Page 36 of Riding the Pine

Athena: I did.

Gizmo: You okay?

Gizmo: Bright Eyes?

Gizmo: Hello?

He tries to call, making me start in the car. It’s been ten minutes since I last replied to his text. Shit.

Athena: Sorry, I’m just sitting here… staring.

Gizmo: Where are you, Athena? Are you safe?

Athena: Just in my car at Papá’s office.

I’m not sure what else to do, or say, or think. My father promised she was the only one, but he cheated in the first place so he inherently can’t be trusted, right?

Gizmo: Don’t move. I’ll be there in less than ten.

Campus isn’t near Papá’s office. Why is Scott anywhere near this side of town? Was he going home to Keystone? Or was he hanging around at a coffee shop close by in case I needed him?

I get out of the driver’s side, circle the car, and climb into the passenger seat, pulling my knees to my chest as I sit staring out the window.

Scott’s already in the car and touching my arm before I even know he’s arrived. He searches my face for something, then tips his head. “What do you need?”

I look up the tall building in front of me, half expecting to see Papá watching my every move. “Just drive. Please, Gizmo. Just drive.”

I rest my head against the window while Scott pulls out of the parking lot, navigates his way out of the city, then hits the open road. The vibrations through the car lull me into a restless sleep where all I dream about is my cheating father hurting my mother.

I don’t know whether I believe him or not, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to tell Mamá about this.

And maybe Abuelita, too.

I’m not sure who I’m looking forward to talking to least, but I know both of them are going to want to head to Home Depot to buy some shovels and plastic sheeting. Because my father betrayed his vows and disgraced our family.

I might even help them hide the body.

CHAPTER 16

Scott

NOVEMBER 2022

Ifucking hate myself.

I’d almost capitulated, almost allowed myself to believe that the man I felt like with Athena de la Peña curled against my body was the man she deserved to be with.

A call to Mom shortly thereafter telling me another of my cousins have been thrown in jail for possession with intent to distribute brought me crashing down to earth.

Even the most common of women wouldn’t want to be with someone who has a family full of felons. I know my cousins aren’t me anymore than I am them, but there’s a pattern. It’s a blemish on our family name.

As we warm up for the game it feels like everyone’s eyes are on me, like they all know, they’re all judging me or whispering about my family of felons behind my back.

My blood simmers beneath my skin, hot with shame and bubbling with embarrassment.

Part of me thinks that if that’s my destiny, if that’s all my family has to offer the world, then it’s just a matter of time before I end up in a fucking orange jumpsuit and behind bars. Right?

Do they even wear orange jumpsuits in prison? Who knows? Maybe they’re gray and dull and boring, and not at all as striking as the orange we see on TV.

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