Page 77 of Who I Really Am

“Here you go.”

I lift the glass from his hand and take a sip. I want to escape, but when he asks if I’d care to lie down before dinner, some one hour from now, I decline. His mother needs no more reason to dislike her houseguest. Or scurrying off could score points, I really don’t know.

She calls Marco back to the kitchen, where the Spanish stream resumes. I was ravenous before; now the thought of food is mildly nauseating, a shame, because the aromas wafting my way are awesome. Beef, chili powder. Cilantro, perhaps?

The third wheel, I take the opportunity to close my eyes.

∞∞∞

A sense of falling…and then my head snaps up and time has passed. I blink. Yawn.

Oh dear.

Marco stands at the end of the sofa, arms slashed across his chest, staring out the small window in the front door, mouth set in a tight line.

“Hey.”

He almost smiles. “Hey, beautiful."

I blink and he quickly looks away. “Sorry about that.”

“Not a problem. What’s up?”

His eyes go back to the dusky light outside the window, and I notice his phone in hand. “Rachel is late. Not answering messages.”

“Oh, no.” But it sounds like a typical teen to me.

“Mom says this has been happening a lot lately, but…”

Butbig brothers. Big brothers, especially ones like him, worry. Bunches. His mind is probably already down a rabbit trail that has his sister bound, gagged, and carted off in a black panel van.

“I’m sure she’s fine.” And then, I can’t help myself, because I’ve been in Rachel’s shoes too many times. I glance at the phone in his hand. “Why don’t you have a seat. It’s too soon for the ransom call anyway.”

He squints hard down at me.

“Relax, Marco. Gracious, you and Tripp are practically the same person. Your sister’s probably just hanging out with some cute guy or something. You know teenagers.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“I…” My mouth snaps shut. I see his point. But he still needs to chill.

Marina sails into the kitchen from the far end of the trailer and rattles off something in Spanish. Marco scowls. I think I caught the phrasesu novio.Her boyfriend. Yep, that would account for the grim line his mouth has become.

“What’s up?” I ask innocently.

“Rachel is on her way, and she’s bringing the boyfriend she’s been…” He pauses and employs the use of air quotes. “Hanging out withall evening.”

Oh.

Ohh.

A shrewd gleam has entered Marco’s eyes.

Poor kid. He’s walking into an ambush.

But none of this is my business. I ask for directions to the bathroom and excuse myself. When I stand, my knees wobble, but either not enough for Marco to notice or he’s too busy plotting the Inquisition to care. Which is fine, of course. It’s not like I need him or anything.

In the bathroom, in what appears to be a master suite, I use the facilities, splash cold water on my face, and pray I can make it through dinner without faceplanting in the enchiladas, or whatever it is on the menu, because the long day has caught me. Will I ever feel my age again?

---