Page 32 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

I cross my legs, and he stops walking, his eyes skimming over my body. Slowly. Leisurely. The same flicker of heat I saw earlier returns. That look contradicts what he said two seconds ago. “So, you don’t want anything more to happen between us?” I ask just to clarify.

“Nope.”

“And yet you’re thinking about me naked right now?”

He chuckles, that rosy tint on his cheeks getting darker, and the naughtiest grin quirks his lips up. “See? Obvious.” He winks at me. “I’ll see you around, Bella.”

Fuck, he is so cute!

He turns and jogs up to the locker rooms. Once he’s out of earshot, I clasp my hands over my mouth and scream into them because I have no other way of releasing the excitement pent up inside of me. Never...never in my life has an encounter with a boy left me feeling so confused and electrified at the same time. My tiny crush was like a dormant volcano, but it erupted today. I feel the heat spreading through my body. Up my neck. Over my cheeks.

Tommy arrives a few minutes later and I’m replaying the conversation in my head when I jump into the car.

“Hi, IzzyB.”

“Hi, Tom.” I sound a little breathy because I’m still floating on cloud nine, and Tommy notices immediately.

“That’s weird. What’s up? Why are you all flushed?”

“Oh, my God! I just had the best day. Isn’t today a wonderful day?”

“Okay, what’s going on?”

I’m trying to stop myself from beaming. “I’m just...happy.”

My response angers him instantly. “Izzy, drinking is one thing, but if you’re messing around with drugs...”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I swear, Tom, I’m not. I didn’t even drink today. I’m completely sober.”

He’s still not buying it. “Is this what you look like sober? And if you are sober, why are you so...giddy?”

My cheeks are hot and sore from all the smiling, and I give up on trying to stop the beam. “I had such a fun chat with Dylan today.”

I start gushing, telling him all about my conversation with Dylan, and I literally do not shut up about him until my mother comes to pick me up. I’m so lost in my thoughts on the way home that I don’t even feel the usual wave of anxiety that overcomes me as we approach the house. This realization only dawns on me when I get out of the car. The pickup truck parked on the street in front of our house pulls me out of my musings.

“Whose truck is that?” I ask my mother.

She shrugs. “Maybe Catalina has a friend over.”

“Cat doesn’t have any friends, ma.”

This worries her, and she rushes to the front door. She starts her interrogation before we even get into the house.

“Mija, whose pickup truck is parked up front?” She stops when she enters the kitchen. “Who’s your friend?”

I’m still closing the door when I hear all this, and it confuses me because my sister doesn’t socialize with anyone. I’m still trying to figure out who it could be when I walk through the open-plan dining room and imagine my surprise when I see douche-extraordinaire Scott Carter in our kitchen. My good mood dissolves faster than sugar in hot water.

“What the hell is he doing here?” I yell, and then my eyes narrow on him. “Get out! You’re not welcome here.” I do a quick check on my sister. “Did he hurt you? I swear I’ll cut his balls off.”

“I’m fine,” she replies quickly.

“Now, Isa, we spoke about this,” my mother scolds. “You need to learn to control your temper.”

I switch over to Spanish to explain to her who exactly this asshole is so she can see that I am justified here. He has emotionally and mentally abused my sister for years, me too occasionally. He thinks being rich gives him the license to treat people like dirt, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand here and pretend that he’s welcome in our house for the sake of being pleasant.

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