Page 7 of The Crush
Saturday, June 25, 1994
Of all the things I no longer deserve, Isabel Rivera has to be near the top of the list. No, she iswithout questionat the top of the list. She might as wellbethe list.
I’ve barely heard ten words out of her mouth and it’s already enough for me to know that she’s way too good a girl for me to be thinking about like I am.
But fuck, she’s sweet. And,Christ, she’syoung. This world hasn’t even had a chance to chew her up yet, and I hope it never does. That the kind of things that stain my hands stay far, far away from her.
Like you should, I think, distracting myself by reaching for the wrench I need for my truck. At least, Ithinkit’s what I need.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a reason to get beneath the hood of a vehicle—the government-issued cars I drove while away always came with maintenance included—but the more I try to get my truck running again like it should, the more I’m surprised to find how much I’ve missed fiddling with the mechanics of things. Missed being able to actually fix things.
“Come on, baby. Tell me what’s wrong.” I maneuver my socket wrench into place, applying pressure until the slam of the shed door in the wind makes my hand jerk. My knuckles drive into unforgiving metal, and I wince, taking a step back to shake out the pain. “Fine,fuck you, too.”
Judging by the way I’ve now started talking to my truck, maybe my dad is right about me needing to get out a bit.
And do what?I immediately curse myself and reach for my drink on the workbench when Isabel’s face comes to mind once again.
In my—albeit weak—defense, I hadn’t known who she was when she’d first shown up on my doorstep. All I’d seen was a pretty girl standing in the early evening sun. Tousled wavy hair. Warm brown eyes that seemed to see me as…someone different than who I’ve gotten used to seeing.
But it didn’t matter, not once Ihadrealized who she was. And I had done my best to put her out of my mind since. Easy enough, even if I had taken the extra precaution of steering clear of the house on Wednesday nights when I knew she was around.
But then I ran into her at the grocery store. Saw that damn apprehensive crease back in her brow that I have an irrepressible urge to soothe, and instead of letting her walk away like I should have, I’d gone after her.
I’ve had trouble letting go ever since.
Christ, my dad would box my ears in if he knew I was eventhinkingin her direction. Isabel’s father and brothers would likely take me out back and shoot me. Although to have escaped years of near misses in other countries only to end up being murdered in my backyard in Texas would be some sort of irony, I guess.
Not that it really is a concern, because I amnotinterested in Isabel Rivera.
You’re not interested in her, I tell myself again as I pick up the wrench and return to my truck.You’re not interested in how she looks at you. In how good she smells. In how soft her skin felt beneath your fingers. In how she reacted when you touched her. You’re not interested in her at all.“She is not for you.”
I say the last part out loud in hopes that it might get through. Help me finally get my head on straight before I make a decision even worse than the one that landed me back here. “She’snotfor you,” I repeat.
A flash of headlights on their way to the road catches my attention and makes me turn, my dad leaving again for his weekly dinner at the Rivera house.
For the best, I think, raising my hand in farewell before disappearing back beneath the hood.Just another reason to stay away.
Six
Isabel
Tuesday, June 28, 1994
As it turns out, there is an upside to every week of your life being the exact same. For example, if you happen to know Saturdays are the night when everyone—except Daniel apparently—has dinner at your house and Wednesdays are the night you go to the Ríos house, then you likely also know that Tuesdays are the night your parents go to Ag Hall. And so does Tadeo.
Which means that apart from my brothers, who were far too focused on their own activities, there was no one to notice me sneaking out my bedroom window for the first time in my life. There was also no one to tell me that this could be a spectacularly bad idea.
Maybe I should go back and call my friends?I think, though I don’t slow as I drive down the familiar back road.Get a quick gut check?
No, that would take too long. By the time I got a hold of Elena or Sophie and explained a decade’s worth of backstory and yearning, the night would be gone and so would my opportunity to do something stupid.Reallystupid.
Besides, they’re busy. Off living their lives. Why would they care how being trapped at my parents’ house is rapidly causing me to tow the line into full delusion?
I take a steadying breath, thinking things over one last time before the point of no return. We’d had amoment, hadn’t we? Like in my books? The more I replay what happened outside the grocery store last week and the more I think about the way he’d looked at me, the more convinced I am that the answer is yes.We definitely did…maybe? Too late now.I’m turning up the drive.
Unexpectedly, Daniel is already sitting on the front porch in a navy T-shirt and jeans, a newspaper open in front of him that, even from a distance, I can tell isn’t local. He’s so focused on it that he doesn’t look up until I’m parked and getting out, but, once he does, I most definitely have his attention, surprise and potential disapproval breaking over his face in turn.
Maybe this really is a bad idea, I think again, but I had just wanted to see…to seehimin a setting where, were we to have anothermoment…
