Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 129027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
I lift my eyebrows as I glance over at her. She seems like she’s actually considering what I said, something I generally haven’t known rich people to do when their entitlement is questioned.
“What about you?” she asks as she pulls into a little pizza place near campus. “We’ve focused so much on my family, I’ve never asked. What are your parents like? Do you have any siblings?”
I shrug before shoving the door open. “My birth parents wanted shit all to do with me, so as far as I’m concerned, they can go get fucked.”
“Okaaaaaay,” she says, coming around the front of the car to meet me and walk into the pizza place together. “It feels like there’s a story with that.”
Nothing to do but shrug again. “Not really. It was the early 90s. My parents liked to do drugs and party. They didn’t want anything to do with a kid, so I mostly stayed with my abuelita.”
“You’re Hispanic?” She looks surprised, like most people do.
“Yeah. I know I don’t look like it. And my last name’s Luther because my birth mom fell in love with some big German fighter. So I just came out as this giant, gray-eyed baby. But apparently, for the first five years of my life, I only spoke Spanish.”
“Do you still speak it?”
I walk up to the counter, shaking my head. “Not after Abuelita died. I can still understand it, mostly, but I can’t speak it anymore.”
We’re up at the counter, and I order three big slices of pepperoni and sausage. Kira orders a slice of vegetarian pizza and a salad. I can only shake my head at her. She’s just getting one slice when it’s Pizza Dude? C’mon now. I look around at the place that feels like it’s borrowed Austin’s aesthetic of graffiti and other whack-ball art all over the walls and tables. All it’s missing are the Keep Austin Weird stickers.
We grab utensils and sit down after getting our pizza.
“So, how old were you when your abuelita died?” Kira asks, picking at her salad.
“Christ, are we still talking about this?” I shake my head.
Kira looks up at me, surprised. “Yes. I want to know about you.”
“Why?”
I shove a big bite into my mouth. There. No talking if my mouth’s stuffed full of pizza. Fuck, it’s good pizza, too.
“Why?” She laughs. “Because we hang out 24/7.” She leans in over the table. “And because I know what your cum face looks like.” She wags her eyebrows before leaning back in her seat and stabbing some salad on her fork. “But I don’t know what your life was like growing up.”
She shoves the greenery in her mouth and looks at me expectantly.
Right. This is supposed to be the part where I talk. I grab my collar and look around. Do they have the goddamn air-conditioning on in here? Yeah, it’s the end of October, but I’m fucking sweating. Kira and I have eaten almost all our meals together lately, but they haven’t been like this. Out at a table in public.
This is starting to feel a lot like a… date.
I guess she’s not hiding me in closets and bathrooms after all. And after that little run-in with her advisor, I could see how it would’ve been awkward if she was caught fucking anyone in that bathroom. When I’m not being a myopic asshole, I can see that she’s probably been stepping really far out of her normal routine for me.
But even while thoughts are hitting me left and right, my knee-jerk reaction kicks in like it always does in these situations.
I just sorta shut down.
“It wasn’t good. No white picket fences or shit like that. Abuelita died when I was five, and like I said, my parents couldn’t handle me, so.” I shrug again and bring my pizza to my mouth.
“So… what? Did you go live with another relative then?” Kira takes another bite of lettuce like we’re just having any regular old conversation.
I drop my half-eaten pizza down on my plate so hard it rattles the plate. “No. There was no one else. My birth parents dropped me off at daycare one day after Abuelita died and then just never picked me up.”
“Isaak!” Kira’s hand flies up to cover her mouth. But the last thing I want is her sympathy.
“Look,” I say, holding up a hand. Better to just get the rest of this out. “You wanted to know. So here it is. Kids who don’t have family go to group homes where, if you’re young enough, maybe, just maybe, someone will adopt you. Except nobody wanted a giant blond five-year-old kid who didn’t know any English. A couple of folks took me in, but they’d always end up bringing me back for whatever reason.”
I shrug, still being matter-of-fact, even though Kira’s covering her mouth in horror. She hasn’t seen enough of the world yet to get that this is just the way things are. Did it fuck with my head when I was a kid? Maybe sometimes still? Sure. But that’s life.