Before You Page 10

  “Where’s your boyfriend, mami?” I say into her ear. Now I’m behind her and she’s pressed against me.

  Like it should be.

  She twists slightly to answer. A draft from the ceiling fan softly blows her hair.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she answers.

  This stuns me. “Seriously?” I ask.

  I’m almost yelling, trying to be heard over the pounding beat.

  “Seriously,” she says.

  I grin. “Is that why you’re letting that dude dance all over you and tryin’ to make me angry?”

  “Yes,” she answers. “What about you with your hands all over that girl?”

  She’s admitting it. Out loud. Letting words become concrete evidence.

  “What about it?” I shrug. She knows I’m jealous, though I can’t admit it aloud.

  Faith takes a step like she’s going to leave, but I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her against me.

  “Dance with me,” I say into her ear.

  She looks back and bites her lower lip, undecided.

  I brush tresses of hair over her shoulder toward her face. Faith is dangerously close. I don’t want her to leave. From behind, I take note of her bare back. Her skin is everywhere, intoxicating, alluring.

  I place a kiss on the nape of her neck. She shivers. I kiss one shoulder, then the other. She goes loose in my arms.

  “Dance with me, mami,” I repeat.

  This time she does. She moves slowly at first, like she’s nervous.

  “You can do better than that,” I challenge.

  She moves more to the beat, still holding back.

  “You scared?” I ask, taunting.

  Faith whips her head back and gives me a glance layered with seven hundred pounds of confidence.

  “I am not scared,” she replies.

  “Then prove it,” I say. “Give me all you’ve got.”

  21

  faith

  With Diego dancing behind me, I decide to let loose. I swear my soul shudders, mimicking the release of pressurized air, finally relaxing into its natural state.

  He shouldn’t have taunted me. Or more like, I shouldn’t have let him. I could have walked away. I walk away from everything I want in life. Not this time. Because I know, as much as I’ve tried to deny it, that I want Diego tonight.

  I don’t want to think about tomorrow. I don’t care about the world or its standards. I don’t think about my past or what brought me to this moment. Tonight, I refuse to acknowledge anything but Diego and me moving together like we’re one.

  His fingers trailing up my arms incite goose bumps, though the club is hot and I’m sweating. Diego notices, and chuckles in my ear. He places a kiss on my neck and I groan. When he kisses my spine, my knees almost buckle.

  I turn to face him. His lips are slightly parted, his breath on my forehead. I breathe him in, run my hand down his stomach, mold myself to him. My skin is steaming. His skin is steaming.

  “Mami,” he groans. “You’re drivin’ me loco.”

  “Good,” I say.

  He grins, his hooded eyes like a partially drawn shade.

  “You sure you want to do that?” he asks.

  Tonight, yes.

  I lean into his ear. “I thought you only wanted to get under my skin.”

  I say it because I know now, by the look in his eyes, by the way they are drinking me in, that he wants more.

  “At first I did,” he admits.

  “And now?”

  He pulls back and looks at me. With one hand, he cups my cheek. I don’t back away. He moves his hand to my hair and leans down to my ear.

  “If you’re ’bout to say ‘psych’ again, I’ll lose it.”

  I’m not messing with him. I really want to hear it. “Not this time,” I reply.

  With a brave finger, I trace the muscles in his shoulders, sinewy, taut, almost edible. “Tell me,” I request.

  The song ends. A new one begins.

  “What do you want to hear?” he asks. “That I want you?”

  “If that’s the truth,” I answer. I’m taking down my wall, one brick at a time. I don’t dare take a break. I can’t catch my breath. If I do, I’m afraid I’ll change my mind.

  “Faith, you know I want you,” Diego says, moving against me. “It almost broke me to see you dancing with that hombre.”

  It feels good to hear him say it. I let his hands roam my body as we dance. First my hips, then my stomach. Touching. Teasing. I skim his shoulders, the muscles of his back. Something inside me craves him. I shiver at his touch. Song after song, I stay pressed against him, hypersensitive with desire. I forget about my secrets. I don’t think about Jason, about how I’ve hidden in the shadows for years. All I know is here and now.

  “Faith!” Someone calls my name over the music. It’s Melissa. She’s smiling.

  “What’s up?” I yell back.

  She points to her watch-free wrist. Almost curfew.

  “I have to go,” I say into Diego’s ear.

  I don’t want to go.

  He wraps his beautifully tattooed arms tighter around me.

  “Stay with me,” he says. A command.

  I want to. Really, I do. If only time could stand still. An infinite mirror image of here and now.

  “Can’t,” I say.

  He stops dancing. His expression tells me he’s disappointed. “Let me walk you to your car,” he offers.

  Diego keeps an arm around me as we approach the front of the club. On a couch near the door, I recognize someone from Diego’s lunch table, from my psychology class, too. He stands when he sees us.

  “Yo, Diego! You leavin’?” he asks.

  “Just walking Faith out,” Diego answers. “By the way, Faith, this is my cousin, Javier. Javier, this is Faith.”

  Javier is big like Diego. I see the resemblance. But unlike Diego, Javier looks clean-cut, except for a few scars. No visible tattoos.

  “I’ll catch up with you in a minute,” Diego tells his cousin.

  Near the couch, I spot the girl Diego was dancing with.

  I continue out the door and into the parking lot. The sky is the color of a bruise. Stars punch tiny holes in the canopy above, try to squeeze into the small pits, just barely fit. I cast my eyes down. Melissa parked far away. I’m thankful for Diego’s presence.

  Up ahead, I make out the silhouettes of my best friend and her sister. Melissa’s distance from me is no accident.

  I can’t stop thinking about the other girl. “Did you come with her?” I blurt.

  Diego smiles. “¿Por qué, mami? You jealous?”

  Absolutely. “Maybe.”

  “Don’t worry about her,” he says.

  We stop walking. I lean into him. He’s one concrete pillar of hope and I’m one melted puddle of desire. And jealousy. It shouldn’t matter if he came with that girl, or if he leaves with her. But for some reason, it does. The thought is acidic, burning, bubbling.

  “She likes you,” I say.

  Diego brushes a drop of sweat from my back. “I’m not goin’ home with her,” he says, like he read my mind, like he knows my thoughts. Perhaps he does. Perhaps they are merely flipped images of his own. In sync. On point.

  I peek up. His face is just above mine. Though I have practically memorized his features, I’m caught off guard. As if I don’t recognize him in this new light. I gaze at his lips and hear him chuckle.

  I argue with myself. I should walk away. I should thank him for the most amazing dancing of my life and leave. I definitely should not be thinking about what his mouth tastes like.

  But I’m losing the battle. I reach a finger to his lips and carefully trace them, hoping he won’t notice the tremble, the longing rippling through my blood, through my fingertip.

  He groans and my whole body reacts to the noise. Just the sound of his pleasure drives me crazy. A hundred million sparks ignite inside me. I cannot take it.

  I kiss him.

  There is nothing
slow about it. His tongue flicks out and I meet it with mine. His hands wind through my hair and pull softly, bringing me closer to him. I gently bite his lower lip and tug. Our kiss is wild, unplanned. Nothing like my life.

  I am wrecked inside. Totally and completely shattered. Lit on fire by his touch.

  Diego kisses down my neck and back up to my mouth. I have never been kissed like this by anyone. I didn’t know that a kiss could be powerful enough to reach deep inside and linger.

  I kiss him harder, wanting more. My hand wraps around the back of his neck, pressing him into me.

  “Mami,” Diego says against my parted lips. “Unless you plan on takin’ me home with you, we have to stop.”

  I can tell it pains him to say it. I don’t want to stop just yet. When he goes to pull away, I kiss him again.

  “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he asks.

  In the back of my mind, I know I need to leave. But I’m afraid that if I do, I may never be with Diego like this again.

  I give him one last kiss before I pull away. He looks hungry for me. It brings a smile to my face, knowing I did that to him. I broke through the tough, impenetrable Diego.

  I don’t bother with words. I don’t want anything to ruin the moment. I simply walk away.

  With the taste of Diego on my lips.

  22

  diego

  Faith leaves me standing in the parking lot. I take a moment to cool off, to calm myself after kissing her, like an engine powering down for the night.

  I still feel her on my lips.

  It takes a minute to realize that the sensation in my stomach is knots, nerves snaking around each other.

  I don’t know what happened to my resolve. I could’ve sworn that I was done with Faith when I came here tonight. Obviously, I’m not fooling anyone.

  Especially myself.

  “There you are,” Javier says. “I thought maybe you had another run-in with MS-13s.”

  “No. Nothin’ like that,” I say. “I’m good.”

  I’m sitting on some sort of electrical box behind the club. Javier takes a seat next to me.

  “Everythin’ cool?” he asks.

  I love Javier like a brother. He always has my back.

  “It’s cool,” I reply.

  He smiles. “Never thought I’d see what I saw tonight.”

  He means Faith, I’m sure.

  “Me, neither.”

  “Are we goin’ to have to fight her novio? ’Cause you know I got you—just wonderin’ what we’re up against on Monday.”

  “Nope,” I say. I cannot help grinning. “She doesn’t have a boyfriend anymore.”

  “No?” He whistles. “Is that thanks to you? ’Cause we’ll still have to deal with Jason, if that’s the case.”

  I don’t know why Faith and Jason split. I didn’t think to ask.

  “No sé.”

  “So what happened tonight?” he asks.

  “You have to be all nosy?”

  “Yep,” he says. No shame.

  Usually a sleazy comment would slip my lips and knock Javier’s curiosity away. But I think Faith deserves more. Something is going on under the surface with her. I intend to find out what.

  “She kissed me,” I admit.

  I pull out a cigarette. Light it. Slow inhalation draws embers close to my face, sparks tangoing in my vision.

  “¡Dios mío, Diego! How did you pull that off?”

  I think about what happened right before the kiss. She traced my lips. Everything after was fair game.

  “Don’t know.”

  “She’s a good dancer,” Javier comments.

  Yeah, she is. I’ll be dreaming about the way she moved her hips against me for a long time.

  “She was actin’ like she wanted you, primo. How long do you think it’ll take?” my cousin asks.

  I check my temper, knowing Javier doesn’t mean anything by it. And normally I would jump on the opportunity, tackle it with all I have, but Faith is different.

  “It’s not like that,” I say.

  Javier looks at me like I’ve lost it. He’s never known a time when it wasn’t like that for me.

  “Less or more?” he asks, feeling out my train of thought.

  Do I want nothing to do with her, or everything to do with her?

  “More,” I admit. I want to know what Faith is hiding. Why does she act perfecta for everyone else? Why did she let me see more tonight?

  Why do I care, anyway?

  Javier looks at me, the ground, the roof. He finds interest in the distant multicolored beams of light from some faraway building that probe the sky.

  “You got it bad, huh?”

  Is it that obvious?

  “No,” I answer. I don’t need people to think I’m spun because of a girl. Even if it’s true.

  “It’s cool,” he says. “I won’t say anything. Hey, if she’s into you, maybe she isn’t as bad as I thought.”

  I’ve never had a steady girlfriend. Javier is used to me going through girls like I go through Aunt Ria’s homemade cookies.

  “She’s strange,” I admit.

  I think about the front Faith puts on for other people. How she let me in tonight. There was no front. Only the real, raw Faith Watters. I can never think of her in the same way again.

  “It’ll be tough,” Javier says. “You better be ready for haters, ’cause you and I both know our kind don’t mix with hers. It’s like oil and water. Everybody will expect you two to be separate. And if I’m honest, I have to say it doesn’t come from her side alone.”

  He’s not lying. I don’t think mi padre would care if I date a white girl, but I know Aunt Ria cares if Javier does. It’s not right, but that’s the way things are.

  “I don’t care about them,” I say. Let them hate if they want to. It’s time someone broke the mold. I want to rip standards into a thousand pieces and watch them flutter away.

  Javier laughs. “Your life is about to get a lot more interesting. Hope you’re ready.”

  I am ready. I wonder if Faith will go on a date with me now that she’s done with Jason. And suddenly, I remember the conversation I had with her ex earlier in the week.

  I smirk.

  Guess I got my Friday night date after all.

  23

  faith

  Ten, eleven, twelve seconds I stare into the mirror, wondering at my reflection. Green eyes that used to be as soft as dew-moistened grass. Slightly tanned skin, roughened by the aftereffects of pain. Upturned lips that want to relax into their natural set, overworked for the benefit of others. I concentrate on a thin layer of eyeliner that clings between my lashes, holding on for dear life, begging to be remembered.

  As if I could forget last night.

  I’m not sure where to go from here. My options are few: give Diego a chance, or savor the memories with him as I reapply the mask. It has to be one or the other. I can’t be fake with Diego close. I don’t know why that is; I only know that he has a way of breaking down my defenses.

  “Faith! It’s time for church,” Susan hollers.

  I slip on a black dress and pull my hair into a ponytail. Like almost every other dress I own, this one has three-quarter-length sleeves, a high neckline, and falls below my knees. I look like a girl who wears confidence, who eats compliments for breakfast, who dishes out lies like candy.

  When I get to the car, Susan and Grace are buckled in and waiting. Dad is at church, always early on Sundays, preparing his sermon.

  The usual crowd greets us in the parking lot, a swarm of mosquitos thirsty for a drink, just one sip before moving on to the next victim. Everyone smiles and asks how I’m doing. I tell them I’m well, my standard response. They never ask for more.

  Church starts the same as every Sunday, with worship songs and Dad welcoming everyone. The sermon takes forty-five minutes. Typical. I try not to look for Jason. We usually sit together, but today I race to Susan’s side. I muster my confidence and try for casual. My stepmom looks at me
strangely, but thankfully doesn’t ask questions.

  People have probably noticed that I’m not in my regular spot. I’m glad Susan sits up front. That way I won’t have to see all the curious gawking.

  By the end of the sermon, I want to escape. I can’t deal with Jason. I stand and turn. Suspicion confirmed; everyone is looking at me. Three hundred piranhas, six hundred eyes starving for a piece of me.

  Mrs. Magg steps in front of me.

  “Hello, Faith,” she says.

  Her face is pinched, unhappy.

  “You’ve broken my son’s heart, you know.” Her voice is hushed, meant for me alone. “How can you be so selfish? Did you think at all about the pain this is causing Jason? I suppose you didn’t think about Grace, either, about the example you set. You have obligations to the church body, to your family, to my son.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but she cuts me off.

  “You are the daughter of a pastor, Faith. Don’t forget where your commitments lie.”

  Before I can blink, Mrs. Magg is gone, moving through the crowd to the door. A smile on her face as though nothing happened.

  I fake not feeling well and tell Susan I need to visit the back bathroom—the one reserved for church employees. Less chance of bombardment.

  I open the bathroom door. Stalls are clear. I walk to the sink and splash cold water on my face.

  How did my life get so twisted? It’s hard to tell when things went wrong. Or are they finally going right?

  The bathroom door opens with a groan, its arthritic hinges protesting. A woman I recognize, but don’t know well, walks in.

  “Darling, are you okay?” she asks.

  I must look awful. My face is wet from water that I haven’t yet wiped off. Drops cling to my lashes, clouding my vision as though I’m looking through a kaleidoscope.

  “Yes,” I say, grabbing paper towels.

  “Are you sure? You look a little pale,” she says.

  I wipe my face, bringing the woman into focus. Her image sharpens, exposing crinkles at the corners of her mouth. I ponder the lines. Maybe she’s a smoker. Or a laugher. Or a person who smiles constantly to hide what’s underneath. Just like me.

  How little I know her, others like her.