Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
MAIA
I find Tiggy is in the closet, sobbing.
“Hey,” I greet her.
“He’s not out there, is he? I imagined it, didn’t I?” She cries harder. “I hate who I am. I hate myself so much. I don’t want to be me anymore…”
She sobs, and I sit next to her as she cries. She sounds so defeated, and I don’t know how to tell her that she will be okay, maybe because I’m afraid of what she might do to herself.
I hold her for a long time until she says, “I want to get past this, but how?”
“If you want, I can take you to a rehab center.”
“Those are for addicts.”
“That’s what our parents want us to believe. Only bad people go to therapy. Only bad people need help with their demons. That’s a lie. We’re not bad, but we’re broken.”
She releases a sarcastic snort. “Perfect Ms. Maia would never need help. A man would never break her.”
I’ve never told anyone in my family about Gatsby. Suzie is right. I only tell them about my achievements but never my failures. None of them know what happened with that boy and how broken I was until…maybe I’m still shattered, and I just don’t want to accept it.
If I confide in her, she might see me differently, and maybe she’ll accept some help. “Remember the time I ended up in the psychiatric ward?”
“It was the pressure of the school,” she says.
I shake my head. “That’s not entirely true. His name was Gatsby…it is Gatsby,” I say. “I met him while we were unpacking the U-Haul.”
She frowns. “Who is Gatsby?”
“He was my boyfriend, first love, and the guy who shattered my heart into a million pieces. I just never told anyone…” I trail my words because that’s not true. I told plenty of people, just no one in my family.
“I’m ashamed of what I let him do to me. It wasn’t comparable to what Bram did to you, but I was depressed for years after he left me.”
“How did you meet him?”
Sometimes I wish my parents weren’t so thrifty.
Mom’s eyes crinkle when she hears the three magic letters DIY.
Almost everything in my house is a product of her obsession and talent. I have nothing against crafts, gardens, or even tools. However, when it comes to moving from San Diego to Atlanta, we should have hired a moving company, not a U-Haul that my father drove across the country.
And here we are, in front of my new apartment building, looking at all the secondhand furniture Mom gathered during the summer from garage sales.
“How are we going to get all that upstairs?” I ask, wondering if there’s a moving company that might be willing to lend us a couple of guys to help.
Dad stretches, dusts his hands, and huffs. “I’m going to do this.”
I can’t help but laugh as I imagine us trying to pivot the couch just like Rachel, Chandler, and Ross. We just need to sketch it, and it’ll get done, right? Wrong. They should know better. It’s not like they don’t watch re-runs of that show every time they play them on television.
“We’re doomed. I might as well get used to sleeping on the floor,” I say dramatically.
“See, Ernesto, this is what happens when we leave our children with your mother. They watch too many telenovelas. When we go back home, Tiggy and Cee-Cee are going to be acting up just like Maia.”
“I’m going to start with these boxes,” Dad says. “Maia, keep an eye on the truck. Let’s go, mi vida .”
I watch my parents head toward the studio. At this pace, we’re never going to finish, are we? I try to figure out how to maximize time and minimize the effort when I hear a deep voice in which a magnetic force pulls me and stops my heart. “Is there something I can help you with?”
I pivot, startled. The adrenaline surging from the fright makes my voice come out strong when I say, “Where did you come from?”
I almost choke when I notice he’s not just any guy.
He might be a god. Adonis? He’s freaking gorgeous.
He’s better than a marble statue chiseled with diamond.
High cheekbones, sharp jaw, plush lips. That face belongs to a model.
I could stare into his blue-green eyes forever.
A set of long dark eyelashes frame them.
Mom always says that men are lucky. They usually have longer, thicker, and more beautiful natural lashes than women.
I study him from the mussed, dark hair to his outfit. Black shirt and dark-washed jeans.
Where did he come from?
“Are you an owl?!” I exclaim.
He grins, and my knees go weak. “Why an owl?”
“Owls fly silently. They have specialized feathers that break up the air,” I answer, like a geek who has an unlimited bank of knowledge.
I’m sure he’s about to walk away. This guy doesn’t deal with girls like me—book-shy and smarter than your average college kid. I mean, he’s no ordinary guy. I doubt I’ll ever forget his eyes, the smoldering gaze, or the lips. I swallow because I’ve never fixated so much on a mouth.
But his smile doesn’t fade. “Animal lover?” he asks, staring at my t-shirt. “You know about owls, and we have to save the axolotls. Are they even real?”
“They are. Their original habitat is in Xochimilco—that’s a small lake in Mexico City,” I respond as I dust my stressed-down jeans that might have a few extra holes. I was bored during AP calc class. The turquoise t-shirt matches the bubble pink axolotl.
“It’s cute,” he says. I freeze and almost stop breathing.
I’m too aware of his presence. The change in the air is probably coming from my self-induced anxiety.
I don’t know what to say or do. Up until two weeks ago, I was homeschooled by my parents.
The few times I went to the community college, Mom came along—she didn’t want me to interact with kids older than me.
And here I am, having a one-on-one conversation with a male model.
“You need help moving your belongings?”
“Maia, what did I say about talking to strangers?” Dad is almost running toward us.
Someone should remind him that I’m not five but eighteen and that I’ll be meeting people while in college. God, they’re going to take me back home, aren’t they?
“Stay away from them,” I mumble, annoyed.
“Don’t roll your eyes,” Dad orders.
“I didn’t.” I use my most innocent voice.
“Sir, I’m Gatsby Spearman. If you need help, I’ll be happy to gather some friends,” he offers.
Dad looks him up and down. “Are you a student?”
Gatsby nods a couple of times. “Yes, sir. I’m about to start my junior year.”
“Just like you, Maia.” Mom appears from somewhere. I don’t know where since my attention is on Gatsby’s dreamy eyes.
“If you need anything, like moving your belongings or a tour of campus, I’ll be happy to help,” Gatsby offers.
My parents share a look.
“It’s free,” Gatsby says the magic words.
This might be the only way to get rid of my parents sooner. “If he calls his friends, we might be able to finish earlier. Remember the U-Haul company charges by the day, Papi .”
Those words are like a heavenly song to my parents.
“If you don’t mind, we’d appreciate it,” Dad says.
Gatsby texts his friends, and in less than twenty minutes, they’re moving boxes, furniture, and trash bags into my new studio. Once the truck is empty, my parents head to the nearest U-Haul office to return it.Gatsby’s friends leave, and it’s just us in my small studio.
I shove my hands in the pockets of my shorts and stare at the floor. “Thank you for helping us.”
“It’s my pleasure. Why don’t I introduce myself? I’m Gatsby.” He extends his hand.
I stare at it for a few breaths before I meet it with mine.
As he swallows it with his big, strong hand, I feel a zing, and around us is charged with electricity.
I’m speechless, breathless, and a blaze of sensations swirl inside my chest. It takes me some time, but once I find my voice, I say, “Maia. Maia Azul Ocampo.”
“That’s one of the brightest stars and part of the seven Pleiades.”
“You know the legend?”
“It’s more about the constellations.”