Page 15 of The Plan

“The Dominican Republic.” Sire nods again, and a small smile creeps on his face. “What?”

He shakes his head like it was nothing. “I thought you were black.” He shrugs like he’s trying not to be offensive, and I chuckle because everyone says that, but I don’t blame them.

“I am, I’m Afro-Latina.” He nods like that makes more sense. He goes to say something, but I beat him to it. “That doesn’t mean one of my parents is black and the other is Latina.” He closes his mouth and looks confused again, and I can’t help but laugh.

Almost every time I tell someone I’m Afro-Latina, that’s what they assume and proceed to ask me which one of my parents is black, as if that would further explain my darker complexion and “pajon,” but I honestly find the confusion funny and just educate them when I can.

“It means I’m Latina with African descent,” I explain, and he nods in thought.

“Well, you should teach me how to say something in Spanish.” I feel myself smiling as I think about what to teach him. When a huge manta ray swims by, I’m mesmerized by it like always. “These rays are hermosa.”

He looks like he’s trying to figure out what I said, so I translate for him and then turn back to the rays. “Hermosa.” His voice comes out soft, and when I look at him, he’s already staring at me like his eyes never left me. We gaze into each other for a beat, and he gives me a small smile before I look back at the glass.

“Where’s your family from?” I ask, bringing our attention back to his initial question. He doesn’t answer me right away, and when I look over at him, he’s watching the rays in front of us.

“I was adopted.”Huh?I think he’s joking for a quick second, but I look at him again, and I don’t think he is.

“If you don’t mind me asking—”

“I don’t.” He doesn’t even know what I’m going to ask. I feel myself smiling but immediately bite it back.

“Were you in the system or adopted at birth?” I know how horrible the foster care system can be, so I hope he says he was adopted at birth.

“Neither.” Oh… okay. I just nod my head. I don't want to make him feel pressured to continue, but he goes on anyway, and I’m glad he does.

“During my sophomore year of high school, my birth mother lost her parental rights because of—" He pauses and takes a deep breath before continuing. I want him to be able to open up to me about whatever he was about to say about his mom, but I also don’t want to push him, so I don’t.

"Anyways, I would've gone into the system, but August literally begged on his knees for Mom to adopt me, and, well, you can guess the rest.” He looks back at the tank when a stingray shuffles across the sand and smiles in thought.

There’s a ping in my heart at the bond August and he has. “Awe. So you two are technically brothers.”

He nods, smiling. “Yeah, we’ve known each other since I was seven. He was nine but still in the second grade because his dumb ass got held back twice. I was always with his family a lot since…” He trails off again like he’s trying to find the right words, then continues. “Uh, due to things at home, so the adoption never felt like one. It was more of a formality.”

We’re watching two more huge rays swim by when I ask, “What about your bio dad?”

Sire leans against the glass and pulls the strings of my hood, so I have to take a step closer to him. “I have no idea. Never met the guy, so I guess he’s a shitty parent too.”

I start playing with his red hood strings. “Diddo.” He turns his head, asking a silent question. “My dad was shitty too. He wasbarely around, or maybe I just can’t remember when he was. Either way, the things I do remember aren’t good.”

I remember reading somewhere that your mind blocks off certain memories as a trauma response. Maybe that’s why I can’t remember most of the beginning of my childhood, who knows…

I wonder if I should continue, if I should talk about how my shitty excuse of a dad used his fist to solve his problems. I shake my head at the memories and decide against it. “Anyways, he finally put us out of our misery and left my mom when I was eight or nine, and I haven't seen him since.”

He rests his arms on my shoulders and runs his finger through my curls to massage the bottom of my head. “His lost.” I give him a small smile. Looking up at him, I glance at his nose, and my mind goes to how he didn’t want medication when I did his stitches.

When I glance up at him, he’s looking at me like he just read my mind, and I feel bad now.Change the topic, V.I look around and see two boys crawling out of a hole that says “penguins” over it. Grabbing his hand, I head in that direction.

“There’s no way we’re going to fit in there.”

“Yeah, we are. It looks small on the outside, but Hazel and I are in here all the time.” It’s our hiding spot when we need to get away from our problems.

When we crawl in, he looks around, clearly shocked. “Wait, it's huge in here.” I look around with him, and the water isn’t around us like the tunnel. Instead, there’s just one big circle window, so I doubt he’ll have another panic attack in here.

We sit in silence for a bit and just watch the penguins swim in circles around each other. I turn to look at him, but he’s already staring at me thoughtfully.

“I never thanked you for that.” I don’t immediately say anything, and he goes on. “When you did my stitches, and I told you not to use medication. I appreciate the way you didn’tquestion my addiction or push me to explain.” Well, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure if he had an addiction, and I didn't want to assume.

“How long have you been sober?” I hope that wasn’t invasive of me to ask.

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