It opened, and I managed to get my legs turned sideways so my feet were on the ground. I stood up and stared down at my feet.
“I was starting to wonder if you really liked my baking or if you were just being polite.”
“I’m not very good at ‘just being polite,’” I admitted. “I usually say whatever is in my head, if anything.”
“What’s in your head now?”
“Justin Lords,” I replied instantly.
Shit, shit, shit.
I didn’t mean to say that.
Mayra narrowed her eyes and her brows smashed together right above the bridge of her nose.
“Justin Lords?” she repeated. “Why would you be thinking about him?”
I shrugged, wishing I could get back in the car and speed away, but my feet were pretty much frozen to the ground. There was also the visual of a piece of delectable chocolate cake not fifteen feet away from me. Mayra set the plateful of cake next to her book and stood up, coming around the still-open car door and taking my hand in hers.
“Did that little shit say something to you?” she asked. I was surprised by the amount of venom in her tone. “Because if he’s still harassing you, I’m going to—”
“He hasn’t said anything,” I said quickly. “Really, he hasn’t. Not since that day when you were there at school.”
Mayra’s expression turned quizzical.
“Well, why are you thinking about him, then?”
“Because he used to be your boyfriend,” I said quietly.
Mayra just stared at me for a moment while I kept my eyes trained on her shoulder.
“May I have the cake now?” I asked her.
Mayra pursed her lips and closed one eye as she looked at me.
“All right,” she said. “You do seem to have earned it.”
I couldn’t wait any longer, so I darted around Mayra and grabbed the plate. I was usually a stickler for silverware when eating, but cake was a definite exception. I ate the first piece standing up and then sat on the porch steps for the second piece.
By the time I made it to Mayra’s kitchen table, I had eaten half the cake and was a little sick to my stomach. It was all worth it though. As I polished off the last piece I could manage to stuff into my face, Mayra handed me a glass of cold milk to wash it down.
“I don’t think I have ever seen anyone eat that much cake in one afternoon,” she said with a laugh.
“It was good,” I replied. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
Mayra took my hand and led me to the living room. The focal point for practically the whole house was Mr. Trevino’s flat screen television. It dominated the room with both the couch and reclining chair angled toward it. Mayra and I sat on the couch, which was a little worn but still quite comfortable, and I looked around the room.
The living room was the majority of the house, really. A modest place that seemed quite suited for just Mayra and her father. It was comfortable…lived in.
I liked it.
“You okay?” Mayra asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you want to watch TV?”
“Okay.” It was about the same time in the afternoon when Mayra and I would usually be watching television at my house after homework. Watching at her house instead wasn’t too far off. I glanced at her and smiled, and she flipped through channels. “I like the TV.”