Read Online Not Anything by Carmen Rodrigues - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Carmen Rodrigues
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he suggests.
I glance at my watch. It’s already after three thirty.
“No, Mr. Murphy leaves at three, unless you make an appointment with him. Maybe we should just do this tomorrow?” I’d much rather be at home right now analyzing every single word that we’ve exchanged than discussing The Scarlet Letter. I mean, really, why would he bring up homecoming?
“Or we could go to your house?” Danny counters.
It takes a second for the question to register. He wants to come to my house? That would be his second visit in, like, thirty days.
The truth is that ever since Halloween, all I can think about is Danny coming over to my house. Danny in my room. But having a fantasy and seeing it through are two different things.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I say after much internal debate. “My dad’s working at home.”
We lean against a row of lockers. Danny runs his fingers through his hair, and his movement triggers more memories of Halloween. I’m flooded. And I think about touching him.
“Well, how about my house? I live only two blocks away.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” There are so many questions running through my head right now. What if he invites me into his room? What would it be like to see his bed or smell his sheets? What would it be like to know what his comforter looks like or see his closet filled with clothes? That information alone might keep me up late at night. I just don’t think I can handle the pressure of being at his house.
I rack my brain for a foolproof excuse. “I’m not really allowed to go to a boy’s house if my dad doesn’t know him.” I force my voice to sound apologetic. How weird would I feel meeting Dalia or his parents?
“Well, your dad and I met the other day, remember?”
“Yeah,” I say sarcastically, “but that doesn’t constitute knowing.” Heck, I’ve been meeting Danny for more than a month now, and I can’t even tell what he means by a simple question.
“If my dad met your parents, that would probably be a different story, but he hasn’t.”
“Oh.” He leans back against the locker and taps his fingers on his head. I wonder if his fingers give him extra brain power. “Okay, I know. My mom gets home from work at four, so I’ll have her call your mom to explain.”
“You can’t call my mom,” I began, trying to force the next words out.
“Why not?” Danny asks.
“Because…” My mind starts racing. Just tell him the truth, I think. But I can’t. Not yet. “You just can’t,” I repeat.
“Okay.” Danny seems to consider whether he should push that subject, but he doesn’t. “Can we call your dad? You said he’s at home. Right?”
“Yeah, you can call my dad.” We were treading on dangerous ground, and it seemed better to give in than raise more questions.
“We’re just going to be studying, not playing doctor,” he says. And my heart goes a thousand times faster.
“I kn-kn-ow.” I pause to get the stuttering under control. “I wa-as just thinking that I have to be home by six.”
“No prob-buh-blem.” He grabs my book bag off the floor. “Let’s go.”
FOURTEEN
la casa diaz
we walk the first block in silence. i sneak sideways glances at him just to watch him carry my bag. I like the way he retrieved it from the floor, without saying a word. The action was very take charge. I dig that.
“It’s this way.” I follow the right he makes on SW 132nd Avenue, and try to keep up with his long strides. The boy’s leg span covers twice the amount of territory of mine. We make a left on SW 65th Street, and my stomach flips. The path we’re taking is suddenly becoming very familiar to me.
“Have you ever been here?” Danny asks. He points to a man-made canal. My man-made canal! My designated lunch spot!
“Well?” he prompts.
I look around. My Carlos or Bob (or whatever his name is) is sitting on a bench, reading. Ducks huddle nearby, waiting.
“Kind of.” I debate whether to admit that this is
I glance at my watch. It’s already after three thirty.
“No, Mr. Murphy leaves at three, unless you make an appointment with him. Maybe we should just do this tomorrow?” I’d much rather be at home right now analyzing every single word that we’ve exchanged than discussing The Scarlet Letter. I mean, really, why would he bring up homecoming?
“Or we could go to your house?” Danny counters.
It takes a second for the question to register. He wants to come to my house? That would be his second visit in, like, thirty days.
The truth is that ever since Halloween, all I can think about is Danny coming over to my house. Danny in my room. But having a fantasy and seeing it through are two different things.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I say after much internal debate. “My dad’s working at home.”
We lean against a row of lockers. Danny runs his fingers through his hair, and his movement triggers more memories of Halloween. I’m flooded. And I think about touching him.
“Well, how about my house? I live only two blocks away.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” There are so many questions running through my head right now. What if he invites me into his room? What would it be like to see his bed or smell his sheets? What would it be like to know what his comforter looks like or see his closet filled with clothes? That information alone might keep me up late at night. I just don’t think I can handle the pressure of being at his house.
I rack my brain for a foolproof excuse. “I’m not really allowed to go to a boy’s house if my dad doesn’t know him.” I force my voice to sound apologetic. How weird would I feel meeting Dalia or his parents?
“Well, your dad and I met the other day, remember?”
“Yeah,” I say sarcastically, “but that doesn’t constitute knowing.” Heck, I’ve been meeting Danny for more than a month now, and I can’t even tell what he means by a simple question.
“If my dad met your parents, that would probably be a different story, but he hasn’t.”
“Oh.” He leans back against the locker and taps his fingers on his head. I wonder if his fingers give him extra brain power. “Okay, I know. My mom gets home from work at four, so I’ll have her call your mom to explain.”
“You can’t call my mom,” I began, trying to force the next words out.
“Why not?” Danny asks.
“Because…” My mind starts racing. Just tell him the truth, I think. But I can’t. Not yet. “You just can’t,” I repeat.
“Okay.” Danny seems to consider whether he should push that subject, but he doesn’t. “Can we call your dad? You said he’s at home. Right?”
“Yeah, you can call my dad.” We were treading on dangerous ground, and it seemed better to give in than raise more questions.
“We’re just going to be studying, not playing doctor,” he says. And my heart goes a thousand times faster.
“I kn-kn-ow.” I pause to get the stuttering under control. “I wa-as just thinking that I have to be home by six.”
“No prob-buh-blem.” He grabs my book bag off the floor. “Let’s go.”
FOURTEEN
la casa diaz
we walk the first block in silence. i sneak sideways glances at him just to watch him carry my bag. I like the way he retrieved it from the floor, without saying a word. The action was very take charge. I dig that.
“It’s this way.” I follow the right he makes on SW 132nd Avenue, and try to keep up with his long strides. The boy’s leg span covers twice the amount of territory of mine. We make a left on SW 65th Street, and my stomach flips. The path we’re taking is suddenly becoming very familiar to me.
“Have you ever been here?” Danny asks. He points to a man-made canal. My man-made canal! My designated lunch spot!
“Well?” he prompts.
I look around. My Carlos or Bob (or whatever his name is) is sitting on a bench, reading. Ducks huddle nearby, waiting.
“Kind of.” I debate whether to admit that this is
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