smiled a little. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Um, sure.” Diego squirmed in his seat. “Like, what do you want to know?”
“What do you want to tell me?” Vidas asked.
“Well, her name’s Ariel. She likes tropical fish, the same as me. But every time I try to talk to her I get all tongue-tangled.”
Vidas nodded. “That happens to everyone.”
“Not like to me,” Diego argued.
“Well, it happens to me,” Vidas replied.
“No way!” Diego found it hard to believe; Vidas seemed to always have a sense of calm and ease—except for that time he’d gotten angry.
“Way!” Vidas now insisted.
“So, like, what am I supposed to do?” Diego’s voice grew agitated. “I don’t know what to say to her.”
“You can start by telling her that. Be honest. Relax. Girls often do more of the talking. Let her ask you questions. And keep breathing.”
Diego took a breath, anxious at the mere idea of phoning Ariel and even uneasier at the thought of her asking him questions. What if she found out the truth about him?
“You can do it,” Vidas told him. “Trust yourself.”
How do I do that? Diego thought. He was probably the person he trusted least on earth.
“Anything else you’d like to talk about today?” Vidas asked, glancing at his watch.
“Nope.” That was enough—more than enough.
“Then for next week,” Vidas said, standing up, “discuss the contract with your mom and bring me back a copy. Okay?”
Diego stood to leave, uncertain which worried him more: the prospect of calling Ariel or of talking with his mom.
After lunch on Sunday, his mom’s day off, he helped to clear the table and load the dishwasher. Once Eddie had gone to play and was out of earshot, Diego told her, “You need to sign something for probation.”
“What is it?” she asked, drying her hands with the dishcloth.
He handed her the contract and a pen. “Just sign at the bottom.”
“Not so fast! I need to read it first.” She sat down at the kitchen table and started to read. “This sounds great. It’s good for you to have rules.” But her brow furrowed as she got to the last item. “What does that mean, ‘cutting’ yourself?”
Diego leaned nervously against the counter. “Sometimes I, um, cut myself.”
His mom shook her head, obviously not understanding. “You mean by accident?”
“Um, no.” He fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves. “On purpose.”
“On purpose?” Her entire face became a question mark. “No comprendo.”
Not knowing how to explain it, he grasped a cuff and slowly slid it above his wrist. As the hatch work of cuts came into view, he watched his mom’s face turn pale.
“You did that?” She stood up from the table and pushed the sleeve up his forearm, examining the slashes.
Diego withered with guilt. He’d known the sight would upset her.
“Take your shirt off,” she told him.
Reluctantly, he pulled the long-sleeve tee over his head, revealing the pink and red scars across his arms and chest. She drew a sharp breath at the sight.
“How could you do this?” Her eyes filled with tears as she reached out and moved her fingertips gently across the swollen wounds. “You had such beautiful skin.”
Her touch embarrassed him a little. It also made him feel close to her in a way he hadn’t for a long time. Finally, he was getting the sympathy he’d longed for from her.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” she said, teardrops spilling onto her cheeks.
“I figured you knew.” The extent of her emotion surprised him. Had she truly never noticed or had she just turned a blind eye? She was his ma; she should’ve noticed. After all, Vidas had noticed. “I figured you didn’t want to know.”
She shot him a somber look. “You should have said something.”
“Well, didn’t you think it was sort of strange that I always wear long sleeves?” He pulled away from her and yanked his shirt back on, annoyed. “You never noticed because you
“Um, sure.” Diego squirmed in his seat. “Like, what do you want to know?”
“What do you want to tell me?” Vidas asked.
“Well, her name’s Ariel. She likes tropical fish, the same as me. But every time I try to talk to her I get all tongue-tangled.”
Vidas nodded. “That happens to everyone.”
“Not like to me,” Diego argued.
“Well, it happens to me,” Vidas replied.
“No way!” Diego found it hard to believe; Vidas seemed to always have a sense of calm and ease—except for that time he’d gotten angry.
“Way!” Vidas now insisted.
“So, like, what am I supposed to do?” Diego’s voice grew agitated. “I don’t know what to say to her.”
“You can start by telling her that. Be honest. Relax. Girls often do more of the talking. Let her ask you questions. And keep breathing.”
Diego took a breath, anxious at the mere idea of phoning Ariel and even uneasier at the thought of her asking him questions. What if she found out the truth about him?
“You can do it,” Vidas told him. “Trust yourself.”
How do I do that? Diego thought. He was probably the person he trusted least on earth.
“Anything else you’d like to talk about today?” Vidas asked, glancing at his watch.
“Nope.” That was enough—more than enough.
“Then for next week,” Vidas said, standing up, “discuss the contract with your mom and bring me back a copy. Okay?”
Diego stood to leave, uncertain which worried him more: the prospect of calling Ariel or of talking with his mom.
After lunch on Sunday, his mom’s day off, he helped to clear the table and load the dishwasher. Once Eddie had gone to play and was out of earshot, Diego told her, “You need to sign something for probation.”
“What is it?” she asked, drying her hands with the dishcloth.
He handed her the contract and a pen. “Just sign at the bottom.”
“Not so fast! I need to read it first.” She sat down at the kitchen table and started to read. “This sounds great. It’s good for you to have rules.” But her brow furrowed as she got to the last item. “What does that mean, ‘cutting’ yourself?”
Diego leaned nervously against the counter. “Sometimes I, um, cut myself.”
His mom shook her head, obviously not understanding. “You mean by accident?”
“Um, no.” He fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves. “On purpose.”
“On purpose?” Her entire face became a question mark. “No comprendo.”
Not knowing how to explain it, he grasped a cuff and slowly slid it above his wrist. As the hatch work of cuts came into view, he watched his mom’s face turn pale.
“You did that?” She stood up from the table and pushed the sleeve up his forearm, examining the slashes.
Diego withered with guilt. He’d known the sight would upset her.
“Take your shirt off,” she told him.
Reluctantly, he pulled the long-sleeve tee over his head, revealing the pink and red scars across his arms and chest. She drew a sharp breath at the sight.
“How could you do this?” Her eyes filled with tears as she reached out and moved her fingertips gently across the swollen wounds. “You had such beautiful skin.”
Her touch embarrassed him a little. It also made him feel close to her in a way he hadn’t for a long time. Finally, he was getting the sympathy he’d longed for from her.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” she said, teardrops spilling onto her cheeks.
“I figured you knew.” The extent of her emotion surprised him. Had she truly never noticed or had she just turned a blind eye? She was his ma; she should’ve noticed. After all, Vidas had noticed. “I figured you didn’t want to know.”
She shot him a somber look. “You should have said something.”
“Well, didn’t you think it was sort of strange that I always wear long sleeves?” He pulled away from her and yanked his shirt back on, annoyed. “You never noticed because you
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