"Ms. Alvarez always seems to think you're starving," my mother said as she shifted through the fridge to make room for the tamales. She had some kind of a system in there and I always managed to mess it up. "Do you tell her that I don't feed you or something?"
"Sure," I replied, hardly paying attention. Mom had a weird thing about me bringing home food from other places. I didn't let it bother me. I had tamales.
"There." She nodded, pleased with her new arrangement, and closed the fridge before wiping her hands on her apron. She turned to me and shook her head as she realized I was eating another plate. "You're going to ruin your appetite for dinner."
"What did you make?" I asked.
"Meatloaf," she said.
"Then my apatite was already ruined."
She chastised me with what I liked to call her 'Momster Look', where her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed and she shook her head to let me know I was disappointing her. I grinned around another mouthful of tamale.
"How is Matt?" she asked. We were good at the small talk thing. It kept us from having to actually talk.
"Good," I said. "He's not failing Spanish anymore."
"Honestly. I don't understand why he is struggling. He does speak Spanish."
I shrugged. "I told him the same thing and he said I could talk to him when I had perfect marks in English."
Mom didn't have a reply to that, she just hummed and went back to setting the table, purposefully skipping my spot even though she gave me another Momster Look. She was spooning large chunks of meatloaf onto the plates when the front door opened, signaling my fathers return from work.
He set his stuff aside before joining us in the dining room. I could always tell what kind of day my father had based on how he greeted us. Ruffling my hair and kissing Mom's cheek was good, grunts and ignoring us in favor of a beer was bad, anything else in between meant something had happened to agitate him.
He came in loosening his tie and surveying the food. No hair ruffles, no cheek kisses. I tried not to let that affect my mood. "Ah, good," Dad said. "I'm very hungry."
"How was your day?" Mom asked.
Dad huffed, sitting down in his chair. He let my mother continue to serve him dinner while he answered. "It was fine until I got to the school board meeting. We had to discuss the possibility of starting a club with the normal kids and the fags. I swear, once Obama said they could start serving in the military without shame, it was like they all decided they could spread their sin."
My stomach did an awful thing and suddenly the tamales didn't taste good anymore. I lowered my fork as I forced the bite that I had in my mouth down my throat and prayed that it wouldn't come back up.
"At the school?" Mom asked. "That's absurd. How would a child even know they're like that."
My father shook his head. "A lack of Godliness in the home, I suppose."
"And the school," Mom said. "The government should have never taken God out of schools."
"Well," I said softly. "There are multiple religions. I mean, isn't that what America is about? Freedom of religion?"
"Sure, darling," my mother agreed. "That's why there are churches. But school is another thing."
"Anyway," my father said, pulling the conversation back to him. "No one is ridiculous enough to let that pass. If the queers want to have their own club they're going to have to do it outside of Bridgewood."
"Good," Mom said.
I didn't look up, but I pushed my last tamale around on my plate and it got my father's attention. He frowned at me. "What is that?"
"Ms. Alvarez made tamales and sent me home with some," I answered.
"Your mother made meatloaf," Dad said.
"He doesn't like meatloaf," Mom reminded him. "It's fine, Harold."
"Is it?" Dad asked. He wasn't looking at her, but staring at me. I hoped he didn't push it. I wasn't sure my stomach could handle meatloaf. He tapped his fork against his plate. "Your mother cooked, you should show her more appreciation than to eat someone else's food in front of her."
It wasn't worth the argument, so I nodded. "Yes sir."
"Why is that woman always sending food here anyway? We aren't Mexicans."
"She's just being nice," Mom said. "Now, eat up, there's lot's."
"Can I be excused?" I asked. "I have a lot of homework." That was a lie, but I needed an a reason to leave. Any reason would work.
"Sure, darling," Mom said, and presented her cheek for a kiss. I complied and nodded towards my father before climbing out of my seat and taking my plate to the sink. I turned the water on and let it run for a moment before going to the fridge. Stealing a beer was always careful work between my mothers organization and my fathers close eye on them, but as long as I took enough for the pattern to look the same, I could get away with it.
I got three.
I shut the water off and wrapped the cans carefully in my shirt before I headed for my room at the back of the hall. It was a mess, but I never had the energy to clean it. I kicked my door shut and locked it for good measure before starting up a video game and popping the first one open.
***
The thing about school was that it was easy. I'd always been surprisingly good at juggling people. The day started early enough for the cafeteria to serve breakfast and I always went, sometimes armed with burritos from the food truck down the street. No one liked to admit it, but they made the best stuff.
Whoever needed my attention that week - plus Matt - got a burrito. We'd crowd around one table and I'd listen to whatever wild story someone had to share. The crazy ones were the best, because I always had something to say back to them.
Classes kept me busy enough that I didn't really have to focus on anyone, I just had to make sure that I tossed around a few jokes, answered the right number of questions to keep the teachers from looking at me too closely, and grin at anyone who looked at me.
The real work happened at lunch. Bridgewood Academy had a nice courtyard where we liked to eat, Matt and I usually claimed a spot under the big tree, and then we waited for the masses to arrive.
It was work, but it was work I was good at.
"Man," Josh said as he appeared. "I literally do not understand girls. I mean, what are you even supposed to talk to them about?"
"Justin Bieber?" his friend, Walker, asked as they joined us. I didn't know either of them well, but that didn't matter.
There was a moan of distaste that went up around the whole group and I chuckled in order to cover up the fact that I didn't have anything to say. Girls were not something I was good at. I never had been.
"You know who is oddly hot?" Eric asked. He pointed his plastic fork into the air. "Ms. Porter. I mean, jeeze, it should be illegal to have honkers like that."
There were murmurs of agreement and even Matt nodded his head along. I rolled my eyes. "Honkers? Really?"
"What?" Eric asked, feigning innocence. "You have something better to call them?"
"Knockers," Josh suggested.
Walker shook his head and cupped his hands in front of his chest. "Melons."
"Tatas," Matt said, and grinned at me when I shot him a look. Some others went around from guys I didn't know very well at all, and then they were all looking at me.
I sighed dramatically and repeated something I'd heard from my parents Preacher. "Bags of sin."
The whole group cracked up in laughter and Matt threw an arm around my neck to pull me into a headlock. I shoved at him pointlessly and thought that, in that moment, life was good.
***
"What would you do with one million dollars?" Matt asked me from the corner of my bed.
"Aren't you supposed to be doing homework?"
"I am," he claimed. "And the question says 'what would you do with one million dollars."
"Bullshit," I said, but I didn't bother to look away from the tv. I'd just gotten Modern Warfare 3 and I wasn't about to pull my attention away from it for anything.
Matt dropped the heel of his foot against my ass and I swatted at him pointlessly. "Scott," he whined.
"I don't know," I said. "Buy a lot of video games, probably? Maybe some weed."
Matt didn't answer for a moment and then he softly asked, "How much is weed?"
I snorted. "Not a million dollars."
"You ever smoked it?"
"No, but I kind of want to."
"Yeah, me too," Matt admitted. "But like, where?"
"I'm pretty sure that kid that sits in the back of health class has some," I said. "I once saw him at a party smoking. Didn't smell like cigarettes."
"Health class," Matt repeated, and laughed to himself. "Freaking ironic."
"I know right?" I died again, and aggravation caused me to drop my head off the edge of the bed and growl. I was bored. I'd been bored. "I miss football season."
"Me too," Matt said. "I start feeling like my skin is crawling when we can't play."
"Same."
"So, when are we going to start smoking weed?"
I pushed myself back onto the bed and crossed my legs, studying him. "You're always down to do whatever random shit I want to get into."
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "What else am I gonna do, man? You're like, my only friend."
"You have tons of friends," I pointed out. "Everyone loves you."
Matt considered that, then corrected himself, "Your my only friend that I actually like."
I rolled my eyes and let myself drop onto my back. "Next party? I bet we can figure out which one What's-His-Name goes to."
"Probably," Matt agreed. "We should also probably figure out his name."
"I'm pretty sure it's 'how much money you got?'."
Matt laughed pushed his books off his lap so he could stretch. "Can I play Warfare now?"
"Did you finish your homework yet?"
"You're not my mother," he said.
"No, but I am holding the controller." I lifted it to demonstrate my point and then let it fall against my stomach. "But if you don't finish your homework your mother is going to kill you and never let you come over here again."
"Lies," Matt said. "She talks big but she would never ground me from you." There was a beat of silence, and then he continued with. "How are things here, anyway?"
"Fine," I said. "Parents, ya know? They suck but what can you do?"
Matt didn't know, because Matt's mom was actually cool. His dad wasn't bad, either, just off living a different life. He whisked Matt off sometimes to spend a week or two somewhere else, but Matt said he'd always felt like a cool uncle or something and not a father.
I handed him the controller and Matt snatched it up with a victorious sound. I watched him for awhile, upside down, before I grabbed my phone off the floor. I unlocked it and sorted through a handful of numbers that I knew would get me what I wanted. Then I sent a group text.
So, party time?