Page 3 of The Delivery

“What’s what?” he asks, still smiling.

“In your bag?” God! This kid will drive me nuts with his circuitous questions.

Moisés then bends the elbow of the arm that’s holding onto the top of the door and pulls his goddamn feet off the floor. He’s strong. Crazy strong. Like a gymnast. He’s showing off for me, and I’m impressed. I’m captivated; look at how easily his stupid antics work on me. I’m dumbfounded.

“Spray paint.” His face cracks into an even wider grin. Well, look at him! He’s absolutely delighted with his rebellious young self.

“Check it. Even if it’s legit and not for graffiti—you don’t need another arrest.” I’ve got to pull my head out of his pants.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Get out of here! But make sure you come back before you sign out for the day so we can fill out this form,” I say, shaking it at him.

He puts the other arm up and pulls. Both his feet come off the floor again. The door swings lightly with the weight of his body.

“It’s Mozey. On the street they call me Cruz, but my friends mostly call me Mozey.”

“Do me a solid, would you, and send in the next kid on your way out.”

The more nervous I get the more stupid I tend to act. If I’m super casual, it’s means my foundation is minutes away from collapse.

“I could use a shot of whiskey in this coffee!” I mumble as I take a sip. What the hell is wrong with me today?

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” I say setting down the cup. “I apologize. I really only drink on Fridays.”

Get out of my office and take your belly hair with you! Stop being so damn delicious and only eighteen!

“Your coffee smells like flan.”

“Times up.”

“Do you want it?”

“My coffee? I don’t want anything besides my next client.” Oh god, not like that. Failing. I gulp down more of my flan coffee. It’s hot and scalds my throat. It’s really hot in this office.

“I could bring in a canvas for you. I’ve got one in mind. You wouldn’t have to hang it if you didn’t like it.”

“Out, Mozey Cruz! Get out! Go paint and make me not regret my decision to let you participate.”

“You won’t regret it,” he says and drags his tongue across his full upper lip. Stop with the double speak. My head is swimming. You are making me crazy.

The second he steps out the door I breathe an audible sigh of relief. I gulp the last sip of coffee and bring my forehead down to touch my desk. I need to get laid. Now my flimsy shirt is stuck to me with sweat. It’s a goddamned jungle in here.

“Hey, Finch!” Oh God. He’s back. Go the fuck away, please! “What?” I ask without raising my head. I don’t care if I look insane. My forehead is staying right here stuck to this paper. I’m not making eye contact with him. I refuse to let him make me sweat. Or blush. Or smile.

“Fridays are good for me. I’ll bring you your painting on Friday.”

Ha. Ha. It is going to be one of those days.

CHAPTER 2

Moisés de la Cruz doesn’t come back at the end of the day to fill out his form. If he can’t follow through with even the simplest of tasks, I’ll have to kick him out of the program. On a whim, I grab his case file and head upstairs to catch Jennifer before she punches out for the day.

Jennifer is probably only twenty-one or so, and she’s at the School of Social Work at UCLA. Lately she says she wants to pursue a PhD because everyone has seen the surveys in the last few years that put social work at the bottom of the barrel for jobs that pay.

Social work doesn’t pay, I should know. I live paycheck-to-paycheck and usually end up eating take-out at the end of the month when I can no longer afford groceries. I’m still an idealist, but it’s getting harder to carry the torch as time goes on. I could use a new couch and my car is almost as old as I am.

I entered into my master’s program immediately after I finished my undergraduate degree. I was one of those bright-eyed idealists who thought I could affect social change and paying all of my student loans could happen simultaneously while I was saving the world. In reality, the only thing I’m saving are Diet Coke cans to turn in for cash at the end of the month. Every once in a while, I offer to take the recycling out at Pathways. Know where it ends up? Yup.

---