Before You Page 7

  “Did you see it?” Melissa asks.

  “No. I was on the other side of the lunchroom. By the time I made it over, Jason had a bloody nose and Diego was being detained.”

  Lori walks in. “Hey,” she says, dropping her backpack on the ground. “Where is everybody?”

  Lori’s a bohemian. She wears bold black-framed glasses that point up at the corners in matching arcs. Her hair is almost always in braids and dyed different colors with natural products. And her clothes are made of strange things, like wheat and biodegradable materials. She makes them herself. I think it’s cool.

  “Sally and Molly have the pox,” Melissa explains.

  “Ugh,” Lori says. “That sucks. When will they be back?”

  “Not in time to help us move this mountain.” Melissa motions to the messy pile of books and boxes. Lori sighs and sits down next to us. After a moment, she turns to me.

  “Is Jason okay?” she asks.

  If that question had come from anyone other than Lori or Melissa, I wouldn’t answer. Anyone else would only be asking for the sake of gossip. But Lori is sincere.

  “Yes,” I answer. “He’s mad, embarrassed.”

  “Clearly,” Melissa interjects. “I would be, too.”

  “Diego didn’t need to start trouble,” I say. “Apparently he told Jason that I agreed to a date with him on Friday.”

  Melissa’s eyes go big, bursting with unspoken surprise.

  “Which I didn’t,” I clarify.

  Melissa exhales. “Wow. Dude has guts, doesn’t he?” She smiles.

  I give her a look. “Don’t even start.”

  On her face is the knowledge of something foreign to me. “Might as well come to grips. You have unfinished business with Diego,” she says.

  Lori looks confused. “Did I miss something?”

  “No,” I reply. “Melissa is just being, well, Melissa.”

  Lori shakes her head, understanding.

  “I don’t get why Diego has an issue with everyone,” I say.

  “Well, if he’s anything like I think he is, it’s probably because he’s not fake,” Melissa says.

  “Fake?”

  How could she bring that up? She knows I try hard to be what everyone wants me to be. It’s not because I want to lie. I just wish I were that person. I don’t know why it’s so difficult.

  “Yes. Fake,” Melissa says. “Most people around here don’t have a clue how fortunate they are. Their biggest worries are what time the football game starts and getting the newest whatever the day it comes out. Stuff like that.”

  Ah. Melissa means other people, not me.

  Since the mission trip to Haiti our freshman year, Melissa hasn’t been the same. We saw how some of those people lived. We viewed the world through someone else’s eyes. One Haitian man had to walk ten miles every day to the nearest water hole. Ten miles, and the water there wasn’t even clean. Many of the people we met looked disproportionate, arms and legs skin and bones, stomachs bloated. The volunteer doctors said that’s what a body looks like when it’s starving.

  And their homes—if they were lucky enough to have a home, which most were not—were heartbreaking. Some were nothing more than four concrete walls measuring about five-by-seven, a block home in its truest form. Few had proper roofs. Instead of wooden doors, they’d hang a dirty sheet or palm fronds or sticks woven together. They had no shelter from the elements or from the violence outside. The spaces were large enough for a couple of people to sleep on dirt ground. Those who were really lucky had one or two cooking pots and a blanket.

  Sometimes I wish I could fly to another country. Someplace where my problems would be things like finding clean water. Food. Things that matter.

  “Maybe Diego knows how tough life can be. No offense, Faith, but I doubt Jason and his buddies have a clue. Did anyone stop to ask Diego his story?” Melissa says. “No. They just judge him because of his ethnicity. And because he’s different. It’s not right.”

  Lori nods. She’s all about love and world peace. No doubt she wishes everyone could just get along.

  “No wonder Diego’s defensive,” Melissa says.

  “Maybe Jason’s upset because he feels intimidated. Maybe he thinks Diego actually has a chance with Faith,” Lori suggests.

  I laugh. I can’t help it. Because if I don’t laugh, I might cry. I’ll never be allowed such an indulgence, to choose to be with someone so freely, to choose my own destiny.

  “Please,” I say, “Diego only started the fight because he has a big ego.”

  Lori scrunches her eyebrows. “Faith, Diego didn’t start the fight,” she says. “Jason did.”

  What?

  Jason lied to me. He told me Diego threw the first punch.

  Don’t believe everything you hear.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “I saw it,” Lori says. “The whole thing.”

  “Ooh.” Melissa’s eyes light up as if a tiny town huddles under her lenses, a town of thoughts brightening at the prospect of Jason being at fault. “Tell us what happened.”

  “Jason cornered Diego and threatened him,” Lori explains. “Then he tried to hit Diego.”

  Melissa’s smile widens.

  Lori turns to me. “I’m sorry to say it, Faith, but it looked like self-defense on Diego’s part.”

  “Fantastic,” I mumble.

  Another link to a person I trusted, severed.

  14

  diego

  Ordinarily I’d be removed from school grounds for a fight, but this isn’t a normal suspension. One strike; not yet out. I get shoved in the library—where Faith and her friends are hanging out in the back, talking about me.

  Faith is laughing so loud, she doesn’t hear me approach. Then they get serious, and I can tell by Faith’s tone that she’s upset about something they said.

  When did I start differentiating between her tones?

  And now I’m standing here, wondering how I get myself into these messes.

  Oh well. Might as well be the jerk she thinks I am. It’s easier that way.

  I sneak up behind her, lower myself to the ground, and whisper in her ear. “Did you miss me?”

  All three of them jump and turn at the same time.

  Her eyes. Her mouth. Her hands. Distracting.

  Focus.

  Faith looks too shocked for words. Her friend, I think Faith called her Melissa, stands up immediately. She grabs the other girl’s arm and tells her there’s something she needs to show her. They walk away.

  I hate to admit it—because I definitely had the friend, Melissa, pegged as the fake type—but I think she might actually be cool. From the bits and pieces of conversation I’ve overheard, she seems nicer than I gave her credit for. Makes me wonder what she’s doing hanging out with predictable, uptight Faith.

  But while I’m being honest, I have to say that Faith has also shown a feisty side. Clearly not often enough, but it’s there nonetheless. Every time I see a glimpse of Feisty Faith, she locks herself back up as if she’s securing an inner demon.

  I know all about demons.

  With my nearness, Faith’s breath hitches. I can’t help the small grin that pulls at my face. I move closer.

  “So,” I say again, “did you miss me?”

  She blinks. Her breathing goes back to normal.

  “Yeah,” she answers. She stands. I stand, as well.

  Did Faith just say that she missed me?

  She leans against a bookshelf and reaches a hand to my shirt, pulls me to her, our bodies almost touching.

  I look around to see if I’m being tricked, but there’s no one in sight.

  Faith presses one finger against my cheek and turns my head back to her. “Did you miss me, too?” she asks in a soft voice.

  “What?”

  “I think you did”—she pauses to lick her bottom lip—“Diego.”

  Those lips, ay, those lips.

  Hearing my name come out of her mouth like that messes me a
ll up. This was not part of the plan. And now I can’t help myself. I can’t look away. My will has dissolved.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, unable to keep my eyes off her rosebud mouth.

  “I’m letting down my defenses,” she answers. “That’s what you want, right?”

  I inch closer.

  What is she doing to me?

  Of its own accord, my hand reaches for the sensitive spot at the base of her neck above her collarbone. I trace a finger along the dip and my heart thrums faster. Her skin is so soft. I imagine what it would be like to kiss her there.

  I drop my hand. I should not be thinking about kissing Faith.

  She doesn’t back away. Instead, she tilts her chin up, giving me a better view, almost like she wants me to touch her again. A small sigh escapes my lips.

  “Mami, you should stop,” I half-suggest, half-groan. But I’m not sure that I want her to stop.

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  She’s still clutching my shirt. I wrap my hand around her wrist and pull it down to her waist. Under my fingertips her blood pulses fast, a one-way train on a track bound for collision.

  I should walk away. This has gone too far. And yet, not far enough. It’s dangerous. I don’t trust the feelings surging through my veins. I try to reason that it’s no big deal, that she’s just like any other girl. Too bad I’m immune to my own lies.

  Do I really want to do this with Faith Watters?

  Surprisingly, the answer is clear.

  Yes.

  “Diego?” she says.

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you do something for me?” Faith asks.

  At this point? Anything.

  “Maybe,” I say.

  “Tell me what you think of me,” she requests.

  One look into her eyes confirms that I’m losing control. I swallow, wait.

  Faith sees my hesitance and moves on. “Is everything with me a game to you?” she asks.

  I watch the way her lips move. Confident. In control. The way I used to be twenty seconds ago.

  “No,” I answer. Like this, right now. Not a game. I am truthfully coming undone.

  “I know you heard what I said at the restaurant. Do you think I’m hot, too?”

  Her shirt rises slightly, exposing a glimpse of hip bone. The bone juts out just a tad. I wonder how it would feel against me. Would it fit perfectly? Would it poke, prod?

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “Last one,” she says. “If I kiss you right now, will you pull away?”

  “You’ll have to find out,” I reply.

  Faith leans into me and I can smell her lip gloss. My head dips, waiting, wanting. She comes within an inch of my lips. My mouth parts.

  I can’t take it anymore. I have to close the gap, but right before I do, she whispers another word.

  “Psych.”

  15

  faith

  I pulled it off. I beat Diego at his own game.

  To say he’s shocked would be an understatement. He’s embarrassed. And angry. Really angry. I knew he would be. But there’s something else there, too, and I’d be willing to bet money that the emotion I see in his eyes is excitement.

  He mumbles something under his breath. It sounds like thunder rumbling before a storm. I don’t speak Spanish so I can’t say for sure what he just called me.

  But I have an idea.

  “Aw,” I say with a triumphant grin. “Don’t be mad.”

  Victory is a pile of happiness, and I’m rolling around in it.

  For a second I think maybe he’ll kiss me anyway, but he turns away as though nothing happened. His back muscles are taut beneath his thin shirt, each one dipping and curving like a road map to the unknown.

  Leading Diego on was out of character for me, but I couldn’t stand his cockiness any longer. Maybe besting Diego will knock his ego down a few notches.

  We’re lucky no one saw us—not that many people come to this part of the library anyhow. I can’t deny my nervousness, but even though I’m out of my realm, I relish watching Diego squirm.

  “So,” Diego says nonchalantly. “What’s with the boxes?”

  He’s obviously going to pretend nothing happened. That’s fine—no matter how he acts on the outside, I know that I had an effect on him. He’s not as tough and closed off as he seems.

  “The boxes are filled with books for the—” I pause, realizing I have no idea why Diego is in the library in the first place. “Why are you here?”

  He pulls out a yellow slip.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I ask.

  “Nope.” He smiles.

  So many firecrackers go off inside me all at once. Because of one smile. He’s stealing his way into me and I don’t appreciate it. Not one bit.

  “But the punishment for fighting is out-of-school suspension for two days,” I say. “How did you—”

  “Yeah, well, tell that to the guidance counselor who apparently thinks it’s more of a punishment to make me work around the school during the day than sit at home.”

  Probably right, but still. Did she have to stick him with the book fair organizing committee? Of all the detention assignments she could’ve given him. Figures.

  “Wonderful,” I say sarcastically. “So how long do we have the honor of hanging out with Mr. Dauntless?”

  He laughs. “Is that what I’ll be known as? ’Cause I gotta admit, it has a nice ring.”

  I grimace. Here we go again.

  “Or maybe it’s something you want to keep private. Just between you and me,” he says.

  You and me. Me and you.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” I say. “There is no you and me. Never will be.”

  Diego is confusing me; right now he looks one part serious, one part mischievous. I can’t tell if he actually thinks he has a chance with me, or if he seriously enjoys irritating me. Probably both.

  “Haven’t you heard the saying, ‘never say never’?” he asks.

  “Haven’t you heard the saying, ‘back off’?”

  Diego isn’t fazed. His shirt is still crinkled where I grabbed it. The thought makes me blush, red ink spilling over my skin, spreading to my chest, my shoulders. I don’t want to admit how good he felt against me.

  “I won’t wait forever, Faith,” he teases. “Plenty of willing chicas at this school.”

  “Great,” I say. “Why don’t you go out with them, then?” I mean to smirk but it feels more like a grimace.

  He smiles. “Maybe I will.”

  Don’t look into his eyes.

  “How long is your detention?” I ask.

  “Ten days,” Diego answers. “And since your committee meets three times a week, it looks like I’ll be around for a while. Though if anyone cares, I still vote for the two-day, out-of-school suspension. Seems like a better punishment.”

  A safer punishment, for sure.

  Melissa and Lori turn the corner. I give my best friend a look that tells her I’m going to kill her later. She grins.

  “Hey, Diego,” Melissa says. “I don’t think we’ve officially met.”

  He turns to her.

  “I’m Melissa, and this is Lori.”

  “Nice to meet you both,” he says.

  Melissa takes a moment to check Diego out, a pleased look on her face. My stomach churns, some unnamed emotion clawing its way in, pinching, stabbing. Diego notices her appraisal. He’s relaxed, used to the attention, it seems.

  “So,” Melissa says, “what’s up?” She’s looking at us like she’s trying to figure out why Diego is in the library.

  “Nothing much.” Diego shoots me a mischievous look. “Just trying to get Faith to go out with me.”

  I make a choking noise.

  Melissa laughs. “Oh yeah?”

  “She has a boyfriend,” Lori says.

  “I know,” Diego replies, then leans closer to them. “But between you and me, I don’t think it will last. She’s not really into him. It’s just part of her i
mage, you see.”

  I am absolutely aware that my mouth is hanging open.

  Melissa is beaming, seven thousand rays of approval. It’s almost blinding. “Good luck with that,” she says.

  I am finding a new best friend. Stat.

  Lori clears her throat. “Well, as interesting as this is, we have to get back to work.”

  “Great.” Diego smiles, knowing he’s embarrassed me just as much as I embarrassed him a few moments ago. “Where should I start?” he asks.

  “Start?” Melissa asks, and then notices the yellow slip in his hands. Understanding crosses her face. “Oh”—she laughs—“oh my God.”

  “The way I see it,” Diego says, “I have ten days to help you ladies with your book fair. That gives me ten days to convince Faith to dump that boyfriend of hers and drop the mask.”

  I don’t understand how Diego, of all people, sees through me. Why can’t he buy the façade like the rest of Oviedo High School?

  Because he doesn’t wear blinders.

  No, with him I’m on display. Like an X-ray, he sees through the clothes and pain and lies.

  “But, honestly, I don’t think it’ll take that long.” Diego smirks. “I give it a week, tops, before she’s in my arms.”

  I plaster on a hard face, looking directly into his eyes as I answer him.

  “I’ll take that bet.”

  16

  diego

  After detention, mi padre and I make an appearance at Javier’s house. This house is warmth and understanding and everything right. It feels good to be around mi familia . There is no shortage of relatives in la casa de mi tía Ria. Javier is one of twelve kids. Even though I’m an only child, I’ve never felt like one. I spent a lot of time at Aunt Ria’s growing up. First in Cuba. Then in the States after they moved here five years ago. Technically, it’s Uncle Dimitri’s house, but everyone knows that Aunt Ria really runs the place.

  “Diego! ¿Cómo estás?” Aunt Ria asks. She’s wearing an apron like always, as though it’s an extension of her skin.

  “I’m good. How are you?”

  Aunt Ria is a short, petite woman with long black hair and crazy skills in the kitchen. Sometimes it amazes me that she could have given birth to so many kids. But what Aunt Ria lacks in size, she more than makes up for in personality. Her attitude reminds me of the poblano peppers she loves—spicy, sure to leave a lasting impression.