“What if he never will?”
“Then that’s his choice.”
“I know he wants to find his father,” I say. “He’s just afraid.”
“Which might mean that he’s not ready.”
“So, what if he doesn’t hire you?” I straighten. “What if I do?”
“You want to hire me to find Victor Amaro.…”
I nod, handing over the money. Xander might be too afraid to face his father, but what if I could convince his father to come to him? How much doubt could be extinguished by him showing up on Xander’s doorstep? And if he decides not to come, just as afraid, Xander never has to know.
Detective Freeman finally takes the envelope before rummaging through a filing cabinet and pulling out a manila folder. He hands it to me.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“What you paid for.” He clears his throat. “He lives in New Mexico. With his wife and two daughters.”
I picture each one, a puzzle piece locking in place, jagged edges revealing a hole where Xander should be. Unless they have enough of the picture without him. Unless they prefer it that way. My stomach knots as I’m struck by just an ounce of the fear Xander must have wrestled with when he called Detective Freeman the first time. He let it stop him. What would happen if I do the same?
I clutch the folder to my chest. “Thank you.”
“Just be careful.”
“Did he seem dangerous?”
Detective Freeman shakes his head. “I meant with Xander. I’ve done this work long enough to know that people aren’t always prepared for what they find. Sometimes things work out, but sometimes they wish they hadn’t gone looking in the first place.”
28
Xander
LUCAS SLIPS ON THE third rung of the ladder, body shaking as he tries to hold in his laughter. We collapse on the roof of the restaurant, Lucas almost spilling the bucket of caramel.
Struggles tries to reach his finger in, Lucas swatting it away.
“You have one job, Struggles. Don’t fuck it up.”
“Feathers. I know. I’m on it.”
“This prank is my pièce de résistance.”
“What does that mean?” Struggles asks.
“It means it’s gonna win me top prize this year. If you wait for my signal and follow the plan.”
We drop to our bellies just as the back door of the restaurant swings open.
Down below, Angel’s staring at his bright cell phone screen, probably pulling up Chloe’s number. They’ve been giving each other googly eyes across the restaurant ever since he finally asked her out.
Lucas winks at me. Then he yells, “Big date tonight?”
Angel looks up just as Lucas tips the bucket of caramel over his head.
Angel stumbles against the dumpster, phone flying. “What the fuck!”
“Now!” Lucas yells.
Struggles shakes out the feathers, snorting as Angel coughs and tries to scrape the mess from his eyes.
He grasps at the dumpster, trying to find his footing. “I’m gonna fucking kill you!”
I stay low, hoping he doesn’t see me. I didn’t know who exactly Lucas was planning on pranking. All I knew was that being in on the joke was better than walking on eggshells inside the restaurant. I’m the only person who still hasn’t been pranked yet, and if I’m lucky I may actually get through the next couple of hours without a scratch. Or covered in feathers. Or some other even more disgusting substance.
Angel’s arms are outstretched as he feels for the door. Just as he finds the handle, the door flies open, knocking him back onto the gravel, covering him in rocks and grass.
“Goddamn you, Lucas—”
His threat’s cut off by the rumbling of voices. Down below, Miguel charges after Sang, Chelo and Java trying to break them apart. Andrea and Mari run out after them, Solana and Gabby not far behind. As everyone circles around Miguel and Sang, Aarón appears on the stoop, as apathetic as ever.
Angel’s still trying to scrub the gunk from his face. “What the hell’s going on here?”
Everyone freezes, looking him up and down.
Sang points. “What the hell happened to you?”
Andrea shakes her head, examining the damage. “I thought you had a date with Chloe tonight.”
“I did.” Angel deflates. “And now I’m gonna be late!”
Lucas snorts, everyone looking up.
Java claps. “Nice one, dude.”
Angel snarls. “It’s not gonna be so nice when I beat his ass.”
“How about we make that an official rule change?” Miguel lunges at Sang, Chelo yanking him back. “Prank victims may retaliate using physical force.”
Sang rolls his eyes. “Victim? I lost two eyebrows because of you!”
Miguel fumes. “Yeah, and you…”
“And I what?” Sang smiles. “You know, admitting you have a problem is the first step.”
“I don’t have a problem. You put something in my fucking drink.”
“Or maybe you just have a sensitive stomach. Did you eat ghost peppers again? We all remember what happened the last time.…”
Angel breaks through the crowd. “Enough! The two of you have been going at it since last year’s Prank Wars. It’s time to end this shit.” He steps back, everyone silent.
Sang and Miguel exchange a glance.
Angel waves a hand. “Go on.”
Miguel’s brow furrows. “Go on?”
“Fucking fight!”
Chelo releases Miguel, his fists raised. Sang squares up in response.
A car rolls past.
Crickets chirp.
Andrea sneezes.
“Someone throw a punch already!”
They throw themselves at each other, bodies tangling for half a second as their fists barely make contact. Miguel lands on his side, panting. Sang’s on his back, cut up from the fall.
Chelo laughs. “You guys are pathetic.”
Java shakes his head. “I came outside for this?”
The back door swings open again. Mr. Prado steps out.
He puts the pieces together in less than a second—Sang and Miguel on the ground, Angel covered in caramel and feathers, Lucas’s and Struggles’s feet hanging off the roof of the restaurant—and immediately realizes that we’re all up to no good.
But he doesn’t yell or snatch Angel up by the scruff. He just crosses his arms, everyone racing for the door like water backed up in a bent hose.
On my way back to my plating station, he stops me. “Xander, can you step into my office for a minute?”
My heart races as I follow him inside. It shoots into my throat the second he motions for me to close the door.
“Yes, s-sir?” I stammer.
“I’ve noticed Angel’s been giving you more responsibility. Mostly things he doesn’t feel like doing himself. But you’ve done a good job, Xander.”
I let out a deep breath. “Thank you, sir.”
“Do you think you can handle closing tonight?”
I straighten. “Uh, yes, sir. I can handle it.”
“Good.”
He looks down for a long time, and I think it’s my cue to go. But when I reach for the door, he clears his throat.
“I stopped by the truck today. Pen’s grand opening.” He meets my eyes. “It looked good.”
I knew paying the restaurant employees to work on the truck wasn’t Angel’s idea. It had to have been Mr. Prado’s. But he never said a word; he never came by to see the progress. He let me be the one to give the truck to Pen even though he was the one who’d made it happen. Not just the labor, but every bit of luck along the way. People were only generous with their time and money because at some point in their lives, Nacho had done the same for them. It was his reputation that made Pen’s dream a reality.
“It couldn’t have happened without your help,” I say.
He looks away again, still uninterested in the credit. “It was your idea.” He stands. “A pretty gran
d gesture.”
He sounds like Officer Solis, and suddenly I’m sweating again. Because now I know exactly where this conversation is going.
“You’re a good kid, Xander. So I’m not going to give you some big intimidating speech.”
My heartbeat ticks up as I wait for the but…
“All I’m going to say is that Pen is more precious to me than you could ever know.…”
“I understand, sir.”
“Do you?”
I nod, mouth dry. “Yes.”
“Good.… And depending on how well things go tonight, I think it might make sense to make a permanent change to your position. Angel could use an assistant manager. Especially one who’s reliable.”
“Thank you,” I say, this time not just for hiring me but for giving me what I’ve been looking for all along. A place to belong.
He grips my shoulder like he can see it in my eyes. “You’ve earned it, Xander.”
He opens the door, the sizzle of the grills forcing the lump in my throat back down.
Once Mr. Prado’s out of sight, Lucas calls over the kitchen, “Okay, guys, we’ve got thirty minutes to get these customers out of here, and then it’s time for the closing ceremonies.”
I take over Angel’s station, cooking the last few to-go orders before cleaning the grill. I still have a few more things to knock off my checklist when everyone starts gathering in the dining room.
Lucas waves me over. “You, my friend, get the honor of being my assistant.” He taps a fake microphone he’s fashioned out of foil. “Hello? Is this thing on?”
Java chucks a dirty washrag at him. “Get on with it.…”
He clears his throat. “Okay, good. Welcome, everyone, to the eighth annual Nacho’s Tacos Prank Wars Official Closing Ceremonies.”
Chelo boos.
Lucas raises his hands. “I haven’t even given out any awards yet.”
“Exactly!” Sang snaps. “Now hurry up with all those bullshit awards you made up so we can find out who wins the crown!”
“Okay, okay.” Lucas hands me a small foil taco. “First up, the award for best blast from the past (literally). Drumroll, please…”
The crowd obliges.
“Sang Nguyen for the sweet surprise he slipped into Miguel’s drink this morning.”
Sang lifts the bottle of laxative Miguel accused him of using to poison his drink. Miguel lunges for him again, Chelo yanking him back like a dog on a leash.
“Come on, you had your chance.”
Sang takes his taco award before moonwalking back to his seat.
Lucas snorts, eyes watering as he tries to get out the next one. “The award for most…” He can’t catch his breath. “For most…”
Andrea chucks her shoe. “Spit it out already!”
“The award for most creative use of shit goes to Miguel Medrano for his Dump in the Trunk, which has been roasting in Sang’s car for the last four hours.”
Sang stands, ashen, before bolting for the door. Miguel and a few others run out after him, Miguel ready to savor his revenge. We can see their silhouettes through the window, Sang rearing back, swinging, and missing Miguel completely.
Java rolls his eyes. “This is getting embarrassing.”
Lucas runs through five more awards: most dangerous, best use of rancid meat, most disgusting visuals, worst side effects: smell, worst side effects: taste.
“And now, the moment everyone has been waiting for…” Lucas pumps his fist, riling everyone up as hoots and hollers mix with the deafening drumroll. “The eighth annual Nacho’s Tacos Prank Wars top prize goes to…” Lucas falls to his knees, holding the taco above his head. “ME! For turning Angel into a giant cock.”
Java jumps to his feet. “This shit’s rigged!”
Andrea rolls her eyes. “How lame.”
Lucas launches right into his victory dance, no one bothering to stay and celebrate with him. One by one they disappear out the front door, Java hitting the lights on his way out.
Lucas kneels in the dark, unperturbed. Beaming. He kisses his prize. “This is the best night of my life.”
“Congratulations.” I try to muster up some excitement, but I still have a few items on my closing checklist.
He doesn’t move, just keeps staring at the ceiling.
“I’m gonna finish up.”
I grab an empty crate on my way to the supply closet. I lean into the door, back first, the crate falling out of my grasp the second I see who’s on the other side.
J. P. grips a can of gasoline, the smell making my eyes water. Everything is soaked.
He reaches a hand into his pocket and pulls out a matchbook.
“What are—? Why are you—?” Something else is speaking for me. The fear, maybe. I wish it would tell my body to lunge for him. But as he lights the first match, all I can do is listen.
“I remember when they started building this place.” His eyes flit across the walls. “I ate lunch here the day it opened. Best damn tacos in town.”
The match burns down to the tips of his fingers. He blows it out. “This sort of thing…” He flicks the matchstick at me. “It’s not exactly my style. I’d rather talk things out. Negotiate like real businessmen. But that’s not what Nacho is.” He shakes his head. “I knew that when I gave him the money for this place. I knew it when he couldn’t pay it back.”
“Mr. Prado takes care of the people in this neighborhood. He doesn’t prey on them like—”
“You think he cares about you?” J. P. drops another lit match, his other hand swooping in to catch it before it can hit the ground. “See, that’s Ignacio Prado’s poison. He makes people think the world cares about them. And it’s that trust, that belief that makes them stay even when it’s dangerous. Even when they don’t belong. He gives them hope, and there’s nothing more destructive than that.”
I think about my own hopes, how some days they’re the only thing that keeps me going and on others they’re the binds that tie me down. A trap I keep setting for myself over and over again. But hope is not the reason I’m stuck in this supply closet, seconds from being set on fire. Hope isn’t the reason J. P. wants to destroy everything Mr. Prado has built.
The reason… is hate.
I see it coming to a boil inside him. This ugly, awful thing.
“You would know about destruction.” I swallow. “Considering all the times you’ve made people disappear.”
“I’ve helped the police arrest criminals.”
“You’re the criminal,” I spit.
He smiles, mocking. “Not everything’s that black and white, kid. Right and wrong.” He inches closer. “Sometimes heroes and villains are the same. What matters is your vantage point. Who’s telling the story.” He holds out the match, flame dancing. “And this… this ending will make for one hell of a story.”
The terror is a ball of electricity at the base of my stomach.
“A fire’s a little old-fashioned, but there’s something about the spectacle.” He marvels at the small flame. “You see, a fire’s something you never forget. This hungry thing, so hot it burns white. So wild that all you can do is stand back and watch.”
I taste bile. Because that’s exactly what he wants the people in this neighborhood to do.
To keep our mouths shut. To run. To hide.
To just stand back and watch while he devours everything that matters.
“You’re fine with rotting in prison as long as you can make a point? As long as you can destroy as many people’s lives as possible along the way?”
He looks me dead in the eye. “I won’t rot.”
“I’ll tell them it was you.”
He blows out the match, flicks it at me. “Your word against mine.” He scrapes another match against the box, flame snapping to life. “Unless, of course, you can’t give your testimony”—he presses me against the wall, flame grazing my chin—“because… you’re dead.”
In one swift motion he lights another match, the stick tumbli
ng end over end before igniting a blue wave at my feet. I recoil from the heat, J. P. vanishing behind the rising flames. Everything hurts, my insides boiling. I gasp for air, choking on the heat.
I can’t see. I can’t breathe.
And all I can think about is Pen standing in the ashes.
I reach for her, trying to stay whole.
But it hurts.
It hurts.…
It…
29
Pen
THE CREDITS ARE ROLLING on The Princess Bride by the time Chloe finally decides to change out of her date-night clothes and into her pajamas.
“I’m sorry my brother’s a dick.”
She slumps back down on the couch. “It’s not your fault. I mean, you did warn me about him. I should have listened.”
“At least now you don’t have to wonder.…”
“If there could have been something?”
“Yeah.”
She pulls her knees to her chest. “I know this is going to make me sound like an idiot… but I still think there could be. Just not now. He’s not ready.”
“And he might never be.”
“You’re right.” She chips at her toenail polish. “Which is why I’m done waiting.” She falls into my lap. “Instead, I’m going to focus on things that are actually important. Like my best friend and her new business and graduating and—”
“Maybe meeting someone new?”
“Or maybe learning to enjoy being alone.” She sits up, lowers her voice. “My mom doesn’t know how to be alone. That’s why she jumps from guy to guy, every single one of them Prince Charming until he’s not.”
“You’re nothing like your mom, Chloe.”
“I know.” She pulls her hair back. “But I am in love with someone who doesn’t love me back. That’s the story of her life.”
“But it won’t be yours. You’ll get over him eventually.”
“That might be hard to do since he’s sort of my manager.” She’s quiet, staring out the window, the truck so massive it blocks out everything else. “What if I came to work for you instead?”
“Work for me?”
“I could cut my hours at Nacho’s, maybe work mornings before Angel gets there. Then I could work with you in the afternoons. You know, in between classes and stuff.”
Somewhere Between Bitter and Sweet Page 24
