don't wanna rush | oscar diaz

esa invisible voz

"Ma," he says, sharp. Her face twists up.

"Don't  talk to me like that," she says, taking a step closer. "I don't want no  fucking Salvis in my house, you hear? Buncha mugrosos running 'round  with the Santos, now—"

"C'mon," he says, ignoring her even as her  voice gets louder. Tugs Claudia in front of him, just a little bit, as  they move, gets her to his room and locks the door without really  thinking. "Jesus fucking—"

"I was worried she might like me,"  Claudia says, dully, dropping her bag on the floor and then herself  afterwards. Crosses her legs, leans back against the bed just a little—a  shitty twin, sheets raggedy even if they're clean. "Where's she working  at, anyway?"

"I'm sorry," he says, taking a seat next to her.  They can hear his mom banging shit around in the kitchen, probably still  muttering to herself about the Santos and Salvadorans and how  everything's gone to shit. That part is true, at least. "I didn't know  she was gonna be home."

"It's fine," she says, even if he can tell  from the set of her mouth that it's not. She smacked the last girl who  called her Salvi to her face. He remembers that. She could probably take  his mom, but. Well. He takes her hand again instead. She takes a  breath. "What's it mean, huh?"

"What?"

She motions to her face. "The tear."

He stares.

She rolls her eyes, a little. "I mean—" she pauses, bites her lip. "For you, okay? What's it mean that you're tatted up now?"

"It's just one."

"It's on your face," she says, flat. "Everyone knows what that means."

"What,  you worried about me?" he says, tries to grin at her, their shoulders  pressed together. It doesn't work; she stays frowning. "Claudis."

"I know what you do," she says, and she sounds too serious. "I been knowing."

He takes a deep breath. "Why you bringing it up, then?"

"You have it on your face, now," she says. "What, you think they gonna let you take me to dances looking like that?"

He blinks at her, "You wanna go to dances?"

"No,"  she says, "that's not—don't look at me like that, ya," and he tries to  smooth his expression. Guess he hadn't thought of the two of them  getting dressed up, slow dancing in the school gym. He feels a twinge in  his chest at the thought. "I just. It's bien serious, no?"

"It's  always been serious," he says. Listens closely and can't hear his mom  anymore. Wonders what she'd do if she tried to open the door and found  it locked.

"I know," she says, "just seems different, 's all. With the tat."

"I'm a Santo," he tells her, "I always was."

"No, you wasn't," she says, eyebrows pulled together, "not when we met."

"Which time?"

"Ya sabés," she says, "don't start. Please."

He looks at their joined hands. "You surprised?"

"No," she says, looking at him, and his breath catches, "I just. Wasn't expecting it, I guess. Not so soon."

He raises an eyebrow. Tries to front like he doesn't know any better. "You wanna know who it was?"

Her  jaw clenches. There's no way she hasn't heard the rumors, and even  then, Claudia can see right through him like no one else. Oscar wants  her to ask as much as he wishes she'd pretend she didn't know. He wishes she didn't know. "No," she says. "I don't care."

"You sure?" he says. Feels a little mean just saying it.

"Yeah,"  she says, and lets go of his hand. Reaches for her bag, grabs her water  bottle and takes a long drink. Offers him some, afterwards. Lets the  subject drop like she's tired of it already, too. "Your mom gonna start  shit when I leave?"

"Probably," he says. "She probably thinks we're fucking."

"Ugh," she says, nose wrinkling, "don't say that."

"Say what? Fucking?"

"Oscar."

"We've—"

"Ya!" She purses her mouth. Looks embarrassed and pleased all at once. "I don't want nobody thinking that. I'm not some hoodrat."

"Nah," he says, "you my girl, remember?"

"No me dejés olvidar," she says, curls her fingers over his when he moves his hand to her thigh. "Your mom's home, por Dios."

"C'mon,"  he says, "it won't take too long," and reaches for her face, doesn't  notice the way she goes stiff, suddenly. Just wants to give her a kiss.

She flinches soon enough, though, says, "Don't," and Oscar freezes, hands up like there's a gun pointed at him. She wraps her arms around herself. "Don't say that."

"Sorry," he says, not sure of what's happening, "uh. What—"

"Él me decía eso," she says, face ashen, "when he'd—you know."

"Shit,"  he says, wanting to reach out to her again but thinking it might just  make it worse. "I'm sorry, Claudis, that's not what I—I'm sorry." He  feels sick. Wants to shake himself or maybe someone else.

Claudia  takes another deep breath, swallows. Hands at her elbows like she's got  to hold herself or else she'll fall apart. Oscar's caught somewhere  between hurt and anger and guilt. Didn't realize he could say shit that  could hurt her like that—and on accident, worst of all. So fast he can  only just make sense of it. She shakes her head.

"You didn't  know," she says, and lets go of herself. Rubs her knuckle against her  cheekbone, looks at him from the corner of her eye. "Sorry. You can  touch me, it's—I'm fine."

"I..." He's never felt so helpless in his life. "Can. Do you wanna hug?"

When  she smiles it looks genuine. "Yeah," she says, and when he reaches for  her this time she reciprocates, crawls into his lap and lets him just  hold her. She really does seem to fit against him perfectly, doesn't  matter if they're like this or just walking side by side. Like the  universe was thinking of him when it thought her up.

"You okay?"  he says into her hair. She smells like vanilla, like she always does.  She's warm in his arms—makes him want to crawl into bed with her, but  just to sleep, maybe. He doesn't think he'll ever get enough of being  around her.

"Yeah," she says, voice muffled. "Sorry."

"Why you sorry?"

"I never think about it," she says quietly, "'s just sometimes...it's like it'll never go away."

He  clutches at her, just a little bit. Doesn't know how to fix this.  Doesn't think he's even allowed. She presses her head to his collarbone,  pulls back to look at him. Puts her fingers on his jaw, tilts his head  back. He lets her move him how she wants. Knows he's a decent enough  distraction, sometimes.

She inhales, long and slow. Maybe it's calming. She asks, "Does it itch?"

"Nah," he says, and she leans in, kisses his cheek, soft against his skin.

"You're lucky you're cute," she tells him, and smiles when it makes him laugh, just a little.

"Yeah," he says, looking at her, the expressive eyes, the smiling mouth, "I am pretty lucky, huh."