Page 139 of Outspoken

I glance at that spot on the ceiling I let sit for so many years. What I’m doing with Angel isn’t right. I’ve been on the sidelines letting Mom handle him, and lately I’ve taken a huge step back and left him to himself. No wonder he hates me—I haven’t done much to prove myself.

I need to do better for him, even if that means getting him a solid place somewhere else where he can thrive.

I go to his room and knock gently on the door. He doesn’t answer, but the knob is unlocked. “I’m coming in,” I say before opening the door.

I’m assaulted by a musty, sweaty odor that tells me I need to open the bedroom windows more since he won’t let me clean in here.

Angel is laying on the bed messing with his phone, his long legs stretched out. The new black duvet cover I bought him is crumpled on the floor, the mattress only covered in white sheets and a thin blanket.

I lean against the door frame. “Hey. What you did just now means a lot. Thank you. Mom would be proud. I’m proud.”

He sighs. “Whatever.”

I’m not buying his act, but I leave it. “Are you happy here?”

He glances up. His eyes flicker on me a moment with a flash of concern, then he tips his head so his face is covered in shadow beneath his hoodie. “I was with your mom around.”

I glance at the used food wrappers and chaos all over the floor. He doesn’t have a lot of stuff, but the trash and mess make it look like he’s a borderline hoarder. The mess is really his only mark on the room. I told him he could hang stuff on the walls or do whatever, but he left the landscape pictures and Mom’s knickknacks, so it still looks like a guest room. He won’t even hang his clothes in the closet, keeping them in his luggage.

The only thing of his that’s visible is that damn vape pen on the nightstand. I threw it out the last time I found it, but he got another one. The kid has too many shady contacts.

I ignore it for now, since we have other things to discuss. “I’m sorry you’re not happy.”

He doesn’t respond, only focuses on his phone.

“I’m also sorry I’ve been in my own world lately. I know you’re grieving too.”

No response.

I take a breath. “Have you thought about school next semester?”

“Fuck no.”

At least he responded.“Okay. Well, I’ve been thinking about options for you, if you want them.”

His eyes shoot up, staring with an unreadable expression below the shadows.

Since I’ve already initiated this convo, I push forward, tightening my abs to steady myself for this tricky subject. I keep my tone as upbeat as I can. “Since you’re not happy with me, there are other options. I’ve been looking around at group homes where you can hang with kids your age, somewhere you might be happier. I don’t want you to feel stuck, like you have to make it work here if you really hate it. Of course, I like having—”

“I fucking knew it,” he spits, launching himself from the bed. “Took you longer than I thought, but I fucking knew you were a liar.”

I step into the room, my stomach dropping. “No. You’re misunderstanding. I’m not kicking you—”

“Fuck off, Miguel.” He opens the closet to yank out one single shirt that he hung.

My heart squeezes.He actually put something in the closet?“Angel. Stop. I want you to stay. I mentioned options because—”

“Stop trying to make yourself feel better, you fucking loser.” He grabs his luggage from a corner of the room and stuffs the shirt in. Then he grabs his vape pen. His eyes are venom when he faces me. “I knew this was fake. You’re worse than everyone else in the family. At least they were honest with me. They told me to my face they didn’t like me staying with them. You want everyone to think you’re a nice guy, so you hide what you really are. Fucking lying to your mother that I could stay here.”

He shoves past me into the hallway and I grab his arm to try to right this situation—to explain myself.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” he screams, yanking free and dragging his luggage down the hallway.

I clench my jaw. “I’m not kicking you out. Why do you keep calling me fake?”

Stopping in the middle of the living room, he spins to face me again, nostrils flaring. “You lie, pinche pendejo.”

“Aboutwhat? What are you talking about?”

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