Page 73 of Caught in a Bad Fauxmance
“Forget about the games,” she says after we untangle, tugging flyaway hairs free from her lip gloss. “No more snooping, no more cheating. We can crush them on our own merits.”
A few weeks ago, I would’ve jumped at the chance to free myself of our unnecessarily high-stakes scheme. Tonight, I shake my head.
“No,” I insist. Her brows knit in confusion. “I know how we can take them down.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
On New Year’s Day, Maya breaks out the megaphone again.
“Let’s go, maggots! It’s Lawgies time! ¡Levántate! ¡Levántate!” she shouts as she races through the cabin, banging on everyone’s doors.
“Watch it, nena,” Dad warns from the kitchen, plugging his ears when she turns on the megaphone’s siren.
The wakeup call does the trick. Everyone in the cabin is up and somewhat coherent before the sun has fully risen, a Báez family first. Even more unusual: I was up before all of them.
“See, someone has the right idea,” Maya praises once everyone piles into the kitchen, gesturing to where I’m already fully dressed and brewing coffee.
The dinner table is a mess of neon sweatbands, protein bars, and coffee-stained charts on our respective strengths and weaknesses. Once everyone is gathered and has a mugof coffee in hand, Maya pulls a box in from the living room, setting it down on the table with a clunk.
“I took the liberty of making us matching outfits.” She holds a bright red T-shirt and matching sweatband up to her chest with a proud grin,Badass Báezwritten across both in bold, block letters.
“A very nice touch,” Isabel praises, taking one of the shirts for herself.
“I thought the games don’t start until noon?” Andy complains, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “It’s not even eight. What’re we supposed to do until then?”
Maya throws a T-shirt at his head. “Practice. Duh.”
“But we’ve been practicing since we got here.”
Maya downs the last of her coffee in one gulp. “And today’s no exception.”
“Before we go full Rambo,” I begin, waiting until I have the room’s attention to continue. “I have something I want to show everyone.”
My heart flutters as I set my sketchbook down on the counter, flipped open to the finished portrait of Mami. “It’s for my mentorship application.” No one speaks up, most of them leaning in to get a better view. I hold my breath as they take it in, the first time I’ve ever shown them anything so personal.
It’s not the same portrait as the one Julian saw that afternoon, though it is very similar. It’s evolved into something much bigger—a complete scene instead of just a portrait. A combination of two ideas. Mami is still the focal point, wearing her favorite white sundress, orchids tucked into hercurls. But instead of the ocean, she’s somewhere more familiar. The edge of her hidden pier, one arm around Dad, with me in his lap. The other around Maya. Our cabin in the distance, visible through the gaps in the trees.
As angry as I still am with Julian, this was one thing he was right about.Thisis who I am as an artist. It only took a couple half-finished sketches and some spilled milk to figure that out. With the piece scanned and sent with the rest of my application, and a confirmation email from Cardarelli’s assistant sitting in my inbox, I can finally breathe a little easier. I didn’t need to submit by today, but I need all my focus.
The games have never felt so important, and Mami has never felt as present as she does here, in this cabin we renovated to be everything she wanted it to be.
Maya’s hand finds mine, squeezing twice, an unspoken code we developed in middle school. I squeeze hers back when Dad scoops me up into a hug so tight it makes me cough. “It’s beautiful, mijo,” he whispers against my temple.
Today’s not a day for crying, but I can’t help the tears that well up when I wrap my arms around him.
“There’s one more thing,” I say before I can get too choked up to speak again. Pulling myself out of Dad’s arms, I cross the kitchen to grab a tray out of the fridge, setting it down beside my sketchbook.
“I thought we could start a new tradition.” My gaze flickers over to Isabel first, her hand over her mouth and her eyes glossy. “Tres leches cake on New Year’s Day.”
Dad barks out a laugh as he adjusts one of the cherries holding the smiling face together. Even Andy has crackedunder the emotional pressure, two tears sliding down his cheeks. Isabel wipes her eyes before nodding.
“I think that’s a great idea.”
In comparison to our usual training routine, the morning is pretty tame. We can’t go too hard either way, unless we want to wind up puking the modest slices of tres leches cake we helped ourselves to for breakfast. We saved the majority of it for later, but that amount of dairy can work a number on even the most lactose-tolerant stomach.
We start with some warm-up stretches together in the backyard before heading out for a relaxed jog around the lake to get our blood pumping. Maya even praises my form as we stretch down to touch our toes. By noon, we’re energized with team spirit and two cups of coffee each.
Decked out in our matching T-shirts and sweatbands, we make our way to Allegheny Park to sign in and collect our team badges.
