Four-Letter Word

by Christa Desir

  When I got to my house, Mateo was waiting on the porch with a glass of water that Nan had undoubtedly forced on him. I dropped my heavy bag and almost crossed to him with my arms outstretched in a dumb romantic-movie way, but managed to fist my hands and let my hair curtain fall, then leaned against the porch rail.

  “Chloe,” he said, sounding part sad and part disappointed. “Your hair. You’re hiding.”

  I brushed my hair away from my eyes and said, “What are you doing here?”

  He glanced toward the big front window that Nan was peering out of with the subtlety of a bull in a china shop and said, “Can you take a walk?”

  I nodded. “Let me put this inside.” I slung the bag onto my shoulder and slipped in the front door. Nan jumped on me as soon as I walked in.

  “You didn’t say you were going to have a guest.” Yep. Subtle.

  “Mateo and I are going to take a walk,” I said as I shoved my bag in Pops’s organized closet.

  “He seems . . . nice. Second time he’s been for a visit,” Nan said, as if I weren’t keeping score too.

  “Yep.”

  “Two times is a big deal.”

  I had no idea the mathematics of Nan’s “courtship” tallies, so I nodded vaguely and put my hand on the door to leave.

  “Mateo? Is he Mexican?”

  “Oh my God, Nan. You can’t ask questions like that!”

  “Why not? I gave him a glass of water and invited him to wait inside.”

  My mom would be at her throat already, seeing the criticism behind almost all of Nan’s “innocent” questions. Mom would be up on her soapbox going on about our country being founded by foreigners who stole the land from Native Americans so it’s best to reserve judgment about “immigrants.” But I wasn’t my mom. I knew Nan was old and wouldn’t likely ever change her mind. And I wasn’t about to get into an argument over the “illegal aliens” and the need for even more stringent security on the Mexican border. I’d lost that argument too many times already, and I didn’t want Mateo overhearing.

  “It was just a question, Chloe,” Nan said. “I wasn’t trying to be offensive.”

  “Well, I don’t know the answer.”

  Nan’s lips puckered. “Isn’t he a friend of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  She tsked. “You kids never bother finding out people’s stories. All this ‘global community’ nonsense, as if it isn’t important to know someone’s origins.”

  Knowing someone’s origins had long been code in my grandparents’ circle for learning if they’re the right kind of people. I held up a hand. “Nan, can we get into this later? Mateo’s waiting outside.”

  She huffed. “Dinner is at six thirty. Invite him to stay. I’m sure he’d tell me his family’s story.”

  Heh. Doubt it.

  “Sure, but he might have plans. He works in town.”

  “In town? Where?”

  “Nan, you’re being nosy.”

  “I’m not. I’m interested. We don’t have many Hispanics in Grinnell. What do you think brought his family here?”

  “Nan. I love you. You know I love you. But first, no one says Hispanics. That erases the distinct cultures of individual Latin countries. And second, how come you’ve never asked these questions about my other friends? How come it’s only about Mateo?”

  “He’s the only boy you’ve brought around. Invite him to dinner, Chloe. I promise I won’t bite. I’m interested in why he’s interested in you. And excuse me, but Latinos normally don’t marry outside their culture.”

  “Nan!” I huffed. “Stop. You’re making assumptions on a bunch of different levels here. And we’re not getting married; we’re going for a walk.”

  “Hmm. I know. But if you like him, you need to think about these things. Not for you. You’ll be fine. But is being mixed something you want for your children? Minorities have a difficult life, and it would be very hard on you to watch your children suffer.”

  I blinked. I felt like I was in another dimension. Somehow Nan already had me married to Mateo and having mixed children, who would apparently “suffer.”

  I didn’t say anything for a full minute, then finally mumbled, “I’ll invite him to dinner. He probably can’t come, though.”

  “You won’t know until you ask.”

  I envied Nan’s simple view of the world sometimes. It was such an easy leap for her to trust Fox News and our pastor and not worry about anything else as long as we all maintained the status quo. Mom would say it was the privilege of being a white woman in a first world country that appeared to back her 100 percent. I suspected it was more the privilege of age and ignorance. Which maybe was unkind, but no less true.

  Mateo looked at me when I stepped back onto the porch but didn’t appear to have overheard Nan. He didn’t say anything until we were at the bottom of the driveway headed downtown.

  “I’ve got to stop by Beau’s to get my paycheck. Do you mind?”

  “No.”

  Another five minutes of silence and I started to bite my nails. I glanced at Mateo, who raised his eyebrows at me, so I dropped my hand from my mouth.

  “Are you just going to be all quiet?” I blurted. “I’m not sure how to do this.”

  “How to do what?”

  “I don’t know. Be . . . whatever we are.”

  He took my hand, not even flinching over the fact that it had just been in my mouth and I hadn’t used any hand sanitizer yet, and said, “You’re worrying too much. I’m not thinking about any of that stuff. I only wanted to see you.”

  My stomach got all fluttery and warm, and I had to suppress this weird feeling like I needed to pee really bad. “I wanted to see you too.”

  He leaned in and kissed me, but it wasn’t a long, tongue kiss, which was probably for the best, because Nan’s friends would definitely call her if they spotted me tongue-kissing a guy on Fifth Avenue.

  I followed Mateo into Beau’s, him still holding my hand like we were a real thing. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and when I came out—not having to pee that bad after all—Mateo was talking to Josh with a serious expression on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Josh offered me a sad smile and said, “I tried to bail on the game, and then Aiden’s parents got an envelope in the mail with pictures of him and me together.”

  “Oh my God. What?”

  Josh smoothed his hand over his shirt. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not great, obviously, but Aiden’s parents were surprisingly cool about it. They’re worried about him. Us, I guess.”

  “Did he tell them about the game?”

  Josh shook his head. “No. He’s trying to minimize damage, keep it contained to his parents, so that it doesn’t go public and hurt his chances getting into the Naval Academy.”

  Josh’s voice cracked a little, and I ached for him. For how hard it would be to have a boyfriend who had to keep you a secret. I glanced at Mateo, then turned back to Josh. “What are you going to do?”

  Josh looked down. “I told Chloe I’d play after all.”

  Defeat poured off him, and I reached a hand out to squeeze his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Josh. Thank you for trying. I wish there was something . . .”

  Josh shrugged. “We’re figuring it out.”

  Mateo glanced between the two of us, then touched my hand and said, “Be right back.”

  The second he was gone, Josh smoothed out his shirt again and said, “I’m sorry for how shitty things have been for you this week. I feel like a huge dick for ignoring you. So does Aiden.”

  “I know you think you have no choice, but you don’t have to play.”

  His lips went tight, making his skin paler and his freckles more obvious. “You know we do. If it was just me . . .”

  I sighed. “Yeah, I know. It’s Aiden, and his future.” I let my hair drop. “So, um, is everything okay with you guys?”

  I didn’t know how to explain I’d overheard their fight without feeling like the creeper Eve
accused me of being.

  Josh lifted a shoulder. “I guess, all things considered. It’s stupid, but Chloe Donnelly helped clarify some stuff for us. I mean, we’re sort of debating how our future is going to go, and I thought we wouldn’t . . . Well, it doesn’t matter. Seeing you this week, all alone and left out, and then having her send those pictures to Aiden’s parents, it made us both realize some stuff. We’re not letting her tear us apart. We’ve got a plan.”

  Before I could ask what he meant, or even get excited about the possibility of Chloe Donnelly maybe getting what she deserved, Mateo returned and took my hand again. “All set.”

  Josh fist-bumped him and said, “See you tonight, man.” Then he turned to me and said, “You too.”

  I didn’t want to remind him he wouldn’t be seeing me because I was all alone and left out. No sense coming across like a pathetic loser when it was the first time Josh had spoken to me in a week. Instead, I said, “I’m really sorry again. Please tell Aiden I hope it all works out.”

  He nodded, and I let Mateo guide me out of the restaurant while Josh headed back toward the kitchen.

  “Do we need to stop at the bank to deposit your check?” I asked Mateo.

  “Not the bank. I get my check cashed at the Western Union at Hy-Vee, but it’s fine. I’ll do it later.”

  Not the bank. Of course not the bank. What was wrong with me? He wouldn’t have an account there. They probably asked for Social Security cards and a bunch of paperwork Mateo didn’t have.

  “Sorry. I didn’t think,” I stammered.

  “S’okay.”

  We cut down Fifth toward Broad Street. Already a few pickup trucks were scooping the loop, the promise of another boring Friday night making me think again how much I couldn’t wait to get out of this town. Mom’s organic coffee shop used to be around the corner, but a restaurant was there now. Nan and Pops said it was a “college” restaurant, which meant a foodie menu and empty tables except for during parents’ or alumni weekends.

  The silence between us didn’t seem as awkward with my hand engulfed in Mateo’s. Mostly I was thinking about Josh and Aiden. “Did you know about them?”

  Mateo nodded. “Yeah. Saw them once after an away game at the beginning of the season. They didn’t see me, and it wasn’t really my business. Josh told me about them a few weeks ago.”

  I’d never have guessed Mateo knew anything. Maybe his own secrets made him fiercely protective of other people’s.

  We turned down Sixth so we were skirting the edge of the college. I saw Burling Library and felt a little sick.

  “I’m going to ask you something, Chloe, but I need you to hear me out before you say no,” he said, his voice soft and low.

  My stomach tightened. “Yeah?”

  “Promise?”

  Part of me wanted to tell him I’d never say no to whatever he asked of me, but the more sane side of me understood the danger of the unconditional yes. Especially after the past few weeks.

  “Okay,” I said. “Ask.”

  But of course, typical Mateo, he didn’t say anything until we’d passed the fancy dining hall, walked another block, and he pointed to a pickup truck parked on a side street. It was similar to all the ones that scooped the loop, only slightly rustier and older.

  “Whose truck is this?” I asked as he manually unlocked the door and guided me onto the bench seat inside. His hand on my back felt warm and slipped low enough for me to hold my breath. But then it was gone and he was circling to the driver’s side.

  “A friend from the farm. He asked me to pick it up for him,” he answered when he got in.

  The farm where his parents worked. Where he presumably lived. A million questions popped into my brain about what Mateo’s life was like outside of school and baseball and Beau’s, but I couldn’t ask any of them because he locked the doors and slid over the worn vinyl bench seat to me. He wrapped an arm around me and I thought there was no moment more perfect than this.

  Mateo was such a smooth kisser, as if it didn’t require anything of him, as if it was an extension of him; even though I was pretty sure he liked kissing me. He took his time and didn’t seem at all self-conscious of who or what was around us. I was more confident now, pleased about my third make-out session in a week with someone I could trust. In this moment the ground beneath me felt solid, as if being with Mateo made me believe in myself, believe in us.

  When his hands got involved and my shirt came off, I barely paused except to fumble for his shirt too, stretching out the hem as I pulled too fast to get it off. I felt every place he touched me. Every. Single. Place. And for a few minutes it was incredible.

  But then I came back into me. I tried to pretend I wasn’t thinking about my overly oily skin when his hands cupped my face, or the way my boobs were obviously smaller than expected once my padded bra came off, or that someone might peek in and see us. I tried to channel the physical present like Mom used to say when she was doing yoga, but it had slipped away. I was in my head because I’d never done anything like this with a guy, and even though it felt good, I still felt the unescapable me-ness in everything. Which was . . . disappointing.

  I was ready to give up, but then it changed again. This time because he changed. All his smoothness started to unravel and he was fumbling and more awkward, and I was so grateful for it I let go of all my hang-ups and allowed myself to feel excited about all the newness again. I didn’t hate myself for giving in and letting go because it was obvious he wasn’t disgusted by me. He liked me and was right there with me. And when he slipped his shaky hand between my thighs, over my jeans, and pressed, a weird noise came out of my throat and the feeling of needing to pee overwhelmed me.

  I pulled back. “I have to go to the bathroom,” I blurted. “Sorry.”

  Mateo looked shaken and flustered—flustered!—and raked a hand through his hair, laughing a little. “Didn’t you just go?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “But being with you makes me have to pee.” Stupid honesty. Stupid blurting mouth.

  He laughed a lot more this time. “Chloe, you’re pretty perfect.”

  Perfect. Not perfectly boring or perfectly uninteresting or perfectly gross. Perfect.

  Putting space between us had helped the pee thing, so I inched back more and squeezed my thighs together like I used to do when I was “tickling myself ” as a little kid. But that made the pee thing start again and now I wondered if it wasn’t a pee thing at all. If it was just feeling good between my legs like Mom used to tell me was normal and okay. If it was like the loofah on my clitoris and accidentally maybe having an orgasm.

  My cheeks burned and I tugged my shirt on, not bothering with the padded bra as there was no need to put a fine point on that humiliation. “What did you want to ask me?” Yes, good, deflect, deflect, deflect.

  He shrugged his shirt on, then linked our hands together again. “I want you to play Gestapo tonight.”

  “What? No. No. Absolutely not.”

  “You said you’d listen before saying no.”

  “When I thought you’d ask something reasonable.”

  “Chloe.”

  Crap. This was his big favor—throw me back into the sixth circle of hell with a girl who hated me.

  I sighed and fished around for my bra, tucking it in the back pocket of my jeans. “So explain.”

  “The guys and I have a plan. We’ve already talked to Eve and Holly. We’re going to win the game. Four platinum favors from Chloe Donnelly. Four guarantees of her silence and we’ll be safe. All of us.”

  I couldn’t stop the snort that escaped my mouth. “You’re going to win? That’s your plan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was this Cam’s idea? A little revenge on the girl who had him on his knees?”

  He looked at me curiously, then said, “No. It was mine.”

  I shook my head. “What would ever make you believe Chloe would stick to her platinum favors? I mean, sure, I thought of it too—for about a minute—but the mor
e I consider what she’s done and what she knows? No way. She threw that bone in front of you because she wants to ensure you’ll keep playing. Four platinum favors wouldn’t stop her from squealing to anyone who’ll listen. Look at what happened with Aiden’s parents.”

  “You’re wrong. Look, you said it yourself, she wants to ensure we’ll keep playing. It’s all about the game for her. Gestapo is somehow this sacred thing. Everything she’s done has been about winning and continuing to play. She wants the platinum favor.”

  Which begged the question of who she wanted it from and what exactly she wanted. If Cam on his knees was just part of the game, what would the prize for her be?

  The game helps me be less alone because I get to know people. Chloe Donnelly had said that to me, but was it really as simple as that? Would she go to all this trouble to be less lonely? Would her platinum favor also be stay with me? And would Mateo be the one she asked? Mateo who she knew too much about, who she pretended belonged to me but then kept to herself as much as she could in Spanish class. And the way she’d looked at him that day in the media center? My guts churned. It was Mateo. He was her endgame.

  “You seriously think you can shut her down by winning? Think about the kind of damage she could do. What she’s already done. Is it worth the risk? I mean, it’s not just you, it’s your whole family.”

  He pulled me closer and wrapped his arm around me. “If it wasn’t about the game, she’d already have used everything she has against us. I wouldn’t even be here having this conversation with you; my family would’ve ghosted. But she only used the information she had when Josh backed out. She wants us playing. I’m sure of it.

  “Come on, Chloe. We don’t have anything to lose. She’s holding all the cards right now, and the only way to get them back is to win.”

  I turned to face him and his arm dropped. I linked my hands together to stop me from biting my nails. “I can’t believe you think it’s that easy. Win and all your secrets will be safe? Really?”

  “She’s seventeen, not thirty-five and working for the FBI. What else could she want? I’ve listened to her all week. It’s the game. That’s what she cares about.”

  I didn’t believe it, not really, but he made a good point about her already having spilled their secrets to everyone if she’d wanted to do real damage. Still, whatever she was after in terms of platinum favors made my stomach hurt to think about. Particularly as my mind insisted on recasting Mateo’s face onto Cam’s as he knelt at her feet last week.