Page 22 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
Cesar:Jamal has an open mic on Friday, want to come?
Hunter:He told me! I’ll be there for sure.
Sometimes I forget that people I know are friends even when I’m not around. I’ve always wanted my friends to like Jamal, but since he can be a little socially awkward, they don’t always warm up to him. It’s nice to know Hunter’s an exception.
Even if me and Jamal can’t be together, I still want to be there for him. With Hunter there, it’ll be nice to have him as a bit of a buffer so things aren’t weird.
I grin as I shove my phone back in my pocket before dipping into the cafeteria for detention. I take advantage of my time in there by doing my homework, half listening to whatever animated story Coach V tells everyone else this time. Ever since he started overseeing detention, it’s been a lot more interesting since he doesn’t believe in silence.
Today, he’s telling us about how his girlfriend’s abusive ex-boyfriend got him arrested ten years ago.
“Now, don’t get me wrong, violence is wrong. Always. That’s why I shot that mother trucker in the foot.”
I choke on a surprised laugh as I solve the last problem in my Calculus II worksheet, finishing just in time for the clock to strike 3:30 p.m., signaling the end of detention.
“Remember, kids, don’t hit your partner. That way, you won’t get shot in the foot!” he says loudly over the sound of all of us packing up our bags and rushing out the cafeteria doors.
Yami’s waiting for me at one of the tables in the quad, and thank God, she’s with Bo. Which means Bo is giving us a ride home again today. Which also means I can put off the lecture just a little longer.
Yami and Bo get up from the table hand in hand but let go when I approach. They swarm me on either side, grabbing onto my hands as we start walking toward the car. It’s like I’m a toddler and they’re protectively keeping me from running into the street, but I know they’re just doing this to make sure I don’t feel like a third wheel. True to my everything-is-great persona, I milk it, swinging my hands back and forth and practically skipping.
“So are you guys my moms now?” I laugh.
“We hereby adopt you,” Bo says.
“Hell no,” Yami says at the same time, then she laughs. “Sorry, Bo, but I’m not ready for kids just yet. At least, not ugly ones.” She pats me on the head.
Bo pouts. “But he’s so cute!”
“But I’m so cute!” I echo, making the cutest puppy face I can manage. “You said it yourself, remember?”
“Well, sure, but I meant in that so-ugly-you’re-cute kind of way. Like Bo’s dogs.” Yami laughs, and I can’t help but laugh too. Bo’s dogs are a little ugly.
“I mean, you have my face, so who are you really calling ugly?”
Yami gasps and clutches her imaginary pearls like she’s about to have a heart attack. “How very dare you!”
“Shhh, you’re both beautiful,” Bo says, giving my hand a squeeze and blowing Yami a kiss.
I pretend to savor every moment of Yami and Bo’s attention. Really, though, it just reminds me they’re giving up their alone time to make me feel comfortable. However big or small, everyone’s always making sacrifices for me, and they all think I don’t notice. I ignore the twinge of guilt in my gut and take the back seat for once, sticking my AirPods in my ears so I can at least give them the illusion of some time alone.
When we get home, Yami cushions the blow from my mom by distracting her. Mami’s sitting at the kitchen table waiting for us, obviously disappointed in me, but Yami walks in first and immediately brings up how much work she and my mom have to do.
“Did you see we got a bulk order today? What if you get started on that while I work on our existing orders, so we don’t fall further behind?” Yami’s already walking to the living room, aka their workspace, like she expects Mami to follow her, but Mami just sits there staring at me with sad eyes.
“I thought we were past this, mijo.”
“It’s not like I cheated on a test or anything,” I say dismissively. “It’s not my fault I fell asleep.”
“I never said it was your fault—”
“Then why are you on my ass?” I snap unexpectedly, and she looks taken aback.
She doesn’t say anything at first, and I just stand there, squirming under the ever-familiar pitying look she’s giving me. I don’tknow why she lets me talk back to her now. It’s like she’s walking on eggshells around me ever since The Event. Everyone does, really. Like she’s afraid she’ll lose me if she disciplines me like she used to. I won’t lie, I’ve been talking back more and more, trying to getsomekind of reaction out of her, but no. All I ever get is that look. It’s so much worse.
“So you’re still having trouble sleeping at night, then?” she asks, eyes starting to shine.
“I guess so,” I say, shifting my weight uncomfortably. Why does she have tolookat me like that?
