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Thou Shalt Not Trust a Two-Faced Bitch
Seven years of bad luck can slurp my ass.
Itās been way too long since I punched something, and that vanity had it coming. Stupid mirror. Stupid Yami.
Whatever. Mirrors are overrated, and punching them is underrated. Iāve never liked looking at myself anyway. Not because I donāt think Iām cute. I mean, I am cuteāobjectivelyābut thatās beside the point. I like this new reflection better. Itās cracked enough that Iām hardly recognizable. Splintered in all the right places. I did that. With my fist. Who says Iām not tough?
I donāt run from a fightāas long as itās with an inanimate object. I didnāt punch the mirror hard enough to shatter it, but the pulsing in my knuckles tells me I hit it pretty hard. My chest swells at the accomplishment, and so does my hand.
Shit. Thatās a lot of blood.
Okay, maybe I shouldnāt have done that. My hand is shaking and starting to drip, but Iām stuck. All I can think about is Bianca, and the other thing I really shouldnāt have done.
Who quits their job just to avoid the possibility of running into an ex? Not even an ex. An ex-traordinarily two-faced bitch. An exābest friend, who Iām ashamed to have ever had feelings for.
Biancaās never been good at keeping secrets, so I donāt know why I thought sheād keep this one to herself. Itās my own fault for trusting her. Last time I saw her was when she outed me at the end of sophomore year. I was happy to never see her again, but today she just had to walk right into the coffee shop I work at. Worked at.
She has some nerve trying to confront me at work. Itās not like I could defend myself. I never could, against her. Because of her, I couldnāt even make it a couple weeks into my summer job.
So youāre running away to Catholic school now? Are you that desperate to avoid me?
Yes. Desperate enough to quit my job, too. Anything to keep from seeing her. Anything.
āYami?ā Cesar knocks at the door but doesnāt wait for a response before cracking it open and peeking inside. āIāll call you back,ā he says to whoever heās on the phone with. He must have heard the mirror break. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of my fist, so I jump in before he can say anything.
āWas that your girlfriend?ā I tease.
āSomething like that.ā He shrugs.
āYouāre such a player,ā I say, shaking my head.
āAnyways, you okay?ā My brother stares at my bloody knuckles and the mirror, waiting for an explanation I donāt give. I should be the one worried about him, not the other way around. His knuckles are freshly scabbed like mine are about to be, and he has a black eye. Just another variation of the usual.
āAre you okay?ā I throw the question back at him. His eyes flick to the mirror and back at me before he walks in. He hops over the dirty clothes on the floor and onto my bed, grinning.
āI got all As!ā he says. Okay, so Iām not the only one deflecting. Cesar and I have an unspoken rule: you can ask personal questions exactly once. If the question is avoided, you donāt pry. Thatās how we keep the peace. I give Cesar a high five with my good hand, then go to our shared bathroom to wash off the blood, leaving the door open so he can hear me.
āĀ”Eso! No wonder you got a scholarship to Slayton.ā
Cesar is definitely the better student between us. He skipped a grade, so weāre both about to be juniors. A lot of people assume weāre twins, which I donāt mind. It makes it slightly less embarrassing that my younger brother is so much smarter than me. Iām not in all honors classes like him, but I do all right.
Without a scholarship of my own, Iāll need to get another job ASAP to pay my half of tuition. Itās the only way Mom could afford to send us both to Slayton Catholic, and Iām more than happy to do the extra work. I would probably die of embarrassment if I had to go back to Rover High after what Bianca did. Catholic school and another job will be worth it if I never have to see her gorgeous, backstabbing face ever again. Goodbye, Rover, canāt say Iāll miss you.
I make sure all the blood is gone and dab some of Cesarās superglue on the cut before going back to my room. By the time Iām done, you can barely tell I hurt myself. If nothing else, hiding my pain is one thing Iām good at.
Cesarās lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, fidgeting with the cross at the end of the chain around his neck. āDo you really want to go to Slayton?ā
I shrug and fall onto the bed next to him.
Bianca isnāt the only reason I need to go to Slayton, but I canāt tell Cesar that. As far as he knows, Momās forcing us both to go because we need a ābetter education,ā with the best teachers and more advanced classes. Itās also Momās way of making up for the fact that she doesnāt have time to take us to church anymore.
At least, those are the reasons we tell Cesar. We donāt tell him itās also because of all the trouble heās been getting into at Rover, and that Mom thinks Slayton will be safer (because of the Catholic values). We donāt tell him I insisted on going with him to keep him out of trouble. Itās a fancy-ass Catholic school, but itās a fresh start, for both of us. And at least now Iāll know to keep my mouth shut about any crushes. This time, Iāll be stealthy gay. Like Kristen Stewart.
Cesar rolls on his side to face me. āI heard itās nothing but white people there.ā
āProbably.ā The students at Rover are mostly Black and Brown Chicanes, but Slaytonās on the north side of Scottsdale, about a forty-minute drive from where we live. Letās just say thereās not a lot of melanin over there. I could probably pay my tuition selling sunscreen between classes.
āAnd the football team sucks,ā he says.
āYou donāt even play football.ā
āAnd now I never will.ā Thereās a sad gleam in his eye, as if playing football was once a dream of his. I swear heās the most dramatic guy I know.
āAww, pobrecito.ā I try to pinch his cheek but he swats my hand away. Heās only ten months younger than me, but Iāll never let him forget heās the baby.
āI heard they make you do, like, ten hours of homework a day. Thatās called child abuse. When will we sleep? When will we eat? Weāre gonna starve!ā He throws his arms in the air.
I laugh and hit him with my pillow. āWeāll live.ā I donāt mention that heās the one whoāll have the excess homework, with all the AP and honors classes heās in. āBesides, itās better than the alternative, right?ā
āWhat alternative?ā
āYou knowāāI gesture to his bruised eyeāāgetting jumped?ā His jaw clenches, and I immediately feel bad for bringing it up, so I keep going. āOr eating moldy chicken nuggets for lunch. Thatās child abuse. At least Slayton can afford to feed us real food.ā
āI guess.ā He doesnāt sound amused. Cesar has no self-preservation instincts. Itās almost as if he wants to keep getting his ass kicked at Rover.
I throw my arm around his shoulder. āDonāt worry, if you ever miss Rover food, just lick the bottom of your shoe. Youāll feel like you never left.ā
He lets out a little snort and throws one of his legs in the air. āExcuse you, my shoes are clean AF. This is five-star dining right here.ā
āThe bottom of your shoes, tonto.ā I go to flick his ear, but he sees it coming and flicks mine first. āOw!ā I rub my ear. Damn you, slow reflexes.
Itās fine, though. Iād rather have a flicked ear than a mad-at-me little brother.
My phone buzzes, and Momās picture lights up the screen. I donāt know why she calls my phone when she could call my name. Our house isnāt exactly big enough for me not to hear. I answer anyway.
āHey, Mami.ā
āVen paā acĆ”, mija.ā
āComing.ā I hang up. My mind is racing, trying to come up with some excuse for how the mirror broke.
āTell her I broke it.ā Cesar must have read my mind, even though heās not even looking at me. Heās good at that.
āWhy?ā
āSheāll believe you, and I wonāt get in trouble.ā Heās right. Cesar is Momās little baby. He breaks a mirror and sheāll want to know if his hand is okay. I break a mirror and Iām grounded, at the very least. Still, Iām not throwing him under the bus.
I roll my eyes and head to my momās room. In the hallway, I avoid looking at her collection of crosses and the gallery of Jesus portraits on the walls. Because apparently one Jesus isnāt enough holiness to literally scare me straightānot that Mom knows she needs to. I wish Cesar didnāt buy into this stuff so hard, so I could at least complain to him about it. The biggest portrait makes me particularly twitchy. Jesus is staring directly at meāno, through meāand his eyes are all sad like he knows Iām going to hell. I canāt shake the feeling that it doesnāt matter if Iām in the closet or not. Momās voice nags in my head: Jesus sees everything. Thereās a burning in my gut, like the crosses are trying to exorcise the gay out of me. I keep my eyes on the carpet and speed-walk the rest of the way down the Hallway of Shame and into her room.
I almost step on a half-made beadwork earring on my way in. The angular design looks like itās going to mimic a red-and-orange flower. As usual, the floor is littered with beads, strings, wires, and other side-hustle supplies. Mom makes jewelry and Mexican beadwork to sell in her spare time, and she does a damn good job of it. As if she isnāt already busy enough with her full-time call center job and two kids. I check to see if she saw me almost step on the earring, but she doesnāt react.
She pats the space on her bed next to where sheās lying. Her hair is in a messy bun, and sheās wearing sunglassesāthe ones she wears when she has post-crying eyes. I donāt know whatās wrong, but I donāt think itās the mirror. Iām the one she calls when sheās wearing her sunglasses. Sheās always too worried about Cesar to put her problems on him.
I hop over the mess on the floor and up on the bed to assume our usual cuddling position. Her bed is way comfier than mine, and no matter how old I get, Iāll always feel safer in it. She pulls me into a hug and strokes my hair. I close my eyes, and weāre both quiet for a moment.
She doesnāt say anything about the mirror. She must not have heard me break it. I know Iām supposed to be comforting her right now, but I feel so guilty. I have to come clean.
āI quit my job,ā I blurt out, better to rip off the Band-Aid. She would have figured it out anyway. āBut Iāll get another one, I promise.ā
āAy Dios mĆo . . .ā She sighs and gives ...
