Chapter 9. Liam #2
"Tell her yourself. She understands English fine, she just doesn't like speaking it."
I turn to Dora. "I'm sorry, Dora. Your food just smells incredible."
She looks at me, shakes her head with a smile, and fills a mug with beans.
“Brazilian black bean soup,” she says. “We have it like that.”
In my opinion, she speaks English just fine, and the soup is warm and perfectly seasoned and it's the best thing I've eaten in this place by far. I almost tear up, which is embarrassing, but it tastes like a real home-cooked meal, and I can't remember the last time I had one of those.
“This is how it’s really done,” Lu says. “They won’t let us do it the right way, though. The food we serve to you all has to follow nutritional guidelines, allergy-safe, and be bland enough that nobody complains. It's a crime.”
"Dora, I think I'm in love with you," I say, mouth full. “And your English is very good, I hope you start speaking to me before my detention is over at the end of the week.”
Dora blushes, waves me off, laughing. Then, she turns to Margarete again.
"She says you’re sucking up to her to get more soup, and it won’t work. Also, that you're too skinny and need to eat more," Margarete says.
“You remember me of my young son,” Dora says, and I love that she’s actually trying that for me, just because I asked.
"Is that a good thing?"
"He's in prison in S?o Paulo, so take that how you want," Lu adds, now chopping onions like a machine.
I crack up, almost choking on the soup.
By the end of the shift, they've taught me how to properly wash lettuce, how to tell when tomatoes are too ripe, and that you never, ever touch Dora's wooden spoon, or she’ll give you a spanking with it. I think of Ethan and how he can’t find out about this, or he might ask to borrow the spoon.
Dora has started calling me "filhote," which she says means puppy in Portuguese, and I adore it.
Margarete keeps threatening to call my father and tell him she's raising his son now.
And Lu has silently started making extra portions that she slides my way when the others aren't looking, except they're always looking, and nobody says anything about it. I’m not sure if they can get in trouble for feeding me, but no one seems to care.
I never thought I'd love washing lettuce and getting hit with a wooden spoon, but here I am. I mean, maybe I thought that about getting hit with a wooden spoon.
Miles is at the sink when I walk in Friday, silent as a ghost, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing a pot like he's been here for hours.
He probably has. Something about the sight of him alone at that sink, no one talking to him, no one even acknowledging he's there, makes my chest tight for a second.
The guy never complains, never asks for anything, just shows up and does whatever they tell him.
I wonder if anyone's ever told him he's doing a good job, or if he just exists in this place like a piece of furniture everyone walks past.
"What are you doing here, man?" I ask as I tie on my apron, ready to whip up some juice. He just shrugs, doesn't say a word. Typical Miles, but I ignore him and keep chatting with my kitchen family.
"He's my roommate," I say, pointing at him with my thumb. He doesn’t even look up from the dishes. "Never says a word."
Margarete nods as she hands me another huge bucket of water to mix the juice concentrate.
"He’s a good kid because he doesn’t make a fuss and gets the job done," she comments. “We love to have him here.”
"Why does he get so much work?" Lu asks me, looking at him with pity. I also have no idea, so I just shrug. I gotta ask Jack later about this, he will know. Miles is always working. He’s a good roommate, keeps to himself, but he’s always there with us when he can, never makes fun of me, is never annoying, and sometimes I even manage to make him smile or chuckle.
If he ever wants to become my friend, it’s a done deal for me.
Then, after kitchen duty, I have MMA, and honestly, it’s becoming the thing I look forward to most, even more than the time with Lu, Margarete, and Dora.
Griff runs the class like a drill sergeant, barking orders and pushing us hard, but he also has this way of correcting you that doesn't make you feel bad or stupid.
He'll grab your arm mid-punch, adjust the angle, and say ‘there, feel that?’ and suddenly you get it.
He's got around twenty of us in the class, which is almost a third of the academy, and you can tell he's proud of that.
He's always trying to recruit more kids, like MMA is his fucking religion and he won't rest until he converts every last one of us.
I'm getting better. Not good, but better. Jack and I usually spar together. I think Ethan doesn’t want to risk me pairing up with someone like Garrett again, so he’s sacrificed his usual pair and allowed Jack to stay with me.
“Why don’t you pair up with me?!” I dare him. He just gives me a once-over and says:
“I like to train with people who are good.”
Ouch.
But Jack’s a great pair. He’s patient with me even though I'm still sloppy.
He's quick on his feet and has this annoying habit of dodging everything I throw, then grinning at me like it's hilarious.
But he also shows me things: how to read someone's shoulders before they throw, how to keep my weight centered, how to breathe so I don't gas out in the first two minutes.
He's a good teacher when he's not being a smartass.
Ethan is on a different level entirely. Watching him spar is like watching someone who was built for this.
He’s efficient, brutal. Sometimes Griff even goes with him for demonstrations, and the whole class just watches.
He’s one of the good good kids. Griff used to always win competitions back in the day, but even so, Ethan gives him a hard time when they’re sparring.
When Ethan takes me for a round, he goes easier on me, and I can tell, which is both annoying and kind of sweet.
He’s always focused and serious, scolding me when I’m sloppy, but he corrects my form the way he did that night, hands on my shoulders, nudging my stance, and every time he does, my brain short-circuits for a second.
He doesn't acknowledge it. I don't either. We just keep going.
Garrett stays far away from me. He's still in the class, still lurking at the edges, but he doesn't look at me, doesn't come near me, and when we rotate partners, he makes sure he's on the opposite side of the room.
What Ethan said to him that night stuck.
Sometimes I catch him glancing at Ethan with this look that's half fear, half hatred, and it makes me feel great. He deserves it.
Back in the room, after we spend some time cleaning the mats, with Harry and Jack out at rec, I need someone to talk to, and since Miles isn’t up for chatting, Ethan gets drafted into the role.
"You know when I say this place isn’t so bad? Well, I mean it, but I’m starting to go nuts without music. Might have to change my mind," I tell Ethan, standing in front of his bed while he just nods along with his 'okay,' 'uh-huh,' 'right.'
But I don’t give up. "I can do without my phone, the no social media thing, but no music? That’s just cruel. Who do you listen to, Ethan? When you can?"
"Doesn’t matter."
"Come on, 'doesn’t matter' isn’t an answer. Some pop diva? You look like a pop diva kind of guy. I bet it’s Britney."
"Can you just stop talking for like, thirty seconds?"
"Imagine if you were stuck in a place without books.
That's how I feel here without my music," I say, and he just gives me those 'please, shut up' looks.
Obviously, that only eggs me on. I really like talking to him.
I'm truly obsessed with him. I fantasize about his heavy hands often, and jerk off thinking about him.
That's totally his fault, though, for how he treated me on the first day.
When the guys come back from the rec room at nine, we have half an hour before lights out. Then, a guard comes by to check that everyone is there and that no one has escaped, and that’s it, everybody’s supposed to be in bed, and quiet.
I get used to that routine pretty fast. It’s better than my past life, even though admitting that is pathetically sad.