Pop called Cori and Johnny “Irish twins” because they only had thirteen months between them. On the other hand, Cori and I were almost two years apart. When we were kids, those years felt like a wide, gapingchasm, to use one of her flash card words. Johnny pretended to get annoyed when she followed us to the minimarket or begged Eliazar for rides on his handlebars, but really, he didn’t mind. And because Johnny and I were so close, she felt like my little sister too. But somewhere along the way, things had changed. I was determined to ignore it and had been mostly successful in pushing the newfound awareness down.
Until last Monday.
The evening began the way many had over the past year. I came home to find Cori at my house, babysitting my little sister.
While Cori was upstairs putting Marisol to bed, I sat at the kitchen table, getting pissed at my history textbook. It felt like every time I finished a page, I immediately forgot all the words. I kept having to go back and re-read, and even then, most of the information didn’t stick.
I was trying to decide between throwing the book out the window or setting it on fire when I felt a tentative hand on my shoulder.
Everyone thought I was a cocky, indifferent student. I let them believe it because the alternative—people knowing I was just plain stupid—was way worse. Cori never bought into either scenario. She always spoke to me like I had smart things to say and didn't judge me for having difficulties with schoolwork. A few times, I'd been in danger of failing my classes. She'd talked through assignments and textbook passages with me, and never mentioned it to anyone.
But that night, I was too far gone. As much as I loved her big brain, I wasn’t in the mood to be tutored or given a pep talk.
I glanced down at the open textbook, where the words still swirled together in a confusing maze of letters.
Cori’s grip on my shoulder tightened. “I’m sorry it’s frustrating, Deck. That sucks. Especially since you work so hard at it.”
I waited for her to say more, but the silence stretched. That was it. No solutions or advice. Just acknowledgment of my misery.
Exhaling, I reached my hand up to cover hers. “Gracias. I’m glad somebody sees.”
She swallowed. After pausing a few beats, she said softly, “I see things… You know I do.”
I sucked in a breath at the murmured words. The sweet sound of her voice. She was right. I knew. How could I not? She was the only person on earth I never put on a show for.
I see things.
Cori saw.
Deck. Decker. Artie. Arturo. All of me.
The world stopped in that long moment. I shivered, and it felt like all the blood in my body began traveling directly to my dick. Tension lingered in the air between us, and I knew for sure what I had been trying to ignore for months. Something with Cori and me had shifted.
I couldn’t say anything, of course. Johnny would kill me. Plus, she deserved better than my sorry ass. But at least I could be honest with myself.
To her, I merely said, “Thank you.”
She nodded and gave my shoulder one more squeeze before grabbing her backpack and slipping wordlessly out the door.
It had been five days since then, but I could still remember the feeling of her hand on me. Could still remember jerking off to theimage of her in my mind. I’d be feeling guilty about that one for a while.
But I was determined to get back to normal, to shake off this weirdness with Cori that had gotten hold of me.
The microwave beeped, pulling me from my thoughts. Cori waited a few seconds before pulling out a bag of popcorn. “Ouch!” She dropped the pouch on the counter and sucked her pointer finger into her mouth, mumbling, “I always forget you’re supposed to wait a minute to touch the bag.”
I wouldn’t have known that. Mamá always made popcorn using kernels in the big pot on the stove, adding melted butter and a pinch of chili pepper. But even if I had known, I would have forgotten, because the sight of Cori sucking her finger between her pink lips had my full attention.Dammit!I needed to stop noticing that shit.
“You can share this,” she said, pulling the bag at the corners to open it. “I’m sorry I don’t have more to offer. I haven’t been to the store yet this weekend.”
Cori and Johnny’s mom never bought groceries. Just left them money when she remembered. Meanwhile, Mamá barely let the rest of us cook in her kitchen.
I pffted. “All good. You know you don’t have to, like,hostme.” I stood on the opposite side of the counter, using it to keep some distance between us as I grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Were you at the Center?”
“Uh-huh. Chuck organized some Saturday baseball for the kids whose parents couldn’t enroll them in Little League. I told Rosa I’d help him out.”
“Why couldn’t they do Little League?”
“Lots of reasons. But mostly because it costs money, and Chuck said getting a scholarship is kind of a grind.”
