Page 98 of How to Hide in Plain Sight
He burst out laughing. Nudged me with his elbow. “Why? You interested?”
I remember whacking his shoulder hard at that one. “Cállate,” I said. (Shut up.)
“Kidding, kidding. No. The Latina preference—it’s not about that. That’s what my mom wants for me, you know? That’s what she always tells me. ‘White women won’t understand,’ she says. ‘No matter how hard they try. They won’t get it.’ ”
“Won’t get what?”
He winked. “Exactly.”
—
AS WE NEARED THE ROCKS,the tinny boom box music we heard through the trees solidified, taking shape as the Rolling Stones. A track Speedy used to play for us in Sunny Sunday.
Helene smiled.
“What?” I whispered.
“This song. It’s Taz’s favorite.”
I didn’t know that. I didn’t even know Taz listened to classic rock.
I wondered what else we had in common.
“You’re so lucky I’m not a groomsman,” Shelly whispered to Karma. “If you pulled a prank like this on me, I’d divorce the shit out of you.”
“That’s fine,” Karma whispered back. “I have a better attorney.”
We reached the last stretch of forest before the clearing out onto the rocks. Karma drew to a halt, crouching behind a tree. We followed suit. Then, from under the cover of bushy pine, we crept silently out onto the rocks. Mick Jagger was nearing the end of his track. The boys were just above us, moving about at the top of the rocks, near the porch.
I peered up at them. Karma slapped my shoulder, motioning for me to duck down, but not before I got a glimpse of Bachelor Night. Up at the top of the rocks, the boys had scattered the porch furniture: lounge chairs and side tables. Atop them sat various bottles of alcohol—beer, tequila, coconut rum, gin—awaiting the men like stations in a workout class. Up on the porch, Speedy was asleep in his chair.
The track ended. Karma raised one finger to her lips, the other hand a flat stop sign. When the music started back up again, she leapt to her feet, Helene raised her can of whipped cream, Shelly yelled like a bullfighter, and together we charged.
“What the…? !”
They stood no chance. We crested the rocky hill, erupting forth in a grand display of whipped cream and tequila breath. The men were gathered around one of the stations, pulling beers from a side table. And they were sloshed, all of them. Five fish in a barrel.
Manuel stood with his back to us. When he heard Shelly’s howl, he spun around, but his long, gangly runner’s feet got twisted up in themselves. “¡Hijueputa!” He tipped sideways. His neck craned wildly, eyes finding mine just in time to receive a full blast of whipped cream. He grasped blindly about, one hand managing tosnag my left elbow and pull me down with him. With my free hand I kept spraying. Covered every inch of his torso in soft, sugary clouds.
A pillow of moss caught our fall. The collapse of its soft surface. In one messy jumble, we rolled sideways. I nearly rolled all the way back down the hill, but Manuel grabbed my shoulders, stopping me just in time.
He looked up. I looked down. I was right on top of him. When he inhaled, I felt his chest press closer to mine. Our breath in unison. Our faces nearly together. His eyes a warm shade of chestnut.
And then, just as the tips of our noses were about to touch, the can of whipped cream vanished from my hand.
“Hey!” I yelled, but it was too late. Fluffy sugar hit my face. Clouded my eyes and ears and nose and lips. Blocked out the moonlight. I squealed and flapped my hands. By sheer luck, one of them whacked the can right out of Manuel’s hand, knocking it onto the ground.
I rolled onto my back and wiped the whipped cream from my eyes. Manuel did, too. We started to laugh, our bodies shaking atop the rocks. I blinked away the last bits of billowing white, and finally, my vision cleared.
I turned my head to the side. He was already looking, too, eyes surprisingly heavy and intense. My breath caught in my throat.
“Manny…” I whispered.
But just as I was about to say them—just as I thought to voice the words that had bounced around inside my head from the first moment I saw him standing on that dock, which, if I was perfectly honest, had bounced around inside my head since the first day I ever laid eyes on him—I heard it.
The voice.
Don’t do it, it said.Don’t tell him. Not when it isn’t the truth.
