CHAPTER 32
Diego was restless. He sat in the living room of the apartment he shared with his mother.
MTV was his only companion, and not a good one, because they seemed to play more commercials than music.
He’d seen the advertisement for Sports Illustrated so many times that he’d just about convinced himself he needed a subscription.
He didn’t give a shit about the magazine, except for the swimsuit issue, but if he signed up now, he’d get a free gift—a phone shaped like a football. Who could resist?
Sighing in frustration, he turned off the TV, the boredom unbearable.
There was an easy fix. Half an ounce of weed was spread out on a tray in front of him, but Ricky planned on stopping by, and it seemed to upset him if Diego was already baked by the time he got here.
His boyfriend was a little more forgiving if he waited, which he was trying to do. No harm in preparing though.
Diego rolled a joint. After he was done, he decided to roll another for later in the evening.
That task completed, he sat there and listened to the distant ticking of a clock.
Okay, so he would roll a third joint, since he and Keisha were going to plant their next crop tomorrow.
They could smoke it afterwards in celebration.
He was actually looking forward to the work, because time went by so damn slow lately.
He was itching to do something with his hands.
There was always unfinished work in the garage downstairs, but no, that was the old him.
The idiot who wanted to make daddy proud.
Although he really had enjoyed fixing cars.
The new him didn’t. He’d rather ride around on his hog, delivering weed to his fake dad’s old friends.
Which come to think of it, wasn’t exactly reinventing himself.
So maybe he’d start selling at school. Once he was allowed back there.
Of course then he’d have to worry about getting expelled.
Maybe he could find some mafia-type in downtown Kansas City who had his own army of dealers.
Yeah! Diego would become a supplier. One big sale and done, leaving him free to… What, exactly?
The silence was deafening. He reached for the remote, about to turn on the TV again, when someone knocked.
Finally! Ricky was here. They could mess around.
Just not sexually, he hoped, because that still freaked him out.
Diego could get into it, when horny enough, but part of him worried that he’d lose control, that the monster he’d lived with for most of his adult life would unleash itself in the bedroom, taking pleasure in the sort of thing his father used to get off on.
If only he’d had the chance to kill the bastard!
Diego threw open the front door, willing Hector to appear there somehow.
A small stout woman took a step back, intimidated by his sneer. Then she collected herself, seeming to grow a few inches. Only then did he fully recognize her. Ms. Deville, his theater teacher, raised a critical eyebrow as she looked him over.
“What are you doing here?” Diego demanded.
“Seeing to your education,” she trilled.
“I got suspended.”
“Precisely.” She gestured to the interior, as if inviting herself in.
“By all means,” Diego said, stepping aside.
He watched as she took stock of the living room and attached kitchen. Presumably she’d been sent here to perform an inspection. The folder tucked under one arm must be his file. She’d report back to Preckwinkle, and Diego would be formally expelled. So what? He welcomed this fate.
“Wanna smoke a joint with me?” he offered.
“I’d prefer a glass of wine,” Ms. Deville murmured, turning to face him. “For the moment, we should both keep a clear head. You have a lot of homework to catch up on.”
“I was suspended,” he repeated.
“I understand, but you’re still expected to pass your classes. I was dismayed, when bringing an assignment to the front office for you, to learn that you haven’t picked up any of your homework. Were you not given a packet that explained how to proceed for the remainder of the year?”
“Oh, you mean that?” he asked, gesturing to the coffee table where an unopened envelope was trapped beneath an old pizza box. “I’ve been busy.”
“Clearly. That’s why I’m here. To help you get caught up.” She moved toward the kitchen table. “You’ll need your textbooks. And a notebook and pen.”
He watched as she began taking papers out of the folder, placing them on the table in neatly organized stacks.
“Thanks for dropping that off,” he said. “I’ll take it from here.”
“Your textbooks,” Ms. Deville repeated, her smile tight with determination.
“I’m sure you’ve got something better to do on a—” He struggled to remember the date until recalling that The Price is Right hadn’t been on earlier. “—a Saturday.”
“I certainly do,” she shot back, “so put some pep in your step.”
Diego crossed his arms over his chest and didn’t move. She ignored him. He marched around to the other side of the table, forcing her attention.
“Listen, you’ve obviously seen Stand and Deliver too many times, but you’re not going to be the inspirational teacher who turns my life around.
I don’t care about school. If I need to solve a math problem, I’ll use a freaking calculator.
If I don’t know what a word means, I can look it up.
The capital of Timbuktu? I’ll find it on a goddamn map! ”
“Timbuktu is a city, not a country,” Ms. Deville replied, “and for what it’s worth, I agree with you.
Most of what you’re taught in school is useless.
Beyond basic reading and arithmetic, the vast majority of what you’re expected to memorize for tests will never be utilized in the course of your adult life.
Nonetheless, you are being taught crucial skills, despite them not being an official part of the curriculum.
Social maneuvering, for instance. You can’t continue to punch your way through every conflict, Diego.
Doing so will land you in prison, which I promise, is much worse than institutionalized education. ”
He shrugged. “I’ve been in juvie.”
“Are you eager to return?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I sure seem to get into more trouble when I go to school, since it forces me to be around assholes.”
Ms. Deville laughed humorlessly. “I hate to break it to you, but the real world is no different.”
“How would you know? You work in a high school.”
“I haven’t always, but rather than regale you with tales of my rather extraordinary career, I suggest you ask around.
Every grown-up has a coworker they can’t stand and has labored under a boss who abused their position.
High school is merely a harbinger of the maelstrom that is yet to come, and believe me honey, if you don’t want to sink, you’d better make sure you know how to swim. ”
“By memorizing cute mnemonics for the order of planets?”
“By learning how to navigate complex social situations in a controlled environment where the stakes remain low.”
“I’m doing just fine in that regard,” Diego retorted.
“Obviously!” Ms. Deville took a deep breath. “Allow me to level with you, from one fighter to another. Preckwinkle wants you to fail.”
Diego shrugged. “I figured.”
“What you don’t know, is that I’ve already stuck my neck out for you on more than one occasion. Like when she approached me at the beginning of the school year and insisted I transfer you out of the theater group.”
“She did?”
“Yes. You aren’t supposed to share any classes with Ricky Nishikawa, correct?”
“Yeah,” he said. They had gotten in trouble last year, when Graham Fowler ratted them out for messing around in the locker room, and the stipulation of remaining separate was part of the punishment.
“I didn’t comply with her request. And honestly, if I were the type to cave in to unreasonable demands, I would have gotten rid of Ricky instead.
That was never her suggestion though, because Principal Preckwinkle saw the same thing I did.
You have talent. That’s the other unspoken purpose of school.
All the different lessons test your aptitude, so you can find what you’re most interested in, or have the greatest propensity for. Yours is acting.”
Diego snorted.
Ms. Deville scowled. “Do not belittle what I say now, for it isn’t flattery.
You have a gift, Diego. I do know something of your history.
This world isn’t kind to artists. The lucky few find a way to channel their pain and make it work for them.
The rest fall by the wayside, never to flourish.
Maybe you will too. I can only do so much, but if I can get you back into my class for another year, perhaps that will be enough to awaken your true potential.
You have lessons left to learn. You’re smart, but you aren’t always clever.
Not when it comes to interpersonal conflict, and you do need other people.
Yes, technically you can manage on your own, but it’s a terribly lonely existence.
Or have you enjoyed the past two weeks?”
He hadn’t. Not at all.
She saw the answer on his face. “When I say Preckwinkle wants you to fail, I don’t mean just the school year.
For whatever reason, she doesn’t want your talent to be fostered.
Maybe she doesn’t approve of theater, or who you are as a person, I’m not certain.
Unlike fiction, villains rarely spell out their motivations in grand monologues.
All we can do, in the face of adversity, is decide how we choose to respond. ”
Diego grunted. Then he walked away from the table. When he returned, he had his backpack with him.
“All right,” he said, sitting down. “Let’s do this.”
Ms. Deville was a good teacher. She cut through the bullshit, concerning herself only with what he’d need to pass tests and complete each assignment. In less than two hours, he was caught up, aside from a paper he needed to write and a play that Ms. Deville wanted him to read over the next month.
“We can meet the same time next week,” she suggested while gathering her things. “If you wish.”
“Yeah,” he replied. “That would be cool.”
Diego saw her out. He felt riled up, like she’d stirred something inside of him, so he straightened the living room while thinking about everything that she’d said.
He didn’t want to get into trouble all the time.
When he did, Diego convinced himself it didn’t matter, since he didn’t have anything to offer the world anyway.
But maybe that wasn’t true. He could act.
People sure seemed to like it when he did.
Diego hadn’t felt like he belonged anywhere until he’d joined the theater group.
And yeah, just like Keisha had told him and Ms. Deville had reinforced, acting did give him somewhere to put the pain.
All of it though? Because he’d been through some fucked-up shit that he didn’t expect to ever get used on stage.
Maybe he should ask Ms. Deville about that the next time she was here. Why not?
He picked up the tray of weed—the temptation no longer as strong—and took it to his room, which was also a mess. He was making the bed when Ricky showed up, his eyes big and watery.
Diego sighed. “Now what?”
“I didn’t say anything!” Ricky shot back.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know something is wrong,” Ricky said, following him into the living room. “Something that you’re not telling me.”
“That’s right,” Diego confirmed. “And I’m not gonna, because it’ll mess with you like it messes with me. I’m doing you a favor.”
“That’s okay.” Ricky settled onto the couch. “I deserve this.”
Diego plopped down, his feet on the cushion between them. “How do you figure?”
“When I told you about the suicide note, it’s because I wanted to be closer to you.”
Diego tilted his head to the side. “Huh?”
“I was jealous of Mindy. I wanted to give you something that she never could, but it only ended up pushing you away.”
Diego snorted. “You don’t need to be jealous of Mindy. And I wanted to read that note. You could’ve said it would make me go blind and I wouldn’t have hesitated.”
“What about the rest?” Ricky pressed. “Are we closer than we used to be? Or are we farther apart?”
Words were unreliable. Diego preferred to express his love physically. Now he couldn’t. Not like how he used to. He felt the loss of that, and obviously Ricky did too.
“Don’t blame yourself,” he said.
Ricky swallowed. “I don’t know how to help you anymore. But I know someone who can. Don’t be mad.”
“About what?”
Ricky’s hands were shaking as he pulled out a Velcro wallet and slid free a business card. Diego accepted it, his eyes latching onto one word in particular. Psychologist.
“A freaking head shrinker?” he snarled.
“She helped me,” Ricky said meekly.
“Yeah, but you’re not—” The bastard child of a monster. “Whatever.”
“Isn’t it worth trying?” Ricky pressed. “For me?”
Diego sucked in air, ready to give him a piece of his mind. Then he exhaled, because Ms. Deville was right. He could keep trying to get through this on his own, and maybe he would succeed, but it had been a lonely path so far.
“All right,” Diego grumbled. “I’ll give her one shot, but I’m not doing this for you.”
Ricky nodded glumly.
Diego nudged him with a socked foot. “I’m doing it for us.”