Ricky’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not sure my parents will let me. They know we’re dating.”
“Then tell them you’re staying with one of your friends.”
Ricky smacked his own forehead. “Duh! That’s perfect! I’ll say that I’m sleeping over at Omar’s house again.”
Sultry cinnamon eyes locked onto his. “When really, you’ll be sleeping with me.”
“Yeah,” Ricky said with a squeak before he cleared his throat. “Okay. Umm…”
Diego nodded to his house. “Better get going.”
“Right.” Ricky’s breath was short as he kissed his boyfriend goodbye. “See you in the morning?”
“Yup. See ya.”
He inhaled deeply while walking up the driveway, the cold air helping cool him down in more than one way. After reaching the front door, he turned around and waved. Diego peeled out and took off down the street. Hopefully he was sober by now. True to his word, he had taught Ricky to drive stick. He didn’t have the hang of it completely, but it had been fun cruising around lonely country roads.
Ricky expected to see his mother hovering by the door as he went inside, but the house was oddly quiet. And when someone did appear, it was his father, whose face was drawn.
“You’re in big trouble,” Ken whispered.
“What?” Ricky hissed back. “It’s not ten yet! And why are we—”
“Your mother is sleeping.” His father gestured for Ricky to follow him up the stairs and to his room. He even shut the door behind them, like a friend who had exciting news but didn’t want to be overheard by adults. “Really big trouble,” his father repeated at a normal volume. “What the hell was in those cookies?”
Ricky’s stomach sank, his eyes darting to the desk, where he’d last seen the Tupperware container. It was gone.
“Nothing,” he said, before adding, “What do you mean?”
Wrong answer. His father’s demeanor changed from that of a compassionate friend to an angry parent. “Tell me right now or I’ll take the rest to the police!”
“I don’t know,” Ricky said, stalling for time. “I didn’t make them.”
Ken scowled. “Your mother ate one. Instead of trying to save your own butt, why don’t you think of her instead?”
Ricky’s mouth went dry. “Mom ate one?”
“What was in them?” his father repeated.
“Marijuana,” he admitted at last.
“Anything else?”
“No!”
Ken sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled. “Thank god.”
“Is she okay?” Ricky asked.
“I think so.” His father looked up at him with confusion in his eyes. “What are you doing, son? This isn’t like you at all!”
“You’re right,” Ricky said. “I don’t do drugs. I tried them but it’s not for me.”
“Then why were those cookies here?”
He almost answered before he considered the implications. Not only would his parents blame Diego, but what if they reported him to the police? And the cops found out that he sold weed? Ricky clamped his mouth shut.
Ken stared at him, waiting for an answer, before he shook his head. He sounded sad as he stood and went to the door. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.” And with that, he left the room.
Ricky began to pace while cussing under his breath. He had to do something! But what? Even if he found the cookies and destroyed the evidence, it was too late. His parents knew. Beyond any shadow of a doubt! They hadn’t sniffed the cookies and merely suspected there was weed involved. His mother had eaten one!
That stopped him in his tracks. Ricky remembered how overwhelmed he’d felt by the high, and how comforting Diego’s warmth had been as they held each other in a candle-lit cave. He began to panic at the thought of losing Diego. His parents would forbid them from seeing each other, but not if he took the blame. He’d get grounded regardless, but at the end of it, at least they could still be together.
Ricky struggled to find sleep that night. He tossed and turned in bed, weighing different excuses, worrying about how his mother felt, and thinking obsessively about Diego. He must have managed to conk out eventually, because the next thing he knew, pale light filled his room and his father was standing over him.
“Take a shower and get dressed,” Ken said.
“But I haven’t eaten yet.”
“You can have breakfast afterwards.”
That was different. Ricky hurried through his morning rituals, deciding that nothing was worse than anticipation. Once he was downstairs, he’d be able to assess the damage and plead his case. Or so he thought. His father was the only person in the kitchen. A box of cereal and a gallon of milk were on the counter.
“Better eat up,” Ken said.
The rest of the house was silent. “Where’s Mom? Is she okay?”
“You’ll see her soon enough,” his father said. “Now eat.”
Anxiety gnawed at his stomach as he forced a bowl of cereal down. He kept checking the clock. Diego would arrive in ten minutes. Was that what they were waiting for? Was his mother out front with the police? He almost felt relieved when Ami finally appeared out of the master bedroom.
She only sparred a single glance at him as she gathered her things. “Get whatever you need for school,” she said. “I’ll drive you there.”
Ricky hesitated. “But Diego is—”
“Your father will speak with him,” she said tersely.
That was better than the cops. But not much. Ricky was tempted to stall, so he could be there when Diego showed up, but an impatient glare from his mother launched him into action. He was at the garage door and ready to go in two minutes flat.
Ami didn’t say anything as they got into the car and pulled out. Maybe she was waiting for him to speak.
“I’m really sorry, Mom,” he said.
She didn’t melt exactly, but at least she glanced at him. “I’m as much to blame as you are. My parents were strict. I wasn’t allowed to go on a single date during high school. I only went to Prom after my mother became a chaperone. I didn’t truly understand what sex was until I got brave enough to ask a doctor. So when I became a parent, I promised myself to give you the freedom I never had. And as much as I hate to admit it, I was wrong.”
“You’re weren’t!” Ricky assured her.
Ami was already shaking her head. “Look what’s happened since we moved here. First your suicide attempt—”
“That was because of Jeremiah, not you!”
“I’m the one who let you date that boy, despite how young you were. How young you still are. A fourteen-year-old isn’t ready, emotionally or mentally, for the complications of an intimate relationship.”
“I’m about to turn fifteen!”
“And how old is Diego?” His mother shot back. “Because he has a driver’s license and a job. He’s isn’t really a freshman, is he?”
Ricky swallowed. “He was held back a year.”
“And this is who you’ve decided to spend your time with?”
“He’s a good person, Mom.”