Before You

by Amber Hart

  How little they know me.

  “Are you sure?” she repeats.

  I want to tell someone. I need to tell someone. I’m desperate for a second opinion. But I have to be careful how I say it.

  I throw away the towels. “No,” I admit.

  I cannot remember what department of the church this lady works in. A secretary, maybe?

  “Go on,” she encourages me.

  I clear my throat. “If a girl likes a guy who’s really different—I mean, nationality, appearance, race, past—but he’s beautiful all the same, can it work?”

  I want her to tell me that the past doesn’t matter. That we all come from somewhere. That it’s where we plan to go that makes a difference. I want her to water my seed of hope.

  But I expect her to let me down.

  The woman scrunches her eyebrows for a moment. “No,” she finally says. “I don’t believe it can work.”

  She pauses to smile at me. A sad smile. For my benefit, she pretends we aren’t talking about me, and I’m grateful. I suppose small acts of kindness still exist.

  “She’s probably had a nice upbringing, like you,” she continues. “Nice girls belong with nice, simple boys. There’s nothing simple about a biracial relationship. Think about the social issues she’ll face. And what about her parents? His? Can you imagine what her folks would think? Tell her to find a nice boyfriend like that Jason of yours. He’s a keeper.”

  I swallow hard, fighting to appear calm. My mouth is a desert, dry, cracked.

  “You’re right. Thanks for the advice,” I say.

  I don’t know why I thought this would be a good idea. The woman has confirmed everything I already knew. She’s right, though. It would be tough to maintain a relationship with the world against you.

  I cannot have Diego.

  We do not belong together.

  I could disregard her advice. But caution tells me to obey. The freedom I felt the previous night? It’s gone. Freedom reminds me too much of drugs, of having a choice, too many choices, of spinning out of control. What if Diego becomes my new drug? What if the feeling with him is too good? Too addictive? Suppose I let go too much?

  And then he hurts me. What will be left?

  The woman is still staring.

  “I have to go,” I say.

  I find Susan in the lobby. I ask her if she can please take me home. Quickly. I tell her I need to rest. She picks up Grace and we leave. I try not to think about Jason. Or the curious eyes that follow me like the glare of a sharpshooter through a scope. I especially try not to think about what the woman in the bathroom said.

  It’s hard, though. All I want to do is see Diego. All I want is the pressure of his lips. My brain fights my heart, volleying shots back and forth, a war declared within. One will win. But somehow, I fear, as a whole I’ll lose.

  I have one day to hold on to him. One day to miss him. It’s no time, really. When I get to school tomorrow, it’s back to the old Faith.

  The Faith who doesn’t ruin people’s lives with her selfishness.

  24

  diego

  On the way to school, I think of Faith. Clouds move in and out of focus. The sun is too bright, but I stare at the sky anyhow. I remember her smile. Her fingers. Her freedom. Her words. All the things that served as windows into her world.

  As I open the double doors and head to my locker, I keep a watchful eye. Her first class is near mine, but I don’t see her yet. My hands reach for books. My elbow shuts my locker. My mind abandons me. I forget what I need to do, lose the task at hand, clutch the wrong books. Try again. Stare at too many numbers before I remember my combination. I grab the right books, but I can’t grab my attention. It runs away, searching for Faith. Caring about nothing else.

  I look down, double-checking; do I have everything I need? As I look up, Faith comes into view, wearing her usual one-size-too-big clothes. Her hair is in a braid. Not much makeup, not that she needs it. But what throws me off is the look on her face.

  Wrong.

  That is all I can think. She looks wrong. Like someone took her apart and put her back together incorrectly.

  She doesn’t smile when she sees me. She comes closer. I hold my breath. Pressure builds in my sternum, like I’ve dived too deep underwater. Her touch is the surface and I’m desperate for air. I push away from my locker. I open my mouth to speak.

  Three steps, two, one, and she’s within range. Doesn’t matter, though, because she walks right by me without a word.

  I hate how I want to make her smile, how I want to ask what’s wrong. I should walk the other way. Instead, I cut through the hall after Faith, her current sweeping me up and carrying me along.

  When I get close, I reach out a hand and grab her forearm. Her skin is warm and smooth and too perfect under my calloused palms. She turns.

  “What?” she asks calmly.

  I am fire and ice and fuel and water.

  “Faith,” I say, hating how her name feels so good rolling off my tongue. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she says.

  Her face is blank. No anger, no passion, nothing. Void. Like the robot she’s used to being. Not like the Faith at the club. Loose and free.

  “Liar,” I challenge.

  She eyes me. Her head tilts slightly, a gun cocked, ready to fire.

  She is fierce.

  She is beautiful.

  “Should something be wrong?” she asks.

  Maybe she didn’t see me. Maybe I’m overreacting. I try to relax.

  “How are you?” I ask.

  “Good.” She smiles but it looks forced, like she’s smiled for too many people already today. Like she’s saving the last remaining smiles for somebody worth her time.

  I wonder if I should tell her that I’ve been thinking about her.

  “Well, I need to get to class. Glad you’re fitting in, Diego. See you around,” she says, and begins to walk away.

  This is not the same Faith that I danced with at the club.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, stepping in front of her. The bell rings. People shuffle into class. I’m officially late for first period, but I don’t care.

  Faith looks past me to the suddenly deserted hall. For the briefest second, I see a flash of panic in her eyes. Then she reins it in.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” she says, “but I need to get going.”

  I lean closer, just a little further over the edge, hoping my feet will stay solidly planted. “Not until you tell me what’s going on,” I say.

  She laughs hoarsely, not like the sweet sound I heard the other night.

  “What do you want me to say?” she asks. Her eyes are fuerte, unbreakable.

  “I don’t know, but say somethin’,” I reply. “Give me some sentimiento.”

  Even though I’m angry, I still have an urge to kiss her.

  She says nothing.

  I think about biting my tongue, but at the last second, I let my words flow freely.

  “Are you going to act like you weren’t into me at the club, like that kiss never happened?” I say. “Mami, I didn’t kiss you. You kissed me. So don’t pretend there’s nothing there.”

  Her eyes scan our surroundings. “Let’s get this over with,” she says sharply. “What happened the other night can never happen again. It was a stupid, irresponsible mistake. Are we done now?”

  “No,” I reply. “We’re not done. Not even close.” I thought we were just getting started. “What’s the point of this?”

  “Did you not hear me the first time?” Faith asks. Her lips are pressed into a thin line. “The dancing meant nothing. The kiss meant nothing.”

  She looks around, making sure the hall is still deserted. “You mean nothing.”

  Too far, Faith.

  If she’s going to have amnesia about how good our kisses were, then maybe I need to remind her. I move in. I’m teetering on the edge, close to falling. With or without her.

  Her eyes are remote. I raise my fi
ngers to brush her cheek. She steps back.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “What do you think I’m doing?”

  “Diego, please.” Even though she uses nice words, her tone is rough. She’s acting like I’m the scum of the earth, which, let’s face it . . . next to her? I kind of am.

  “What’s the deal?” I say, exasperated. “You won’t leave me alone when I want you to. Then you dance with me at the club and kiss me like it’s your dyin’ wish. Now you couldn’t care less?”

  “Yes. And if you’re done, I’m late to class,” Faith says.

  “Will you promise me you’ll never bring this up again? That you’ll let it go?” She looks unsure, like she expects me to expose our night.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Máscara. I’ll take our little secret to the grave”—aside from Javier—“but I won’t promise you anything about letting go. Because I don’t think you want me to.”

  She smiles wickedly. “You obviously don’t know me at all.”

  I wonder if I’m making a mistake. Even if I am, I can’t deny that Faith intrigues me. Still. And I enjoy a good challenge.

  “Give it up,” she says, noticing the competitive glint in my eyes. “You and I will never be. It’s unnatural. And you know it.”

  “All I know is that you won’t let me close. I think it’s ’cause you’re scared.” I smile. “Scared that the moment I get you in my arms, you’ll never want to leave. And you know it.”

  Faith turns, walks away. No matter what she says, I’m not giving up that easily.

  And one backward glance from her tells me that she doesn’t truly want me to.

  25

  faith

  “I don’t understand. I saw you two kissing—”

  “Give it a rest, Melissa. I can’t deal with this right now.”

  “I’m just saying. That was not an accident, Faith,” Melissa says, handing me a stack of books to price. “That was intense, it was real—”

  “Seriously,” I interrupt. “Can’t. Deal. Please.”

  Talking about Diego is five hundred pencil points jabbing my skin, etching painful lines into vulnerable tissue with each word. My eyes water as though I’ve cut two dozen onions. The remembrance of the lies I told him is its own punishment, one that makes it hard to breathe.

  He does mean something to me.

  “You’re pushing him away, aren’t you?” Melissa says.

  My eyes scurry across the library, hoping no one but me can hear. Two people—a guy and a girl—stand, twenty strides away. The guy places a hand on the girl’s lower back. My fists clench.

  “Yes. Now let it go,” I warn.

  Melissa doesn’t back down. “Is this because of Jason?”

  Honestly, no. What I feel for Diego scares me. I have to think about other people. About Dad’s reputation. We—Diego and I—do not belong together. Simple as that.

  “No.” I’m being short with her.

  Melissa slams a book on the table. The force sends a gust of air over my arms and shoulders.

  “So this is because of your dad? Faith, when are you going to start living for yourself?”

  “Diego and I are not a good mix, Melissa,” I whisper.

  “What are you talking about?” she says.

  I can hear our heartbeats in the silence between us.

  “Diego and I . . . It’s too intense. Too hot. I’m not getting burned.” It’s a cop-out, I know.

  Melissa laughs, but she doesn’t look amused. “Do you hear yourself? You could use some fire in your life.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Melissa gives me a stern look. “It means that you need to lighten up. You need that fire, Faith. You haven’t been passionate about anything in a long time. You’re too worried about what everyone else will think, and you’ve created such a squeaky-clean image that you feel the need to constantly polish it. It’s ridiculous. Let yourself enjoy Diego. If he burns you, so be it. At least then you’ll feel some sort of emotion. You’ll be living. Your life. Not theirs.”

  Her words hang heavy, an omnipresent cloud around me. Tears sting my eyes, and I jump up to leave.

  “Wait,” Melissa says.

  “You’re supposed to be the one who understands!” I realize I’m yelling, but I’m too hurt to care. “You of all people should get it!”

  She knows why I can’t let people in. Especially people who make me forget my name, who kiss me like there’s no tomorrow and make me forget how to breathe. Who make my heart sing even though I’ve tried desperately to quiet it.

  “I do understand, Faith. And I love you enough to tell you that you’re fading. My best friend is disappearing before my eyes, and I want her back.”

  “You have me,” I say. Lies.

  “No, I don’t. You know it. You feel it, don’t you?” Melissa says.

  Yes. “No.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Faith. Not me. I know.”

  She always has. It’s one of the many things I love about her.

  Diego and Lori approach. I quickly wipe my eyes. My hand is slick with tears. I radiate uncertainty and regret like a pheromone, marking myself as a target. I fear Diego’s heightened senses will pinpoint my weakness.

  “This conversation is not over,” Melissa says quietly.

  Diego’s wearing ripped jeans and a plain green shirt.

  He is breathtaking.

  Diego stops one foot in front of me and sets down his backpack. He stares at me. I meet his stare, second for second.

  “Hola,” he says.

  “Hi,” I say quickly. “I set the last of the boxes over there—” I pause to point to the mountainous pile. “If you wouldn’t mind opening them and separating them according to category?”

  I get down to business. It’s better that way. My mask is flawless.

  “Okay,” he says.

  No fight. I wasn’t expecting that.

  “Thanks,” I say, businesslike. When I look back at Melissa, she’s scowling. I pay no attention.

  We’re almost done unloading, categorizing, and pricing books. Posters, flyers, and advertising for the fair are next. I have nice handwriting, so I draw the signs. Melissa prefers to color them. We usually go to her house for that.

  I like it at Melissa’s. Her mom is sweetness and trust wrapped into one package. She lets Melissa make her own mistakes.

  I wish my dad had opened up to me. I wish he’d tackled the pain with me after Mom left instead of being a locked box. I searched for the key for years, but I couldn’t find it. I still haven’t.

  “Five,” Melissa says, breaking through my thoughts. “That’s how many times Diego will meet us before his detention is over.”

  “So?” I say, acting unconcerned. I fear my voice reflects the shallow breaths I take as my heart constricts.

  Five more times, really? That’s not much.

  “Yes,” Melissa says. “So, I wouldn’t wait too long. He’ll be gone before you know it. And I’ve seen the way girls look at him, girls who aren’t afraid to take the risk.”

  I grimace. The thought of Diego with someone else is static, fuzzing my brain, making it hard to think.

  I shouldn’t care.

  “Imagine some other girl dancing on him the way you did. Or him kissing another girl the way he kissed you,” Melissa says.

  “Okay!” I yell. “I get it!”

  Diego turns, raises an eyebrow. He’s far enough away not to hear me unless I raise my voice. I need control. I can’t let him see me slip.

  He turns back around. Lori helps him with books. If I had a spine, it would be me over there.

  While Diego’s not looking, I glance at him. I want to go to him. Questions skitter across the surface of my mind. Is Diego bad for me? Why do I care what others think? Was the woman at church right? I mean, what does it matter that his skin is different from mine? Why are tattoos considered art only by a select few? On and on and on. I have a hard time not being annoyed by it. I need to forget t
hem, Diego, everything. But how?

  Diego catches me looking. I glance back down, suddenly interested in my shoelaces. Melissa chuckles.

  “What’s so—”

  But before I can finish, Diego is standing in front of me. “Can I talk to you for a second?” he asks.

  I peer at him. “I already told you that—”

  “Not you,” he interrupts.

  Melissa?

  “Sure,” my best friend says, walking off with him. Traitor.

  Consumed by a sudden fit of anger, I want to put Melissa on stage and try her for treason, for conspiring with the enemy. Maybe I’m paranoid, and they’re not talking about me? And Diego isn’t really the enemy, anyway.

  I want to believe that Diego means nothing. I want my best friend to quit bringing him into our conversations. I want to quit seeing him everywhere. The idea of him and me together brings me to the point of weakness.

  Or is it strength?

  If I am not extremely careful, I just might find out.

  26

  diego

  Zero percent chance of rain, the Weather Channel predicts. The sun’s rays coil around everything they touch—the trees, the asphalt, me. Pinned to a post is a flyer, curling around itself, flapping in the slight breeze. The letters are too bleached to be readable, the sun stealing the words with sticky fingers. Beads of sweat form on my upper lip.

  It’s been five days since I saw Faith in the library, since I pulled Melissa aside. Every moment outside of school I’ve spent at work, covering for someone on vacation, all the while looking forward to today. Part of me wonders if I should follow through with my plan. It’s risky.

  “You ready?” Javier asks, tossing a towel at me.

  I wipe my face. “Sí.”

  Ramon, Esteban, Juan, and Rodolfo are waiting in the Honda Civic parked in my cousin’s driveway. Luis, Javier, and I pile into Uncle Dimitri’s Explorer. He’s letting us borrow it for the day. Though the car is big, there’s only enough room for three; Uncle Dimitri’s work things are the other passengers.

  Rolling down the window, I let Florida’s scorching heat bake my skin. It has to be near 100 degrees. I’m wearing board shorts and sandals. My scars and tattoos are visible, but I’m past the point of caring. I have other things on my mind.