Chapter 6
RAUL
T-Pain's "Blow Ya Mind" rattles low from Diego's boombox, the bass thumping just enough to blur with the hum of the box fan in the window. We're sprawled in his family's living room, a little too hot even with the blinds half-drawn.
Pictures are scattered across the walls and shelves, like memories frozen in time.
Thanks to Aunt Val, I get to see Mom's face every day.
Dad's too, in those same frames. He hasn't come around much since we moved in.
After that first week, he broke down. Aunt Val said he had a job he couldn't pass up, but I've only seen him a handful of times in the last year.
Video games have been a solid distraction.
The faded floral couch sags in the middle.
The coffee table is crowded with a half-eaten bag of plantain chips, tangled game controllers, and an old ashtray nobody's bothered to dump.
The TV glows with the dusty yellow-blue haze of Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.
The place smells like old AC, lunch leftovers, and the sweet chemical bite of Diego's over-sprayed Axe cologne.
A soft knock hits the door, and Diego hops up.
"Hey, Ty."
"Hey, DJ." They bump shoulders like they've done it a thousand times. Ty leans past him and nods at me. "Sup, Raul? Michael will be here soon."
"Hell yeah. What's the plan?" I ask, fist-bumping Ty as he drops onto the couch beside me. My eyes stay locked on the screen while my character runs through the streets and the radio thumps in the background.
"There's a party tonight. You in?" Ty glances between us.
"Ma's out at work tonight, so I'm down. Where's it at?"
"I think it's at Michael's dad's house."
"Oh, hell yeah, we're down," I say.
"Cool. I'll let him know."
Music thumps loud from Michael's beat-up Honda Civic, windows down because the AC quit a few months back.
Six of us cram into the tiny car like sardines.
Diego and I share the rear passenger seat, elbows jammed into our sides.
Liam and Kyle sprawl across the back bench — brothers who look almost like twins, both over six feet tall with deep brown eyes and darker skin.
Liam's got a fresh buzz cut; Kyle rocks a short afro.
Their long legs need the middle seat just to fit.
I'm the heaviest one here by quite a few pounds, so it's tight.
The night air rushes in, heavy with mist and distant charcoal smoke.
We pull into a gas station parking lot.
"Aight, who's running in for beer?" Ty asks from the front.
My neck sweats as I glance around at the familiar faces. None of us are 21. None of us could pass for it either.
"Yeah, man, Kyle and I got it." Liam pops the door. "Keep it running." He winks.
Kyle heads straight to the cashier, a young girl with curly dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. He asks her something, pointing to the cigarette wall behind her. She turns her back to check. He points lower; she follows his direction and squats down to investigate.
Liam's hood is up, sunglasses on even at dusk. He walks out casually, something tucked under his arm like a football.
Kyle keeps talking to the young woman. She stands, shrugs, and waves him off apologetically. He waves back before he strolls out, like nothing happened.
They slide back in at the same time. "Drive," Kyle says flat.
"What'd you score?"
"Twelve-pack," Liam grins, holding up the case.
"That's it?" Michael asks, brows furrowing.
"Don't worry, boys. I got something so much better." Ty chuckles and pulls an old metal tin from his pocket. He pops it open. Three perfectly rolled joints sit inside.
Diego shakes his head, laughing. "Dude, you're gonna stink up the whole car." He ruffles Ty's hair.
We pile out of Michael's Civic into his driveway like clowns from a clown car.
"Who wants to smoke?" Ty asks, lifting the tin again. He pulls one out, purses it between his lips, flicks his Bic, and takes a deep drag.
"Fuck it. I'm in." I grab it and take my first hit.
The smoke hits my lungs like fire. I cough hard, eyes watering as the harsh, sweet burn rips through me. My chest tightens. The taste is strange, earthy and skunky, nothing like the cigarettes I've seen Dad or Aunt Val smoke. Ty laughs and slaps my back.
"Easy, Raul. First time?"
I nod, still coughing, but I take another smaller hit. It goes down smoother this time. Warmer. The edges of everything start to soften, like someone turned down the world's sharpness just a notch.
Diego watches me with a grin, already deep into his own turn. "You good?"
"Yeah," I manage, passing it back. My head feels light, like it's floating a little above my shoulders. The driveway spins slow under my feet, the gravel crunching louder than it should.
Michael's house is a simple one-story, very cookie-cutter, the kind you see all over Hialeah. Stucco walls painted a faded yellow. The front yard is mostly dirt with a couple of palm trees leaning like they're tired.
Ty leads us around back where the real party is.
String lights hang crooked between trees, casting everything in a hazy orange glow.
Maybe twenty kids our age crowd the patio and yard, red Solo cups in hand.
Girls in tight jeans and baby tees laugh too loud near a kiddie pool somebody's filled with ice and drinks.
A couple guys play beer pong on a warped plywood table.
The air is thick with smoke and that humid Miami stickiness that never quite goes away.
Liam and Kyle disappear into the crowd fast, already working the room like they own it. Diego nudges me toward a cooler in the corner. "What you drinking?"
I shrug. "Anything." My mouth is bone dry, almost nauseating.
He pulls out two cans of Bud Light, cracks one, and hands it over. The cold metal feels good against my palm. I take a long pull. It's bitter but welcome, cutting through the weed haze.
Ty points to a circle of plastic lawn chairs around a fire pit that's more smoldering ash than flame. A few girls sit there already. One with braids and hoop earrings the size of bracelets smiles at Ty. He smiles back.
I drop into a chair, beer in one hand, the high settling deeper now. Colors feel brighter. Laughter hits different, like it's got its own rhythm. For the first time in months, my brain quiets. No Mom. No Dad. No empty house. Just this.
Someone passes the joint back around. I take it without hesitating this time.