He inhales one more drag and flicks the butt to the ground before picking up the pace. His brisk strides feel more like a jog to me because of my short legs and I struggle to stay at his side.
“Why do you always ask so many questions?” His jaw ticks.
“Sorry. Does it bug you?” It’s such a silly question. Where is my brain?
“Yeah. But I doubt you can help yourself.”
“I can.” I flush, not sure if it’s because of insistent tone or because it would be tough for me to stop the questions.
“Yeah, right.” He’s quick and sarcastic as he calls my bluff. “Then stop.”
“Okay.” I laugh nervously, wondering how long it’ll take me to break my word.
There’s so much I don’t know about him, and he isn’t exactly forthcoming with information about himself. Or about anything.
He slows to a stop at the edge of my driveway, pivoting to stand in front of me and placing his hands on my shoulders. His touch is warm and I’m drawn to him like the flickering heat of a flame.
“Let me look at you before you go in.” Concern etches his taut, strong features.
“I told you, I’m fine. I…I’m not sick. Just…”
“Just what?” His eyes narrow and lips press together. “Eva, tell me.”
“I thought we were hanging out and then you just left. I know we aren’t together but…”
“Hey, I was a dick and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left. I figured you’d start with your questions. Again.”
His exaggerated irritaton, the slightest hint that he isn’t really upset, causes me to smile. His fingers brush some hair away from my cheek and he studies my face intently.
Dark, heated eyes pause on my lips. Will he kiss me? I want him to kiss me. Or I could make the first move. All it would take is for me to push onto my tip-toes, lean in and capture his mouth.
Would his lips be soft? Firm? Warm? Would he open for me? Our tongues touching and tasting.
“Eva?” My mother’s voice filters through the dark, slaying my fantasy like the killer in a horror movie.
I shiver as my attention shifts from Jared and his full lips to the slight figure standing at front door. She flicks on the outdoor light.
“Shit.” Jared’s hands fall from my body. “I was hoping to leave before…”
“Sí, Mamá.” I brush past him. My insides are jittery once again, but for a different reason.
“Who is that?” She looks past me at the inky silhouette of Jared standing where I left him.
“That’s Jared. He lives next door.” I motion with my hand for him to come. “He walked me home. That’s all.”
She smiles warmly. “We know each other. Nice to see you again, Jared. And thank you for walking my daughter home.”
“Hi, Mrs. Ramirez, and it’s no problem. I wasn’t going to let Eva walk home alone.”
She twists her features, now looking past us. “Where is Bianca? She didn’t come home with you?”
I detect the worry in her tone and swallow down the lie Bianca would prefer I tell. My parents know Tito but not that he’s her boyfriend. Although I suspect my mother knows more than she lets on.
“Tito is going to bring her home.”
“She should have come with you.” She steps back from the door. “Come in, Jared.”
“No, that’s okay.” Jared flushes, casting his eyes downward, and this is the first time I’ve seen him almost shy.
“Come in.” She ushers him inside. “Eva, you should go to bed. It’s late. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
Gobsmacked, my mouth hangs open, and I’m both embarrassed to be treated like a child and worried at what she could possibly have to say to him without me here.
“But—” I clamp my mouth shut with just a look from her. “Okay. Good night. Jared, thanks for walking me home tonight.” I wave and wish I could stay.
“‘Night, Eva.” He shoves a hand in the front pocket of his jeans, looking a little concerned, and I wish I could save him.
My mother isn’t someone to fear, but I get the sense he doesn’t trust most people and especially adults.
I rush to my room, changing for bed and turning off the light. My mom likely won’t check on me if the light is out, and I want to see Jared one more time before he goes in.
Our window is open, and I peer out at the view of the Garcias’. The faint murmuring of voices can be heard—Jared and my mom—but I can’t make out what they are saying.
The wait is longer than I anticipate or would have liked but finally he strolls to the backyard of the Garcia house, returning shortly with a guitar in hand.
Instead of going inside the house, he continues across the lawn, like he does almost every night, and down the street toward the park. I want to call out to him, make him stop. Or put my clothes back on and follow him, but I don’t want to get caught. Besides, he looks like he wants to be alone.
Forget-me-not
Freshman/Sophomore year
JARED
Mrs. Ramirez knows about Eva’s late-night escapades to the park.
“Why are you telling me this?” I tense, not willing to take the blame. “I didn’t tell her to follow me.”
I can’t shake the feeling I’m seconds away from a lecture about the perils of kids in the system. That’s likely why she sent her daughter to bed. I’m used to the stigma.
“You’re a good boy.” She rests her hand on my forearm. “You like my Eva. All I ask is for you to take care of her.”
Who is this woman? And what exactly does she think she has seen?
“I barely know Eva.”
She gives me a knowing smile. “Sí, and Eva likes you. She looks up to you and you look out for her.”
I open my mouth, ready to kill the implication of anything with Eva. I’m not even sure if we have a friendship.
“I can’t make her stop coming to the park.”
“This is true, and all I ask is for you to look after her if she does. Much like you did tonight. You didn’t have to walk her home—that was her sister’s responsibility—but you stepped up. Thank you.”
Now I’m fucking perplexed. No one has ever told me I did the right thing and I don’t know what to do with her gratitude, and maybe even respect.
“Jared, my daughter is an excellent judge of character. If she trusts you, I do too.”
She pats my arm once more and smiles affectionately. A wild, fiery sensation burns through my chest. No stranger has ever said anything like this to me, and it’s clear this is Eva’s mother. They are similar in their warm and trusting ways.
My rote, simple words stick to my tongue. “Good night, Mrs. Ramirez.”
The urge to run away from this kind woman is fierce, and Eva’s stares through her bedroom window only add to my fiery intense need to be alone.
Months have passed since the night of the party, and so much has changed and yet, some things stay the same. The park is still my nighttime refuge.
The thundering thump of my boots and the gentle slap of my guitar case against my thigh fills the eerily quiet night. It is Friday, and usually the street is lined with cars and most of the houses are lit up while some kind of sound—music, laughter, or talking—fills the dense, dark night.