Prologue #2
Xavi’s mami was different, though. She didn’t find it the least bit contradictory to still worship her god while at the same time loving her gay son with all her Cuban heart.
Xavi had always felt loved and wanted, and coming out to his family last year when he was ten hadn’t changed that.
He was still, along with Abe, her reason for getting up in the morning and busting her butt downtown as a cleaning lady in restaurants so posh and expensive she would never be able to afford even an entrée.
So no, Xavi wasn’t about to confess his sins when his greatest was just being true to himself. Besides, he was only out at home.
Ms. Hatcher started reading from the familiar set of detention rules, her monotone voice doing wonders as an afternoon sedative.
Xavi leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest as Joe mirrored him and did the same with a long, drawn-out sigh.
“Cono,” he mumbled under his breath, and Xavi couldn’t help but chuckle, liking his newfound partner-in-crime more and more by the second.
Then, when Ms. Hatcher was just about to round off her speech, the door blew open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang, raising dust from the tables and the cabinets like tiny whirlwinds.
In a cloud of pinks and purples and glitter—yes, it was glitter—a boy entered, spreading out his arms like the wings of some rare, exotic bird.
Then, without further ado, he started singing.
“‘Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome!’”
“Mr. Cisnero!” Ms. Hatcher jumped into action, and Joe started laughing next to him, a “this is gonna be good” slipping from his lips.
“‘Fremde, étranger, stranger!’” The boy continued to sing as he strode elegantly into the room, twirling around in an elaborate display of colors and shimmering fabrics.
A pink scarf was wrapped around his long neck, and the scent of something sweet and orangey hit Xavi like an avalanche of impressions.
Images of walking past Mr. De La Fe’s flower shop on his way to school in the morning flashed through his mind, along with memories of watching the huge blue peacock strut around down at the city zoo.
“Will you be quiet and sit down!” Ms. Hatcher tried to intercept the boy but got caught in his dramatic twirl instead, like a bug sucked in by the breeze from a ceiling fan.
“‘Glücklich zu sehen, je suis enchanté!’” The boy floated toward their table, smiling wickedly at them, and Xavi couldn’t help but wish detention would last all day and all through the week if he could just continue to stare at this wondrous creature.
Joe continued to laugh, his voice loud and genuine, and not filled with even a hint of ridicule or contempt.
Something pushed at Xavi’s ribs, something which grew and grew, longing to burst through his chest, and before he knew it, he was laughing too.
Then the boy winked and did an elaborate bow in front of them.
“Do not encourage him!” yelled their designated warden of the day as she stomped her feet like a five-year-old. Joe, however, didn’t seem to have gotten the memo, because he put his fingers to his lips and whistled ear-piercingly loud.
“‘Happy to see you,’” the boy continued, spurred on by Joe’s enthusiastic whistle as he skipped toward them and, with a leap, landed on top of their desk, his eyelashes fluttering at Xavi.
“‘Bleibe, reste, stay’,” his voice lowered into a deeper hum that sounded way too mature for his age, but was the most beautiful sound Xavi had ever heard.
Even more beautiful than when Liza sang the same words.
Ms. Hatcher was right there, trying to pull the boy from the table, but he just reached for her wrinkled face with his slender fingers and smacked a loud kiss right in the middle of her forehead.
“‘Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome’,” he crooned, his hands remaining against her cheeks, as she seemed frozen in time.
“‘Im Cabaret, au Cabaret, to Cabareeet!’” His voice surged into a final peak, then transformed into the most endearing giggle that made even Ms. Hatcher blush under her sickly yellowish tint as she gasped, “Now, I have never…”
For a few seconds, the room went quiet as the dust settled, and they all seemed to be holding their breath.
Xavi’s heart was thumping so loudly in his chest, the sound echoing in his ears, that he felt the whole world must hear it too.
His skin was tingling, but for once, it wasn’t the overlapping scars digging into his skin that caused the itch.
It was something else entirely, a strange buzz underneath the patchwork of healed, burned flesh and numerous skin grafts that spread across his torso, back, and left arm.
Then, simultaneously, the three of them burst into laughter, tears springing to Xavi’s eyes as the boy whose name he still didn’t know—but was longing to—sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, suddenly looking adorably shy and self-conscious.
“Mr. Cisnero!” Ms. Hatcher awoke from her stupor.
“This is not the drama club, nor is it Broadway! Please sit down. You are disrupting detention.” The boy nodded, something flashing through his light-brown eyes which made Xavi’s stomach sink.
And that’s when he noticed it. The bluish-purple shadow underneath the boy’s right eye, and the cut running through his bottom lip.
“I will not tolerate this type of behavior, and I will have to contact your father if you do not settle down right this minute.” The boy froze, then slowly slid off the table, and walked to the back of the room where he slumped down in a chair.
Xavi instinctively felt like getting up from his seat and going after him, but before he could move, he felt a hand on his wrist, and when he turned, Joe shook his head at him. Oh.
Xavi didn’t register Ms. Hatcher finishing her instructions or leaving the room, and it wasn’t until Joe got up next to him, pulling at his wrist, that he woke from his daze.
“C’mon, hermano,” Joe spoke quietly, nodding toward the back of the room, where the other boy was now slumped over, resting his forehead against the desk, the sleeves of his flowy, pink garment resembling two broken wings.
Xavi got up and let Joe lead him toward the back, where they both lingered close to the boy, uncertain what to do or say.
It ended up being Joe who spoke first. “Fuck her,” he said, loud and clear, puffing out his chest, his presence remarkably strong for a boy that small.
The defeated figure sniffed and stirred slightly, but the boy didn’t look up.
Xavi’s hand tingled with the urge to reach out and squeeze the boy’s shoulder in quiet solidarity, but he didn’t want to spook him, recalling how scared he’d looked when Ms. Hatcher had threatened to call his father.
That had been pure dread reflected in those pale brown eyes.
Instead, he decided to echo Joe’s epic words.
“Yeah, fuck her.” His voice shook a little, but the words rang clear and loud through the stuffy room just like Joe’s had.
The boy moved, then lifted his head and looked up at them, timid at first, before wiping his eyes and nose with the back of his hand.
“Fuck her and her nicotine breath and her fish eyes,” Joe continued, and Xavi and the other boy snorted simultaneously.
“Yeah, fuck her and fuck Mr. Garcia too,” Xavi chimed in. The boy’s eyes widened, then crinkled at the corners as a smile grew on his beautiful face, scrunching up his cute button nose.
“Ugh, I hate him!” Joe groaned. “He’s the worst, hermano.”
“I know.” Xavi nodded, then did something he’d never in a million years expected to do, but Joe’s display of affection and boldness made him want to be brave too. “I loved your song.” He smiled tentatively at the other boy. “I love Cabaret.”
“Thank you,” the boy whispered, his voice soft and velvety. Then he blinked at Xavi, and it was like Xavi’s entire life was reset at that moment, in a before and after, at the next words the boy spoke. “Me too.”
Me too.
“I’m Joe.” Joe held out his hand, gesturing at Xavi. “And this is Xavi.” Xavi’s chest warmed with the way Joe introduced him, like they were friends and hadn’t just met.
“I’m Lulu,” the boy murmured. Lulu.
“Huh?” Joe frowned. “Lulu?”
“Yeah, it’s actually Luis-Henrique, but everyone at my old school called me Lulu, and it kinda just stuck.”
“You’re new here?” Joe asked.
“Yeah, we just moved here a month ago from Pittsburgh.” That made more sense, Xavi thought, because he would definitely have noticed someone like this Lulu kid if they’d gone to school together for years. “I’m in… I’m in the drama club.”
“Cool,” Joe said, then got straight down to business. “So why are you here? In detention?”
“Ah, you know, just talking back at a teacher,” Lulu mumbled, but somehow Xavi could tell there was more to the story, and perhaps Joe could too, because he didn’t ask which teacher or what Lulu had said.
“What about you?” He looked at Xavi.
“Mr. Garcia,” Xavi spat, feeling anger build inside his chest all over again.
“Mr. Garcia?” Lulu asked, his voice frail and curious.
“Yeah, he’s my English teacher, and he’s the fucking worst.”
Joe nodded. “For sure. So, what happened?”
Xavi shrugged. He knew he’d been out of line, but Mr. Garcia just pushed his buttons with his ignorance and uninspired approach to teaching Xavi’s favorite subject, English. “I told him to shove his copy of ‘the Catcher in the Rye’ up his ass.”
“You did what?!” Lulu’s eyes blew wide open as he clasped his hands in front of his chest, the pale pink nail polish shimmering under the light from the overhead lamps.
“Yeah.” Xavi shrugged. “I guess he didn’t care for my characterization of Holden Caulfield.”
“Holden who?” Joe asked, sitting on the desk.
“Holden Caulfield. The protagonist of the novel.”
“What’s a protagonist?” Lulu looked like his head was spinning, and Xavi thought it might just be the cutest thing he’d ever seen.
“It’s the main character of a story.” Xavi smiled. He loved talking about books, but no one he knew at school shared his interest. He already knew he wanted to be a teacher one day, maybe even teach English in high school if he’d be able to go all the way.
“Oh.” Lulu nodded, his dark curls bobbing up and down, trying to break free from the purple headband around his head. “What did you say?” he near-whispered.
“I told Mr. Garcia that Holden Caulfield is a narcissistic, grade-A asshole, and then he totally lost it on me.”
“No shit, hermano,” Joe laughed. “That’s fucking awesome. Wish I could’ve been there.” Joe looked genuinely impressed and slightly disappointed he hadn’t been there to witness the dreaded English teacher’s meltdown. “That’ll teach him.”
“Probably not,” Xavi laughed. “Lost cause.”
“Yeah, probably,” Joe agreed.
There was a pause, where they all smiled tentatively at each other, perhaps all aware that this wasn’t just any ordinary Wednesday afternoon in detention.
Something was happening, and Xavi was almost certain he wasn’t the only one feeling a strange connection growing between them, like they were long-lost friends, or perhaps even brothers, hermanos.
Then Joe finally spoke. “I set fire to my chemistry project. Third time this year. I fucking hate chemistry.”
Like always, Xavi winced at the mention of fire, his skin itching with the phantom feel of searing flames licking along his skin, the nauseating smell of burnt flesh assaulting his senses.
Closing his eyes, he focused on his breath.
It wasn’t that night. He was at school. He was safe.
Opening his eyes, he focused on the details around him, on the two boys standing next to him.
“You set fire to your chemistry project?!” Lulu gaped at Joe.
“Yeah,” Joe groaned. “It was an accident, but still…”
“Shit,” Lulu laughed. “I didn’t hear the alarm.”
“It was just a small one.”
“Oh.”
A small pause stretched between them, and Xavi found himself wishing, hoping, this day would just go on forever and that Joe and Lulu would just continue to talk and smile at him like they were really truly friends.
“What are you guys doing after?” Lulu eventually said, looking at first Joe, then Xavi expectantly.
“Nothing,” they both replied simultaneously, then laughed, bumping their shoulders against each other.
“Wanna hang out? Maybe hit the park?”
“Sure.” Joe nodded eagerly, still smiling broadly.
“Xavi?” Lulu asked, his almond brown eyes wide, a few tears still clinging to his dark lashes.
“You wanna come too?” There was something unspoken in his eager voice, or perhaps it was just Xavi’s mind playing tricks on him.
Something similar to hope, perhaps. He swallowed, taking in Lulu’s expectant face.
He couldn’t recall there ever having been a time when someone had asked him what he was doing after school.
Or if he wanted to hang out. But he already knew his answer, because there could only ever be one when this beautiful boy looked at him like this.
“Sure, I’ll come.”