Page 57 of Outspoken

I don’t fit anywhere.

I pick at my nails, chipping the polish. I'm irritated by the conflicting feelings and thoughts I’m having. Why am I even hanging around Miguel? This is weird. I must've been possessed when I asked him out at the taco festival.

I sit alone at the table for a long time, shivering, but Miguel doesn’t return. I watch everyone from a distance, feeling like I should disappear. I bet if I slip out, no one will notice. Bob might, since he keeps glancing over to smile at me, but he’s also deep in a phone conversation.

Eventually, Maribel announces that the food is ready, and then she waves me over to the line so I can grab a plate. I hesitate, clutching the tablecloth like it’s my safety blanket. I’ve rarely been shy in my life, but there’s so much of Miguel’s family in that line. What if I do something stupid, like bump the food table and knock a dish to the ground? That’s not a good first impression.

Maribel comes to get me with a warm smile. “Come on,” she says, taking my hand and pulling me up. “You have to get in line early or all the best food will be gone.”

Before I can resist, I’m already in line and she shoves a plastic plate into my hands. Family members smile at me, nodding hello when I glance their way.

I feel a lot of eyes on me—more than I'd expect from simple curiosity. An uneasiness grows inside me.It feels like they know me.

I quickly put food on my plate and find someone familiar: Rico.

“Can I join you?” I ask, stepping up to his table where others are also seated.

He grins, pulling sunglasses from his head like removing his hat for a guest. He hangs them on his shirt collar. “Sure. Sure. Here. Sit right here.” Once I’m seated, he points to the blonde woman next to him. “This is Becca, my wife.”

We smile at each other, and then I wave at Johnny, who I met earlier.

Rico points to a hunched, older woman next to Johnny. “This is Lupita, Miguel’s tía.”

I wave at Lupita, who has grandmotherly eyes and gray, curly hair. She looks like she has spent her life smiling and laughing as much as possible, her entire face etched in happy wrinkles.

“And I’m Maribel, which you already know,” Maribel says as she swoops in to take the last open chair at the round portable table. “Please excuse my brother's absence. He, uh, he'll be back soon.” She shares an amused look with Rico.

I nod, poking my fork around my brisket and sides. “I love your home, Maribel. The decor is beautiful.”

She sing-songs a “Thank you,” and then leans back. “I did my best. Lots of Pinterest boards.”

Lupita keeps grinning at me and not touching her food. I make eye contact too long and she launches into questions. “How is your brother, mija? Where do you work? Tell me about your family. Were you born here?”

“My brother? Oh, right…”Right.Lupita was the one who made those meals when Brody was in the hospital, so Miguel told her about what happened. Also, Brody is his friend, so it makes sense he would tell his family about the accident.

My stomach knots.What did he tell her about me?

I ignore my sudden nausea. He wouldn’t mention my drug problems to his family. Why would he do that? He wouldn’t.

Everyone is watching me as they eat. They all seemwaytoo eager to hear me talk about myself.

I chug my soda, starting with Lupita’s last question. “Um, yeah, I grew up here—”

“Oh, yes. That’s right. You went to the same high school, sí? John Marshall?”

I stare. I had been lifting a bite of food to my mouth, but I set the fork down, my nausea growing.How does she know my high school? Miguel went there, too?

Maribel touches Lupita’s hand quickly and says something to her in Spanish.

Lupita lifts her eyebrows at Maribel and responds, “No?”

Maribel plasters on an overly sweet smile, shaking her head and then turning to me. “Is that your high school? Miguel went there, so it’s the only one she knows. She says that to everyone. Just a lucky guess.”

“Such a beautiful story for you two,” Lupita comments, which gets an angry whisper in Spanish from Maribel.

I pick at my food, a single, nagging thought burning a hole in my brain:Was it a lucky guess?

Yes. What am I thinking? It has to be. Even if Brody mentioned my high school in some random conversation with Miguel, why would Miguel then tell his family about it? Seems like a weird fact to mention, considering they’re meeting me for the first time today, and Miguel and I haven’t even hung out that much.

---