don't wanna rush | oscar diaz

mirar tu rostro

A few days a week, Claudia works at one of the churches in Freeridge. It's not the one that Oscar's mom used to take them to when they were little, the same church where the Martinez family goes. More Salvadorans at this one, run by some young new priest who's big on actually helping out the folks who come by with nothing but the clothes on their backs.

He goes inside instead of waiting for her in the parking lot. Maybe he's imagining things, but she looks real happy to see him. It's been nearly two weeks since things...changed, between them. Something new and tentative about the way they look at each other, now. He's finally done with classes, has to go do some test or whatever to make it official, but it's as good as finished now. Claudia wasn't too happy when he told her about the former, but she seemed placated when he told her about the certification shit. He's still not too sure what it all means, but it's fine. It has to be.

He's still giving her rides home, though, regardless of the fact that he's got no reason to linger around school property anymore. They'll pick up Cesar or go for milkshakes or sometimes cruise, just the two of them, Cesar with the one sitter who's willing to do Oscar the favor, on account of her man's a Santo, too. Claudia kisses him goodbye now, sometimes hello, even in between conversations that sometimes get forgotten when they move to the backseat. He likes kissing her, afterwards, the way she touches his face, gently, like she's trying to savor everything.

The inside of the building's trippy, too many curves and corners where he least expects them. Claudia's been working here since the summer, tried to use her paychecks to buy him dinner, sometimes, before they started doing whatever it is they're doing. He's given her rides home before, usually when he was in the area anyway. She takes the buses everywhere, alone or with Araceli or one of the other girls she hangs out with sometimes. She can handle herself fine. Oscar just doesn't she should have to.

"What were you doing over here?" she says, taking a seat behind the old desk they have her sit at and take calls. He sits on the other side, in a worn green chair against the wall.

He shrugs. "Figured you needed a ride."

"I could bus," she says, rearranging the already-neat desk, papers stacked and pens organized by color. There's a sticky note with a number scribbled down on it. Oscar tilts his head.

"You rather bus today?"

"Pues, no," she says, smiling at him a little. "You here already, ain't you?"

He shrugs. "I like driving you around."

"Yeah?" she says, eyebrow quirking upwards, "we always drive around."

"You complaining?"

"Nah," she says, finally lets herself smile real big at him. "I like it."

He opens his mouth. Closes it again, says, "Me too," voice wavering just a little bit. Claudia looks at him like she might be able to read his mind, and the thought thrills and scares him all at once.

The phone starts ringing before he can embarrass himself, though. She stays smiling at him anyway, answers with her standard work-greeting, the words thick with cheer. He idly messes with the stack of pens, testing them out on a spare post-it and finding that half of them don't work. He raises his eyebrow at her and she mouths what he thinks is Be good at him. He wants to kiss her so badly it hurts.

Once she hangs up the phone he says, "None'a these work."

"We accept donations," she says sweetly, and he gives into the urge to lean over the desk and kiss her. She makes a surprised sound but tilts her head anyway, hand on his jaw real gentle. She looks—happy, when he pulls away. Seems like she is a lot more often, lately.