Page 48 of Follow My Voice
“Hoodie,” Diego whispers.
I shoot an exhausted look at him but say nothing.
“Seems like it’s just you and me. Destiny keeps throwing ustogether, but you won’t cooperate.” He runs a hand through his red hair. “Do you have something against redheads?”
I shake my head.
“So it’s just that I’m not worthy of being spoken to?”
I shake my head again.It’s just that you’re so loud and you like to draw attention to yourself, and I want to go unnoticed.
Diego sighs, almost as if pretending to feel defeated. “Hoodie?”
I feel bad for ignoring him. So, against my better judgment, I engage. “I know you know my name, so why do you keep calling me Hoodie?”
The wide grin that spreads across his face is almost contagious. “Because I like to be original.”
“Well, Mr. Original, why are you so insistent on talking to me?”
Diego presses his back against the wall, his elbows resting on his knees. “Why are you so mysterious?”
“You can’t answer a question with another question.”
“I’ll tell you why I’m so insistent if you tell me something that has me curious.”
“What is it?”
“Well, my darling Hoodie, more elusive than my ex after I begged her to take me back—how is it that you’ve gotten so close with the radio host?”
“It’s complicated.”
“That’s what my ex said, too.”
I can’t help but chuckle. Diego’s funny, I have to admit. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Diego.”
“Oh, so you know my name.” He winks at me.
“How could I not? You haven’t stopped messing with me since I started here.”
“I wouldn’t say I’ve been messing with you; more like I’ve been fighting for acknowledgment.”
“Why all the effort? You seem to have plenty of friends already.”
His features soften, and he bites his lips as if thinking verycarefully about his next words. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you, Hoodie.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
“It was a while ago, at the hospital. I saw you in the chemotherapy room, many times.”
A bolt of icy electricity runs through my body at the possibility of Diego knowing my secret. I swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Diego approaches me and gives me a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I’m glad you made it, Hoodie.” He smoothes out his pants. “Well, this exotic redheaded beauty has to go now.”
“Diego…” I don’t know what to say. “How…?”
Sadness settles into his features, an expression I’ve never seen on him, always so cheerful, joking around. “My father.” He answers the question he can see written on my face. “He always talked about you, the girl who made him laugh in the chemo room with her dark sense of humor.”
My mind travels back to Dario, a man in his forties who was fighting an aggressive colon cancer, with whom I shared my chemo sessions several times.
