When the bell rang, I became overly involved in putting my school supplies away, hoping to avoid more eye contact. Mike had other plans. He went out of his way to walk past my desk. Knocking lightly on the top, he whispered, “Nos vemos mas tarde.” He winked at me, then walked out the door.
Nos vemos whatos? Why couldn’t he just say adiós, like everybody else? What a jerk. He was taunting me. Suddenly, my apprehension turned to anger. That was good, because I could work with anger. If he was going to be like that, then I’d let him have it.
I stormed into the library precisely fifteen minutes after school ended. I assumed Mike would be late since he didn’t seem to care about anything. But there he sat, at the very front of the room. He had his feet on the table, leaning back in his chair, listening to something through earbuds. Probably some kind of nasty rap music.
“Hola, chica,” he said as I approached him. If he was trying to sound seductive, it didn’t work. There was no way I’d be caught associating with him in public. We were in the freaking library. Anyone could see us together here. I walked past him and marched to the back of the room, selecting a table as far from prying eyes as possible. He gave me an amused smile, but grabbed his bag and followed. I plunked down in a seat and pulled out my Spanish book.
“So, you want to be alone with the Mikester? Girl, I feel you. If you want to hit up someplace even more private…”
I cut him off quickly. “Let’s get a few things straight. I am NOT your chica. Or your girl, or your boo, or whatever other nonsensical term you feel like using. You can call me Jayden. That’s it. I’m here to study and would prefer that this little arrangement doesn’t last longer than necessary. So, if we could cut the crap and get straight to business, I’d appreciate it. Also, I looked up the translation for the words Reina Mocosa. Mocking Queen? That doesn’t even make any sense. I hope your formal Spanish is better than your insult Spanish.”
Mike had resumed his I couldn’t care less feet-on-the-table position during my lecture. He was smirking, obviously unruffled by my rant. This was such a joke. I was wasting my time. He clucked his tongue before speaking. “Girl, you straight up trippin’. Why you gotta throw a shade at me?”
I tossed my hands in the air, then snatched my book and bag off the table. “Never mind, I can’t do this. There’s no way I can learn to speak both Spanish and Imbecile in the next couple weeks.” I started to leave and got a good twenty feet from the table before Mike spoke up.
“Jayden, wait,” he said in exasperation. “I’m just messing with you. Get your uptight butt over here and sit down.”
I turned to shoot him an angry glare. “Uptight? If I’m uptight, what does that make you?” I fumbled for a decent put-down, but I was too worked up to think.
“Less uptight,” he answered, and gestured to the chair where I’d been sitting. What was I supposed to do now? I wanted to tell him to kiss my rear end and leave, but I desperately needed the help. I gritted my teeth, narrowed my eyes, and returned to the chair, arms folded across my chest. A battle of staredowns ensued that would make any villain proud. He cracked first, and I felt the tiniest bit of accomplishment.
“You’re a real piece of work. You know that?” Mike asked.
“Did you just string together a whole sentence full of actual words?” I snapped back.
“Two sentences,” he corrected.
“Whatever,” I grumbled. Crap. That was two sentences.
We sat in silence for another minute before he sighed. “Brat Queen,” he said simply.
“What?” I was confused. “Are you back to insulting me now? I thought we’d moved past that.”
Mike shook his head. “No, it’s the same insult as before; you translated it wrong. Reina Mocosa doesn’t really mean Mocking Queen; it’s closer to Snotty Queen or Brat Queen. Though, I guess any of those definitions works in your case.”
“But,” I started to argue, and he held up his hand to cut me off.
“I know what Google says, but language doesn’t always work that way. Not everything can be translated literally. Sometimes smart people struggle with that concept.”
“Smart people?” I scoffed. I shouldn’t have been offended, but I was. “That was a backhanded compliment, if I ever heard one. I’m glad you can acknowledge me as your intellectual superior.” Mike’s face tightened up, as if I were finally starting to get to him. Okay, that one was a little mean, but he deserved it. Brat Queen. I’m not a brat…often.
“Intellectually superior, huh? I don’t know if I can concede to that. More verbally prolific? Maybe. More academically ostentatious? Definitely. More narcissistic? Without a doubt. But for all your rodomontade, you’ve yet to prove your intelligence. After all, you’re the one with a C in Spanish.”
Woah! Where did that come from? Pretty sure my mouth was hanging open right now. Mike just used the words prolific, ostentatious, and narcissistic…correctly. And I had no clue what rodomontade meant. I shook my head and practically stuttered. “What the heck just happened? Did you get a brain transplant in the last three minutes?”
Apparently, my rudeness filter was broken. I winced after the words left my mouth, but Mike didn’t seem too upset. He gave me a flat look before glancing at his phone and standing. “I have to go to practice. You have twenty-four hours to decide if you want my help or not. I’ll be here at 2:05 tomorrow, and I’ll wait until a quarter after. If you’re not here by then, I’ll assume you’re out. I agreed to do this as a favor to Coach. But honestly, I have better things to do than waste my time on a condescending know-it-all who doesn’t want my help.”
Mike had just given me an intelligible tongue-lashing. It was so out of character for him that I didn’t even know how to respond. It didn’t matter, though, because Mike didn’t wait for a response. He smirked at me one last time before saying, “Hasta mañana—see you tomorrow, Brat Queen.” Then he left without looking back.
I was dumbfounded. Speechless, even. And that didn’t happen very often. I sat at the table, staring at the door Mike just left through. This had to be a bad dream, a nightmare. I pinched myself. Nope, not dreaming. What. The. Heck. Could it be that Franklin High School’s dumbest jock wasn’t an idiot at all? No, he was still an idiot, all right. But maybe he was an idiot with a brain.
I found Becca in the gym, helping her dad organize an equipment closet. She looked up at me in confusion. “Done so soon?” she asked. “I figured you’d be studying for at least another half hour.”
I shook my head, dazed and deep in thought. “He had practice.”
“That can’t be the only reason. You speak as loudly with your facial expressions as you do with your mouth.”
I darted my eyes in Mr. Adams’s direction, and Becca nodded in understanding. “Hey, Dad, I’m going to take off now.”
Becca’s dad looked up with a smile. “Okay, sweetheart. See you at dinner.”
Becca shouldered her bag and followed me out of the gym. Once we were in her car and clear of eavesdroppers, she demanded an explanation. She started her car and pulled out of the parking lot. “All right, spill. There’s more to your story than he had practice.”
“Um, just a little,” I answered eagerly, then proceeded to share the last half hour of my day in detail. When I was done, Becca looked at me the way I’d been looking at Mike.
“You’re kidding, right?” she asked.
“Do you think I could make up something that crazy?”
“Yes, but I believe you, and I have a simple explanation.”
“Please, enlighten me.”
“Aliens,” she said confidently.
I scoffed. “Why would aliens want Mike’s brain when they could have one like mine?”
“They don’t want his brain. They want his body.”
“Why would they want his body? You sure it’s not you who wants his body?” I teased.
Becca considered my words briefly. “Don’t you know anything about aliens? It’s probably a parasitic creature that embe
dded itself into his brain because it needs a human to survive on our planet. Mike’s cute, even if he is too short. But I don’t want him if he’s being mind controlled. Falling for an alien is bad news, no matter how you package it.”
I laughed. “You’re such a dork.”
She looked at me seriously. “You say that now, but you won’t be laughing when you find out that I’m right.” She tried to hold her look of composure, but it didn’t last long before we both broke out in a case of the giggles. She pulled up at my house but stopped me before I got out of the car. “So, what are you going to do? Are you going to show up tomorrow?”
“You bet I’m going to show up. I still need help, and that boy opened a big fat can of questions. One way or another, I’m going to get some answers.”
MIKE
I screwed up. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I couldn’t do it. Jayden was asking for it. The word brat doesn’t do her justice. She walked into the library yesterday, looking all cute and sweet, with her reading glasses perched on her little button nose. I was ready to overlook her unfavorable first impression. After all, I do give off a certain vibe. It’s not uncommon for people to expect very little from me.
But she started up with her holier than thou, you don’t deserve to breathe my air attitude, and the need to swat that huge chip off her shoulder was overwhelming. I was showing so much restraint, too, until the intellectually superior comment slipped out. It felt so good to knock her down a peg. The look on her face when I threw out a few SAT words was priceless. I could tell she had no clue what rodomontade meant. I think she’d keel over and die if she ever found out I scored a 1340 on that dumb test. Her response was almost worth it. Almost. But unfortunately I’ve blown my cover now, and there’s no way to take it back.
I knew if Jayden came for tutoring today she’d show me no mercy, that I’d probably unleashed the monster within her. But bailing wasn’t an option, so I’d decided to prepare myself. I’d have to fight fire with fire. And that meant I’d have to be so utterly moronic she’d completely forget about my little slip the day before.
“Hey, party people. Mike M. in da house!” I howled loudly, announcing my arrival in the Spanish classroom. I strutted with a pronounced limp and gave a fist bump to everyone I passed. That’d annoy Jayden for sure. Especially because it got giggles from a few of the less academically-minded girls in the room. She was sitting in the seat behind Becca Adams, and after my display, they leaned close together to whisper.
I approached the two of them, and Becca watched me with one eyebrow raised. Jayden buried her nose in her textbook. Was that her grand plan? To ignore me? It’d take a lot more than lack of eye contact to make me back off. I was a man on a mission. I put my hands to my mouth and started to beat box. After a few measures, I busted out a rap worthy of the eye roll that was sure to follow.
“Jay to the D to the E to the N. Girl got brains cuz she’s homies wit da man. Chica’s super fine and she’s super fly too. Mikey be a pimp cuz Jay’s his study boo.” I popped my collar, dusted my shoulder, and waited. Besides the predicted eye roll, which was subtler than I’d anticipated, she gave no reaction. No rude insult, no crude gesture, no condescending comment. Well, this was disappointing. I’d even dropped in both chica and boo. Two words I was specifically instructed not to use.
I switched tactics and spoke to Becca. “That rhyme was dope, right?”
She cracked a smile. “The dopest,” she agreed with a nod.
“I mean, like, off da hook. For really, though, yo.”
Becca’s smile spread. “Totes off the hook.”
I smiled back. Maybe I had an ally in Becca. “See?” I nodded at Jayden. “Homegirl knows what’s up. Gimme some sugar.” I held out my fist, and Becca bumped it with her knuckles. Then I moved my hand toward Jayden and waited for her to do the same. She assessed me with shrewd eyes but didn’t move. I shrugged carelessly and headed to my seat. She must be bottling up her annoyance so she could rip me a new one after school.
“¡Silencio, estudiantes!—Silence students. Pop quiz time,” Mr. Thompson called out gleefully. The class groaned, and I peered at Jayden from the corner of my eye. She’d become visibly anxious over the announcement. I didn’t understand why Spanish was so difficult for her. I mean, she looked Hispanic. Not quite as much as Angelica did, but I was almost certain Angelica’s parents were Cuban. Jayden and Angelica were cousins, and they had the same last name. Which meant Jayden must be Cuban, too. She had to have been raised around the language. Plus, she was crazy smart. This was the only class we shared, but I knew her schedule consisted of senior level courses. I always saw her in the senior hall, even though she was a junior.
It was a basic vocabulary quiz. Piece of cake, for most people. But every time I looked over at Jayden, she was furiously scribbling or erasing something. Her lips moved as she spoke silently to herself, trying to puzzle out the answer. No wonder she was doing poorly. The girl needed to relax. When I’d called her uptight, I didn’t realize how accurate my assessment was. Half of her problem was probably in her head.
In a moment of weakness, I decided to cut her some slack. If, by some small chance, she earned it. I was 90 percent sure she’d come into the library, guns blazing because of the little rapping stunt I’d pulled. But, on the off chance she decided to leave her attitude at the door, I wanted to help her avoid a mental breakdown. Somehow, I needed to find out what had her so stressed.
I sat at the front table in the library, exactly as I had yesterday. I wasn’t going to be nice until I was sure I wasn’t under attack. Jayden walked in a couple minutes after I did, took one look at me, then headed for the table in the back again. Not an unexpected move, but also not an indication of her mood. I joined her and sat silently waiting for a clue. Would I be nice, or not?
Jayden slumped back in her chair and studied me carefully. I assumed a similar pose. It felt like forever before she spoke. I braced myself for war, but that isn’t what I got. Instead, she asked, “You’re a skinny white kid. How come you’re fluent in Spanish?”
Okay, not the response I’d expected. It seems that curiosity kills cats and brats. Her question wasn’t even snarky. “You’re a skinny Cuban kid. How come you aren’t?” I replied.
“How’d you know I was Cuban?”
“Lucky guess,” I offered.
“Reasonable assumption,” she countered.
“Assiduous deduction,” I clarified.
She got a glassy look in her eyes and shook her head in awe before mumbling “Aliens…” quietly to herself.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She snapped out of her trance. “I asked you first.” Her body language said she wouldn’t budge.
“Fine. I’ll offer you a quid pro quo. My answer for yours.”
Jayden’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded her head once and said, “Agreed. Now explain.”
I shrugged. “It’s simple. Everyone I love speaks Spanish.”
Now she was looking at me like I’d grown a third eye. A hint of sarcasm crept into her voice. “Care to elaborate?”
I sighed. Why couldn’t this be easy? I had a feeling my relationship with Jayden was about to get complicated. “My mother has been married twice, both times to Latino men. She and her first husband divorced after only two years. My older brother Josh was three at the time. Hector wasn’t a stellar husband, hence the divorce. But he is a good dad. His first language is Spanish. Josh spent lots of time with him, and I spent lots of time with Josh. The Spanish started rubbing off on me from the time I could talk.”
“Wait,” Jayden interrupted, holding up her hand. “If your dad was Latino, how come you don’t look”—she paused, grasping for the right words—“…darker?”
“My sperm donor wasn’t Latino. He was some sleazy, rich white guy that filled my mom with promises of a good life, just long enough to knock her up and take off.” If Jayden was shocked by my confession, she was tactful enough not to show it.
“You
don’t even know your father?”
“Sperm donor,” I corrected her. “Never met him, don’t care to.”
Jayden’s face softened. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m better off without him.”
Jayden gave me a sad smile. “So, who’s the second Latino guy, if he’s not your dad?”
“He is my dad—well, my stepdad, Fernando. He and Mom have been married for eight years. He wanted my younger brother and sister to be bilingual, because he thinks it’s important to connect with your cultural heritage. My mom’s family is European, and his is Mexican. When the twins were born, they decided that generally he’d speak to them in Spanish, and she’d use English. That way, they were always exposed to both languages.
“I only knew a little Spanish before my mom and Fernando got married. The random stuff that I’d picked up from Josh and his dad. I didn’t become natural with it until well after the twins were born. But Spanish is easy enough to learn when its half of what you hear every day. After six years of bouncing between the two languages, we all speak English and Spanish.”
Jayden was quiet. She looked aggravated, or frustrated at the very least. Though, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. I’d given her an answer—in detail, no less. And that’s information I don’t give to very many people, so I considered my offering generous. “What’s wrong?” I asked defensively. “My answer not good enough for you? Because you don’t get to ask for the truth, then get all judgmental when I give it to you.”
“No!” she answered quickly, as if she just realized she was being rude…again. Maybe she couldn’t help it. “That’s not it. I was thinking about how my own situation is ironically opposite of yours. I can’t speak Spanish because my father doesn’t want me to embrace my Cuban heritage.”
Perfectly Misunderstood (The Perfect Series Book 4) Page 3
