Page 44 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
I press a finger to his lips, hushing Joaquin and pointing back at my place. The windows are still dark. If Mami heard us, she’s not coming to get me…yet.
Joaquin nods in understanding, opening the passenger side door for me.
“As I was saying,” he says once we’re in the insulated safety of Herbert, Janet Jackson playing on Joaquin’s go-to ’90s radio station. “Slushie time? We still haven’t tried out that place in Hamilton.”
“Your wish is my command…or, well, your command since you’re the one driving…but yes. Slushie time.” Another rule about the macaw card—the card puller gets final say. Even if I wasn’t in the mood for slushies, I wouldn’t have the right to tell him. Tonight is about Joaquin and whatever emotional turmoil he’s going through.
Huh. Two breakdowns in two different houses on the same night? I’ll have to ask Anna if there’s a planet in retrograde or something.
We’re quiet for the short drive, Joaquin insisting we blast the CD of my favorite songs even though this ishiscrisis outing. The bright red date on the dashboard clock glares at me. One week until Joaquin attempts to prompose to Tessa for the fourth time and I still haven’t thought of a way to stop it, other than loosening a screw on the Ferris wheel and causing mass hysteria. I rest my head on the window, away from the clock. My eyes close, and I try not to let the thought of Tessa taking my spot in the passenger seat consume me.
A knock on the window jolts me back into consciousness.
“C’mon, sleepyhead.” Joaquin opens the door carefully, making sure I’m not going to slump out of my seat. He turns around once I’m out of the car, offering his back for a ride.
“I can walk on my own, Quin.”
“Don’t care. This is my macaw day, and I demand that you let me give you a piggyback ride.”
I let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Whatever floats your boat, weirdo.”
Joaquin snaps his fingers, urging me to hustle. “Let’s go, I’m not getting any younger.”
I roll my eyes and pick up the pace. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, waiting until I’m sure my grip is solid before leapingthe rest of the way. His hands catch me halfway, hoisting me up by the backs of my thighs.
“Satisfied?” I whisper once we’re settled, my chest flush to his back, our cheeks pressed together.
“Extremely,” he replies, and I can feel his lips tug into a smile.
Being the generous, and very strange, soul he is, Joaquin does me the honor of carrying me up to the to-go counter of Blastoff Burger. Once the cashier returns to their post after handing off an order, I tap Joaquin to put me down.
“Nope, you go ahead and order from here,” he insists, tightening his grip on my legs.
My cheeks flare at the thought of human interaction while wrapped around my best friend like a spider monkey. “What? Why?”
He grins mischievously. “Because I think it’s funny.”
I go to jam the heel of my foot into his side, but he readjusts me before I can, tossing me into the air like a sack of flour and catching me just as easily.
“Hi!” Joaquin greets the cashier while I’m disoriented. “My friend here is ready to order.” He pinches the side of my leg with a smirk so cocky it should be illegal.
I sigh. “Can we get two large slushies, one blue raspberry and one lime? And mozzarella sticks.”
Joaquin gawks at my having the audacity to order his two least favorite slushie flavors, and least favorite side. “You dare disrespect me like this? Onmymacaw day?”
I ignore him and hand over my debit card. “Not my fault you’re so picky.”
“Blue raspberry isn’t even a real flavor. Something can’t taste blue.”
I brush off his protests with a smirk of my own. “Guess you should’ve ordered, then.”
Instead of admitting defeat like a mature eighteen-year-old would, he lets go of my legs and drops me like a hot potato.
Like a fish gasping for air, I cling to Joaquin for dear life. He stumbles back just as my legs hit the ground, our limbs tangling together as we struggle to get our footing. We never do, both of us tripping over ourselves until we collapse on top of each other.
On top of each other. As in me on top of him. Horizontally.
His arms are locked around my waist from where he grabbed me as we fell, flipping us around so he took the brunt of the impact, his fingertips uncomfortably close to the edge of my hoodie.
