Chapter 13
Thirteen
KIERAN
After dinner, we gather around the baby grand piano in the living room to watch Isabel play.
Erin is the most excited about this; given her musical background, she’s always looking to connect with other musicians.
When she found out I played guitar, she was much more interested in me than when I was just a shy, quiet painter that Natalia dragged around.
I’m nervous and I don’t even understand why. It isn’t as though I’m the one sitting in front of the piano with everyone watching me.
Isabel’s long, slender fingers settle over the keys.
Something seems to shift in her. Without the guidance of sheet music, she plays a soft continuous melody under her left hand, layered with a twinkling wistfulness that crescendos from her right.
I feel as though my life is flashing before my eyes, vignettes of my childhood and of running in sun-drenched meadows, the wind in my face.
When she slows to a stop, the room is still. It’s as if all of us are holding our breath.
Isabel looks up. She glances at each of us, uncertain.
Natalia says nothing and leaves, returning outside. Everyone else follows. Erin, to her credit, lingers with a smile. She enjoyed it; I know she did.
“That was really good,” I say. But Isabel doesn’t hear me. Or if she does, she doesn’t care to respond.
* * *
We sit on sofas in the lanai. Cisco has his feet up on the coffee table, a fat joint between his lips.
He sparks up and takes a long drag. Tipping his head back, he blows out thick plumes of smoke into the air.
He reaches over the table and passes it to Bo, and around the joint goes, on to Natalia, to Luz and Erin, to Chiara, then Ravina, who’s next to me.
I take a hit then pass it on to Jaime. He hogs it, because that’s just Jaime.
“Ready, Sugar?”
Isabel has spent the whole time shrunken into the couch, hands pinned between her knees and with a terrified look in her eyes.
Natalia laughs. “It’s just weed, Sugar. It’s all natural.”
“You want to shotgun?” Jaime offers, already sliding to the edge of his seat toward Isabel.
“What’s that?” she asks.
“He inhales and blows the smoke into your mouth,” Cisco answers. I see the gears turning in her head. She’s weighing her options.
“I’m good, thank you.”
“Aw, c’mon, Sugar,” Bo says. The nickname makes her bristle, I can tell. He hasn’t earned the right to call her that. I gather no one has.
“I don’t really smoke,” she replies.
“There’s a first time for everything,” Luz encourages. “You’ll like it. I swear.”
“She doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to,” I say. Isabel’s eyes meet mine. There’s a flash of gratitude in them, then gone.
Jaime takes another hit in the meantime. “Do you just not like it? Or…don’t tell me it’s a Jesus thing.”
“What Jesus thing?” Erin asks.
“I saw it in her tagged photos,” Jaime says. “She’s part of this church group.”
“Were you stalking me?” Isabel’s tone is both shocked and confused.
Jaime shrugs. “Wanted to see what you’ve been up to.”
“You could’ve asked,” I point out.
He ignores me. “So, what’ll it be, Sugar? Will you be a good girl for me or for God?”
Don’t do it. Don’t let him bully you into doing something you don’t want to.
“That’s blasphemous,” Isabel says as she takes the joint.
Everyone hoots and hollers. Jaime moves to wedge himself between her and Chiara.
Isabel smiles nervously then does as she’s told: takes a deep inhale, holds her breath, and then blows out the smoke.
Except she coughs, grimacing. It makes everyone laugh.
“Good girl,” Jaime says, rubbing Isabel’s thigh. He couldn’t lay it on thicker if he tried.
“How’s that feel?” Bo asks.
Isabel still wears her grimace. “It tastes like ash. I hate it.”
“Just wait for it to kick in,” Jaime says, squeezing her thigh now and keeping his hand there.
“God’s going to be real pissed at you, Sugar,” Natalia snickers when the joint reaches her again. She takes a smooth drag and passes it to Luz.
“I don’t think God and pleasure are mutually exclusive,” I say. “It’s temperance that matters. In my opinion, anyway.” What do I know, right?
“What does the Church say about weed?” Erin asks, leaning forward with a playful look in her eye. There’s something sinister about her expression, like a predator playing with its prey before it pounces.
”I—I don’t know,” Isabel stammers. “Not exactly, anyway. Like all things…abstain, I guess.”
“Abstain!” Bo echoes, throwing his hands in the air. “See you all in hell.”
They all cheer.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I try to catch Isabel’s eye, communicate somehow that I don’t stand for the way they’re treating and teasing her.
They’ve done this before; when Chiara was new, they always had something to say, hiding their cruelty behind a thin veneer of jokes.
Something about the way she dressed, or the fact that she had to work a job walking dogs and babysitting.
It’s the worst kind of hazing, and if you survive it, then you can stay.
I notice it never happens to us guys, though; we get welcomed into the fold as long as we’re “chill enough” to hang.
It’s always the girls who have to earn their place.
I never really picked up on the pattern until now.
I thought it was just their dynamic with Chiara.
I didn’t think it was a problem because Chiara always took things in stride; she was never as obvious with her discomfort as Isabel is.
Somehow that makes things worse; Isabel’s responses only seem to egg them further on.
I wish she’d shove Jaime’s hand away. I wish she’d snap at them, put them all in their place. What does her belief in God have to do with any of them?
When the joint makes its way back to me, Isabel’s eyes are drooping.
“Uh-oh,” Ravina says, pointing. “Someone’s on the up and up.”
Isabel giggles. She must be at that point where everything is hilarious. Jaime throws an arm around her and pulls her into his side. She hums, evidently pleased by the physical contact.
I avert my gaze. Tip my head back and stare at the empty night sky past the ceiling.
The moon glows, but it brings me no comfort.
For the first time, Jaime and I are in agreement about something: that Isabel is a gem.
I’m just of the belief that gems are to be treated with care, not paraded around and used for one’s own gain.
“How’s your painting coming along?” Natalia asks me.
“Yeah, when are you going to show us your work?” Cisco adds.
“I just started,” I lie. It’s the same as it was in New York.
Everything I’ve started, I’ve scrapped. I spend all night staring at the canvas, or otherwise doomscrolling, or pacing for ideas.
I have nothing to show for. Yet. I’m hoping I can pull through and come up with something before summer ends.
“If you ever need a model…” Natalia trails off.
My eyes shift to Isabel. She’s resting her head on Jaime’s shoulders, still with her hands pinned between her legs. She smiles sleepily at me.
“I know,” I hear myself say, still staring at Isabel. Now if only I could muster up the courage to ask.