Before You (14 page)

W
hen I get home that evening, my family is sitting down for dinner. Grace grins at me. Happiness floods my heart, filling every vessel with goodness. Grace does that to me. I want to hug her and make her smile and protect her forever.

“How was your day?” Grace asks, her voice low and sweet.

“Great,” I say. “Yours?”

Tiny arms wrap around me. My eyes close. This is the best kind of happiness.

She lets go. “I finally memorized ABCs! Want to hear?”

“Of course.”

She sings, pauses at one point, trying to remember which letter comes next. She gets it wrong, then remembers right and continues.

When she finishes, I clap like it's the best song I've ever heard. Which it kind of is. Grace can transform little things into something meaningful, because it's from her.

Dad tells Grace that her song was perfect. Susan agrees. They ask me to join them. A plate is waiting. Grilled chicken, veggie medley, and rosemary mashed potatoes.

I sit and eat. Susan picks up the conversation from where she left off when I walked in. Something about work. Lawyers at the firm are sticking her with a case she doesn't want, but she has to represent it if she wants to stay on their good side.

While my stepmom talks, I tease Grace. I tickle her little leg underneath the table. She cracks up every time. Whenever Susan or Dad ask what's so funny, we act like nothing happened. We're a team, Grace and I.

When Susan finishes talking, everyone looks at me.

“So, what's going on in Faith's world?” Dad asks.

I try not to unload my problems on him. “Nothing,” I say. Keep it simple.

Susan cocks her head. “Do you want to talk about last Sunday?”

My defenses go up. “No,” I answer.

Susan chuckles. “Come on, Faith. You weren't sick. Are you and Jason fighting? Is that why you sat next to me?”

Years fade into oblivion, forgotten. Months pass with no intrusion from Dad or Susan. But now they choose to ask questions about my love life. My personal feelings misfire in every direction, confused, tentative.

Things with Jason are over. Word around school is that Jason wants to fix our relationship. I don't want that. When it's done, it's done.

Then there is Diego. Beautifully troubled Diego. He got me to talk, cracked my shell. It was the scars, I think. Seeing his weakness and recognizing it as strength.

Diego and I can't be together. But maybe we can be friends.

I trust him.

“Don't worry, Faith,” Dad says. “I'm sure whatever it is, you two will resolve it.”

I set my fork down, look, seriously look, at my dad. His brown hair is thinning. Dark bags under his eyes collect stress like dirt in drainpipes.

When was the last time I was real with him?

“Actually, Dad, Jason and I broke up,” I say. “For good.”

I wait for his reaction. It's not what I expect.

“Are you happy with that decision?” he asks.

No yelling. He wants to know if I am happy. It feels strange, not like his usual demeanor when it comes to my personal life.

“I'm okay with it, yeah. I do care about Jason. I couldn't
not
care; I mean, we spent so long together. But it's not what I want anymore. And it was his decision—granted, I think it's a good one—so it's on him to explain to the people at church.”

That way, it won't look bad on my dad.

“Honey, the only person I'm worried about is you. If you're happy, then we're happy,” Dad says, though the pinched look on his face hints at something else.

My chest tightens. My eyes sting.

“Thanks,” I say.

I eat the remainder of my meal, hope and sadness swelling within. I think Dad wants to be happy for me, but I know I'm not the daughter he expected. And change doesn't come easily.

In my room, I practice dance routines—readying myself for our next competition—until my arms and legs feel like rubber, until I sweat from head to toe. I take a shower and lie down to sleep. I replay everything from the beach. In my dreams, Diego is mine. And I love every minute of it.

 

At 8
A.M.
, Grace jumps on my bed like it's a trampoline. Time for church. My little sister wears a frilly yellow dress speckled with white flowers. Her hair is tied back with elastic bands. She looks angelic.

“Morning, Gracie,” I say.

“Good morning, Faith,” she says.

I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. She giggles and tries to squirm away.

My cell phone chirps. Text message. Probably Melissa. When I got back to the shore yesterday, I found her and Javier talking. As far as I know, they had a good time. Nothing serious. Diego's friends were there, too. They won't mention seeing me at the beach, Diego says. I believe him.

After we got off the Jet Ski, I wanted to touch Diego again. Of course I didn't. He kept a respectful distance. He understood that I couldn't go there, especially in front of so many people. I didn't miss the looks he snuck me, though—a smile here, a grin there.

I view the message. Don't recognize the number.

Good morning,
bonita
. –D.

Diego.

How'd he get my number?

Melissa. I should've known.

Diego's text makes me smile.

“Who is it?” Grace asks, reaching for my phone. Forever trying to be like me.

I lower my voice to a whisper. “Can you keep a secret?” I ask.

She can. Grace is the best secret keeper ever, even if she's only five years old.

“Yes,” she says sweetly. Her eyes go big in anticipation.

“Okay,” I say. “But you have to promise to never, ever tell.”

“Bananas,” she says, pretending to zip her mouth shut.

“Bananas” is Grace's equivalent to “Promise.” I don't know where she draws the similarity. I asked her once. It was disorienting, like getting turned around in an unknown city. Completely lost in her five-year-old logic.

“It's a boy,” I say.

Grace isn't old enough to be grossed out by boys yet.

“Not Jason,” she says, without missing a beat.

Have to be careful with words around her. She's a sponge, soaking everything up.

“Not Jason,” I confirm.

She giggles. “Who?”

“D,” I tell her. Just in case. I don't want her to accidentally say his real name too loudly.

“Come on,” I say before she can ask more. “Time for church.”

I quickly program Diego's number in my phone—under “D,” of course. Grace leaves the room so I can shower and get ready.

Church is the same routine—say hello to everyone,
yes, I'm doing fine, thanks
, take a seat next to Susan. The sermon lasts forty-five minutes. At the end, Jason cuts through the crowd. I try to slip away. Too late.

“Faith,” he says. “How are you?”

“Good, Jason. How are you?”

“Good,” he answers. “You look nice.”

I'm wearing the same thing I always wear—a dress that says nothing about my personality, except maybe that I follow the rules. I understand now how clothing can speak volumes, how it can tell a story. My dress feels like it's telling someone else's.

And Jason is wrong. I do not look nice. I look fake.

“Thanks,” I say, being polite. People are watching.

Jason shifts from one foot to the other. “I've been wanting to talk to you. Do you think maybe we can go out tonight? Sunset on the beach?”

At the mention of the beach, my heart gallops. I think of Diego. Memories assault me.

“No,” I say.

“No?” Jason asks.

He expected me to jump back into his arms.

“Don't be mad, Faith,” Jason pleads. “I made a mistake. I hated thinking that you might be into Diego, or that he was into you.”

Guilt crawls up my spine. He was right all along. I
am
into Diego.

“It would be better if we were just friends,” I tell him.

Jason's eyes are exaggerated in their surprise. “Faith, babe, we have almost three years together. Don't throw that away.”

Irritation makes its way into my tone. “You threw it away. Not me,” I say quietly, sharply.

He shouldn't have let me go in the first place.

I turn away. Jason calls to me.

“Now is not the time,” I say, referring to our audience.

I leave. Watching me go, he seems sad. Which is strange. Because he must have known.

I was already gone.

M
y face is finally healed and looking normal again. Purple is definitely not my color.
Mi padre
comments on it at dinner.

“You look better,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say, taking a bite.

“How's school?”

I'm doing well. I tried to impress no one with my entry exams. In fact, I Christmas-treed most of the multiple-choice answers. Now I apply myself. Good grades are the reward.

“All Bs,” I answer.

Mi padre
looks up from his food, a smile on his face. “Proud of you.”

I guess he thought I would find more trouble to get into when he brought me to the States.

“
Gracias,
” I say.

It's hard, really hard, to live a pure life after being dirty. My job doesn't pay much, but I keep remembering that it's clean money. If I want something now, I can't threaten or intimidate my way into it. I have to work.

And I haven't carried my gun, not once. I still feel naked without it. Hopefully over time that will fade. Maybe one day I can stop looking over my shoulder.

Hope is a beautiful thing—dangerous, but beautiful.

 

On Monday, my first few classes are torture. I can't concentrate on anything but Faith. I reread my chemistry assignment three times before I take in the words on the page.

At lunch I search the cafeteria, looking for Faith. I don't see her. Both good and bad. At least she's not with Jason.

I wonder where she went.

“Lookin' for your girlfriend?” Javier asks, messing with me.

“Shut up,” I reply.

“I've never seen Faith like she was at
la playa
. She's into you,” Luis says.

I glance around quickly.

“Quiet,” I say. “I don't need Luis's big mouth ruining things.”

While the guys continue to mess with me, I think about what it was like to crack Faith's shield. I need to expose more of my past to deepen the crack. It's tough, though. I don't like to talk about the cartel or
mi madre
.

As complicated as it is, I still hope for a glimpse of Faith. It finally comes in seventh period. We've got the same class. While the teacher is quieting everybody down, I steal a peek at Faith, snatch it out of thin air, hold it close.

She's looking at me, too. Her cheeks redden. Her eyes go back to her desk. I want to tell her that I like it when she stares at me.

Javier grabs a chair next to me. He asks me something about a paper that's due soon, but I can't concentrate on him because Faith is looking at me again. She grins, and I practically forget the whole room.

I don't get a chance to talk to Faith until we meet in the library after class. We're nearly done with book fair prep. My detention is over in one day
.

Faith walks in wearing her dance uniform: short purple and black skirt, tight matching top. I have to work hard not to let my body betray how much I like it. Behind her are some of her dance team members. I recognize them from her lunch table—or at least, the table she used to sit at before she and Jason split.

Her followers are fake. Fake nails. Skin tanned by artificial sun. Colored contacts. Streaks of yellow woven through their hair like caution tape.

“Please. Not now,” Faith says to them.

Melissa steps out from behind the Fakes. She waves to me. Faith sees me and winces.

They stop a few feet away. I pick up on part of the conversation, trying to figure out why Faith looks so uncomfortable.

“We're just saying, Faith. This is not normal,” the first Fake says.

“Yeah,” a second Fake chimes in. “You're, like, meant to be with Jason. You should totally give him another chance.”

I tense.

“He wants you back,” the third Fake says. “And as your friends, we think you should listen to us. I mean, who would've ever thought Jason and Faith would break up? No. You have to be with him or else, like, the world will stop.”

Fake One takes control of the situation. “He broke up with you because he was having a stupid guy moment. You shouldn't hold it against him. He really is sorry.”

I price the books, acting unfazed. Anger swarms inside me, a thousand wasps ready to sting.

They go on about reputations for what feels like forever. Finally, Melissa cuts in.

“That's ridiculous. Who cares what people think? If Faith doesn't want to be with Jason, whatever.” She shakes her head, annoyed. “It's her decision. Not yours; not anyone else's.”

The Fakes are stunned into silence. Faith glances gratefully at her best friend.

So do I.

Shrugging and flipping their hair, the Fakes walk away. Melissa asks Lori to follow her to another part of the library to get poster board and markers for signs.

Faith and I are alone.

Faith plays with the ends of her long hair. “I'm sorry you had to hear that,” she says.

“It's okay,” I say. I'm glad that she ignored her friends. I want her to myself.

“I'm not taking him back,” she says.

I step closer. “You sure?”

You are incredible. So beautiful.

“Yes.”

“Why not?” I want to hear her say that she wants me. That she can't stop thinking about me. Because I can't get her out of my mind, either.

“I don't want to be with anyone,” she says.

My heart slams into my chest.

“No one?” I ask.

Faith looks at the floor as she answers. “Nope.”

“I don't believe you,” I say. “The club. The beach. You can't erase that.”

“Can't we just be friends?” she asks.

“No,” I answer. I want to be more than friends. A lot more.

“Well, that's all I have to offer. Take it or leave it.”

I respect her. She tries to protect her father's image. But she doesn't want to let me go, either.

“Fine,” I agree. I'll take it because something is better than nothing with this girl. I like her enough that I'll settle for “friends.”

For now.