The following week went by too slowly; Science was a drag, soccer was torture, swimming was fine, track was fine, but the highlight was art.
Mateo got the top grade in his art project and was flying high on the compliments until they went to meet Fur Ass for another run-through.
This time, they did the whole play and tried to immerse themselves in their characters.
It was tiring, but they had finally the cast selected and were going for their first dress rehearsal. They ran through the whole show, twice; once with Fur Ass narrating and the other time with Mateo, but Ricky couldn't wait for it to be over.
He just wanted to go home, relax and watch some TV in peace:
"Mateo, you need to tighten up your accent to be Hector." He said.
Mateo nodded. "I know. I'll channel my Dad."
Ricky smirked. "Good call. Wanna come to my place?"
"What are we gonna watch?"
"I was gonna play some card games, and put on some movies." Ricky said, "It'll just be us two, Jay went home to sleep, and Chuck's hangin' with his cousins."
Mateo nodded. "I can call my Dad later."
"I'm going to hang around with Pammy, George, Max, and Yelena."
"Where?" Mateo asked.
"To the cinema to see Cocktail and then get something to eat after."
Mateo nodded. "Okay, me and Ricky are going to chill now."
Ricky fake retched. "Come on, we're gonna go now before we catch cooties off them."
They walked back to Ricky's, and were greeted by... Tito?
He was dressed in a pair of freshly ironed khaki pants, a tucked-in white t-shirt, an overshirt, his good boots, and an expensive-looking hat.
"Why're you here, Primo?" Ricky asked him as he wiped the sweat from his hands, onto his shorts.
"I'm helping your Pops set up his new coffee machine, and I'm fixing the fridge too." Tito said, "You two gonna stand there all night?"
Ricky nodded as they walked over to the lounge, opposite the kitchen/dining area. Pops was sitting at the table, Dory was playing with some action figures opposite him, and Jose was watching TV.
Ricky reached over to try and grab the remote, but Jose held it down. "Hey! I'm watching that!"
Ricky smirked. "Watching what?"
"The Golden Girls," Jose said back, crossly.
"Are you my abuela or hermano?" Ricky asked.
"Shut up." Jose hissed. "And go away."
"Loser!"
Pops rolled his eyes. "Behave–"
"--Ricky's trying to change the channel, and I was here first!" Jose yelled.
Pops shook his head. "Enrique, go in the basement, you should know better by now."
"But the TV here is better," Ricky argued. "And we've had a long week."
"Go!" Pops yelled. "Stay down there for a few hours, hasta luego."
"Why?" Ricky glared. "And why do you defend Jose and Dory soo much?"
Tito was working away in the background, but he paused to look over at them. "Ricky, just go, please."
"Aight, but I'm getting snacks first."
Pops glared at Ricky. "Hurry up."
He grabbed some chips, three large bottles of Jarritos, pumpkin seeds, chocolate churros, cookies, and a share size packet of chicken jerky from the pantry and walked out with Mateo and went down to the basement room that used to be a garage before Pops built himself an outhouse on a spare plot of land nearby.
Mateo sat down on the sofa and helped Ricky places the snacks on the old table that sat opposite the TV, which was held up on an old chest of drawers. They opened the packets of food, and the sodas as Ricky set up the VHS player.
There was a selection of videotapes inside the drawers stored away, so Ricky reached his hand in and picked one out at random. It was a local, medium-budget production called Low and Slow: Lowrider Saga I. He set it down on the table and opened it up.
"My Pops has the most random taste in movies," Ricky said as he examined the tape. "I guess he wants to support local productions, but come on, look at that label."
It was one of a lowrider, parked by the desert with a chihuahua in shades sitting on the front of it. The font was in block letters, and red, which distracted them from focusing on the artwork of the scene.
"It looks uglier than your last art project." Mateo nodded. "That font is so... distracting. It takes away from the character and novelty of the image."
"Okay, Mr. Art Critic, we get it."
Mateo glared back. "You started it, loser."
"And you continued it, like the weirdo you are."
"Whatever, just put it on," Mateo said as he sat back on the sofa. Ricky slipped the tape in and moved over beside Mateo, who pulled out a package from his pocket. "Want some?"
There was weed, some papers, and a lighter in it. He opened it up and took everything out of it and put it on the table.
Ricky scoffed. "I'm surprised you even know how to use a lighter."
"Shut up," Mateo said. "You've seen me light fires before in the park."
Ricky nodded. "But they die with the slightest bit of breeze. Just like you."
Mateo shook his head and started to roll a blunt. He put in extra weed to the point where it almost burst open. "It's Friday, and I don't care if I feel like this in the morning or afternoon or whenever I wake up. I want to forget about things–"
Ricky checked his watch. "--Weren't you meant to be playing a game tonight?"
"Oh, crap yes! Thanks for reminding me." Mateo perked up. He looked at the watch. "But it's too late. I've missed the kickoff. You know what? Lopez can be mad at me when I go to practice. I'll just say I didn't feel good."
"What about George?"
"He wasn't playing. Lopez wanted to try the new keeper, Tavares in nets. He's been looking for a game for the past month, so he was being fair. It was meant to be a game with all the new recruits going against the new recruits of the Alacranes."
Ricky nodded and sank into the sofa. "I see, so you done rolling that?"
Mateo fixed it up, lit it, and took a long drag before passing it to Ricky. He smiled and was chilled out as he looked over at the television. "Is that Chico?"
"Si, es Chico." He said. "Dory and Pops went to watch him between scenes. So now, he's a local celebrity. That's why your old man throws him tacos and tu abuela pets him when he sees him."
"Makes sense," Mateo said. "How did I not know this was happening?"
"Do you even know anything's happening? Does anything go on in your cabeza?" Ricky teased as he blew smoke in Mateo's face.
Mateo took the blunt from him and puffed some more. "Must have been the summer my Dad sent Marisol and me to Michoacán de Ocampo for a break when my Mama left us–staying with my grandparents was boring and awful–they made us walk miles in the midday sun with them."
Ricky smirked. "Call the wahmbulance, that sounds awful. Imagine them making you leave the house and experience the world."
Mateo sighed and leaned back as far as he could into the leather sofa which was very soft. He couldn't believe that Wilmer was going to throw it out.
"Why does your Pops not see the value in this sofa? It's so cozy. I could sleep here." Mateo asked.
Ricky shrugged. "Go and ask him."
Mateo yawned. "Too much effort."
"Then don't complain and watch the movie. Look, the dog's found a gun and they're gonna kick him. Pinche cabrones!"
They watched another half an hour of the movie and took turns smoking the blunt before deciding to roll another one. Mateo drank a whole bottle of orange Jarritos, half a packet of churros, and most of the pumpkin seeds.
Ricky ate the bag of chicken jerky, and some chips, and had half a cola. They were both still hungry but they didn't care because the high was getting to them, and it was helping them forget about the week they had.
And Mateo, his brief moments of intimacy with Tito.
"Where'd you get this weed from by the way? It's good." Ricky asked.
"Tito, who got it from Chuck. So probably one of those Salvatruchas. I dunno."
"Why would Tito wanna deal with them?"
Mateo shrugged. "No idea. I'm just speculating at this point. Chuck could have got it from Chico for all I know."
"How much was it?"
"Free. He said it was to try." Mateo laughed. "So I guess we're science experiments."
Ricky smirked. "This week is too damn good to go to waste—look Chico's biting the ass off one of the gangsters—good boy!"
Mateo looked at the television. "Why are we still watching this dumb movie? Chico's just bit people."
Ricky glared. "But it's campy good old-fashioned fun."
"Whatever." Mateo smoked more of the second blunt. "I'm kinda bored. But it's nice to see Chico in something. He's the most famous Cruz yet and probably will be for a long time."
"Callate," Ricky said. "Once I get my scholarship in soccer, he'll become a mere memory."
"So you wanna be a soccer player now?" Mateo smirked. "What's the name gonna be on the back of your jersey? Burro?"
Ricky shook his head. "Rique. Short, but sweet, people will remember it, along with my skills."
"You need to not get suspended or fight, dumbass, or it might go on your permanent disciplinary record." Mateo rolled his eyes. "Like, you and those Imps."
"No, it won't. This is still High School. We have two years left, and the last year is the one that counts the most. As long as we don't become Delincuentes in that time."
"Why would that ever happen?" Mateo laughed. "We're boring."
"Are you sure it's not just you?"
"Nah, I mean all you wanna do is eat, sleep, and fight. You're becoming Chuck Lite."
"At least I do stuff, while you sit and listen to depressing music, and draw pictures of Tito. And sulk a lot, and are moody."
Mateo glared back. "Art is my release. It keeps me from going insane, kicking the shit out of people, and going off the rails. And being addicted to weed."
"You're obsessed though, with drawing hombres–"
"--It's for art practice–"
"--Why do you never draw women then?" Ricky asked as he shook his head and made sure that he had a serious expression etched across his face.
"Why the hell do you care?" Mateo asked in a low tone. "What I do and who I draw is my prerogative. Maybe if you focused more on your schoolwork, you wouldn't be in the mess you're in."
"No seas un pendejo." Ricky hissed back. "You're also behind, and don't put in effort, too."
"I'm not as bad as you are. You're just a lazy asshole with no work ethic–"
"Callate, pinche cabron!" Ricky shoved Mateo a bit. "You're a lazy bastard too!"
Mateo pushed him back. "Go away."
Ricky didn't like it, so he punched Mateo in the chest and yelled. "¡Chinga tu madre!"
Mateo got off the sofa and slapped Ricky before storming out. He slammed the door behind him and marched past the rest of the Cruzes.