Page 12 of Guarded

“Oh. I don’t know why I thought you were- I thought I heard you speaking, ugh, Chinese?” I stutter.

Stumbling over my damn words again.

Get it together, Ari.

“That was Tagalog. I’m half Filipino, half Mexican.”

“God, sorry. Now I’m a racist.” I murmur, shoving my hands to my face.

If this were the Titanic, I wouldn’t wait until we hit the damn iceberg. Nope. I would jump ship right here. Right now. I feel his rough, warm hand grab mine and pull them down until I’m staring into his dark ones again.

“Ari, you’re not a racist for guessing my ethnicity.” He laughs, holding my hand for a brief second before dropping it back in my lap.

I let out a sigh.

“I know, but I still feel bad. Do you know how many people think I’m white because I have light skin and colored eyes?”

“For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me.”

Nero glances down at my pink Stanley mug in the cup holder and the Hello Kitty bag in my lap.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I narrow my eyes on his.

Hello Kitty is for everyone!Las fresitas.East Los Angeles cholas. The baddies. The emo girls. They all love Hello Kitty.

Nero keeps his eyes on mine before he doubles down and turns up my car stereo. Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift is still playing on repeat.

Oh my gatos.

In this very moment I think about crawling into the trunk. What will my family say when they find out? Would I be allowed to visit Mexico again? Would this be the thing that cuts off thenopal en mi frente?

As much as I want to hide, I know it’s time. Finally, it’s time for me to come out of the Swiftie closet.

“Okay, point taken. Don’t tell Thalia, or I’ll kill you.” I threaten him playfully.

The grimace on his face sends me laughing. He changes the station to some screamo music, but I still feel desperate to talk to him.

Since birth, I have been talkative. I hate silence. Lowering the music, I wait for him to look over at me.

“You’re like trilingual, right? That’s so impressive. I can only speak like basic Spanish. Like ‘Hola’, ‘¿Como estas?’ Spanish but not like Spanish 3,000.”

“What the fuck is Spanish 3,000?” he asks.

“You know, like when you go to Mexico and your family is all talking in Spanish, and you’re keeping up like a pro. But then someone brings up auto mechanics, and you realize you don’t know shit. Like you thought you did, but then, in that moment, you realize your whole life is a lie. Like, how do you even say jumper cables in spa-”

“Cables para pasar corriente.And No. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I start to ramble a bit more. It comes with the nervousness. And right now, Nero makes me extremely nervous. He doesn’t yell at me to shut up like my brothers when I start on myno-sabo kidrant.

“Really, Spanish was the colonizer’s language. Why are we not learning Nahuatl? Also, why is the Spanish word for jumper cables so damn long? Like the name is more of an explanation than a word?”

Nero continues to listen as I ramble on until we reach a stoplight. His hand reaches out, and he places his palm on my shaking leg—another nervous tick of mine.

“Sorry, I think I get a little too worked up.” I laugh and take a deep breath.

Okay, Ari, chill the fuck out. You aren’t the spokesperson for no sabo kids.

“So, where was your mother from?” I ask, changing the subject.

---