Read Online Maldeamores (Lovesick) (Heightsbound #0.5) by Mara White - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mara White
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cool? Probably just meant—are you cool, Belén? Or are you going to go around acting like a sad fool?
Lucky comes back and talks sports and television and music videos while barely eating anything. He’s loud and gregarious and has the twins and Hemi in stitches, acting full-out a comedy routine from the Caribbean variety show he saw on access TV. I can’t help but laugh too at his imitation of the thickest Dominican accent you ever heard, which isn’t uncommon in our neighborhood. But from the way Lucky is talking, I also think that he’s on something.
Lucky goes off with the twins and Annalise to play in the arcade. I sit with Mami and my aunts and Briana, stirring my ice cream around without really eating it. They ask me about schools and I give the prerecorded answer that I’ve given to everyone, from the high school guidance counselor to the all the old ladies that live in my building.
Sometimes I feel like I’m living out everyone in my family’s fantasy of what they wished they’d done instead of what I really want to do. I’m the equalizer, the payment for sins, the second chance in the new generation. I can’t get pregnant, drop out of high school or move to Colorado with a convict, like Mami, Titi and Hemi all did respectively. I can’t swear. I can’t smoke weed or even try drinking beer. I can’t miss curfew, wear too much make-up or even talk like the other girls in the neighborhood. I can’t get stuck in the Heights or move back to the Islands. I can’t complain that I don’t have a dad or wear short skirts that will make the men stare any more than they already do. I can’t be myself. I don’t even know what I want to do.
I deliver my lines about what I want with my future; it’s just a monologue I’ve memorized, not an actual plan that I’m following through with. Mami gets all teary eyed and Titi clasps her hands to her chest. Hemi just snorts at me with disapproval and takes a sip from her gigantic, salted, virgin margarita glass.
The boys and Annalise come back and it takes us forever to get our stuff together, get the bill paid, and get everyone in their jackets and out the door. Lucky gets our coats from the coat check girl. I see how he smiles at her and cocks an eyebrow. He mouths the words “Call me” to her and I might throw up on the floor. Fettuccini Alfredo is staging a revolt. I don’t want to go to the movies anymore, I want to go home. Lucky offers me my coat by holding it up so I can slip my arms into it.
“Madame,” he says, smiling.
I smile a little, but I’m not falling for it. Waste your charm on somebody else, Lucky. It hurts me too much.
“’Cause we’re rich people with manners,” I say instead. “Just look at Auntie Hemi.”
Hemi is stashing all the arcade tokens, even picking them up off of the floor. And God knows why because we’ll probably never come back here. She’s piling all of the leftovers into a bag she produced from her purse.
“Hemi is special, just look at her shirt,” Lucky says and smiles again. “What do you think that means?”
Hemi has on shirt that says “Bitch A$$” – I don’t know where she even gets these things.
“I guess she does have a lot of mouths to feed,” I say.
“Hemi is going to feed her own mouth, Belén, and you know it.”
A light snow is falling when we step out of the restaurant. The air has warmed up, so what hits the ground disappears into slush. The pavement is wet and covered in a kaleidoscope of colors reflected off the garish lights of Times Square. Lucky and I trail behind everyone and it almost feels like old times.
Me and Luciano. Always together. Practically inseparable.
He’s my closest family member besides my mom. The thought makes heat rush all through my body. I feel awful for my desire. I think God must have left out something crucial when he made me. I remember learning in school that “disgust” is an emotion. Just like love, or fear, it’s not something you choose.
Lucky comes back and talks sports and television and music videos while barely eating anything. He’s loud and gregarious and has the twins and Hemi in stitches, acting full-out a comedy routine from the Caribbean variety show he saw on access TV. I can’t help but laugh too at his imitation of the thickest Dominican accent you ever heard, which isn’t uncommon in our neighborhood. But from the way Lucky is talking, I also think that he’s on something.
Lucky goes off with the twins and Annalise to play in the arcade. I sit with Mami and my aunts and Briana, stirring my ice cream around without really eating it. They ask me about schools and I give the prerecorded answer that I’ve given to everyone, from the high school guidance counselor to the all the old ladies that live in my building.
Sometimes I feel like I’m living out everyone in my family’s fantasy of what they wished they’d done instead of what I really want to do. I’m the equalizer, the payment for sins, the second chance in the new generation. I can’t get pregnant, drop out of high school or move to Colorado with a convict, like Mami, Titi and Hemi all did respectively. I can’t swear. I can’t smoke weed or even try drinking beer. I can’t miss curfew, wear too much make-up or even talk like the other girls in the neighborhood. I can’t get stuck in the Heights or move back to the Islands. I can’t complain that I don’t have a dad or wear short skirts that will make the men stare any more than they already do. I can’t be myself. I don’t even know what I want to do.
I deliver my lines about what I want with my future; it’s just a monologue I’ve memorized, not an actual plan that I’m following through with. Mami gets all teary eyed and Titi clasps her hands to her chest. Hemi just snorts at me with disapproval and takes a sip from her gigantic, salted, virgin margarita glass.
The boys and Annalise come back and it takes us forever to get our stuff together, get the bill paid, and get everyone in their jackets and out the door. Lucky gets our coats from the coat check girl. I see how he smiles at her and cocks an eyebrow. He mouths the words “Call me” to her and I might throw up on the floor. Fettuccini Alfredo is staging a revolt. I don’t want to go to the movies anymore, I want to go home. Lucky offers me my coat by holding it up so I can slip my arms into it.
“Madame,” he says, smiling.
I smile a little, but I’m not falling for it. Waste your charm on somebody else, Lucky. It hurts me too much.
“’Cause we’re rich people with manners,” I say instead. “Just look at Auntie Hemi.”
Hemi is stashing all the arcade tokens, even picking them up off of the floor. And God knows why because we’ll probably never come back here. She’s piling all of the leftovers into a bag she produced from her purse.
“Hemi is special, just look at her shirt,” Lucky says and smiles again. “What do you think that means?”
Hemi has on shirt that says “Bitch A$$” – I don’t know where she even gets these things.
“I guess she does have a lot of mouths to feed,” I say.
“Hemi is going to feed her own mouth, Belén, and you know it.”
A light snow is falling when we step out of the restaurant. The air has warmed up, so what hits the ground disappears into slush. The pavement is wet and covered in a kaleidoscope of colors reflected off the garish lights of Times Square. Lucky and I trail behind everyone and it almost feels like old times.
Me and Luciano. Always together. Practically inseparable.
He’s my closest family member besides my mom. The thought makes heat rush all through my body. I feel awful for my desire. I think God must have left out something crucial when he made me. I remember learning in school that “disgust” is an emotion. Just like love, or fear, it’s not something you choose.
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