“Nah, you did that all by yourself,” I tell him. “Said you can’t sleep ‘when the salchicha y huevos quedan atrapados.’ ”
Pérez just shrugs as he gets back up and starts getting his own breakfast, taking milk, a banana, Frosted Flakes, and a Tupperware bowl out, landing in the seat next to me at the kitchen island, filling the bowl with milk first (because of course he puts milk first) and then half the box of cereal.
“Oh, hey. Who was that guy you were hanging out with last night?” he asks, the words muffled from the banana. “You know him? Friend from high school or something?”
“Nah. I’d never met him before last night. Helped him out with a waterfalls thing.”
“Oh nice. He was checking you out the whole time, you know that? Wantedyoursalchicha for sure. The way he was all‘Gabi,’sounding like he was in heat.”
My head goes back like a silentno mames. “What? No he wasn’t.” And then, when I hear Nguyen clearing his throat, I turn to him, all, “It’s not—there’sa lotof context missing here. And it’s not like he’s the only person ever who’s called me Gabi. Lots of people call me Gabi.”
“I believe you,” he replies, swallowing his food and putting his hands up, like a plea to leave him out of this.
“Bro. Look,” Pérez tells me. He grabs his phone, going to his videos, and pulls up one he posted last night doing some kind of dance that probably would’ve looked impressive sober but is giving more “a three-year-old trying to cumbia for the first time.” His finger points to the side of the screen where I’m talking to Kat and Vale is standing beside me.
And I know this because I’ve been caught in 4K giving many girls the same look he’s giving me: he’s fully checking me out. His eyes go from my face to my arms, leaning on the beer pongtable, to every part of me he can cover in the thirteen seconds of that video. Also, I wish I could say I was fully innocent there, did not have a clue, was too busy talking to my friend, but—and I won’t say this out loud—I knew. I might’ve purposefully pushed my sleeves up to my shoulders and started flexing while throwing ping-pong balls for attention.
And maybe I also might’ve caught myself staring at Vale’s ass a couple times when it was his turn to throw a ball. I’m still singleanda guy. I wasn’t just going tonotappreciate a nice butt. As glad as I am my boy here didn’t catch that on camera.
Again, those White Claws.
“He wasinto youinto you. Even Kat said so. They thought you might’ve ended up coming home with him, so kind of surprised to not see him here.”
“Why are you surprised? I—”
“I know, I know. You’re straight, and I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying, he didn’t even offer some bussy?”
“Shut up,” I say, knocking him with my elbow, trying to seem in control of what’s happening here and also pushing back all the things I, even if only for a few seconds, imagined about Vale while jerking off last night. A rare one-off that no one in this house needs to know about. Ever. “We were just hanging out.”
“What’s bussy?”
“Not right now, Nguyen. And finish eating your damn cereal, Pérez.” I give him a mostly unserious glare before grabbing my water bottle and chugging more. “Thinking of going to a thrift store; see if I can find some cheap shirts. Y’all want to come with?”
“Got homework,” Nguyen answers as Pérez, way more enthusiastically, asks, “Can Kat come too?”
“Yeah, whatever. Text them and tell them we’re leaving in twenty.”
I’d seen this spot on my Instagram a few times lately, on my feed nonstop basically right after I mentioned wanting to hit up a resale shop. Mark Zuckerberg spying on me through my phone thinking he’s slick about it, but, got to hand it to him, he and his algorithms know how to give a guy a solid recommendation. Over and over again. Eventually I was bound to wake up and think,Today seems like a good day to add a couple things to my wardrobe that’s ninety-nine percent tees, tanks that used to be tees, and nylon shorts with a five-inch inseam at longest.And bythings, I absolutely mean more tees, tees I can turn into tanks, and nylon shorts with a five-inch inseam at longest.
Andtodayhas finally arrived.
Pérez and Kat hop out the passenger side, all of us taking a look around the small strip of stores with a good view of Harbor Bridge behind it. The section of building I’m here for is painted light blue with this white line pattern that looks like connected waves. Above the doors are big navy-blue letters spelling out HIGHTIDE.
“If Texas wasn’t a fucking narc about it, that’d be thebestname for a dispensary,” Kat says. “Whenever I move to the West Coast, I’m stealing that.”
We step inside, taking in the AC and the sierreños coming from the speakers. We got here at a good time; no one around yet, so we don’t have to worry about throwing fists with some guy for a shirt he’s just going to resell himself. I head straight for the tees, all hung up by color, from white to cream to brown, then from red all the way down to purple and black. In my head, I’m already planning the best way to scope the store out: starting here, then moving to the pants and shorts against the wall, maybe checking out the hoodies and the small collection of jerseys and kits I’m seeing, and then, if I’m not able to fight it, looking at the Adidas backpack I for sure don’t need but is calling for me hard.
“Hey there, Pineapple.”
That’s not the backpack.
I turn around without any kind of grace—the sole of a Croc squeaking on the floor—catching a nice navy couch and some chairs next to the register counter. And Leana, giving me that finger wave from the couch, making it look a lot nicer. Her ponytail’s back up and high and she’s wearing this button-up shirt that’s doubling as a dress and boots. And, after a second of getting distracted and fully staring at how much leg she’s showing me sitting the way she is, I realize who’s sitting next to her.
Vale.
Wait.Are they friends? They obviously know each other with how comfortable they look, but he wasn’t with her when she was moving in. Or, at least, I didn’t catch him in the quick glance I got inside. And they weren’t at the same party last night. But neither of those really mean much. He might’ve been moving in too. And he could’ve met up with her last night after I told him bye. It’s not as if we spent thewholenight together. He had plenty of time to make an appearance at another party or post-party Whataburger or IHOP.
“Hey,” I finally manage to force out after staring for who knows how long. “I, uh—you following me or what?” I ask with a smile at the corner of my mouth, which gets bigger when Leana laughs.
