Historically Inaccurate

by Shay Bravo

  “Then what are you getting in exchange for helping me?”

  “A clean conscience, I guess. Life isn’t always about what you get and don’t get. Now, accept a bit of kindness and believe in me for a minute.”

  Sometimes a stranger’s kindness is all we have, even if the stranger is the person who got you there in the first place. I want to make things right with him, if anything so I can forgive myself. I don’t want to be the bad person in Ethan’s life, someone who crashes through and leaves the next moment without caring about the repercussions of their actions.

  “What’s your plan for convincing them not to assign me anything illegal?”

  “I can’t assure you it won’t be illegal, but you won’t have to break into any houses or stuff like that.”

  “How so?”

  “Easy. I’ll threaten to quit.”

  “Are you serious? You went through everything to get in only to quit?”

  Raising my eyebrows, I push myself off the monkey bars and walk closer to him.

  “You’re on my side now?”

  “Of course not. I’m just saying that it seems ridiculous to me that you would willingly break the law—”

  “I never said I did it willingly.”

  “Were you threatened? Were you forced to break into my house?”

  He’s right, again, damn him.

  “I’m trying to help you, Ethan. If you can’t see that then fine, go get your key yourself, but they’re less likely to give it to you than they’d be to me. I really am sorry for what happened but I’m not going to stay here begging you to believe me when you’re acting like an ass.”

  “I—” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I guess.”

  It’s shocking to hear him say that. There’s this little ray of temptation to record him with my phone so I can present it in court as a way to get out of a prison sentence, but that would be trying my luck.

  He’s looking at me from under his glasses with his head tilted, and that action alone for some reason makes me want to accept his apology, but I still assume a defensive stance to hold my ground. He has every right in the world to mistrust me, and I do feel like the bad person in this scenario; there’s surely something I can do for him.

  “Let me help you. I swear I’ll get your key back.”

  “And the fork.”

  “What?”

  “I want the fork back too. If possible.”

  “Why?”

  “Ease of mind, I don’t know, man. I don’t like the fact there’s people out there with my grandparents’ shit. They don’t deserve anything like this to happen to them. They’ve never done anyone harm.” He sighs. “I want things to go back to normal, Sol.”

  The trees rustle around us, the wind blowing making the chain links of the swing set clink for a few seconds as the conversation falls silent between us.

  While I had been ready to open my mouth to protest once more, I only need to see his face to understand the feeling. The fact that he’s been forced into a position he isn’t comfortable with, even on a small scale, rings too true and similar to me to even begin to offer other alternatives. I have to get his things back.

  But only Anna knows where they keep the fork and any other artifacts that the club has gathered throughout the years, along with the selfies and incriminating data any of the members have given the officials. Even I know what her answer to asking for the fork will be.

  “No.”

  Anna pushes a stray hair out of her eyes. Her hair is up in a messy knot that looks effortlessly easy and yet painfully intricate. Except for the constant humming of the AC pumping through the vents in the roof, the art studio is silent. Her pastel drawing of a bowl of fruit set on a table in front of us is about halfway finished. The shapes and colors are neatly replicated in her sketch pad.

  “That’s what I thought you’d say.” I sigh and push my hands into my pockets as I walk around the room, the horses (or art benches depending on what you want to call them) forming a weird circle around the fruit. The light is dim, making the shadows on Anna’s face deepen and lighten depending on where I am walking. Her concentration is fully on the fruit.

  “Not only would it be against club policy, but he’s asking for this while he’s not a member.” She finishes a stroke then holds her pastel back to appreciate her work. “Who is to say that he won’t tell on us as soon as he has what he wants?”

  “He promised he wouldn’t, he really wants peace of mind.”

  “You’re easy to guilt trip, Sol.”

  “What?”

  “Carlos mentioned that he convinced you to join because you guys didn’t have many classes together.”

  That was not completely true—while yes, Carlos and I knew our schedules would not align very well once we started college, there were plenty of times to meet in person before he joined the club. It was the fact that I didn’t want to meet a lot of times in person that made him pop the question. After all, I had been complaining about not being involved much at school and had started feeling like I was just going back and forth between home and my classes. While my summer had consisted of me and Carlos partying nonstop, when school started it was like my life had fallen apart in front of me once more.

  “Think about it, Solecito, volunteer hours, fund-raisers, you can even run to be an officer if you want. It’s a group of different people who like the same thing as you. Why don’t you give it a shot?” he’d said.

  We were hanging out in my room and he was sitting on my desk chair while Michi purred on his lap. I should have known it was all an evil plan the moment he started looking like a character from The Godfather.

  “I don’t know if I’ll have time,” I’d answered.

  It was my first semester in college and I was taking all the classes I could, but one of the things Mom had mentioned from Mexico was that I should join clubs and make friends. According to her, resumés always look more interesting when a recent graduate shows passion that can be reflected into workplaces later on.

  I wanted to make her proud, show her I could be a joiner and get good grades even with her far away. Dad had told her about all the time I spent in my room by myself, and she was beginning to worry.

  “Then try it next semester,” Carlos had said.

  “Why are you so desperate?” I’d wanted to know. Apparently even back then they needed as many members as they could get to stay afloat.

  “I’m always desperate for you.” He’d winked then raised his arms to catch the pillow I’d thrown at him. “Think about it this way—we’ll have more time to chill together. Because you’ve been so busy, I haven’t seen your annoying face in, like, a week.”

  He had been right, like Anna is right now. There’s something in me that doesn’t like disappointing people.

  “Ethan didn’t guilt trip me. I honestly feel responsible for what I did.”

  Anna puts her pastel down and studies me for a moment. I wonder if she feels as stressed as I do but is better at managing it.

  “Would it have made a difference if Ethan hadn’t found you that day? Would you care as much if you had been able to come and go?”

  “I brought a fork with me that day to replace the one I took because I felt bad about stealing from two old people.”

  The Winstons were that nice neighborhood old couple everyone loves. Mom would sometimes invite them over to birthday parties. Memories of my childhood living a couple of houses down the road are rose colored, although most memories of my childhood are. My little happy family living in our old wooden home with two floors and an ample backyard, the swing Dad built himself, and the garden my mom kept in the front.

  Anna tilts her head, looking mildly impressed. “Clever. Have you told Ethan this?”

  “No, I didn’t think it would matter to him.”

  “Have you thought about buying a fork l
ike the one you took and giving it to him?”

  That thought had also not crossed my mind. It’s the simple solutions that always come harder, apparently. “No.”

  “Sol, if you want Ethan to stop bothering you, tell him we got rid of the key and give him a fork you bought at Walmart or Dollar Tree. He probably won’t think twice about it.” She gets up, stretches her arms. “But I would prefer it if he stayed, we really do need more members.”

  “What happens if the club doesn’t get the number of members it needs?”

  She gathers her pastels and other pencils that had been resting on a bench next to hers.

  “We’ll cease to exist. No funding and no ways to participate in activities mean death for a club. We could try to do fund-raisers, but we need school approval for that, and guess what? You have to be a qualified organization to host those, so there that would go. Our sponsors would not be able to give us enough funding to stay afloat either.”

  “Sponsors?” I didn’t think anyone would like to aid a club with such obscure beginnings.

  “Most of them are past club members. One is the head of some historical archive up in Portland, there’s another one who is some sort of business owner in Tennessee.” She shrugs. “I’m mostly the messenger, really.”

  She doesn’t seem too preoccupied with the future of the organization, in fact, she appears to be at ease with everything that is happening. I guess that’s her charm—being on top of everything and knowing how to fix things all while maintaining calm is not something every person can do.

  Maybe I should bring her my laptop; she would probably know how to fix that too.

  “If there’s no way of giving his things back, then I’ll talk with him again to figure something out,” I mumble.

  “What are you going to do?” Anna asks.

  “I’ll try to convince him to stay.” As crazy as it sounds, Ethan is kind of growing on me.

  “Sounds good.” She sets her stuff on the horse, grabs her bright-yellow backpack, and opens one of its many zippers.

  “But I have a request.”

  All it takes is a mere look over her shoulder, and I am somewhat intimidated. “And that is?”

  “You can’t make him do anything illegal, nothing that would put him in danger.” I pause. “If it’s too out there, you’ll be losing people instead of gaining them. I’ll quit.”

  The room becomes silent as I stop speaking, and Anna slowly nods. “I don’t have much say over what kind of challenge the participant gets, but I will try to do my best to keep him safe. I know some of the risks are higher for some of us, and I wouldn’t want to bring any harm to Ethan.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Like I said, the club will ease burdens. No matter what happens.” She smiles.

  Nodding, I take my backpack, sure I’m already running late for class. The Fine Arts and Music Complex is on the other side of the campus and I have a ten-minute walk to make it to calculus.

  “I’ll see you at the next meeting, then?”

  “Sure thing, girl. Don’t forget to bring your swimsuit.”

  I turn around. “What?”

  “That’s all I can say.” Anna takes her drawing and heads out.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  On top of hiding secret organizations from my parents, working, and staying up all night typing out responses on my phone to my classmates’ dull arguments on my political science discussion board without going off on the guy playing devil’s advocate, I also have a laptop to fix. The blue screen has not gone away even though I promised my girl Mary that I’d begin walking closer to church if she performed a miracle on it. Without much IT experience myself, I turn to the only woman who can actually do the job.

  “It’s been like that for how long?”

  “Four days or so.” Diane and I are sitting in front of my laptop, the screen of death still mocking my failed attempts at fixing it.

  She crosses her fingers and rests her chin on them. Diane might not be majoring in computer science, but she did build her own PC over the last year or so. She calls it her child, and paid for it all herself through hard work and finding the right sales online. If anyone can fix my laptop—aside from a paid technician, that is—it will be her.

  “I’ll have to take it apart.”

  My heart sinks. I grab my laptop and hug it against my chest. “Not my poor baby.”

  “Well, then get a new one.”

  “I don’t have the money.” The door of my room opens, followed by a loud meow and Michi jumping up on the bed.

  “Woman, when you dropped your laptop something busted inside. I’m not sure what it was, but it’s either out of my expertise or we’ll have to replace something that might not be cheap. Besides, at this point I doubt it’s worth it spilling more money on your laptop—it would be better to upgrade it.”

  “Will you come look at cheap laptops with me on Sunday?”

  If I take a bit of my paycheck for the next few weeks I’ll be able to afford a decent enough laptop. I won’t have money to go out to eat or for coffee every morning, but I’ll get over it. Besides, I can pay for a new laptop in installments and hopefully that will buffer the pain and allow me to continue saving for future investments like plane tickets to go see Mom.

  “Sure, as long as it’s before six, because I’m meeting someone that day.” She smiles and picks up her phone.

  Ah yes, the modern romance. The girl in question being Natalie, whom Diane is still messaging and going strong with. Although they’ve never met in person, they do talk to each other on the phone or through video chat.

  “You’re meeting her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where?”

  “A coffee shop.”

  I hum my response.

  “It’s cliché but she said she was going to do homework there and I kind of slipped in the idea that I could study there too . . . and we could get dinner afterward.”

  “Ooh,” I slap her arm. “Smooth bitch.”

  She pushes her braids away. “You know me.”

  “What is she studying?”

  “Communications.” We share a little smile. “She’s a sophomore, and she’s cute.”

  Diane looks through her phone before she shows me a picture of a girl. Her brown eyes are soft, and she has ashy blond hair cut right under her chin. The girl has a tattoo of some sort of constellation on her neck, and her lips are painted a bright red. Not entirely who I would expect Diane to like, but Diane’s smile is enough for me to hope this girl is good to her.

  “But I’m free all day before that to go laptop hunting.” She pauses. “Do you really want a laptop?”

  “Yes, I do.” She’s been trying to convince me for the longest time that I can build my own PC, but I don’t see the point when I can buy it as a single unit, although instant gratification and capitalism do not mix well with my wallet.

  “Fine, we’ll go look for a laptop.”

  “Yay.” I wrap my arms around her, hugging her so tight she nearly has to wrestle me off her. “You’re the best.”

  “You only want me for my car.” Not a lie. When all you can do is bike around, your friends become like an older sibling who has to drive you everywhere.

  “And your knowledge of technology,” I add.

  She makes a face and I blow her a kiss, looking down at my phone and wondering what to text Mom for the night.

  “My co-worker, Karim, says that they sell these patties that taste really good and are vegan and I wanted to try them.” I push the cart through the aisle of frozen products at the grocery store, the concrete floor making my cart jump every now and then, though it doesn’t help that I got the “dancing” cart.

  “Hmm, I don’t know,” Dad says on the other end of the line. He sent me to the store to get some hamburger patties and other things to grill tonight. At fi
rst we were going for the usual cheese and bacon patties but then I remembered Karim boasting about some delicious vegan patties, which is extremely weird because I rarely get curious about vegan products.

  “Well, if you want to try them, bring them home, but bring the ones I like too.”

  I smile, knowing that was what he was going to say.

  “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “Okay, be careful on your way back.”

  “I will, bye, papi.”

  He had offered me his truck to drive to the grocery store—he suggests it from time to time as a nudge for me to start driving again even when we both know I’m not quite ready to do so—but either way, the store is not far from home, and the afternoon is nice enough to bike here and back.

  I open the door of one of the many freezers, take out a box of cheese and bacon patties, and then move my cart forward until I find the vegan products. I stare at the veggie patties for a good five seconds before giving in and placing them inside the cart as well.

  It takes about ten minutes to gather charcoal, lighter fluid, bread, cheese, ham, and another couple of things before I finally approach the registers. This store doesn’t have self-checkout, which means I have to wait in line behind five people because only register eight is open.

  Once I’m in line, I take two chocolate bars and add them to the cart. Dad will like that.

  Too busy scrolling through Instagram on my phone, I fail to realize it’s my turn until I hear a small laugh.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I look up, slightly startled to see Ethan—in a bright-green shirt with the store’s logo on it—staring back at me. It’s jarring seeing him in a place I’ve been to multiple times. How could I have missed him before?

  “Shopping?” I say placing my stuff on the belt. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

  Ethan grabs the first item and quickly scans it. “I’ve worked here for a while actually, nearly a year.”

  Okay, I am the worst at recognizing people.