23. Rule #22
FOR MAXIMUM SURVIVAL ODDS, RELY ON YOUR PEOPLE
CAI
I stand in front of my entire family as if I were facing a firing squad. Even though the power was back and the damage was minimal, no one had left. Why would they? All the people and food are right here. The second word spreads that I have something to confess, I swear I saw someone pop popcorn.
I take a deep breath and rip off the Band-Aid. “I lied about Trevor.”
A ripple of gasps goes through the room.
“Me lo imaginé,” Mama mutters. (I imagined as much)
“Dios mío,” Tia Elena adds.
“So he wasn’t even in Puerto Rico?” Alex asks.
“No, he was there…for a boys’ trip. But while he was gone, he basically dumped me over text.” I force myself to keep going; no more hiding. “I was going to fly there to try and win him back.”
“Wait, what did he say when you told him you were coming?” Crispi asks.
I wince. “He’d already blocked me. I couldn’t even tell him I was on the way.”
The room erupts with creative Spanish and English curses aimed squarely at Trevor. Surprisingly, none of it is directed at me.
“What about Lawson Jones?” Lucas suddenly pipes up.
“Lawson?” Mom asks, confused.
“Yeah, that’s Sonny’s real name. He’s kind of famous.”
Mom’s head snaps toward me. “Famous?”
I nod, cheeks burning. “Yeah, I met him on the plane. He knew the truth the whole time. I made him promise not to say anything.”
“But why didn’t you just tell us?” Alex asks. “Why make us think Trevor was this great guy?”
I look down at my hands. “Because I didn’t want to come home after two years and admit I hadn’t become a real writer, that I was still just…
me. That I’d wasted a whole year on a guy I basically had to beg to take a Christmas card photo with me.
And then I spent all the money I’d saved to visit you guys on a plane ticket to chase him. I felt pathetic.”
“That’s not pathetic!” Mom’s voice cuts through the room, sharp and fierce. Everyone goes quiet.
She steps closer. “When your father and I first met, he wanted nothing to do with me. He made fun of me, told me to leave him alone. I followed him around like a lost puppy anyway. One time he invited me to a dance because no one else would go with him. I bought a new dress, begged your abuela to let me wear lipstick… and the day before the dance he told me he was going with someone else.”
I stare at her, stunned. I’ve never heard this story.
Dad clears his throat. “In my defense, she was fourteen, and I was eighteen. She was still basically a kid.”
Mom waves him off. “The point is, I chased him. And here we are, almost forty years later. Does that make me pathetic?”
I look at her quizzically. “Okay, okay…so I assume the moral is not to keep chasing Trevor, right?”
The room explodes; I can barely tell who is commenting.
“Oh my God!”
“?No seas bruta!” (Don’t be hardheaded!)
“Seriously, WTF!”
Dad rests a heavy, comforting hand on my shoulder. “The moral is that putting yourself out there doesn’t make you pathetic. But you shouldn’t keep forcing something that’s bad for you.”
I nod, throat tight.
Alex leans forward. “So where did you and Sonny leave things?”
I tell them everything; how I found out who he really is that morning, how I tried to explain, but he’d already shut down.
“He left. I think I messed up,” I say, melancholically.
Rey rubs his chin. “You were super vocal about hating video games. Then suddenly you’re cool with it right after you find out he’s rich and famous? From his side, it probably looked suspicious.”
More murmurs of agreement ripple through the family.
“But that’s not how it happened!” I protest. “I didn’t even know until that morning…”
Rey shrugs sympathetically. “I get it; I’m just saying how it probably looked to him.”
I sigh. “What do I do now? I don’t even have his number.”
“?Tengo su email!” Abuela announces triumphantly, pulling a scrap of paper from her bra and waving it around.
I make a mental note to come back to Abuela carrying his email in her bra.
“He’s going to be at GamerCon in two days,” Lucas adds, fingers typing as he researches on his phone.
Rey grins. “Even better. You can tell him in person.”
My face goes hot. “You think that’s a good idea?”
“Yes,” Rey says. “But first, we need a plan.”
And just like that, the living room becomes mission control.
Over the next few hours, the house turns into organized chaos. My nieces and nephews huddled around laptops, hunting for last-minute convention tickets and printing out maps of the venue. Mom and Dad book my flight, arguing loudly over aisle versus window seats.
Alex drags me into the bathroom for an emergency makeup lesson, muttering about “dark circles” and “glow-up protocols” while slathering on primer and highlighter, explaining how I should use each.
She asks what I am planning to wear, and while I have packed half my wardrobe, I have to admit I have no idea.
Abuela lights another velita in the corner, murmuring prayers in rapid Spanish. Every few minutes someone shouts a new idea across the room.
Rey pulls me aside into the den, hands me a controller, and says, “Before you show up to that con, you need to understand what he actually does.”
I swallow.
“Open mind. Full effort. No prejudices.” Rey says.
I repeat his words. I mostly mean them.
“Silent Knights is set in 1940s Europe,” Rey explains as the game loads. “Espionage, mystery, heavy RPG elements. But the storytelling is on another level. Your choices actually matter. Loads of branching paths, multiple endings, the works.”
I braced myself for flashing lights and gore. Instead, I am dropped into a beautifully rendered, atmospheric world of wartime Europe. I create my character, Alice, and start playing.
It isn’t what I expected at all.
When I mention to Rey that I don’t want to kill anyone, he just shrugs and says, “Then don’t.” So I don’t.
I solve puzzles in candlelit safe houses, decode secret messages, treat wounded soldiers in makeshift hospitals, and slowly unravel a heartbreaking story of star-crossed lovers caught on opposite sides of the war.
At one pivotal moment, I watch a German soldier, someone who’s been carrying on with a local girl I’ve worked with and grown to care about, stare at her lifeless body, not able to expose their secret love.
He stays silent, torn between duty and grief.
The scene is quiet, devastating, and achingly human.
My throat tightens. Tears slip down my cheeks before I even realize it.
“Are you… crying?” Rey asks, half-amused, half-impressed.
“Well, I have been staring at this screen for hours.” I quickly wipe my face. “But yeah, I got more invested than I thought I would.”
Rey grins. “Told you it was good.”
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. “I thought games were all violence and addiction. I had no idea they could feel like this.”
Shame twists in my stomach as I remember every dismissive, snide comment I’ve made about “man-children” and “loser gamers.” I’ve been so loud, so certain. And I said those things right in front of Sonny.
“He won’t hold it against you,” Rey says gently. “Not once he sees you actually tried. That you cared enough to understand his world.”
I hope he’s right.
We play for several more hours. The family drifts in and out, bringing plates of food, shouting updates about flight times, and occasionally peeking over my shoulder to cheer when I solve a tricky puzzle.
At one point, my nephew Lucas plops down beside me and narrates the lore like a sports commentator. He also explains to me about the Con and what to expect in terms of cosplayers and atmosphere. It gives me an idea, and I make a mental note to talk to Alex about it later.
Even Dad wanders in, commenting that “these graphics are better than the movies these days.”
By the time I’ve put down the controller, the sun has set, I have finished the main storyline, and unlocked three different endings. I sit back, feeling something shift inside me.
Rey notices. “You okay?”
“I was wrong,” I say quietly. “About all of it. I thought this was just… a hobby. But it’s art. It’s stories. It’s the same thing I’ve always wanted to do with writing.”
Rey smiles, soft and proud. “Now you get to tell him that.”
Later that night, the family gathers again for the grand-gesture portion of the plan. I give them my idea and explain the reference from when I first met Sonny. The kids cheer. Abuela claps like it’s the best idea she’s ever heard. Alex immediately starts writing sign ideas on a notepad.
“It has to be big,” Lucas insists. “Like, huge poster board. With glitter. And maybe some cocuyos drawn on it for luck.”
“Glitter is non-negotiable,” my sister agrees.
I laugh, nerves and hope twisting together in my stomach. “You guys really think this could work?”
Mom squeezed my hand. “Mija, you showed up on a plane during a hurricane for the wrong man. Now you’re showing up for the right one. Of course it’s going to work.”
By midnight, the living room floor is covered in poster board, markers, and half-finished signs. I practice my speech out loud while Alex curls my hair and Abuela feeds me spoonfuls of arroz con leche “for strength.”
The next morning, I stand in the airport security line with a carry-on, a giant rolled-up poster board, and a heart that feels too big for my chest.
I still haven’t memorized my speech.
But for the first time in a long time, I’m not running away from the things that I’m embarrassed about.
I am running toward something I feel proud of.