Page 24 of The Crush
“Now, hermanita,” Gabe continues, and the nickname always sounds so much more affectionate out of his mouth than it does Aarón’s. “Why don’t you mail it?” he challenges.
OhGod, whydidn’tI mail it? Was this whole story pointless? Would I have to start from scratch? What other explanation could I even come up with?
“Hey, quit freaking out,” Gabe says, waving a hand in front of my face. “You panic like that under pressure, and you’re done for. You’re not mailing it because you don’t trust them to actually take care of the issue without screwing it up again. You’re goingyourselfbecause you’re not leaving until youknowit’s resolved.”
“Oh…” I give him an admiring smile. “Oh, that’sgood.”
“I know it’s good,” Gabe says, as if I had just said the most obvious thing in the world. “For Dad, the next best thing to throwing his own weight around is if one of his children does. He will probably help you pack your bag. Now tell me again.” Gabe adopts a stance that somehow looks exactly like our mother and pitches his voice again to mimic her inflection, saying, “Mija, who are you staying with?”
“Sophie and Elena. I told them I’d be in town, and they said they’d meet me for the weekend,” I recite, infusing my voice with enthusiasm even as I feel a pang of loneliness at the mention of the friends that I hadn’t heard from since graduation. “It’s… It’s going to besofun to see them.”
“Nottoomuch fun,” Gabe corrects, then gives me a critical look. “Do I know these ladies? Who are theirpeople?”
“You met them and their families at graduation,” I say, suppressing a grin. “Remember, Elena’s parents live in San Antonio?”
“Perfect,” Gabe says with an approving nod. “Need to have parents nearby in case the apocalypse starts. Throw in that they invited you to mass on Sunday, andshewill help Dad pack your bag.”
I turn it all over, repeating the details until they stick. “Okay, got it.”
Gabe steps in front of me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “One last thing.” He slips his other hand into his back pocket, producing a bus ticket with the wordsSAN ANTONIOprinted in big bold letters. “You’re taking the bus out of Laredo,” he explains, continuing before I can protest. “It will keep Dad from deciding last minute that he wants to drive you. Plus, you and…your luggagereally don’t need to be seen driving out oftown.”
He tucks the ticket into the front pocket of my shirt, and I stare down at it for a moment before rushing in for a bear hug, no matter if we’re both covered in God knows what. “Thank you,” I tell him. “Dare I ask againwhyyou’re helping me?”
He pats my back before giving me a squeeze in return. “Us delinquents have to stick together.”
My chest tightens, and I suddenly wish I had been paying Gabe’s life the same attention that he’s clearly been paying mine. “You know if you ever need… If you ever…”Why is this so hard?I sigh and start over. “You know I love you, right?”
“I know.” He hugs me once more before releasing me. “And I think you’re really neat.”
I punch him in the arm.
“Hey now, save that for Aarón.” He makes a show of massaging the spot while we head for the bay doors. “I’m thegoodbrother.”
“You are,” I agree, adding when I see him open his mouth, “But I’m still not telling you who I’m meeting.”
“That’s fine,” Gabe says easily, giving me a grin before ducking smoothly out of arm’s reach. “I still don’t need you to anyway.”
Twenty
Daniel
Friday, September 30, 1994
My eyes flip between my watch and the dash clock in my truck for what feels like the thousandth time. Both of them still refusing to make time move faster.
What if Isabel had missed her bus? What if her family figured out what she was up to? Or what if she simply realized I was not worth all this and decided to not come?
Needing air, I get out of my truck, my right hand digging into the back of my neck as I pace a bit. But the tension only heightens when I hear the rumble of the bus in the distance.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath, leaning on the hood of my truck and watching for her as the bus pulls up. “Come on, bonita.”
My eyes sweep each passenger that emerges from behind the idling bus, people heading both directions on their way to their next destination.
Fortunately, I don’t see anyone I recognize from home. Unfortunately, that includes Isabel.
I berate myself as the bus starts to pull away.You shouldn’t have actually expected her to—
A relieved huff of laughter escapes my lungs as the tail end reveals Isabel, waddling into view with a suitcase that looks like it weighs about ninety pounds.What the hell did she pack?
