Page 2 of Guava Flavored Lies

Sylvie tried to laugh, but her bad temper was so poorly contained it was palpable beneath the fake cackle. Offending her took such little effort.

“What the hell do you know?” Sylvie’s pulse throbbed visibly in her neck, as if a tiny rage monster might break through her flesh Alien style.

“I don’t think a degree in music is required to notice they’re just a Radiohead rip off.” Lauren smirked. “A bad one.”

Sylvie’s lips disappeared into a fine, thin line. “Whatever.”

Lauren was going to continue taunting her, but the door at the end of the hall flew open. Clamoring voices and shoes clacking against wood floors destroyed the relative silence.

Watching four adults try to wedge through the same opening at once would’ve been comical if Lauren didn’t know what was coming. Sylvie’s mom muscled her way in first, followed by Lauren’s mom, leaving the two dads to wrestle for last place.

“Mami! I didn’t start it!” Sylvie cried as her mother, a tall bottle-blonde in a sundress, darted toward her like she was rescuing a duckling from oncoming traffic.

“I know, mi niña.” Ms. Campos threw her arms around Sylvie. As she hugged her daughter, Ms. Campos’ head swiveled to Lauren. She offered the same icy glare her daughter always wore. “It’s not your fault some people haven’t been raised right.”

Lauren’s mother, her dark hair framing her full face, stood between Lauren and Ms. Campos. The expensive outfit she wore to spin class showed off more curves than was appropriate for a trip to a catholic school, but that didn’t inhibit her mother. “Don’t talk to my daughter, Barbara.”

Lauren’s father appeared at his wife’s side. “What can you expect from these people? They’re classless.”

“Classless?” Mr. Campos bumped his round chest against Lauren’s father’s sternum. Lauren’s dad, lean and tall, towered over Sylvie’s dad, but that didn’t stop him. “That’s hysterical coming from you.”

“We’re not the family of thieves,” Lauren’s mom barked.

Sylvie’s mom replied with a cold, sarcastic laugh. “Now you’re just projecting, you two-faced—”

“Two-faced?” Lauren’s mother matched the maniacal fake laughter. “Says the women who has paid a small fortune in plastic surgery to literally have a second face!”

“She started it! This is her fault!” Sylvie pointed at Lauren as their parents argued.

Lauren’s anger flared in response to the false accusation. Mostly false. “You’re such a liar!”

Before Lauren could process her movements, Sylvie leapt toward her. “You provoked me!” Sylvie screamed. “You always provoke me!”

Like a hawk swooping in talons first, Sylvie flew at her face with her hands outstretched. Sylvie’s dad, despite being built like a chubby Hobbit, moved fast enough to catch her. He tucked his petite daughter under his arm. Lauren struggled against her father’s hold to defend herself from the not entirely untrue accusation.

Chaos crescendoed to deafening levels as the six of them squabbled. In the confusing mess of blame and cross-accusations, the assistant principal’s door swung open.

Sister Gloria, a severe woman in her eighties dressed in a pristine white habit, appeared in the doorway. Her presence alone froze them in place. For generations, the all-female student body at Our Lady of Solitude had questioned whether the tall and imposing woman played professional football in her youth.

“What is going on here?”

Sylvie’s dad put her down as her mother straightened her uniform and pushed her hair out of her flushed face.

“Sister, good morning—”

“Does it look like a good morning to you, Ms. Machado?”

In an instant, Lauren’s mom traveled back in time. Rubbing her hands down her pant legs, she was a teenager gathering the nerve to face an authority figure.

Not to be outdone, Sylvie’s mother rushed forward and stood a few inches in front of Lauren’s mom. As if competing to see who could be more contrite.

“We have little tolerance for this kind of behavior,” Sister Gloria announced, her tone as sharp as a razor blade. She fixed the older women physically shielding their daughters in her gaze. “I shouldn’t have to tell either of you that.”

The great Campos-Machado rivalry spanned countries and generations. How many times had they been hauled to this very office staring down the business end of this very nun?

Sylvie’s mother, her store-bought features sharp and narrow, cast her eyes to the floor. Instead of capitalizing on the moment of weakness, Lauren’s mother let shame soften her stance.

“This is the second incident this year,” Sister Gloria started, her irritation growing. “Clearly, my leniency the first time was a mistake. Perhaps suspension will make the message clear.”

---