Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“ I can’t believe Amaya and I weren’t there to witness this!” Teegan groans as she flops back on the bed next to Amaya.
“There to witness it or to throat punch Aaron?” Amaya questions. I roll my eyes at her.
“Well, that’s what you get for volunteering to lead our great sisterhood, oh mighty president and social chair,” I tell them. Amaya shrugs and returns to the homecoming responsibilities flowchart she’s creating.
“I’m more intrigued by your interaction with Mateo,” Teegan says. “Although throat punching Aaron might be intriguing as well.”
“I haven’t decided whether throat punching is necessary,” I admonish them. “I feel so torn—I’m so frustrated with him and tired of second-guessing myself all the time. But also, I’ve liked Aaron for so long, and we make sense together in the grand scheme of my life goals.”
“How romantic,” Teegan deadpans.
“You know what I mean!”
“Yes, but back to Mateo,” Teegan says.
“Mateo and I are going to talk about immigration policy, Teegs. And I’m excited to talk to someone else who has a personal connection to it. Even though we’ve been around each other a lot at Arrow stuff and Summer Projects, I didn’t know that his parents were immigrants.”
Teegan leaps up and opens our shared closet. “What are you doing?” I inquire.
“Even if you’re just talking politics, that doesn’t mean you don’t need a cute outfit to wear tomorrow,” she responds.
“Beef, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m just going to wear normal clothes, thanks,” I tell her.
Teegan pouts her lower lip. “You’re no fun.”
I park my car in an angled street parking spot. I learned my lesson one embarrassing day freshman year that I am just not meant to parallel park. I may be ready to change the world for under-resourced people, but easing my car into a spot between two other vehicles is not in my skill set, and I prefer to play to my strengths.
I open the familiar faded green door to Bookafe, a local coffee shop in Center Square. Outside of the AOPi house and campus, this is by far the place I’ve spent the most time in since moving to Brooklyn. With the black walls, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the loved-to-perfect-comfort overstuffed chairs, and variety of live plants breathing fresh air into the space, it’s the perfect atmosphere to work my way through college classes.
It’s the one place I don’t even have to wear earbuds—the eclectic playlist streaming through the ceiling speakers combined with the low hum of conversations provides an oddly satisfying soundtrack to concentrate.
The distinct aroma of coffee beans and worn paperbacks floods my nose, calming the nerves I woke up with this morning. This is just going to be a chance for you to spew all your passion for immigration issues on a willing listener. Relax. In fact, get pumped !
My self pep talk works, and I smile back at Mateo as I step up next to him in the entry.
“Hey, how are you?” I ask as we fall into line to order.
“Well, aside from the lack of sleep due to nightmares about seaweed zombie fish dragging me down into the depths of a bottomless lake, pretty good,” he says with a wry smile and twinkle in his eye.
I burst out laughing. I lower my voice after people turn to look at me. I half-whisper, “I don’t know why you asked me to do the race if you know you don’t like lakes!”
Mateo smiles and gestures toward the cashier ready to take our order. “It’s my treat today—order whatever you want.”
“Oh thanks, you didn’t have to do that. I appreciate it though.” I turn to the cashier to order. I never need to check the menu here anymore. “I’ll have the iced horchata latte, please.”
I glance around the coffee shop as Mateo orders, and we move to the end of the counter to wait for our drinks. Bookafe is unusually quiet, probably because it’s a Sunday afternoon before a day of no classes. No one is studying today.
“Why don’t you go see if the table by the world corner is open, and I’ll bring our drinks over?” Mateo suggests.
“Sure,” I respond as I head to my favorite spot in my favorite coffee shop. Tucked away from the main seating area, the world corner is literally cornered by two bookcases full of books written by authors from all over the world. I almost majored in English before deciding that social sciences might give me an edge on the immigration law track. Sitting among the words of so many diverse authors has always felt inspiring.
I take a seat and run my finger along the spine of a Salman Rushdie novel. Mateo joins shortly after and hands me my iced latte. I take a sip and instantly feel at home. Something about the horchata flavors takes my mind back to when I was a kid in El Paso, Texas, reveling in all the tastes of Mexico without even realizing how special it was. I close my eyes for a beat as I swallow.
“So, how’s the school year starting off for you?” Mateo asks. He takes a drink of his cortado and waits for my answer .
“Oh, fine so far. Rush week was precisely the special torture that it’s designed to be.” He laughs. “But I think we have a really solid pledge class this year, so the future of AOPi is bright, I suppose.”
“Are you the new member educator again this year?” Mateo asks.
“No, between needing solid grades to keep my scholarship plus law school applications, I decided to lighten my load, so no leadership role for me this year,” I answer. I take another sip of coffee. “How was your first soccer match?”
“Good, we won both of our two pre-season matches,” Mateo says. “Our first division match is this Saturday. We get today off, but we’ll be practicing hard all week to get ready. We have a couple of new guys on the team, and I think we’re going to play really well together this year.”
Mateo quickly turns the conversation back to me, peppering me with one question after another about my plans for the school year, the law school application process, when I’d have to leave to start at UC Davis if (fingers crossed when) I’m accepted.
I’m starting to feel a little thrown off. I sat down expecting to discuss D.C. and the Afghan Adjustment Act, about where the legislation process is and what effective advocacy looks like. All morning, I had been mentally cataloging interesting talking points from my experiences over the summer. I didn’t anticipate so many questions about my personal future steps toward lawyerhood.
He’s taking a drink of his cortado when I ask, “Soooo, why did you want to get coffee today?”
“What?” he replies with confused eyebrows as he sets down his cup.
“Why did you ask me to coffee today? Were you wanting to talk about the Afghan Adjustment Act or other immigration issues, or something else?” I eye him over the rim of my cup as I take a drink of my latte.
“I’m sorry, I thought it would be obvious when I asked you yesterday,” Mateo says. He clears his throat. “I asked you to coffee because I like you, Lana. ”
Thankfully, I stop my jaw from dropping to the floor because my mouth is full of a giant gulp of horchata latte, which I promptly start choking on. After an embarrassingly-long coughing fit, I finally sputter out, “I’m sorry, what?”
A smile slowly spreads across Mateo’s face. “I. Like. You. Lana.”
“Like me?”
“Like you.”
Silence.
“Like, LIKE me, like me?”
“Yes.”
I don’t have extreme heat to blame for the current misfiring happening in my brain or the blush creeping across my cheeks. Bookafe is perfectly well air conditioned.
I probably look slightly psychotic as I openly stare at Mateo’s face. He’s still smiling at me with patient eyes. He doesn’t say anything, as though he can sense that my mind needs a minute to realign the gears.
Finally, after a lineup of facial expressions probably broadcasting all the confusing thoughts running through my head (I really need to prioritize poker lessons), I finally land on disbelief. “You aren’t serious, are you?”
“Completely serious,” Mateo says with casual confidence, leaning back in his chair. His eyes stay locked on mine.
“But why?” I ask. “Mateo, this isn’t a huge campus. You’re the number-one star of the number-one athletic program at Townsend. Everyone knows you. And within the smaller social sphere that is Arrow, you’re the most popular guy involved.”
Mateo raises an eyebrow in silent protest.
“I know, I know, popularity in college is different than the unrelenting beast it is in high school, but there are still hierarchies of social status. And you, sir, are at the very top.”
Mateo looks genuinely caught off guard. “Lana, I don’t think?—”
“Wait, let me finish,” I interrupt without even taking a breath. “Literally every single one of the girls from TriAlpha would love to date you. I mean, Bailey Williams might stab my eye out to have the chance to be sitting here with you.”
His incredulity softens into what looks alarmingly like amusement.
I pause to collect my thoughts. “The point is you could date any of the gorgeous, popular girls on campus. Why would you pay attention to me?” I ask a bit breathlessly, biting my lip to keep my mind grounded.
Mateo leans forward and looks down at his hands for a moment. I realize I’m holding my breath again.
“I’ve been paying attention to you, Lana,” he finally says, peering up through his long, dark eyelashes into my eyes. “For a long time.”
Silence.
“Huh?”
He smiles almost wistfully. “Your parents live in Kansas City. You have three younger siblings: twin brothers in eighth grade and a sister in tenth grade. You’re studying social science to prepare for law school so you can become an immigration lawyer like your mom—which you’ll be amazing at, by the way.
“You ordered an iced latte this afternoon because it’s hot out, but as soon as the first leaf changes color to signal your favorite season, you’ll switch to flat whites in the afternoons. But you always drink plain brewed coffee in the mornings with just half-and-half, no sugar or flavored creamers. When you’re at Creamiery you get the peanut butter cup gelato, but at IceScream you get the coffee ice cream with a brownie mixed in.”
I feel my eyes widening in disbelief as he continues.
“You listen to a lot of Taylor Swift and cello music, which is an interesting combination, but you pretty much always have music playing. And you must have taken piano lessons at some point in life because you mindlessly tap melodies with your fingers when you’re thinking about something.
“You’re always the first one to volunteer to pick up freshmen from the dorms for meetings, and you always talk about the great things Amaya and Teegan or the other girls in AOPi are doing instead of keeping the spotlight on yourself. You signed up for not just one but two early mornings at Summer Project to set up breakfast when no one else wanted to volunteer. And you had great rapport with your coworkers at the outlet mall because you developed authentic friendships with them all summer. I wouldn’t be surprised if you still keep in touch with some of them even now.”
He pauses to take a deep breath.
“You just…genuinely love Jesus. And the people around you. Not just the ones that Arrow encourages you to spend time with like your sorority sisters, but also other people, like the ELL students you tutor. You care about helping vulnerable people, not only in your future career but now.”
I know for a fact that my mouth is hanging wide open. I’m completely shocked by this (very accurate) list of observations about me.
“Oh, and you constantly complain about sorority life and say you only did it for your law school application, but you secretly love it because it brought you Teegan and Amaya. And you can’t imagine the rest of your life without them.” He leans back like he just dropped the mic.
His voice lowers as he reiterates, “I’ve been paying attention, Lana. For a long, long time.”
I glance down at the table and see the muffin he offered to share (which I have eaten most of already) is orange chocolate chip, my favorite at Bookafe.
I snap my eyes back up to his and see that he’s looking a little nervous. I need to say something.
“Okay,” I say quietly. My brain is still working on overdrive, trying to process this conversation. I lightly play the notes to “Moonlight Sonata” on the table with my left hand, trying to work out how to respond.
“So,” I begin, “If this is true, if you’ve liked me for a long time…” He nods in affirmation, encouraging me to continue.
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Why are you just now telling me? ”
Mateo looks down with a sad smile. He pauses for a beat before answering. “You know, Adams didn’t exactly keep it a secret among the guys in Arrow that he had a crush on you.”
I feel the blood rush to my face.
“I’m not saying he ever explicitly told guys to stay away from you, but there was always this sense he projected that we should back off because he was going to ask you out,” Mateo pauses, fiddling with his coffee cup. “And you, um, it seemed like you probably reciprocated his interest.”
I’m for sure crimson by now. Bright Christmas red.
“So I tried to respect that, even though I had feelings for you,” Mateo concludes.
I move my hands to my lap so I can more aggressively play the piano on my thigh, trying to appear a little less manic. Even though he’s already pointed out that he knows I do this.
“Then what changed now?” I ask.
He blows out a breath. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all summer. Being at the Summer Project without you there, it just amplified the difference in my mind between you and the other girls. I mean, they’re great, I’m not trying to say anything negative about them. But they mostly just seem to be following the path that Arrow guides you on without exploring other ways to care about people. Meanwhile, you were spending the summer helping your mom with refugees and advocating for immigration legislation in D.C., and I found myself thinking about you constantly.” Mateo’s eyes narrow and his jaw starts working. “So, I was already feeling really conflicted about continuing to hold off on pursuing you, and then at the Lake Games, I saw your face after Adams pulled that stunt and made you feel…” He pauses.
Rejected. Tossed aside. Crushed. All the emotions of that moment with Aaron flicker through my mind. Mateo looks into my eyes and nods tersely, as if reading my thoughts.
“Yeah. I decided right there that he’d had his chance—lots of chances—to be honest with you about how he felt, to pursue you the way you deserve to be pursued, and he still hadn’t done anything. So, I decided I wasn’t going to let him stand in the way of me taking my shot anymore.”
“Your shot…with me?” I squeak, still feeling wildly confused.
“Yes,” Mateo says. “Maybe I was doing the right thing giving Adams space, or maybe I was just being a coward, I don’t know. But I’m not going to stand back anymore. I understand that I’ve had time to think about this—about us—and you’ve just been blindsided, so I’m not asking you to know right away. I’m just asking for the possibility. To get to know you more intentionally, for you to get to know me more intentionally.”
He takes a deep breath and leans forward, his eyes laced with both intensity and insecurity as he asks, “Lana, will you please give me a chance? Let me take you on a clearly-defined date, and then you can decide if you want to continue anything romantic or just be friends.”
Somewhere along the way, I apparently stopped breathing because the edges of my vision go a little blurry. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. When I open them, Mateo is anxiously staring into them.
“Okay,” I say. “Yes.”