I don't belong here, I thought as I glanced over the sea of faces in the gym of the community center. Most of the other potential mentors were familiar faces from school. The valedictorian of our graduating class. The quarterback of the football team. The president of the student council. Members of the National Honor Society. Hell, even some of the kids from the marching band were here. And they were all dressed in nice, sleek suits. The most I could find in Cristian's closet was a black button down and slacks. I'd gotten a trim earlier in the week to truly clean up my appearance. But I still stuck out among the rest of the high achievers in the room.
Some of the boys I passed gave me quizzical looks or subtly raised brows. If I made eye contact, they'd quickly dismiss the expression, fully aware of my reputation. Even some of the teachers volunteering for the event, most of them from the middle school building, seemed surprised to see me. I wasn't phased by their looks, though. I acted like a bat out of hell in middle school. I feigned a smile at some of my old teachers. A few of them returned the smile, relief filling their eyes.
I grimaced at my nametag after I'd checked in. They'd spelled my entire name and hung a little red flag beneath it. I grabbed one of the Sharpies off of the registration table and scribbled out the unnecessary letters.
"You came," I heard Mr. Connors yell.
I glanced up from my task to see him approaching me with a wide smile on his face. "Yeah."
He looked down at my revised name tag and frowned. "Now, why did you do that?"
"Because they over spelled it."
"Why do you despise your full name so much?"
"We're not here for a counseling session," I reminded him.
Sighing, he grabbed my name tag and clipped it to my shirt. "I know. I was just curious." He paused. "Happy birthday, by the way."
"Thanks."
"Do you have any birthday events going on after this?"
"My girlfriend and I are going out with some friends later."
He raised an eyebrow. "You have a girlfriend now? And when did this happen?"
I rolled my eyes. "Don't act surprised. I know you're always listening to the rumor mill."
A chuckle rumbled in his throat. "You know the ones about who's dating who can be messy. I wanted to hear it from you before I brought it up. Audrey, right?"
"Yup."
He tilted his head. "Do you like her?"
"I love her," I said.
He smiled. "Well, isn't that sweet?" He patted my arm. "I'm happy for you, Max."
We turned our heads as one of the leading teachers of the event called for all of the mentors to sit on the bleachers. Mr. Connors assured me he'd see me later before shooing me off.
I sat a bit farther away from the clusters of the other mentors. I leaned back against the set of rows behind me, stretching my long legs out in front of me and resting them on the hard benches in front of me. Quietly, I watched the middle schoolers gradually file into the gym.
Very few of them seemed excited to be here. The majority of them stormed in with their arms crossed against their chests or their hands shoved in their pockets with defiant frowns painted on their faces.
During the coordinator's opening remarks, almost all of the kids paid her little mind. Most took out their phones and texted or played games. Others closed their eyes to take a short nap. The few who were paying attention rolled their eyes at every word or mumbled smart remarks under their breath.
I couldn't help but chuckle at the disinterested pre-teens. The high achievers were going to have their hands full with this bunch. While I didn't have a game plan for my mentee, I wasn't afraid to tell him to square up with me if I needed to. The other boys in the room would probably try the gushy-mushy techniques that my old mentor tried with me. The whole "we're going to best buds and braid each other's hair" shit was not going to work.
After the coordinator was finally finished talking, the kids were instructed to complete a small scavenger hunt to find their assigned mentors. When they checked in, they were given colored tags that would match their mentors'. The coordinator stated they'd also been given short descriptions of us to assist in their search. I could only wonder what they'd written on mine.
I watched the students wander around the length of the bleachers, reluctantly chatting with the overexcited mentors. A few of the kids passed me and raced up the bleachers to give me fist bumps. They yelled my name in excitement and congratulated me on winning the recent tournament. I guessed they were some of the students in Tony's intermediate program.
My eyebrow rose as I noticed Mrs. Tierney, my counselor from middle school, and Mr. Connors shuffled a kid along the edge of the bleachers towards me. The pre-teen had dark coffee colored skin, short cut black hair, and hazel eyes. He was a scrawny kid with bony arms, long legs, and thin torso. His slender body was sheltered in a graphic tee shirt, jeans, and worn sneakers. A firm line of defiance lay across his lips. It threatened to pull into a scowl as Mrs. Tierney stopped him in front of me.
"Hi Maximiliano," Mrs. Tierney greeted sweetly.
I clenched my jaw, resisting the curse words clawing up my throat. Out of all my adults at middle school, she was the only one who refused to call me by preferred name. We'd never gotten far in our sessions because she'd always start with a lecture on embracing my name. She claimed it was "a connection to my Mexican roots" and believed I was trying to erase it by shortening it. No matter how many times I explained it was literally a nickname that I went by - even when we lived in Mexico - she didn't believe me. I let her think whatever she wanted, but I still didn't give her the right to call me that shit.
I looked to Mr. Connors as he whispered "Be nice."
Feigning a smile, I said, "Hello Margaret."
Her red lips twisted, trying to resist pulling into a frown. She looked down at my potential mentee. "Introduce yourself," she whispered.
He rolled his eyes. ""Hi, my name is Juan Reyes," he said. His Latin accent was thicker than mine, dripping off of his voice like honey.
"Hi, Juan. I'm Max Guerra," I replied. I straightened my composure and held my hand out to me.
Hesitantly, he shook it.
"Juan has been having some trouble socially and academically over at the middle school," Mrs. Tierney explained. "Mr. Connors has spoken very highly of your growth, Maximiliano. We were thinking you could guide Juan onto a better path."
I refrained from rolling my eyes. "Sure, Margaret. Anything I can do to help." I patted the space next to me. "Come sit next to me, Juan. If we pretend we're getting along, then they'll go away."
Juan's eyes tracked my hand movements. He stared at the space I'd tapped for a few seconds before climbing up the bleachers. He sent me a small grin as he sat down beside me.
"Don't make us regret pairing the two of you together," Mrs. Tierney warned.
"Goodbye, Margaret. It was nice seeing you," I said, adding some customer service pizzazz to my voice.
Mrs. Tierney finally frowned, walking off with a huff.
Mr. Connors only shook his head as he followed after her.
"Mrs. Tierney counseled you too?" Juan asked quietly.
"Yup. I wish I could say she's actually really sweet when you get to know her, but she's the poster child for white savior complex."
"I don't like her," he admitted. "She's rude to me."
"Yeah, I don't like her either. Best advice I've got is just let everything she says go in one ear and out the other."
He nodded. "I will try."
The coordinator called for our attention over the microphone, stating that it was time for the team building stations. Juan followed me through our scheduled activities. First, we built a tower out of random, tiny household objects. Juan took the lead, organizing the objects and instructing me when he wanted me to hold things a certain way. I was impressed with his innovative mind as he used the toothpicks, cotton balls, and cardboard in ways I wouldn't have originally thought.
For our second activity, we participated in a big Kahoot game where we had to answer random trivia questions. Neither of us knew most of the answers. Throughout most of the game, we were exchanging quizzical looks and laughing at each other's expressions.
The third activity was an impromptu escape room/murder mystery. We were given a set of riddles that led us to clues around the building to figure out who silenced some random person. I read the riddles and clues aloud to Juan. I noticed the crease appearing between his brows more frequently as the riddles became longer and more complicated. He willingly followed me around the building, complying to the little orders I gave him to include him in the activity.
At lunch time, we sat with the others in the cafeteria. The summit provided a spread of cold foods for us to choose from, including hoagies, wraps, and salads. There was also a good array of snacks and snacks beside the large spread. After grabbing a hoagie and a bottle of water, I examined the chip choices. I almost frowned at the absence of any hot chips when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I looked over my shoulder to see Mr. Connors holding out a huge bag of Hot Cheetos.
"Consider this a birthday present," he said.
"Thank you," I told him.
"How's it going with Juan?"
I glanced over at the pre-teen. He was a few feet away, looking over the different colored juices. "Fine. He seems like an okay kid."
"According to Mrs. Tierney, he's quite a handful."
"Yeah, well, Mrs. Tierney thinks most of the kids who come into her office are demon spawns."
Juan appeared at my side, his brows creasing together as he caught the last few words of my sentence. "Who's a demon spawn?" He asked.
"I am," I said. "I was sent here to cause havoc and terrorize everything on God's green Earth."
Juan's eyebrow rose. "Where do I join?"
A smirk pulled at my lips. I was starting to like this kid.
We walked over to one of the empty tables and sat across from each other. I opened the bag of Hot Cheetos and offered some to Juan. Eagerly, he shoved his hand in the bag and munched on the spicy chip.
"So, do you prefer English or Spanish?" I asked.
Juan's eyes widened in surprise. "Is it that obvious?"
"Not really. I've just been paying attention. I know how it looks when someone's talking faster than you can translate - trust me, I still do it sometimes."
"Spanish is easier," he admitted.
Nodding, I began speaking in my native tongue. "Where are you from?"
"Tamaulipas. You?"
"Colima."
"How old were you when you came here?"
"Six - almost seven. You?"
"I'd just turned nine when we came here. It was only three years ago."
"Wow. You're doing pretty well with your English after only three years of speaking it."
"Yeah. I've been working really hard with my English. I'm still having some trouble at school with the reading-heavy classes, but my English Language Development classes have been helpful."
"How is school going?"
He averted his eyes. "Awful. I hate going there. The other kids are mean to me. They call me dumb and stupid and ugly and weak." He scowled. "Then, I'm the one who gets in trouble when I finally stand up for myself."
"How often are you getting into fights?"
"Often enough," he muttered. "They all just make me so mad. I already have enough to be angry about, and they just make it worse."
I raised an eyebrow. "What are you angry about?"
He was silent for a moment, biting on his lip as he contemplated his next words. "My father was murdered a few months before we moved here," he whispered. He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mix of tears and flames. "He was targeted by some of the local criminals in the neighborhood because he wouldn't abide by their 'tax' rules. They shot him in a drive-by on our front lawn when we were throwing around a football."
"Shit," the words unintentionally left my lips. "Are you alright? Were you hurt?"
He shrugged. "One of the bullets grazed my arm and left a scar. Other than that I was fine."
"Physically you might've been fine. How were you doing emotionally and mentally?"
"Horrible. After he died, I just...I was so angry with God, with the gangs, with my mother for packing us up and leaving, and with myself for not noticing the car coming down the street sooner." He shook his head."It was a lot."
"I can only imagine." I tilted my head. "How are you doing now?"
"I'm okay," he said. "Some days are easier than others, but that's just how grieving goes - my mom always reminds me that it's not a linear process. But, I've been coping."
"By doing what?"
"It's going to sound silly, but I like building things with legos and blocks and stuff. I'll spend hours building something just to take it down the next day and build something else. My dad was studying to be an architect, so he used to let me help build his models. Building things helps me stay connected to him, I think."
"What kinds of things do you build?"
"Houses, buildings, landscapes, cities - anything really. It depends how much time I feel like investing that day."
"That's cool. Maybe you can teach me how to build something one day - if you wanna go through with this mentor thing."
A smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah. I'd like that."
The rest of the afternoon, Juan and I avoided fully participating in the event activities. We sat in the back of every room, chatting about everything under the sun. He told me about his mother's work as a dental assistant and her journey towards becoming a dental hygienist. He explained that she was going to school part-time and he helped her study for her exams sometimes. He asked questions about my family, intrigued about my relationships with my siblings. He was an only child, and he was amused by the petty fights I went through with my siblings on a daily basis. We also spoke about MMA, and Juan expressed interest in watching one of my matches. I offered for him to come to Tony's gym with me, so I could teach him a few moves and he beamed at the idea.
When the summit was finally over, I drove Juan back to his home. My eyebrow rose as the apartment building looked all too familiar. A few clusters of teens and men stood around the premises with blue bandanas hanging from their belt loops and smoke covering the air above them.
I glanced over to see a grimace placed over Juan's features, his eyes fixed on the clusters. "I'll walk you inside," I told him.
He stuck close to my side as we walked across the concrete path towards the apartment.
My sister's fuckhead ex-boyfriend noticed us walking towards the entrance. He blocked our path just before we could get to the door. "This is our building," he spat. "No Bloods allowed."
Juan's head whipped around in shock. "You're a Blood?" He asked.
"My father is," I told him. "Go on inside. I'll give you a call so we can hang out again, alright?"
"Yeah, okay." He hurried around Tommy and ran into the apartment building.
"He's one of our kind," Tommy said.
"He's not anyone's property," I replied. "Especially not the Crips."
He smiled. "We'll see about that, now won't we? In the meantime, I'd recommend you keep your distance. You don't want your ass kicked again, do you?"
I scoffed. "You punch like a goddamn pussy. If anything, I'd kick your ass again."
Tommy's smile fell. "Do you wanna test that theory?"
I should've punched him in his mouth, but I didn't know which unit Juan lived inside that building. For all I knew, he could be looking out the window right now, waiting for me to go back to my car. He didn't need to see me bang Tommy's head into this concrete.
"I do, but I'm gonna be late for a date. Maybe another time." With that, I turned and walked away.
"I'm serious, Max," Tommy called after me. "It'd be smart if you stayed away from here!"
Raising my hand, I flipped him off.