Papi, Por Favor!

By Rossana Snee

Sixteen-year-old Madison Michaels has never been in love, and that’s fine by her. Having an exceedingly overprotective father doesn’t leave much wiggle room for boys, let alone love. Madison’s father, Pablo Perez, dutifully enforces Rule #4: Stay Away from Boys! Everything changes, however, when new student Ben Warren shows up in Madison’s English class. With his good looks and kind-hearted ways, he captures Madison’s heart.

Unfortunately, Madison’s newfound feelings have to be kept a secret. A secret from her adoptive twin sisters, Caro and Tina; her friend, Nina Abbott, who has fallen for Ben too; and best friends Elena Mercado and Mari Rosales, (especially Mari) who believes Ben is a troublemaker from whom everyone should stay away.

As Madison’s feelings for Ben grow, so do her lies. However, lies, like corks, eventually float to the surface. And when they do, all key players are there to witness it, including Nina who, obsessed with Pride and Prejudice, believes that Ben is her “Mr. Darcy” and Madison now her “frenemy.” Madison knows she can’t fall in love. Madison knows she can’t be with Ben. Madison knows better, but her heart does not.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Mar 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798765248034

Rossana Snee

Rossana Snee is a licensed marriage and family therapist currently working part-time on Talkspace helping people mend. She began writing when she was eleven years old and hasn’t stopped since. Rossana is married to her best friend and is the mother of two amazing sons. She is also the author of The Healing Alphabet: 26 Empowering Ways to Enrich Your Life. Papi, Por Favor! is her first young adult novel, and she is presently working on the sequel.

Book preview

Copyright © 2024 Rossana Snee

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.balboapress.com

844-682-1282

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Cover Art and Design by Rossana Snee and John Lynch.

ISBN: 979-8-7652-4802-7 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-7652-4804-1 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-7652-4803-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023923418

Balboa Press rev. date: 03/22/2024

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Acknowledgments

About the Author

To my tribe, who I can depend on for anything.

This tribe includes Joe, my husband, my best friend, and my rock. He really is the wind beneath my wings.

To my sons, John and Josh. Best sons ever!

To my Papi. He was my mentor and my hero. I miss him every day!

To my Mami. May she rest in peace. She was always my staunchest supporter.

And finally, to Richard W. Hilburn (my Ben), wherever he may be. Thank you for being my inspiration for this book.

There’s no love like the first.

—Nicholas Sparks

CHAPTER 1

43380.png

For some reason, I thought when I turned sixteen, I would notice something. Anything—a physical difference (improvement), however subtle. Hopefully not too subtle. Inspecting myself in the full-length mirror, I saw nothing new. No, wait—was that a zit on my pale forehead? Gross! Happy birthday, Madison Rose Michaels! Okay, so what did I really expect? Bigger boobs? Shapelier hips? Smaller thighs? Check no on all of the above.

Oliver, my African gray parrot, flapped his wings frantically, begging to be let out of his cage. When that didn’t work, he squawked, Mad, pretty girl, Mad, pretty girl!

I looked back and said, Not now, Oliver. Can’t you see I’m busy? Assessing (criticizing) oneself was no simple task. The door to my room burst open, and in strolled the Marthas. Oliver let out a louder squawk.

Have you guys ever heard of knocking? I asked, turning away from my unremarkable form to face my intruders.

Martha Christina Tina Pérez plopped onto my bed, managing to bend the cover of Verity by Colleen Hoover. I shrieked. Martha Carolina Caro Pérez stood by the door, next to a black-and-white poster of Jacob Elordi, the future father of my perfect kids. In the poster, he wore a white T-shirt, exposing muscular arms, and was leaning forward, a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. Ever since I saw Jacob in The Kissing Booth Netflix series and 2 Hearts, my crush on him could not be crushed.

The Marthas ignored my question.

Mami wants you downstairs pronto! She has a tres leches cake sitting on the table in honor of your sweet sixteen, Tina said. So hurry! I’m starved.

When aren’t you? I said. Of course, a tres leches cake, which probably contained about a thousand calories per slice, would not affect either of the Marthas. The identical twins, with long, jet-black hair, Shakira-shaped bodies, and teeth that screamed porcelain veneers but weren’t, looked like they had stepped out of a Telemundo novela. Anabelle Acosta, the Cuban-born American actress, model, and dancer, had nothing on them.

Even though we were like sisters, we weren’t. People probably wondered why they got the nice bodies with the smooth olive complexions and I didn’t. Let me explain. The Pérezes moved in next door to our craftsman-style home in Los Angeles on a gloomy June afternoon about ten years ago. The Marthas and I quickly became friends. Best friends. We were like a family. So much so that I eventually started calling Pablo Papi and Martha Mami. But I’m getting ahead of the story.

Mom loved having the girls over, hoping that she and I would somehow pick up some Spanish. The Marthas’ mother, Martha, would stop by frequently to borrow this or that. Mostly, she liked hanging out with Mom because she got to practice her English, share parenting insights, exchange recipes, and commiserate over their husbands’ annoying habits. Dad and Papi bonded over Coronas and BBQs on Sunday afternoons. All was well. When asked about all the Marthas, Papi explained that the love of his life was his wife, Martha. He loved her so much that he decided to name both of his daughters Martha. His wife was too over the moon to care. A bit odd? Yes, but no harm, no foul. The Pérezes were our neighbors and best friends. How lucky were we?

This is where the story gets sad. A year later, on a muggy August night, the police arrived at the Pérezes, where the Marthas and I were having a sleepover. I can still remember the loud, insistent knock on the door and then Papi holding onto Mami as she cried out when they learned both my mom and dad had been killed in a car accident on the 405 South when they collided head-on with an SUV driving on the wrong side of the freeway.

That summer, I became an orphan. That summer, the Pérezes took me in and made me their daughter. It wasn’t a difficult process to adopt me. My parents had no other family to speak of. A brother, yes, in South Carolina, but he suffered from debilitating mental health issues, and taking in his seven-year-old niece was not an option.

People say there’s nothing worse than losing a child, but the gut-wrenching pain of losing both parents as a child nearly killed me. What got me through was having another wonderful family—a family to take care of me and a place where I belonged. I instantly inherited a set of grandparents (the Abuelos), parents, and sisters, without the benefit of their gene pool, unfortunately. Instead of looking voluptuous like the Marthas, I looked like an ordinary white American girl with light brown, wavy hair, hazel eyes (which everyone said were green, aargh!), and a spray of freckles on my nose for good measure—nothing spectacular from my not-so-humble perspective. My thighs, of course, were bigger than I would have liked, sort of muscular, and my hair was not as straight as I would have wanted. I was, however, happy with my hazel eyes. They were like my mom’s, or at least I liked to think so.

Tina whined, Come on, Mad, I’m dying for some cake.

Come on, Mad, Oliver squawked, flapping his wings and losing one of his feathers in the process.

All you think about is food, Tina, Caro said. You better watch yourself, sister. I don’t want you getting fat. Someone might see you in the halls at school and think you’re me.

You wish, Tina said, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at her sister, who caught it and instantly threw it back. Instead of catching it, Tina let the pillow drop to the floor. Sorry about your book, Mad, Tina said, getting off the bed.

You owe me a Barnes & Noble gift card, I said. Consider it a birthday present.

Done, she said. Now let’s go get some cake.

Always in constant feed mode, Caro said, shaking her head.

All right, guys, let’s go before Mami comes in and sees I haven’t cleaned Oliver’s cage yet.

The tres leches cake sat in the middle of the table on a pink tablecloth, surrounded by paper plates, plastic cups, and forks. Papi was near the sink with his camera. The Abuelos were already sitting and sipping their cafésitos. Mami clapped her hands. "Por fin, you take too long, mi amor!"

My eyes welled up as I took in the scene. I looked into the Abuelos’ kind faces, into Papi’s soft brown eyes, and at Mami’s proud smile. I had been blessed with another loving family. Not too many people can boast about having even one.

Mami said, "Come sit, mija. We have another sorpresa for you."

I was trying to imagine what the surprise could be when Joe Martinez walked in. For the past year, Caro and Tina’s eighteen-year-old cousin had been living in Scottsdale, Arizona, with his dad, Jorge (Mami’s older brother), to help out on their family farm.

Joe! I cried, running up to him and giving him a big hug. Joe used to be on the swim team at our school. He taught me how to swim like a pro. He used to call me his little mermaid because after I learned to swim, it was all I wanted to do. He lifted me up in the air and swung me around.

I can’t believe you’re here, I said, bubbling with excitement.

Get used to it, he said as he put me down.

Where are you staying? I asked, rubbing my palms together.

"My friend John and his family are letting me crash at their place rent-free. All I have to do is help his dad with deliveries on the weekends. He makes amazing wooden wall signs. They sell like hotcakes.

That is so cool, I said, feeling my heart swell with happiness.

That mean José will be transferring back to Long Shore High, Mami said. Is good, no? Now he graduates in June, and we all be together like a family.

Joe, he corrected, walking over to the table and reaching into a bag of chips.

To me, you always be José, she said, and then mumbled something about the importance of being proud of one’s heritage.

My birthday celebration could not have been more perfect. The only dark cloud? The knowledge that the following day was back to school after a blink-of-an-eye summer break. Nothing against school, mind you—I loved it—but there went my freedom to do as I pleased: read, swim, watch TV, and did I say read?

After conferring with Tina and Caro about what to wear to school (our first day back was muy importante), we headed off to bed. The Marthas shared a room, while I had my own—a small area that had been converted from Mami’s craft room—something she’d gladly given up when I came to live with them.

Despite the lack of changes in my body, it turned out to be a pretty decent birthday. Maybe next year I would see a more noticeable improvement. One could only hope.

I fell asleep that night listening to Taylor Swift’s song Last Kiss. You told me you loved me; so why … Little did I know as I drifted off to sleep that that song was predictive of things to come and that my life would never be the same.

CHAPTER 2

43380.png

The sound of chimes. Over and over again. No! My alarm! With one eye open, I tried to press snooze but ended up knocking my phone on the floor. Then I remembered. School! I jumped out of bed, one earbud still hanging from my left ear. Then I heard it—the sizzle of bacon frying. I inhaled hungrily, my stomach begging for a tasty morsel.

Good morning, Oliver! I said, removing the sheet from his cage.

Oliver tilted his head, spread his wings, and squawked, Mad, morning, Mad!

My outfit was laid out: new skinny denim jeans (a birthday present from the Marthas), a cute black T-shirt with cropped sleeves, and pink wedge sandals. Simple yet elegant. The first day back to school after summer vacation was like a first impression; it would linger on the minds of the whole judgy student body. It set the tone for the rest of the year. I had to look good. Especially for Jack Byrne. No, he was not Jacob Elordi, but he was a damn hottie! I’d only had a crush on him since leaving my mother’s womb. Well, okay, not that far back, but at least since eighth grade, when we got paired up for an English project and had to write a story together. We got a C minus on the paper, but Jack got an A plus in my heart. The rest is history. Well, not exactly. He is, after all, dating the head cheerleader, Ava Landers. She is flawless—no zits on her forehead, or anywhere else for that matter—a younger Gwen Stefani with red, naturally plump lips and a Jennifer Lopez butt. So I can’t actually blame Jack for liking her. She was hot enough to put up with her tantrums when she didn’t get her way. One time, Ava and her entourage of minions were deciding which movie to see. It was a Friday after school. I happened to be standing nearby waiting for my ride, so I witnessed the meltdown in 3-D. It went something like this:

Ava: I want to go see Where the Crawdads Sing.

Friend 1: I saw that on opening night.

Ava: See it again!

Friend 1: No, it’s too soon.

Friend 2: Yeah, let’s go see that new Thor movie.

Ava: It’s Crawdads, or you can spend the evening at home by yourselves.

Then she started yelling about ingratitude and how she didn’t deserve such rudeness.

Friend 1: Okay, we’ll go see the Crawdads movie.

Ava: Forget it. I don’t feel like going anymore.

Then like a true brat, she stormed off without looking back, leaving her minions wondering what had just happened.

When I was convinced that I looked as good as I possibly could—my zit covered generously with concealer—I walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Tina was already devouring her French toast, which was drenched with syrup and topped with strawberries and whipped cream. Caro was savoring her strawberries. Period. I shook my head in wonderment at the appetite differences between them.

Morning, Mad, Tina said, in between mouthfuls of food.

You look cute, Mad, Caro said, finishing up the last of her strawberries. Those jeans look hot on you. Whoever gave them to you has good taste.

Yeah, thanks again, guys. They do look pretty good, if I do say so myself.

Papi walked in with the paper in one hand and his black-and-white Welder of the Year coffee mug in the other. He eyed us individually, making sure that we were dressed appropriately. Last year, Tina showed an inch of skin between her low-rise jeans and shirt, and she was sent back to her room to change. Caro’s V-neck top showed a bit of cleavage, and she was forced to change as well. Somehow, I went unnoticed, perhaps because I have more of a boyish figure and little to no cleavage.

We must have passed inspection because Papi said, "Buenos dias, hijas," and sat down. Mami was out walking with the Abuelos. It was the only way Abuelo got any exercise, which the doctor said was important after his heart attack two years ago.

A honk out front got us up and out of the house in less than two minutes. Joe was waiting in the car. Come on, ladies. The meter’s running. I hopped into the front, and the Marthas took their seats in the back. The birthday girl always rode shotgun.

It was a beautiful Southern California morning. The sun was out, and all was well with the world. It was a perfect day to be riding in Joe’s BMW 3 Series convertible, a 1997 red-hot little number that was his pride and joy. He got a great deal on Craigslist with some help from Uncle Jorge and Papi. Joe was so grateful that he didn’t mind playing chauffeur.

Joe pulled into a parking space across the street from the school. Eagerly, the Marthas and I jumped out. I didn’t want to admit it; I knew Jack was unavailable to me, but I was excited to see if he had matured during the summer. One never knew the possibilities—he could have grown tired of Ava. Yeah, right! Keep on dreaming, Madison.

The school was abuzz with people—security guards monitoring the scattering teens, teachers earnestly greeting some of their former students, and friends happily reuniting after the three-month separation. Despite feeling like an actor with stage fright and having a belly full of butterflies, I took it all in. It was going to be a great year; I just knew it.

I adjusted my backpack and waved goodbye to Joe, who, even before putting his car into park, was greeted by his girlfriend, Ashley Davis, and two of his former water polo teammates, Josh Jacobs and John Lynch. Thanks to FaceTime, social media, and texting, Joe had been able to stay connected with Ashley and his friends. Tina, Caro, and I made a date to meet in the cafeteria for lunch, and then we were off.

My first class was Honors English with Ms. Reynolds. She was the most highly sought-after teacher, mostly by junior and senior boys, and sometimes girls, whose hormones were all in a twitter. Let’s just say, for the record, that the gods had gifted Ms. Reynolds with blond hair that always seemed to catch the light just right, side-swept bangs that half covered her big brown eyes, and a gorgeous figure—what Joe would describe as freakin’ hot. The guys always fought for the first- and second-row seats, as if they were in the running for her affections. Ha!

I took a seat near the back, not wanting to get caught in the testosterone crossfire.

I looked around and recognized just about every face. I would have looked for Jack, but I knew he would never be placed in an honors class. I silenced my phone, took out my notebook and pen, and waited for class to begin.

As soon as the bell rang, Nina Abbott slipped into class and took a seat next to me. I liked Nina, despite the fact that she was considered nerdy by most of the popular crowd. She was a junior like me, and smart—a little too smart to interest any of the guys at our school—but she was nice and funny when she allowed herself to relax a bit. She was actually pretty, in a down-to-earth, girl-next-door sort of way.

Hey, she said. Then she started organizing her things, almost in an OCD style. Everything was lined up perfectly—her notebook, a planner, two pens (just in case she ran out of ink, I supposed), a mechanical pencil, and some different colored highlighters. She even added sticky notes and paper clips. For what she’d need those, I had no idea. But that was Nina.

Hey, Nina, I said, happy to see a friendly face.

All right, class. Welcome back, Ms. Reynolds said. I hope you all had a great summer and are feeling rested. Now it’s time to settle down and focus on school. Let’s start by seeing who’s here, shall we?

Ms. Reynolds was halfway through roll call when the door suddenly opened. In walked a guy I’d never seen before. Hmm, interesting. Cute, in a brooding, young Cody Christian kind of way. Half-lidded aquamarine eyes scanned the room. Brown, wavy hair fell just below his neck. His well-worn 501s and a half-tucked, plain white T-shirt gave him a rugged, bad-boy appearance—the very type of boy Papi had repeatedly warned the Marthas and me about. All that was missing was a pack of cigarettes rolled up in his sleeve.

Ms. Reynolds took a note from him and read it silently as the class watched on, curious as to who this newcomer might be.

Have a seat anywhere, she said when she was done reading the note. And welcome.

As he made his way down the aisle, a black Jansport backpack hanging off his right shoulder, Ms. Reynolds said, Class, please welcome Benjamin Warren. He comes to us from Tempe, Arizona.

Just Ben, he said, taking the seat to my left, his expression serious and almost angry looking.

Ben, then, she said, then resumed going through the roll call sheet. When she was finished, Ms. Reynolds picked up a stack of index cards from her desk and asked that we take one and pass the rest.

Your assignment—should you choose to accept it, and you really have no choice but to accept it—is to write down the name of a book you’d like to read this semester, one of the classics. It doesn’t matter which one. Include why you’d like to read it and whether you’ll be writing a paper or giving a class presentation. If there’s another book you’d like to read that’s not a classic, see me after class. I’m flexible.

There were groans from most everybody in the class except Ben, who just sat slouched in his seat, left leg sticking out into the aisle, staring off into space.

I was fascinated; I could not keep my surreptitious eyes off him. His jeans had a hole on the right knee and were frayed at the cuffs. He wore a sports watch on his right wrist, at which he periodically glanced. As my eyes drifted down to his hand, I noticed a scar on his knuckle that was raised and turned white by time.

Glancing at the clock above Ms. Reynolds’s head, I realized I had a long way to go before lunch and the opportunity to fill the girls in on this interesting new stranger.

The index cards made their way slowly to the back. Ben took a small stack, kept one card, and handed another to the guy behind him. We made eye contact as Jonah Martin, who sat directly in front of me, turned and handed me another stack. I noticed two more small scars: one above his right eye and one about the same size across his right cheek. Yep, this could prove to be one hell of a semester. I couldn’t wait for lunch.

The cafeteria was pure pandemonium. I spotted the girls—Tina, Caro, Mari Rosales, and Elena El Mercado—who were sitting at our usual table by the front door. The Marthas and I had been friends with Mari and Elena since freshman year. Mari, El, and I were in sixth-period Spanish with Ms. Lopez this year, the only class we shared. As I sat on the bench, I caught the tail end of their conversation.

I heard he was released from juvie just last week, but you know the rumor mill, Elena (a tall, Guatemalan beauty) said. I don’t actually believe it. El always tended to believe the best of people. Long Shore High was going to have a pageant—which El had already signed up for—to raise money for refurbishing the pool. It had been vandalized pretty badly, forcing the swim team to borrow our rival school’s pool for practice most of last year. Aside from raising money for the pool, the winner would receive a full college scholarship. The mere possibility filled El with hope.

I know, Mari said, who was as short as Elena was tall, but just as beautiful. I was in the office this morning, hoping to get out of Mr. Lacoste’s P.E. class and into Ms. Smith’s instead, when he was ushered in by an armed security officer and a woman.

How do you know they weren’t his parents, Mari? Elena said. "An armed security officer?"

Well, I didn’t see a weapon, but I’m sure he had one on him, Mari retorted. Whatever. He seems dodgy.

Who are you guys talking about? I asked, pulling out my lunch bag, opening it, and taking out a tuna sandwich wrapped in Saran Wrap.

The new guy. I don’t know his name. But from what I saw today, he’s up to no good; probably likely to stir up trouble, Mari said.

I had a sneaking suspicion they were talking about Ben. The Marthas looked at me and shrugged their shoulders, perplexed. But after taking a dainty bite out of one of her ten allotted carrots, Caro asked, Do you know anything about him, Mad?

Feeding the gossip that was playing out before me, I answered excitedly, He’s in my Honors English class. Sits next to me even!

This elicited a shriek from my audience. Tina covered her mouth so as not to gross us out with a mouth full of the cafeteria’s famous meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

Really? Elena said, leaning in to hear more. What else can you tell us?

"Not much more to report yet. His name’s Ben Warren. Comes from Tempe, Arizona. He’s interesting, mysterious, and broodishly cute; he could be Cody Christian— the actor who played the wrestler with one arm? In Notorious Nick? It’s based on a true story. So dang cute! He was also in Pretty Little Liars!"

"No, I didn’t see that movie, but I saw him in All American. He played Asher Adams. Ahhh … still dreaming of number eighty-three, Elena said. So hot!"

Cute? Looks like Cody Christian? Mari said, with a look of shock. He’s a juvenile delinquent! Who knows what he’s doing here. We could all end up with another school mass shooting situation! With dozens dead and even more critically injured.

Always the drama queen with no filter, Mari could make a mountain out of a molehill, or a killer out of a saint. Raised by her mother and grandmother, with no father in the picture, Mari had always been warned to be careful—to be on the lookout for danger. Her mother had been assaulted in her teens. Not wanting the same fate to befall Mari, it was always Watch for suspicious activity; don’t talk to strangers; stay away from underground parking lots; don’t get in an elevator with a man! There was always something bad waiting to happen in dark, creepy corners. It was no wonder Mari always thought the worst.

You actually saw an armed officer escort him into the office? I asked suspiciously, too excited to think about eating my sandwich.

Well, yeah, a cop, I think. He was tall, his head closely shaved, and the woman was wearing a professional-looking navy suit. She was probably his parole officer.

You’re shameless, Mari, I said, shaking my head. You don’t really know anything.

I know what I saw with my own eyes, Mari affirmed. You can tell a lot by the company one keeps.

The subject eventually died down, and we spent the rest of our lunchtime catching up on our summer activities and speculating on whether Jack and Ava would stay together. Part of my mind, however, lingered on the new guy. I wondered about him. Why had he been transferred to our school? Had he really been in juvie? Was he a criminal? How did he get those scars? Time would tell, but for now, I had another class to get to.

CHAPTER 3

43380.png

"So how was first day of school, mijas? Mami asked that night. Everyone sat around the dinner table over celebratory roast chicken dinner with corn on the cob and black beans on a bed of white rice. As Tina piled the food on her plate, Caro remarked, There are still six people who have yet to serve themselves, T."

As if you’re going to load any evil carbs onto your plate. They might contaminate the protein and few kernels of corn you’ll eat, Tina replied, already spooning some of the devil food into her mouth.

"Ya, muchachas, Abuela said. Coman tranquilas."

Abuela is right, guys. Let’s eat in peace, I said, forever trying to forge a truce. Changing the subject as quickly as possible in order to end their verbal food fight, I asked, Did you guys notice anything different about Ms. Lopez?

Duh. Botox injections! Tina remarked, biting into her buttery corn on the cob.

Among other things, Caro added, cutting the kernels off her cob and separating them from the other items on her plate.

"Bo-qué?" Papi asked, removing the skin off his chicken.

Botox, Caro said. It paralyzes the muscles on your face so that wrinkles all but disappear. All the celebrities do it.

"Why she want wrinkles disappear? She has no arrugas, Mami said. I see her at last school meeting, and she looked bery good to me."

Me too, Papi said, a naughty smile on his face. This got him an admonishing look from Mami.

And did you guys notice her lips? I said. Angelina Jolie has nothing on her.

Obviously, she wasn’t happy with how she looked, Caro said, who was already done with her one spoonful of rice.

"What she do to her labios?" Mami asked.

She had them injected, I said, to make them look plumper. And boy, do they ever look plump. A worse version of Donatella Versace’s lips.

Now, I do think they did a great job on her boobs. Not too big, not too small. Judging by the hard stares from all the boys in the class, they are bodaciously perfect, Tina said. By the way, Elena is considering some work before the pageant.

Oh. No. She. Isn’t! I cried. Elena is perfect just the way she is. How much more beautiful does that girl need to be? If only I had a quarter of her beauty.

Don’t worry, Tina said. El’s only talking about a facial and some lowlights.

Abuelo, with arms resting comfortably across his paunch, appeared utterly baffled, as though society had gone completely mad.

All women are perfect how God made them. Why mess up a good thing? Papi commented. I’ll have to look closer next time we meet with Ms. Lopez.

At this, Mami punched Papi in the arm. Next time, I go alone.

This elicited laughter from all of us, who, by now, were anticipating dessert. Abuela had made a flan that was to die for. Loaded, of course, with too many eggs to count, condensed milk, and enough caramelized sugar to create an immediate cavity or two. Caro eyed the flan as if it were a weapon aimed directly at her hips and thighs.

Hey, Mad, tell Mami and Papi about the new boy, Caro said.

New boy? Papi asked, his voice taking an alarmed tone. Papi did not want us to think about anything other than school, keeping our grades up, and applying for college. For us, dating was like a dream that would not come true until we turned eighteen and/or moved as far away as possible from home and Papi’s hawkish eyes. Joe had graciously offered to be our watchdog/chaperone, but it was a no-go in Papi’s strict world. Besides, even if that were a remote possibility, neither the Marthas nor I would subject ourselves to the embarrassment and humiliation a chaperone would cause. Up until now, I hadn’t had to face that problem since there wasn’t really any guy I was interested in, other than Jack Byrne, an unattainable. Caro, however, had developed a serious crush on a boy named Mike Walsh her sophomore year. One afternoon, he asked her to go to Yogurtland after school. And she went. After all, what harm could possibly come from eating frozen yogurt? She was with a boy, but so what?

The Pérez Volcano erupted shortly after said boy dropped Caro off at our doorstep. Unfortunately for Mike and Caro, Papi had gotten off work early and was pulling into the driveway at that exact moment. Mike got away without injury, but Caro was read the riot act:

What do you want, Martha Carolina? To get pregnant? How old is that boy? Twenty?

No, Papi! Caro cried. He’s a junior. And besides, I didn’t know I could get pregnant from eating a peanut butter cup yogurt with chocolate sprinkles, she said, bursting into tears.

You’re only fifteen. Too young to date those kinds of boys.

What kinds of boys? she cried. Mike is super nice.

Only one thing on his mind, he said, holding up his index finger. One! he added, his expression stony and serious.

Abuelo, who had stepped out on the porch and been listening to the whole thing, nodded in agreement.

After The Talk, Caro was sent straight to her room without supper, which was actually fine by her since the chocolate sprinkles had sent her over the caloric allowance for the day.

At school the next day, Caro had to break the news to Mike that they could no longer hang out. He pretended to understand, but being a typical guy in the twenty-first century, he knew there were plenty of other fish in the sea. Maybe not as pretty as Caro, but at sixteen, he didn’t much care. Like every red-blooded male, he wanted to go out and have fun.

After that episode, we all knew the score. Why Caro would bring up Ben now at the dinner table was a mystery.

It’s no big deal, I said, trying to change the subject again. It’s just a new kid. One who looks like a rugged movie star. Sigh.

Rumor has it he’s some sort of delinquent just released from juvie, Tina added. That’s what Mari said anyway.

I looked over at Tina, giving her a death stare. Sometimes for fun, she’d add fuel to the fire. A world-class instigator! We don’t know that, Tina, I said. You know how Mari exaggerates everything. Why on earth I was sticking up for this guy—a literal stranger—was beyond me. Remember that day she told us the mall had been closed due to bomb threats? We later found out that Macy’s was just flooded, and they had a crew cleaning up the mess. The rest of the mall was open.

Delinquent or not, you girls stay far away from him. Best way to not get pregnant—study, study, study, Papi proclaimed.

That’s exactly what I did later that night. I pulled out my psychology book and read the section on love and attraction. According to social psychologist Zick Rubin—one of the first researchers to develop an instrument designed to empirically measure love—romantic love is made up of three different parts: attachment, caring, and intimacy. A notetaker by nature, I jotted them down and reviewed his Liking and Loving scale. Next, I started to look for a book to read for English class.

During my search, I got a message from Nina Abbott, which surprised me. She rarely contacted the outside world. She was always too busy working on being perfect at anything and everything academic.

NINA: You there, Mad?

ME: Hey, ’sup?

NINA: Nothing much. Just looking for a book. Have you found one?

ME: Looking for one as we speak.

NINA: What do u think of the new guy?

What? Even Nina is talking about this guy?

ME: What do you mean?"

NINA: I thought he was super cute. Didn’t you? : )

ME: I guess.

He was definitely cute, but I was not about to admit that to Nina.

NINA: Okay, just wondering. Well I better get back to my search. I’m thinking of reading pride & prejudice.

ME: Didn’t you already read that like five times?

NINA: Who reads p & p once? Besides, I’m in the mood for romance. You have to admit, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth make such a lovely couple. Well I really gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow.

ME: Later.

Nina showing interest in a boy? A rumored criminal, no less. Very weird.

I continued my search, looking carefully through all my books, and decided on Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë. It was part of a collection of classics I’d found in my mom’s pile of books several years after she died and what, I felt in my heart of hearts, had inspired my love of reading.

With that task out of the way, I got ready for bed. I grabbed my phone, looked through my Spotify playlists, and decided on Reba McEntire’s Room to Breathe album. Eventually, I fell asleep but not before seeing Ben’s face before me—the scar on his cheek and above his eye—and contemplating the possibility that maybe he really was someone to avoid … or get to know better.

CHAPTER 4

43380.png

The next morning, Joe dropped us off at school as usual. However, there was nothing usual about that day. As the Marthas and I headed toward the quad, we immediately noticed something was going on. Something big. A crowd was gathered in a large circle. People were shouting, egging on a fight in progress, we soon realized.

Mari came out of nowhere and grabbed me by the arm. Oh, my God, Mad. It’s the new guy. I told you he was bad news. Already causing trouble. She gulped in a frantic breath, then added, I think I saw him waving a knife!

We hurried over to the circle. Elena was already there, screaming for them to stop. She would definitely be speaking about the need for world peace at the pageant. And now, apparently school peace. As I edged closer, I could see Ben and Malcolm Spears going at it. Talk about trouble. Malcolm had been causing havoc since his first day in kindergarten. To this day, I remember him kicking a little boy in the shin because he wouldn’t share his Twinkie. And now, on only the second day of school, he was picking a fight with the new guy. What could Ben possibly have done to cause this? Knowing Malcolm, probably nothing.

In a dizzying move that could have won a wrestling match, Ben swept his right leg under both of Malcolm’s legs. Malcolm went down. Hard. Ben was about to kick him in the ribs when Officer Tony Parks, one of our security staff, showed up accompanied by Principal Webber. Everyone scattered like cockroaches. Malcolm struggled to get up. Ben’s nose was bleeding. Malcolm cried innocence, but no one fell for it. Most students knew he was on his third-strike-you’re-out transgression. If they counted this one, he would be expelled. I secretly hoped he would be thrown out for all the misery he’d caused so many people.

I watched as Ben and Malcolm were escorted away by Officer Parks. Principal Webber trailed closely behind, reprimanding, There will be consequences for this. Mark my words!

In the aftermath of the fight, Mari, Elena, Caro, Tina, and I reconvened to discuss the unexpected episode. Did I call that or what? Mari said, feeling a sense of superiority. "I swear, sometimes I think I’m psychic. That guy needs to be kicked out of school before something worse happens. Today a fight, tomorrow a murder. I’m scared to even walk the hallways now. What if he attacks me? Rapes me in one of the hidden corners?"

Hidden corners? Really, Mari? This school is practically a fish bowl, Caro said.

Peace will prevail. Trust me, Elena said. This is going to be my mission—to foster school unity among us all. She looked up toward the heavens, both her hands resting on her heart. Imagine me, the winner of the school pageant. Then she began reciting her acceptance speech: Principal Webber, faculty, fellow students, thank you for this honor. We worked hard this year to bring everyone together, to erase color, gender biases, and cultural boundaries. There is no race but the human race. There is no hate; there is only love.

Peace? Didn’t you just see what happened, El? Am I the only one who’s alarmed here? Mari shrieked.

It was just a fight, I said. We’ve had dozens of them. And keep in mind that Malcolm has a rap sheet as long as a garden hose. Here I was again, defending Ben. For all we know, and we don’t know anything, Malcolm provoked him.

And remember, Elena said, "According to A Course in Miracles, ‘Nothing real can be threatened. Nothing unreal exists. Herein lies the peace of God.’"

Tina said, I’d like to stay and discuss this, but I think that was the bell. We need to scram, or you all know where we’ll end up. I’m wearing heels today, and the thought of standing for a whole period is making me tired.

Sure enough, the bell had rung. The campus was nearly empty. We had been so busy discussing the fight that we didn’t hear it. Without so much as a goodbye, we all hurried to our first-period classes. Long Shore had zero tolerance when it came to tardiness; arriving even thirty seconds late meant OCS.

Five minutes later, we found ourselves at OCS—on-campus suspension—or as we called it, obligatory containment slammer, a holding tank of sorts. That’s where tardy students (like us) were sent for an entire period. There were no seats, just pairs of drawn feet on the floor. Students had to stand quietly (to think about their transgressions) with nothing to do but look at the clock and one another. Tina, Caro, Mari, Elena, and I found spots in which to stand. About ten minutes later, Malcolm and Ben were ushered in. My eyes met Ben’s. He quickly looked away and made his way over to the pair of feet next to mine. Three staff monitors stood guard, keeping a close eye on us perps.

I looked over at Malcolm. He saw me and made a face that said, What are you lookin’ at, bitch?

I immediately looked the other way. Ben’s way. He was looking straight ahead, his eyes