Page 61 of Outspoken

He smirks. “No one said you had jokes. No, my addict parents aren't here. My dad might be dead, and I don't give a shit. Mom just got out of rehab again, so she’s probably in Fresno right now getting high.”

I hold his gaze, not hiding my concern. My entire chest is heavy with sadness for him. I got into drugs on my own and they ruined me. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to be born into a family with drug problems. He didn’t choose that life. “Who are you living with?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll get kicked out eventually.” He nods at his family. “All they do is pass me around and yell when I drink. I could be doing other shit, but I don’t. I know where to get meth and I had lots of times I could've done it. Mom got so high once, she tried to give me some when I told her I was hungry. I was nine, and I hadn't eaten in two days, but I didn't take it.” He leans back, eyes hard and fiery. “I said no, but you think they give a shit? No one sees when I say no. They only yell like I should be a normal kid with good parents.”

My heart twists because I understand how hard it is to say no when everyone around you is saying yes. He’s so young. One simple yes would ruin his entire life. It did mine.

Despite my empathy for his situation, I can’t dismiss my annoyance. He’s still in control of his actions now. “It's stupid to drink at your age. Sounds like you've been through some stuff, but you know you're fucking up your brain, right?”

He laughs. “So?”

“I know you think you know everything, because that’s what all teens think. I used to be the same way. But when you’re my age, you’ll regret drinking. Trust me.” I lower my gaze because it's hard to say certain things out loud, even if he's mostly a stranger. “It fucked me up, and I wish I had listened to adults when they tried to warn me. Your dumb teenage brain is telling you it doesn't matter now, but when you get some sense, you'll wish you had made better choices.”

He pulls out the vape pen again and purposefully takes a long draw from it. White, billowy vapor trickles from his mouth and nostrils as he talks. “Sucks for future me, I guess.”

I frown at the tablecloth, thinking over this kid's situation. It hits a tender spot inside me. I understand what it’s like for everyone to expect you to act normal, as if you can ignore trauma and all the bad shit that happened in your past. It’s so much harder to ‘get over it’ than people realize.

“Either way,” I say, my tone softer, “growing up with parents like that sounds tough, and you could've easily gotten hooked on meth or something else. I know how difficult it is to say no, especially…” The words stick in my throat.

He lifts his eyebrow, actually looking interested in what I'm saying.

I clear my throat, forcing the rest out. “Especially when that hit feels like the only thing in the world that'll make living bearable. You might think this is dumb since I don’t know you, but I’m proud of you. You did a really great job staying clean, even if you're being stupid in other ways.”

He tips his head and studies me. Then he smirks and looks down at the grass. It’s not a sarcastic smirk. He looks lighter—happy for a moment.

He tucks his hands in his hoodie pockets, the moment passing. Then he returns to looking disinterested. “What made you finally decide to be a thing with Miguel?”

“Why do you keep saying ‘finally’?”

He shrugs. “He's talked about you so long I thought you were fake. Or you rejected him. I don't know. Just got tired of hearing your name all the time.”

Something shatters on the patio and I flinch. There are a few cheers and claps amid laughter, and Rico says something about cleaning up his mess.

I’m barely aware of it. I'm too distracted by the whirling hurricane inside me. The small amount of food I ate earlier is churning and churning, acid creeping up my throat.

I lean into the table, the edge digging into my stomach. I lower my voice to ask Angel, “You've heard him talk about me? When?”

He shrugs again. “Years. I don't know when it started. Just heard your name a lot. I mostly ignore what my family says, but Miguel is in deep. Seems obsessive to me. Just wanna be real with you.”

My fingers grip the edge of the table—the only thing solid—as Angel nods at his family.

“They talk about me behind my back,” he says. “I fucking hate it. I hate lies and secrets. Just have some fucking respect and give me the truth, you know?” Our eyes meet. “Both of us are outsiders here, and I don't wanna lie to you. I heard them talking about you earlier—that you're an alcoholic—and they locked all the bottles in a cabinet. That's why there's nothing good to drink.”

My throat tightens. I feel like crying and puking at the same time. Miguel has been talking about me foryears? Why? That doesn't make sense since we only met about a year ago at the hospital. And his family knows about my drinking? What else do they know about? My suicide attempt? Rehab? All the times I've fucked up?

No wonder they've been so nice—can't upset the unstable girl.

I stand on wobbly knees. Angel is right. I am an outsider, and I was fooling myself by thinking that, even for a moment, I could be anything else—that I could be Fantasy Amber.

“Thanks, kid,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Thanks for being honest. I appreciate it.”

He laughs. “I guess you can call me kid, old lady.”

I frown, jabbing a finger at him. “Seriously, though—stopwith the drinking and vaping. Don't end up like me because it sucks. You have no idea how much it sucks. You still have a chance at a better future.”

He doesn't respond, only stares at me with an impassive smirk. I turn to leave, hoping I can slip out unnoticed. I think I can make it to my car before falling apart, but I need to hurry.

Before I can decide how to escape, Rico exits the sliding glass door onto the patio. He’s holding my jacket and a broom.

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