Page 22 of A Dish Best Served Hot

They smiled back and then paused and gave her a thorough once-over. They tipped their head and a lock of bright teal hair fell over a deep brown eye. “What’s up with you? You look like you just met up with a vampire in the back alley and they almost sucked you dry?”

Lola chuckled. “Close. I just spent the day with twenty-five four-year-old energy vampires.”

Mariana tossed their head back and laughed. “I forgot. Brittany mentioned you taking over the preschool class.” Brittany was another volunteer at El Hogar who taught fifth grade at the school. She was also Mariana’s live-in girlfriend. Lola wondered how they made it work when Brittany was at work all day and Mariana at work most nights. Mariana gave her a commiserating look. “More power to you. I can’t work with kids with ages in the single digits. I tried and started molting like a bird.”

“I’d forgotten just how hard they are to keep up with.” Lola rubbed a hand over her face. “I’m going to have to start slamming energy drinks or something.”

Mariana gave her a wry look. “I see those kids playing outside. You’d need to start using coke to reach that level of energy.”

Lola snorted. “Probably just as healthy as an energy drink.”

They laughed again. “Facts.”

“Is Yara still here?” Lola asked even though she knew there was a ninety-nine percent chance she was. Yara usually had to be dragged out by her hunky husband or kicked out by the rest of the staff before she went home.

Mariana’s face changed from slightly amused to serious. “She’s in her office,” they said. “She stormed in there an hour or so ago and hasn’t come out since.”

Lola raised her eyebrows.

“Enter at your own risk,” Mariana said.

Lola wasn’t exactly worried. She’d known Yaraliz back when her name had been Yariel Martinez, a hero at the center since the time he’d dunked on Michael Nicholson while wearing his mom’s five-inch heels. She and Yara were not the only two who were still around from back then, but it was close as a majority of the staff at El Vecindario were either much younger or much older than them. Yara had been visibly ecstatic when Lola had walked into her office three months ago and inquired about volunteering.

Her face, as Lola walked in now, was the exact opposite. Despite the deep V between her eyes, Yara was a beautiful Afro-Latina with brown skin and the kind of cheekbones people would kill for. She had a tiny hook at the end of her nose and generous lips, which were currently tipped down. Her eyes, a gorgeous mix of browns and tilted at the ends giving her an almost feline look, were red-rimmed as if she’d been crying.

“Is everything okay?” Lola asked.

Yara shook her head. “I just got out of an emergency meeting Fonseca called. The owners of El Hogar’s building sold it to some condo developers.” The absolute disgust in her tone was clear.

“But. But. They can’t,” Lola sputtered. Thanks to the Latine community’s lingering conservative mindsets, El Hogar was one of the only LGBTQIA+ friendly shelters in Humboldt Park. It was definitely the longest running and the most well-known. Lola had spent a lot of time there with friends in her youth. The workers of El Hogar had been the first ones to tell her that it was okay for her to be attracted to whomever she was attracted to. For a long time, they’d been the only people to tell her that. “How is this possible? What about the contract with El Vecindario? Who owns the building?”

“The Long Grove–based grandkids of some couple that bought the building back when Humboldt Park was still mostly Polish.”

Lola shook her head. “Of course.” Any residents of the wealthy Chicago suburb would be largely unconcerned with preserving a poor neighborhood’s community center. They probably would’ve sold a long time ago if it weren’t for the fact that the buildings in the neighborhood hadn’t been worth much of anything until recently. “So the sale is final?” Lola asked, her brain already whirling with next steps.

“Unfortunately, yes. The family did everything quietly and as quickly as possible to make sure none of us found out until it was done.”

“Those assholes!” Lola exclaimed.

“I know, right?”

“Did you guys get in contact with the new owners, make sure that they know you want to keep the space?”

“Girl, did you not hear me say ‘condo developer’? They aren’t letting us keep the space. They want to gut it and turn it into expensive condos.”

Lola felt her blood pressure rising. Fucking gentrifiers coming into the neighborhood people like she and Yaraliz had spent their entire lives trying to help, just to kick out the residents, slap a new coat of paint on it, and act like they really did some shit. It was bad enough that local places were being closed to make way for some bullshit craftsman candlemakers or some high-end boutique gyms, but now they were coming for the community center. The one that had been a home to so many displaced and lost queer youths like herself. She couldn’t let it happen.

Yara massaged her temples. “It’s so bad. Fonseca told me that they informed her we need to be out of here by the end of next week.”

“That’s bullshit! How can they expect us to find a new place by the end of next week?”

Yara just shook her head. “I don’t think they give a shit about the logistics of relocating a bunch of unhoused youth.”

“What did Fonseca say? I know she can’t be okay with this.”

“She’s definitely not. When I met with her, I could tell she’d just gone through a few rounds in the ring with them.” She shook her head. “I never thought I’d hear that woman cuss. Let me tell you, it’s terrifying.”

“No,” Lola said. “What’s about to be terrifying is how quickly we are going to round everyone up and make these motherfuckers regret ever messing with El Hogar.”

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