Page 3 of 10 Things I Hate About Prom
His new shirt is…loud. Somewhere between a Hawaiian shirt and a bowling jersey, complete with orange, blue, and white palm fronds. Paired with black jeans, it’s definitely a switch from his usual wardrobe of hoodies with gray sweatpants or basketball shorts and slides.
“Interesting choice,” I reply delicately as I slide back into my seat across from him.
He quirks an eyebrow. “The good kind of interesting?”
I take my time replying, rubbing my chin as I take in the full ensemble. “You look like my abuelo.”
His smirk falls into a frown. “Well, then, I’ll just have to give your souvenir to someone who appreciates my fashion sense.” With ahumph,he stands up from the table and heads for the door.
Roasting Joaquin Romero is by far my favorite hobby, but I’m a material girl at heart. I bolt from my seat, racing to cut him off before he can get to the exit. “Souvenir?” I ask with a raised brow.
A smirk plays at the corner of his lips for a brief moment before he slips back into his role, lifting his nose high in the air and crossing his arms as he turns his back to me. “I have nothing more to say to you.”
The man plays a dirty game. Then again, he learned it fromthe best: me. And the hours of telenovelas we watched in middle school. But mostly me.
I give it a few seconds before finally admitting defeat. “You’re a fashion genius. An icon. Your invite to the Met Gala will arrive any day now.”
He tries and fails to hold in his amusement. “You’re forgiven.” He holds up a warning finger as he faces me. “Just know you’re on thin ice.”
If that was true, the ice would’ve cracked five years ago when I told him his new haircut made him look like an egg. But I give him an overly gracious smile and hold out my hands like the greedy gremlin he knows and adores. “The souvenir…?”
“Is at my place,” he finishes, nudging past me to open the door. “Come over after your shift’s done?”
“Actually, I get to cut out early today.”
Joaquin gasps dramatically, bracing himself against the doorframe. “Did hell freeze over?”
I untie my apron and let my hair down from its oppressively tight bun. “No, but I did see some pigs flying around this afternoon.”
After I promise to be ready in five, I head to the storage closet and grab my stuff. I rush through pulling on my sneakers and storing my apron in my designated cubby. With my luck, a party of fifteen will come strolling in any minute now and keep me here past closing.
“Bye, Tío!” I call out as I hurry across the dining room, backpack in hand, and close the door behind me before he can change his mind.
Joaquin’s waiting for me on the curb, his bike propped against a fire hydrant. Before we do our usual dance to squeeze onto the seat together, I pause on the sidewalk to breathe in a deep lungful of the cool spring air. “Sweet, sweet freedom.”
Joaquin takes a sniff of his own, his face crumpling into a grimace. “Freedom smells like car exhaust.”
It does, but that doesn’t make it any less sweet.
Chapter Two
Either Joaquin’s right andI’m a four on the chill scale, or his cycling skills have seriously tanked.
It’s a miracle that we manage to get home with our limbs intact. Maybe that’s thanks to the prayer I said under my breath when he almost sideswiped a soccer mom’s minivan. It’s only a ten-minute journey and yet Joaquin managed to make my life flash before my eyes twice.
“Are you trying to kill us?!” I shouted into his ear when he plowed through a stop sign.
“Calm down. Car rules don’t apply to bikes.”
“They do if you want to survive.”
My protests went ignored, so I chose to squeeze my eyes shut and bury my face in the crook of his neck instead. If we were going to die at the hands of a Suburban, I didn’t want to see it coming.
As soon as he stops in my driveway, I launch off the vehicleand collapse to my knees, leaning down to press my forehead against the asphalt. I’m grateful to be alive, but not grateful enough to put my lips where car tires and motor oil have been.
“Never again,” I whisper against the pavement, just loud enough for Joaquin to hear.
“You lived, didn’t you?” he calls back.
