Okay, so maybe his smarts weren’t so bad, either.
“Right, sounds good. What about the ‘against’ argument?” I had nothing for that because, honestly, I couldn’t think of a single reason to deny permanent status to these people that wasn’t steeped in racism and xenophobia.
A crease appeared between Diego’s brows, and he tapped the pen a little harder. He looked like he’d had too many Red Bulls and was about to burst out of his own skin. Dropping his pen, he stood up, his chair scraping against the library’s tired linoleum floor, and paced around in a circle. He braced his hands against the back of the chair, fingers tapping against the wood, jaw working back and forth as he stared into empty space.
“It’s about the law,” he said, voice monotone and kind of hollow sounding. “Liberals are always going on about the rule of law, so why should this be an exception? The same law should apply to everyone regardless of how old they were or the circumstances around how they entered the country. They’re illegal, period.”
He looked like he might have something more to add as his fingers went wild against the chair back, eyes boring into some imaginary object suspended above the table. But then he straightened, curled his hands into fists, and sat back down with so much more restraint than seemed necessary for talking about a topic he might not like.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” If this guy was going to have a nervous breakdown, I wanted some warning.
“I’m fine.”
That set off alarm bells. Nobody said “I’m fine” with so much coiled tension when they were actually fine. Not when the words were followed by heavy-handed pounding of his keyboard like the poor machine had insulted his mother.
“Hey.” I don’t know what possessed me to reach across the table and put my hand on his. From the way he jumped at the contact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he threw my hand off, but he didn’t. His eyes met mine, fearful and suspicious, like he was waiting for me to pounce. “We just met, so I don’t really know anything about you. But you seem really wound up. Do you need to go home and rest?”
The fear and suspicion faded from his eyes like a slowly deflating balloon. His hand softened under mine, and his shoulders slouched forward as if he’d lost the strength to hold them back.
“No.” His voice was a lot quieter than it had been a minute ago. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”
The same two words but spoken with a tinge of resignation that made it sound more convincing. He flashed me a quick smile, his twin dimples making a cameo appearance. I pulled my hand away, and he went back to typing, a little less forcefully this time. Hot, smart, and a hint of a damaged soul—a trifecta that checked all my boxes.
“So, do you normally schedule all your study dates this late into the night?” I curled one leg up, heel on the edge of my seat, chin propped on my knee. I looked cute in that pose—not that I’d practiced it. It’s not like I was trying to flirt or anything.
Diego’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. The look he cast my way left no doubt that he’d picked up on my word choice and the change in my intonation. His gaze lingered on my hair, my face, on my bottom lip caught between my teeth. The corners of his mouth curled upward, not enough for the full dimple treatment, just enough to tease. Mm, I wanted to see those dimples again.
“I work in the evenings.” He spoke quietly, like his work schedule was some sort of secret he shared only with the privileged few. Something like pride quickened my heart at the thought of being let in on that important tidbit.
“Where do you work?” The huskiness in my voice may have been intentional—or not, given how dry my mouth had become under his watchful gaze.
“At a garage.” His voice was equally husky, and his tongue slipped out to wet his lips.
“Hm, a guy who’s handy with his tools. I like that.”
He blinked, and I blinked, and we both seemed to realize what I’d said at the same time. Where was a hole in the ground when I needed a place to hide? Jesus, I couldn’t get dorkier if I tried.
Diego didn’t laugh at me, but my inept attempt at flirting did elicit that smile from him again, the one with the dimples, so at least I wasn’t a complete failure. He cocked an eyebrow, tilted his head, and then with a voice oozing with sinful heat, said, “Oh, I’m very good with my tools.”
Somebody kill me now.
2
“I’m home!” I locked the door behind me and dropped my backpack on the couch where my kid sister, Alessandra, was wrapped around a throw pillow, phone in hand. “Hey, Aless, shouldn’t you be doing homework or something? Where’s Mami?”
She didn’t even look in my direction, her eyes flitting back and forth from her phone to the TV screen, which was flashing CNN. “Mami’s taking a bath. And do you know what time it is? I’m done with my homework.”
Yeah, I knew what time it was. It was too fucking late to just be getting home from school, then work, then studying; too late to be having my first meal of the day. Too late for her to be sitting in front of the TV just because she could. “Then you should go to bed. You have school tomorrow.” I walked between her and the TV screen slow enough to garner a glare and an eye roll.
In the kitchen, Mami had left a plate of food—chicken enfrijoladas—covered in tinfoil on the counter for me, as she did most nights when I worked late at the garage and then crammed in extra study hours afterward. I stuck it in the microwave and zoned out to the plate turning through the frosted window of the door.
I must have fallen asleep standing up, because the repeated beeping slowly filtered into my consciousness, and I blinked the blurriness out of my eyes. The light in the microwave was off, might have been off for a bit.
Aless hadn’t moved when I brought the plate back to the couch and collapsed into the sunken cushion next to her. The earthy flavor of the tortillas drenched in bean sauce exploded on my tongue, and my eyes rolled back as I chewed, swallowed, and shoveled more food in my mouth.
“Uh, slow down a bit, vaccum mouth. I don’t want to have to do the Heimlich on you when you’re choking.”
I spared her a glance, but Aless’s thumbs were flying over her phone while her eyes were glued to the TV. “Surprised you’d even notice.”
“It’s called multitasking.” She shot me a quick smirk and went back to… god knew what the hell she did on her phone all day.
I wasn’t ever in danger of choking on my food, but now that the biting edge of hunger had been sated, I managed to slow the steady inhale to something a little more civilized. “So what stories are the mainstream media feeding people today?”
I hated the twenty-four-hour news channels. Everything was breaking news all the time, pundits talking out of their asses, and dramatic music in the background that made people think the sky was falling. They were like steroids shots for the news junkie who was always looking for his next hit. I didn’t know when Aless had gotten hooked on the drug, but she looked like she was past saving at this point.
“You say that like you’re one of them.” Her voice rang with offense.
“One of whom?”
“Them—Republicans, right-wing fanatics who think the news media is full of lies and conspiracy theories.” The venom in her voice was unmistakable, and it was mirrored by the hardened look in her eyes.
“That’s inaccurate. Not all Republicans are right-wing fanatics.” Another thing I hated: generalizations that painted everyone in a group with the same labels, as if individuality meant nothing.
Aless rolled her eyes. “Enough of them are. Certainly enough of them voted this guy into the White House.” She waved at the TV screen, which was playing back some clip of a press conference.
Okay, she had a point. But people had the right to vote for whomever they wanted. That was the beauty of democracy: everyone had a voice, and collectively, they dictated the future of the country. I might disagree with them, but that was part of democracy too—well, it would have been if I was allowed to vote.
I stuffed more enfr
ijoladas into my mouth and concentrated on chewing, because down that path lay unproductive musings that didn’t serve any purpose than to turn my meal into a rock in my stomach.
“… After the March fifth deadline, the number of people losing DACA status will hit an inflection point, from about a hundred and twenty a day to about a thousand a day…”
People have already been losing their statuses; I knew that. But hearing the journalist state it so bluntly on television made it impossible to ignore. My attempt at enjoying what remained of my enfrijoladas was in vain; the food in my mouth became ash, and I barely swallowed it without gagging.
“Aren’t you scared?” Aless whispered. When I glanced over, she was looking right at me, tears rimming her eyes.
“Yeah,” I whispered back. “I am.” Because I was one of those people who would eventually lose my DACA status. I’d lived most of my life in fear of being found out and deported from my home, and when my status expires in about a year’s time, I’d once again be in danger of being deported.
I’d been three years old when my mom dragged me across the border. I remembered the cold from hiding in pits the coyotes had dug in the ground, nearly drowning as we crossed rivers, suffocating under the swell of tears I wasn’t allowed to let out. Mami had been pregnant with Aless at the time; looking back, it was a miracle she didn’t miscarry during the journey.
I set my plate on the coffee table, and not a moment too soon, as Aless flew across the couch and tackled me in a tight hug that a girl her size shouldn’t have been able to manage. She sniffled in my ear.
“Hey.” I wrapped my arm around her as best I could from the awkward position. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” Perhaps it was foolish of me to make a promise I had no ability to keep. But what choice did I have?
“Ay, mija, what’s wrong?” Mami came in wearing her bathrobe, hair twisted up in a towel.
Aless pulled back, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “Nothing. I just… I’m okay.”
Mami sat down in between us. “If it’s nothing, why are you crying?” She pulled both of us to her, one under each arm.
“It’s this stupid president and the stupid government. Diego belongs here, and so do you. What right do they have to try to send you back to Mexico?” Aless mumbled, her words were angry and tinged with a bit of fear.
She had the right to be afraid—with Mami being undocumented and my DACA status on the line, Aless would be left all alone if we were deported. That scared me more than the prospect of being kicked out of my country myself, and I leaned a little harder into Mami. First thing tomorrow, I’d start putting together a contingency plan for Aless in the event we’d have to deal with the worst-case scenario.
“Shh.” Mami pressed a kiss into Aless’s hair and then another one against my cheek. “I know, I know.”
“There’s got to be something we can do about it.” Aless sat up straight and faced me and Mami. “Right, D? We have to protest, call the politicians, sign petitions and stuff.”
I agreed, except my definition of “something” was actually practical, like making sure Aless had a safety net in place. I shook my head and tamped down the annoyance that bubbled up whenever I saw people holding signs and yelling like that was going to change anything.
“We shouldn’t be drawing attention to ourselves. We can’t afford it. The best thing we can do is keep our heads down and fly under the radar.”
“I can’t believe you think that way!” Aless’s hands flew up, then landed on her thighs with a loud slap. “You’re just going to stick your head in the sand and pretend the problem will go away on its own?”
“I’m not sticking my head in the sand—I’m fully aware of what the problem is. I’m not about to make the problem worse by painting a giant ‘X’ on our backs!”
“Enough! Enough!” Mami gave each of us one of her palms. “It’s late. We’re all tired. Time to go to sleep.” She stood up, turned off the TV, and shooed us off the couch. “Good night. I love you.” She gave us both a kiss on the cheek as we passed her.
I waited until Aless had closed her door before whispering, “Mami—”
“Si, si, I know.” She held up a hand and shook her head. “She’s passionate. She cares. That’s a good thing. You care in a different way. That’s good too.” She gave me a pat on the cheek and went to her room. “Good night, mijo.”
I pulled my 2007 Ford Focus up to the curb in front of the library and put it in park. “Remember, the first gear’s a little finicky. Be gentle with it, okay?”
Aless rolled her eyes as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ve only told me this for the eighteenth time already.” She was out of the car before I could respond.
Who could blame me for being protective of my car? Sure, it was nothing fancy, but I’d basically rebuilt it from spare parts the garage didn’t need anymore. The thing should have been long dead by now with all the mileage on it, but it actually ran pretty smoothly—all except for that first gear, which kept giving me problems.
Leaving the keys in the ignition, I stepped out and immediately saw Derek standing on the sidewalk watching me. Derek with his ass hugging shorts and too tight T-shirt that showed off his wiry frame. His eyebrows were bushy yet manicured, and more than once I’d caught myself wanting to run my thumbs over them to see if they felt as soft and fuzzy as they looked. And he had nice calves—muscular and a little bit too thick for his size, like he’d developed them from frequent running.
“Hey, Derek.” I waved and flashed him an easy grin.
“Hey.” He did this thing where he shifted his balance to one leg, the other foot wrapped around his ankle, both hands in his pockets, and lifted a shoulder as if he were waving with it. It was kind of weird body language, but cute as fuck.
“Hey, Derek.”
I’d completely forgotten about Aless, standing in front of the driver’s side door, with a knowing smile on her face. That girl was far too observant for her own good.
“Uh, hi.” Derek seemed to just notice her too.
“I’m Alessandra.” She stepped forward. “Diego’s sister. So, you guys are, like, study buddies, right?”
The way she said “study buddies” left no doubt as to her real meaning. Derek’s eyes grew wide, his jaw dropped open, and his shoulders tilted to one side—it was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen.
“Study buddies, yeah.” He put the emphasis on “study,” but then ruined the effect by casting his eyes in my direction, as if we shared a secret that I wasn’t privy to.
“Uh huh.” She wasn’t buying it.
“Aless.” I used my best stern-big-brother voice, but she grinned at me like the little brat she could be.
“I like your shirt.” Derek nodded to Aless’s T-shirt. Both Aless and I glanced at her chest, which read, “I’m with the resistance.”
“Thanks! Diego doesn’t like it.” She rolled her eyes.
I might have thrown a bit of a hissy fit the first time I saw her wearing it. Why did she insist on drawing that kind of attention to us?
“Why not?” Derek addressed the question to me, his bushy brows drawn together in confusion.
“Because he’s a DACA recipient and Mami’s undocumented, so he thinks we should keep our heads down and fly under the radar.” She threw my own words back at me.
I could tell the second Aless’s comment sank in; Derek’s face transformed before my eyes. His eyebrows lifted in shock, his shoulders slouched in defeat, and then he pulled his hands out of his pockets like he was going to reach for me. But he didn’t, and the loss of the aborted hug crawled across my skin. I adjusted my backpack on my shoulder to shake off the urge to step a little closer to him. The guy had zero poker face; he was going to make a terrible lawyer if he kept giving away his every thought through nonverbal communication.
Also, my sister and he
r big fucking mouth. “Jesus, Aless, announce it to the whole world, why don’t you?”
“What? Derek’s not the whole world. He’s your study buddy.” I wished she’d stop saying it that way. “Anyway, you guys have fun… studying. Later!” Her eyes twinkled as she waved her fingers at us and turned back to the car. Derek slipped me a shy grin that seemed to say he didn’t mind Aless’s teasing.
“Aless,” I called out before she shut the driver’s side door. “Be careful!”
“Yeah, yeah!” She waved dismissively. “I will!”
I watched her drive away, cringing as my car made an unhappy sound when she shifted out of first gear. I really had to find time to fix that thing.
“Your sister’s pretty cool,” Derek said as Aless drove out of sight.
“She can be, when she’s not being a pain in the ass.” We turned for the library doors, and I held one open for him.
The murmured “thanks” and the quick peek from under his lashes as he slipped past had way too much of an effect on me. I tapped my fingers against my thigh to keep them from stroking the smooth-looking skin of his arm.
“You never said you were a DACA recipient.” Derek’s voice dropped to a whisper as we crossed the library lobby.
Not this again—damn you, Aless. “It’s not really something I advertise.”
He nodded like he understood. Finally, someone who got it. “Did you go to that panel discussion last week? The one on immigration reform? It wasn’t only about DACA or the Dream Act, but they did touch a bit on both.”
It rang a bell. I may have seen flyers posted on campus about it. “No, I don’t get involved with that kind of political stuff.”
Rogue Nights Page 16
