Page 59 of Pride High 3: Yellow
“Anyway,” her best friend said, as if forcing herself to continue. “My theater group is holding auditions and we don’t have nearly enough dancers. It wouldn’t be a speaking part, so I can basically guarantee that you’d get it.”
“Uhhhhh, no thanks,” Omar replied. “I’m not into that sort of thing. And I wouldn’t have time anyway. I usually work after school.”
“Crap,” Mindy said while slowly deflating.
They stopped near a table loaded with snacks, which was fine with Silvia, because it meant she could munch on chips while watching them negotiate.
“You could ask Diego,” Omar suggested. “Everyone talks about how good he was in the last play.”
“Yeah, but can he dance?”
“Hell yeah!” Omar said. “There was this one time, at the pool, when we were trying to impress this group of girls, and uh…” He trailed off and looked at Silvia with a wince. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”
“You’re allowed to have liked girls before we ever met,” Silvia assured him.
“Really? Okay, well in that case, we were trying to impress these girls, so we were dancing for them. In our swimsuits, which backfired, because I started to get turned on by the way they were looking at me. And at least one of them noticed because—”
“I don’t want to hear this,” Mindy said, covering her ears. “I’d rather the play be a total failure, I don’t care.”
“Anyway,” Omar said, pulling her hands away from her ears. “After I jumped in the pool before they could see more, I remember watching Diego, who actually got to dance with one of the girls. And he was great.”
“As in competent?” Mindy asked, seeming genuinely interested.
“Hey, he got her phone number, so he must have been doing something right.”
Mindy slowly scanned the room until she saw Whitney, who cried out gleefully when Galen made a playing card appear out of thin air. “You’ve just given me the best idea!” Mindy said, turning toward them again. “Can he sing?”
“Diego?” Omar scrunched up his face. “I don’t know. Maybe? We used to rock out together, but heavy metal is the kind of music you shout along to, you know?”
“No,” Mindy said. “Fortunately I do not. But you have been very helpful!”
She kissed him on the cheek before running over to Whitney.
“She knows we’re still dating, right?” Omar asked, sounding concerned.
“I’ll be sure to remind her,” Silvia said, taking his arm affectionately as they rejoined the party.
CHAPTER 10
March 3rd, 1993
Ricky barely managed to hold his tongue as Dr. Sharma shut the door to her office, giving them privacy before she rejoined him at the pairs of couches and chairs that were arranged around a low table. His therapist remained silent as she sat across from him, perhaps giving Ricky the opportunity to speak, because he’d barely said a word all session. Instead he had sat there and listened to his mother rattle off a list of his crimes. She had only paused to peer at him, as if expecting Ricky to defend himself. But he hadn’t. What would be the point when he’d already been tried and sentenced?
“Well, well…” Dr. Sharma said at last. She was a lean woman with dusky skin and long graying hair, her mannerisms always under precise control. “It seems we have much to discuss.”
Ricky opened his mouth. Then he shut it again and shook his head.
“You have a voice in this room,” Dr. Sharma said, “and my strictest confidence. I’m here to listen.”
Ricky shrugged. “You’ve already heard it all. I’m running around with a bad kid and doing drugs.”
Dr. Sharma raised a delicate eyebrow before leaning back slightly. “As you know, my aim is to impart crucial skills that you’ll be able to employ for the rest of your life. Today I would like to focus on point of view. I’ve already gotten your mother’s. But I don’t have yours.”
“Diego isn’t a bad person,” Ricky spluttered. “And I don’t like drugs. So this whole thing is stupid!”
Dr. Sharma tilted her head. “Okay. Let’s pretend that your parents gave you a puppy as a gift, with the understanding that the dog would be your responsibility. You soon fall in love with it, and everything is fine until it starts digging a hole beneath the backyard fence, so it can run off. What would you do?”
“Ground it for a month,” Ricky grumped, already seeing through the analogy.
