Page 55 of How to Hide in Plain Sight
“I’m serious, Valde. It’s borderline offensive. I mean, you have a new girlfriend every week, and I can’t even get one guy to ask me out?” I smile wryly. “I get that you and I are in completely different leagues, but am I reallythathideous?”
I meant it as a joke. A little self-deprecation that I thought would make him laugh.
Instead, his face ignites with fury. Eyes narrow, nostrils flare. I startle, twitching backward. I’ve never seen my best friend look at me like this before, and—to be perfectly honest—it’sterrifying.
“Don’t youeversay that about yourself again,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Escúchame, Eliot. Don’t call yourself ugly.¿Me entiendes?”
I can only stare back, mouth hanging open.
Manuel leans forward, grabbing my shoulders as he repeats himself in English. “Do. You. Understand?”
“Yes.Yes, Jesus.” I shake off his hands. “I was just kidding.”
He turns back to the lake, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. “Well, I didn’t find it funny.”
“Clearly,” I mutter. What the hell has gottenintohim?
After a few minutes of tense silence, Manny exhales. “And,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “there’s something else I should tell you.” Pause. “It’s probably my fault that you’re getting the cold shoulder from so many guys.”
I blink. “What?”
“I may have, um…” Is that a slight pink I see creeping into hischeeks? “Insinuated a few things to the guys on the track team. About you. And what I would do if they tried to pursue you.”
My heart stumbles. I try desperately to push it back into line as I ask, “What kind of…things?”
“Oh, you know.” He still doesn’t look at me, but Iswearhis blush deepens. “Nothing much. Physical violence. Bodily harm. Secret Colombian assassins that my parents are in contact with.” He shrugs. “The usual.”
Is he…?
I shut off that question before I can finish it.Don’t get carried away, Eliot. He’s just being overprotective, the same way that Caleb or Clarence or Taz would be. Nothing more.
Then, as if he could read my thoughts and wanted to confirm them, he quickly added, “But I may have taken it too far. You clearly want to be able to date these guys, and you should be able to. I’m sorry for my interference.”
“That’s not…” I search helplessly for the right words.That’s not true. Those aren’t the guys I want to date. There’s only one guy I want to date, and he’s sitting right next to—
Nope. Stop. None of that. You don’t think about your best friend that way.
I do the only thing I can. I smile and say, “Thanks, Valde.”
—
I MEET HIM LATER THATyear, during my first day at theTrevian, our school newspaper. I already know who he is, of course. I’ve seen him everywhere. On Facebook. In the lunch room. From afar. From behind, as Manuel and I bring up the rear of a group wandering down a street called Elm or Oak or Pine. In the McDonald’s parking lot, where on certain Saturday nights a crowd gathers. Not to eat cheeseburgers or smoke weed or drink stolen alcohol—just to show their faces. Just to show that they know where to loiter.
Manuel forces me to join the paper. “You quit soccer ages ago,” he says. “You need a new thing.”
“Athing?” I ask.
“Yes. A thing. Colleges want you to have a thing.”
We’re freshmen, but college is already top of mind for Manuel.
“Okay, Mom,” I say. “Why the newspaper?”
“Come on, Beck. You’ve been in love with words since the day I met you.”
“Have I?”
“Of course you have. Remember all those stories you wrote in the Fort?”
