in from the other side of the door.

I clear my throat. “Sí.”

He opens the door and pokes his head in. “Long night?” he asks in Spanish.

“Couldn’t sleep.” I sit up and translate, “No podía dormir.”

He checks his wristwatch. “Es casi la una.”

Almost one PM. My brain panics—Cole, pancakes, burgers, jalapeño biscuits. I spring off the bed. “Thanks for waking me up, Papá,” I say in Spanish.

“De nada.” He turns to leave, shutting the door behind him.

After sliding off my pajamas, I take a whiff at my armpits. “Oh, God.” I’m rancid but also have no time for a shower. So I slap on the first pair of jeans and t-shirt I can find, say, “Goodbye,” to Pepe, and storm out of the room. I stop in my tracks, head back to Vi’s room, and open the door to find her still sleeping. I wonder where she went last night.

I drive to Whataburger, and order a chorizo burger, a pancake platter, two sausage, jalapeño biscuits, and two large Dr. Peppers. Then I maneuver the car toward Cole’s house, and enter his trailer park. Slowly, I pass trailer home after trailer home, until I reach his in the back. I park, grab our meals, and get out of the car.

The door swings open. “Food,” Cole says, stretching his arms out to me, as if I were his savior.

“Hey.” I walk up the little steps leading up to him.

He steps aside. “My casa is your home.”

I brush past him and put the paper bags of food on a small coffee table. “Did you just wake up?” His tight Bob the Builder pajamas and his mess of dirty blond hair tell me so.

“It’s not like I was expecting a hot girl.” He gives me a once over. “You aren’t a female.”

“Whatever.” I motion to the bags. “Lunch is ready.”

Cole drops onto the couch in front of the coffee table and rubs his hands. “Oh, decisions, decisions.” He snaps his head to me. “Where should I start, Mr. Kiev Jimenez?”

Shrugging, I glance at the living room and the pristine kitchen. “Your mom at work?”

He nods. “She’s saving the world, one book at a time.” She works at the one and only bookstore in town.

I sit next to him, fish out a sausage jalapeño biscuit, and take a bite. “Thusasogooo.” I chomp and swallow. “This is so good.”

Cole takes out the pancake platter from a bag and sniffs it. “This smells like food heaven.” He rips open the top of a maple syrup container and pours it all on the platter. “I like my food like I like my women—sweet!”

“You should focus on one chick, dude,” I say, thinking this is the time to have a serious conversation.

“Food first.” He pierces a large piece of pancake with a plastic fork and stuffs it in his mouth.

“Agreed.” I work on my biscuit.

He takes out the chorizo burger and inspects it. “The person who thought of this was a genius.” He bites into it and moans. “Mm, mmm.” He alternates between the pancakes and the burger—the only person I know who does that.

Minutes later, we’re done with our meals.

“So,” I say, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “Let’s talk about focusing on one girl.”

He downs his Dr. Pepper in a rush. “Monica, my Tex-Mex Queen?”

“Sure.”

Cole stands and dances, showing jazz hands and all. “Once upon a time, a handsome boy fell in love with a princess,” he sings, raps, whatever—out of tune. “But she didn’t reciprocate. Oh, no. Oh, no. So he ate and ate. Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.” He curls his hands into fists, puts one on top of the other, and moves them in a circle. “He made a magic potion and gave it to her, but she was like, ‘Is this for me? For me? For me?’ And he went, ‘For you, for you. Of course.’” He stops rapping and dancing.

Silence.

“What happened next?” I ask, just because.

“The princess kissed him.” He smiles.

I spring off the couch. “For real?”

He moves closer and bobs his head. “Maybe.”

“Dude, did you kiss her or not?” I ask.

He cups an imaginary head and kisses it. “I did.”

“Wow.” I never thought Monica would let him. “Any tongue?”

Cole wrinkles his head in disgust. “Miss Monica Serrano had a few beverages of the fermented kind.” I understand him—he dislikes drinking because his alcoholic father left him and his mom years ago.

“Oh,” I say. “Just a peck then?”

He rubs his forehead. “I kissed her goodbye.”

Something’s off. “On the lips?”

“Lips are overrated.” He shrugs. “I kissed her on her delicate fingers.”

That sounds middle-grade-ish. “It’s a start.”

“A start it is, Mr. Kiev Jimenez.” He bows his head. “I owe you a thanks for obtaining a date with the love of my life.”

“Sure.”

He sits on the couch and taps it. “Now, debrief me on your adventures with the girl you’re focusing on.”

I sit next to him. “What girl?”

He winks. “Miss Ophelia Abbie.”

“Dude, she’s not— I’m not.” I shake my head. Who am I fooling? “Am I that transparent?”

He squints. “I can see my bedroom through your body. Transparent, you are.”

I sigh. “Why am I thinking of her?”

Cole points at his face. “Do I look like a mind reader?”

“She was kind of a bitch to me and then the”—I point at my nose—“punch.” I concentrate on the beige carpet for a moment. “But yesterday she…” She what? “She was being less bitchy?” And she cupped my face and looked at me with concern and perhaps something more affectionate.

“People say love is blind.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Is your eyesight failing you?”

“No. Maybe I have the Stockholm syndrome.”

He bobs his head.

“You know, when a person falls for the kidnapper?” I ask.

He rubs his chin in confusion. “Did she kidnap your heart?”

“That was a bad comparison—she didn’t kidnap me.” In a weird way, she kidnapped my brain with thoughts revolving around her.

“What’s going on in that pumping-blood organ of yours, then?”

“I don’t know.” As I say it, my phone plays, “Who let the Dogs Out”—an alarm. I fish out my cell and turn it off. “I’ve gotta take Pepe for a walk and feed him.” I stand.

Cole springs off the couch and latches onto my arm. “Are you running away from the truth?”

“Are you living in a false reality?” I counter-ask.

He scrunches his face up. “What?”

I take a breath before saying, “Monica’s out of your league.”

He shakes his head.

“Are you going out on another ‘date?’” I ask.

“Well, I…” He puffs. “Not really, but you—”

“I won’t force another date,” I say, and before he speaks, I head to the door. I look at him over my shoulder, hand on the doorknob. “Sorry, dude, but you have to look for girls who like you back—just speaking the truth.”

He widens his eyes and blinks.

Before he cries or something, I storm out of his trailer.

On the drive back home, I can’t stop this despairing feeling inside me. But I don’t regret what I said to him—he needs to mature.