Before You (4 page)

D
iego curses at me and bends to pick up shards of glass.

A million shards of glass splintering, a thousand emotions.

I look at him, the broken dish, him again.

“Sorry,” I mumble, and crouch down to help. I didn't mean to bump him. It was an accident.

“What are you doing?” Diego hisses.

I realize how close we are, only inches apart. People are staring.

“Helping,” I answer. “What does it look like?”

“You've done enough already,” he says.

I put on my game face, like I'm not bothered by the people staring, or by him. I carefully grab broken pieces and place them in the tub next to him.

“Please stop,” Diego says.

Pause.

He said please. So. He actually has manners under that armor plating.

“Faith.” Jason's voice, saying my name, the sound familiar, like a fuzzy blanket I might have outgrown. He holds out a hand. “Come on, babe. Let him finish cleaning.”

I ignore my boyfriend and continue to help Diego. It was my fault the plate broke. Therefore, I will clean it up.

“You should listen to your little boyfriend,” Diego says.

“Little?” Jason says, stepping up to Diego.

Diego stands. They're the same size. Big. Liable to cause a scene if anything gets out of hand.

“That's what I said,” Diego fires back.

Suddenly, Sean and Rob, two of Jason's football buddies, are beside him. I stand and push a hand against Jason's chest.

“Lay off,” I warn. He's mad. It doesn't look like he'll back down. “Please,” I add, stepping closer to my boyfriend.

My leg brushes his. I press up against him and trail a finger down his neck. It distracts him.

“I'll meet you at the table in a sec,” I say.

Jason leans down and kisses me. His mind is somewhere else now, content in the false reality I've created. I wait until he's seated to turn back to Diego.

Diego stares at me with angry eyes. “Figures,” he says.

I ignore him and grab the last remaining broken pieces, contributing to an unfinished mosaic lining the dirty bottom of the tub.

“What's your problem, Faith?” Diego asks.

It feels weird to hear him say my name. I try not to like the way it sounds.

“I don't understand you,” he says. “I try to get you to leave me alone, you don't listen. I ask nicely, you still don't listen. What's it gonna take?”

Tomorrow is my last day escorting Diego.

“One more day,” I say. “That's all it's going to take.”

I'm holding another broken piece when a guy with an earpiece approaches us.

“What's going on here?” he asks.

“Nothing, Bennie,” Diego says. “Just a broken plate.”

Bennie notices the glass I'm holding.

“Oh goodness. What are you doing?” Bennie asks.

“Helping,” I say. What's the big deal?

“You can't do that,” he says. “Please put that down. Have you been cut? Does anything hurt?”

“No,” I reply.

He turns to Diego. “How could you make her help you?”

“He didn't make me. I offered,” I say, putting down the glass.

“This is unacceptable,” Bennie hisses to Diego. “Guests cannot help you clean. What were you thinking?”

“I offered,” I say again. “He didn't make me do anything.”

Bennie treats me as though I'm invisible. I almost wish I were.

“We'll talk about this later,” he says to Diego and walks away.

The muscles in Diego's jaw are constricted, like guitar strings strung too tightly.

“Happy now?” he says. “My first day on the job and I am already in trouble.”

The blond hostess walks up and trails a hand across Diego's arm, batting her eyelashes, a clump of dark spider legs reaching for her brows.

“Diego, sweetie, are you all right?” she asks.

Her hand moves up his shoulder, down his chest. I can't watch.

Someone make it stop.

“Looks like your first day on the job isn't going as bad as you say,” I mumble.

Diego's eyes narrow but I don't wait for his response. I walk back to the table to join my friends.

“What the hell, Watters?” Sean says. “Are you trying to get us kicked out? I mean, don't get me wrong, we'll fight for you, but he doesn't seem worth it.”

I don't correct him. Don't say it was actually Jason who stepped up to Diego.

Instead, I quickly glance behind me. Diego is gone.

“Want some
queso
?” Rachel offers, her hair red like smeared raspberries, her face crowded with freckles. Also on the dance team, she dates Rob, who's sitting beside her, his blue hat pulled tight around his fringe of black hair. When he smiles, you almost don't notice the bump in his nose, left over from a hard hit during a football game last year. Broken once, bent forever.

“Sure, I'll have some,” I say, dipping a tortilla chip into the cheese, a gooey glob of melting wax. On second thought, I put the chip down. I'm not that hungry.

I glance at Melissa. She's looking right at me, grinning.

“So, anyway,” Rachel says, “we were just talking about dance practice.”

Rachel has a way of keeping conversation light, fun. I'm grateful for her presence.

“Can you believe how Tracy Ram challenged you?” Rachel says. “It's like she automatically vetoes everything you say just for the heck of it, no matter how great your suggestions are. Thank goodness Coach overruled her. That move was hot.”

“You know what else is hot?” Melissa says, eyebrows dancing in mischief.

“Shut up,” I warn under my breath. Melissa is sitting close enough to hear. Unfortunately, so is Jason. He gives me a weird look. Melissa ignores me.

“That new boy, Diego,” Melissa says.

Sean cringes. Poor guy. He needs to let it go. It's never going to happen.

“You serious?” Jason asks. “The guy back there with the tattoos and scars?”

“Don't forget the hot bod and sexy grin,” Melissa says. She's the only one in our group who could get away with something like this. People expect it from her—crazy, wild Melissa. If I said it? Watch out.

“You're weird, Lissa,” Rachel says. “Is it just me who doesn't see it? Help me out here, Faith.”

My tongue suddenly feels thick, an extra coating of syrupy spinelessness.

“What?” I say. She wants me to tell her whether I think Diego is hot?

“Sexy or not sexy?” Rachel clarifies.

“Come on,” Sean complains. “No one wants to hear you girls talk about hot guys. Unless, of course, those hot guys happen to be us.”

“Let her answer,” Melissa says.

Sean backs off, a dog with his tail tucked between his legs.

All eyes are on me.

“I, um, we don't need to talk about this.” I cannot possibly answer that question. If I lie, Melissa will know. I hate lying to my best friend. But if I tell the truth, Jason will get angry.

Melissa answers for me. “Of course Faith doesn't think Diego is cute. She's Faith Watters. Stays on the straight and narrow. Dates reputable guys—” She pauses to wink at Jason so he doesn't see the mockery in her statement. “She'd never even think twice about someone of Diego's social standing.”

I'm livid, my anger like hot lava, bubbling beneath the surface. And Melissa knows it.

“Fine,” I say. “You want an answer?”

“Oh no, honey. We already know the answer. It's predictable,” Melissa says sweetly, but I hear her I-dare-you-to-say-it undertone.

I don't notice that I am talking loudly. I'm too angry to care. “Diego Alvarez
is
hot!” I say.

Behind me, a spoon clanks to the floor. I automatically turn to look. Diego is cleaning a booth two spots away. He's reaching for the tumbled spoon.

My lungs tighten. Fear is a boa constrictor, squeezing, terminating my air supply.

Diego continues cleaning the table, acting oblivious. And I almost believe him.

If it weren't for his knowing grin.

 

When I get home that evening, my dad is waiting for me. Always waiting.

I wish he would stop.

I love him for caring.

I am two people living in one body. Constant turmoil. There's not enough space for both of us.

I wonder about rubber bands. Always stretching to fit situations. Always shrinking back down to size. Versatile, able to accommodate every need. Flexible. Wrapping around everything, holding it in place. Saving it from all falling to pieces.

I'm a rubber band, but I stretched too far. I broke.

I cannot save us anymore.

I cannot even save myself.

“I was about to call you,” Dad says. It's almost seven o'clock. Time for Awana, a program at church where parents drop off their kids to learn Bible verses and songs. The children are split into groups and sorted by age. I'm a helper in Grace's room.

“Let's go,” Dad says. “Can't be late.”

My family piles into Dad's SUV. We only live five minutes from church, which can be good and bad. Good, because I can procrastinate until the last minute, like tonight, and not be late. Bad, because a lot of church people take that as an invitation to stop by unannounced. It's not that I don't like the church people—some of them go to my school and are really nice. It's just that I often feel out of place with them. Like a black sheep in a flock of white.

Certainly you see my stains.

Or are you truly blind?

Sure, I've read the Bible from beginning to end. And yeah, I know key verses. I even bow my head at the right moments for prayer. But on the inside, I'm different. I have secrets. A dark past.

Everyone sees me as they want to see me, the pastor's daughter who comes to church every week and says the right things. They miss who I really am.

I am a liar.

If any of them bothered to dig a little deeper, maybe they would uncover the truth.

Jason's parents go to our church, as do a few of my friends' parents. His mom loves me, wants me to be with her son. She's not the only one. It feels like an arranged marriage, as though it's already been determined that Faith Watters will be with Jason Magg forever. It's what everyone expects, and they don't like to be disappointed.

Sometimes I wish Dad weren't a pastor. Maybe then things would be easier. Maybe then Mom wouldn't have felt so much pressure to be perfect. When she realized that she'd never live up to the church's impossible standards, she snapped like a twig under the weight of the church's body. Now I have to be everything she is not. Poor Faith. Can't turn out like her wayward mother. That would be a disgrace.

The church would look down on me if they knew the real reason I was gone last year. So they will never know. Just like so many other things in my life.

We pull up to the church and I enter Grace's room of five-year-olds. I inhale stale, dead oxygen. The same oxygen my mother breathed, once upon a time. I wish I had no memories.

But I need the memories.

They remind me.

Jason's mom, Trish, is already there. Of course she is. The woman has never been late to anything. Today she's dressed in a floral number, her graying hair pinned behind one ear.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says, “you ready?”

“Yes, Mrs. Magg,” I reply.

Trish, the teacher, handles the Bible lesson; I play with the kids. This is my favorite part of church, seeing their smiling faces. They're innocent, accepting. They don't try to mold me into something I'm not. I don't have to be a rubber band, stretching to fit their needs. And since they're kids, they make mistakes without everyone pointing an accusatory finger. I love their freedom.

It's beautiful.

I sit quietly while Trish teaches the lesson. When she finishes, I practically jump out of my chair to play with the five girls and three boys. All around the room are props. In one corner is a kitchen; in another are blocks and trucks and cars. There's a bin of dress-up clothes, too.

The boys run to the trucks, but I go with the girls to the kitchen corner. I move around the room, making sure to play with everyone—first kitchen, then blocks, then dress-up. By the time the parents return for their kids, I've laughed and played so much that I've forgotten about my own problems.

Until Trish approaches me.

“How is everything, Faith?” she asks.

“Good, Mrs. Magg. And you?”

She's a talker. She prattles on about how the pool boy isn't doing a good job; she may need to fire him, and she wants to know if I know anyone who would be interested in the job. I don't. She moves on to another topic. Something about remodeling the house. Is this woman for real? Does she expect me to be sad that her biggest worries in life are the pool boy and how much larger she can make her home? I need to get out of here.

“So, tell me, Faith,” Mrs. Magg says. “Have you thought about colleges yet?”

“Um, not really,” I answer truthfully. I have enough to deal with.

Like life.

“You should look into UCF. That's where Jason will be.” She smiles. “Wouldn't want you too far away. Long-distance relationships are so difficult.”

I nod. The less I say, the better.

“UNF is another good school. Also close!” she says.

She really does not want Jason and me apart.

“Or maybe I'll just convince that son of mine to quit wasting time and ask you to marry him.” Trish laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world. I feel like crying. Or running away. Marriage? Really?

“I know you'd love that,” she says matter-of-factly.

She doesn't know me at all.

Just stop.

Just stop.

Just stop.

“Oh, think of it! Wouldn't it be grand?” she asks.