Gabi, a Girl in Pieces - Isabel Quintero

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       I SWEAR

       To not make promises that I can’t keep.

      I hope Ms. Abernard doesn’t get mad because I wrote “make out” and “get a kiss.” And I hope she doesn’t make us read them out loud or put them up on the wall. That would suck big hairy toes.

       October 3

      Cindy and I went to the mall today after school. Sebastian couldn’t go because he went on a date with Pedro, the cute Bolivian boy from his Spanish class. I am both happy and worried about that situation. What if they hold hands and people harass them? What if they get beat up? Why do I have to worry about these things just because they’re two boys? I hope they’re careful. Not that I’m a date expert, but I have been on a couple. My first date was to the skating rink with a guy named José. (An incident I wish to forget.) Ugh. I hate José. In any case, I hope their date went okay.

      Well, anyway Cindy and I went to the mall to pick out some matching shirts to take pictures in. It was a little awkward. I guess I didn’t realize how much weight Cindy’d gained. I see her everyday so I hadn’t noticed the sudden addition of a little pouch. She’s almost four months pregnant.

      Wow.

      Four months pregnant—in her second trimester. That’s something I always hear older women say. The words sound too grown up to belong to us. But they do now. I tried to make her laugh because I don’t want her to feel sad. I know it’s rough at home with her mom. She told us that her dad won’t even speak to her yet and that her grandmother told her that maybe it was time to quit school, that she shouldn’t pretend to be a good school girl anymore because—obviously—she isn’t. Her grandma and my grandma should be friends. They seem to think alike.

      Cindy is my kindred spirit. She laughs when I say that. How I love that girl. She never judges me. Or tries to change me. Nope. She loves me just the way I am. Peas in a pod (uña y mugre, my mom says). We laugh and cry together. Have each other’s back through good times and bad times—best friends for life.

      And now there’s a picture we took at the mall this afternoon to prove it.

       October 6

      Tía Bertha met Sebastian this afternoon. It was both funny and infuriating. If there is one thing my tía Bertha hates more than Catholics, it’s gay people. She hates lesbians more than gay men, but she hates gay men too. I don’t know why though. Supposedly, she used to be friends with all sorts of gay men back in the day before she was touched by the hand of God. In any case, now she doesn’t like them. I had to introduce Sebastian to tía Bertha again. Because even though she’s met him like ten times, she never remembers him.

      “Hola muchacho! Que guapo! What a handsome friend you have, Gabi! If only he were a little bit older, maybe he’d take me out on a date.” And then she winked at him. Eww. Eww. Eww. But she didn’t stop there. “Do you have girlfriend, handsome?” Before I could warn Sebastian about tía Bertha, he laughed and said, “Girlfriend? No! But I have a boyfriend.”

      I heard Beto shout all the way from the living room, “Oh shit! This is gonna be good!” He is such an instigator. Tía Bertha didn’t shut up about the sinfulness of two men together until I couldn’t take it any longer and said, “What about the sinfulness of sleeping with a married man?”

      I should have kept my mouth shut. That cut really deep. We aren’t supposed to talk about her current situation. She just looked at me, hard, her eyes glistening. She was hurt, and I felt horrible. Gabi’s diarrhea of the mouth strikes again. My brother just shook his head. If my mom hadn’t been at work, I would have been in deep shit. I don’t get it though—why do I feel so guilty about saying that to her, but she doesn’t feel a little bit sorry about blaming Sebastian for the fall of Sodom and Gomorra, the dissipation of morality in society, and the coming of the anti-Christ?

      Later…

      Because Sebastian is gay, he is allowed to spend the night since there is no fear that we will have sex and make babies. I finally got to ask him about Pedro. He revealed that Pedro is a really good kisser, has a big “package” (though Sebastian used another word which I feel uncomfortable even writing) and knows a lot of poetry in the mother tongue which he recites to Sebastian (how romantic is that!). He speaks Spanish with a sexy Bolivian accent and is learning a lot of English but is really embarrassed to speak it out loud because of his sexy accent. Sebastian also says his mom is back on speaking terms with him, but his dad is still really angry and doesn’t want to see him. He also says that his tía Agi’s house is cool and she seems to be loving and accepting. Though she did tell him she doesn’t want to see any cochinadas in her house. Which translates to: no sex. Why is every mom’s concern about sex? There are more important things in life like school, careers, poetry, books, ice cream or learning how to make the perfect chocolate cake. It’s so damn frustrating.

      We have to go to sleep because it’s like 3 a.m. and we’re supposed to meet Cindy early tomorrow for breakfast. And we will go to sleep just as soon as Sebastian is done chatting with Pedro. He was right—he does have a sexy Bolivian accent.

       October 12

      Okay. Wow. So I realized why moms are so worried about sex: it’s everywhere. Like just around the corner. Ahhhhhhh! I can’t believe it finally happened. I was in Algebra II and asked Mrs. Black if I could go to the restroom. Of course she let me go (sometimes I think seeing me in her class every day for the last four years may be as unpleasant for her as it has been for me). I didn’t really have to go, but I was so bored and needed to get out for fifteen or twenty minutes before I lost my mind from doing one more quadratic equation. I was getting a Dr. Pepper (to go with the Hot Cheetos I was munching on) from the downstairs vending machines, the ones near the science rooms, when I heard some steps coming down the stairs. I looked up and who should it be but Mr. Hot Stuff himself: Eric!

      I tried to scarf down the spicy cheese curls and give my Cheeto fingers a quick wipe inside my pockets. In an instant, all I knew was that this was the moment I had been waiting for. For him. For Eric, who makes me stuck for words. Makes me forget about Joshua Moore (who had currently been moved to the front of the class for being an ass—surprise, surprise). He came up to me, and we joked and flirted and talked. I hoped he might see past the waistline and see me—how funny I can be and how cute I giggle and how good I am in language arts. Maybe I just imagined it. Maybe he was just being nice to the fat girl. All those things were rushing through my mind. Until it finally happened—

      THE KISSING THING.

      Well, kind of. At first, we talked and joked and flirted and talked some more and then…HE TOUCHED ME. Touched me gently on the waist. We were so close, I could smell the peppermint gum he was chewing.

      “You know,” he said, “I’ve never kissed anyone.” (This could or could not have been a line, but I didn’t care and went with it.)

      “You know,” I said, “I have never kissed anyone either.” (That was so lame. I can’t believe I said it. Major facepalm.)

      “Oh,” he said. And I tried to breathe because this was one of those moments where he was making me stuck for words.

      “Yeah,” I said (like a dumb-ass). But then—and this is what made me believe that I wasn’t as big a dumb-ass as I had originally imagined—his hands on my waist, my back on the wall, my insides on fire, ALL my skin vibrating, lips set—I could almost taste peppermint…suddenly we heard, “What are you two doing?” and saw Mr. Paul’s big bald head sticking out of his biology classroom door. “Get back to class before I call security.”

      I was both embarrassed and devastated—I was going to have to see Mr. Paul later, and he never lets anything go so he’d probably bring

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