Page 61 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
“Isabella just told me,” she answers for me before I can finish. “This is very sweet of you, Ivelisse, but is everything all right?”
My fingers freeze on the steering wheel. “Y-yeah. Everything’s fine,” I stammer, keeping my eyes on the road as the flow of traffic starts to pick up.
I’m not sure how much Joaquin has told her about what went down between us—clearly not everything. I’m not even sure if he told her about his plans to woo Tessa, and there’s no way I’m getting myself into even more trouble with him by spilling about his love life to his grandma.
“I’ve just noticed Joaquin has seemed a bit…off lately.”
I swallow hard around the lump in my throat, unsure how to respond. “We…uh…had a…disagreement, I guess.”
That’s putting it mildly.
“About?”
“Stuff.” Very convincing. “I’ve been having some…complicated feelings,” I finally manage to answer.
Doña Carmen may feel like family, but she’s Joaquin’s actual blood. There are invisible lines drawn on the table between us that I can’t cross. Not if I don’t want to risk ruining things more than I already have.
“About Joaquin?”
I don’t need a coherent reply, the way I stammer says enough.She hums in thought while I sit on eggshells, tapping the steering wheel as I slowly glide down the turnpike.
“I had plenty of boyfriends when I was your age.”
I choke on my own spit. The last thing I expected was for Doña Carmen to come out swinging with that one.
“Boys from school. From the next town over. Gringitos who just came to visit. One boy even drove all the way from Caguas to take me dancing—very romantic. Terrible breath, though,” she continues when I finally get my choking under control. “But they all came and went. Some never called again. Some went off to the States and promised they’d come home someday, but they never did…” Her voice trails off.
“You and Joaquin are special, mija. If he didn’t have you when his…” She cuts herself off again, the wound of having their family split in two still too fresh for her to touch. “People come and go. Friends, boyfriends. Sometimes even family. It takes work,love,to hold on to the ones that matter. Don’t let go.”
Don’t let go.The same words Joaquin whispered to me before we plunged hundreds of feet on the coaster, but with entirely new meaning.
But I’m not the one wielding that kind of power.
“What if he wants to let go?” I ask, my voice strangely hoarse.
It’d be a clean break. Me heading away and him staying here. We may be neighbors, but he at least wouldn’t have to face me most months of the year. Maybe the distance I’d been so worried about is exactly what he needs.
Doña Carmen doesn’t respond at first, the pause long enough that I start to worry. “He doesn’t,” she finally says.
And, strangely enough, I actually might believe her.
I make it to Isabella’s dorm with no time to spare.
“Get in and let’s go!” I shout as I pull up in front of her building, throwing the passenger side door open like I’m the getaway driver in a bank heist.
Isabella knows time isn’t on our side. My reunion with Mami set me back half an hour, plus the extra hour and a half of sitting in traffic. It’s already almost three, and the game starts at five. She hops into the car, throws her bag into the back seat, and we are on the road in ten seconds flat. Thankfully, the traffic isn’t as horrendous heading back to Elmwood, but we’ll still be cutting it close unless I drive twenty miles over the speed limit the entire way. I want us to get there on time, but I want us to get there in one piece even more.
“Think we’ll make it in time?” Isabella asks, glancing at where the map on my phone says we still have three and a half hours to go until we’re back.
“Definitely not for the first few innings,” I reply, breathing a sigh of relief at the clear expanse of highway—not a lick of traffic in sight. “But we can probably make it before the seventh inning.”
Isabella nods, twirling a lock of her now-hot-pink hair around her finger while biting down on her thumb on her other hand. A habit that runs in the family.
Unlike her abuela, Isabella doesn’t see right through me and my intentions. Joaquin and I have a history of kind gestures, and for all she knows this is another one. Nothing unusual or strange about this mad dash to cross state lines. Once I give her control of the AUX cord, she’s fully content with vibing to her musicwhile I focus on driving as fast (and safely) as humanly possible. We chat about her new life at American, about the boy she’s been talking to for weeks and the girl she hooked up with last week and which one she should pursue (the girl, the guy sounds like a dud), while I carefully avoid the sordid details of my own private life.
“Whatever happened with Quin and that girl he was trying to ask out?” Isabella asks, and my heart stutters.
“They…uh…didn’t work out.” Vague enough, no need to wade any deeper. “She’s with someone else now.”
