“Isabel. ENGLISH.” This is a scold, very serious.
I sigh again. “I wanted to very badly see you. School is dull. It is for children, and I am not a children.”
“Not a CHILD,” he corrects.
“Yes, that. Whatever.”
“If you want to sound American, you have to get it right.” He flags the waitress, indicates another espresso.
“I know. But it is hard.” I sound petulant, like a child. I am irritated with myself. “What are we going to do today, Caleb?”
He sips his espresso, eyeing me over the rim of the little cup. “You are going back to school. I have work.”
“Caleb. Please. I came all this way to see you. Spend time with me.” This is in Spanish.
He doesn’t correct me, responds in his perfect American English. “We’ve talked about this, Isabel. That’s not possible. You shouldn’t be here. We can only be friends.”
“But WHY?” Again, I sound so childish.
“Because you are only sixteen. Too young.”
This makes me so angry. “I am not a CHILD!” I say it in English, for emphasis. “I know what I want.”
“There’s more to it than that.” But his eyes, oh, those eyes.
They WANT me. I know what desire looks like. The boys at school, those little sniveling brats, they look at me the same way. But they wouldn’t know what to do with me if they had me. Caleb would know.
“Isabel. I’m not going anywhere.” He leans forward, takes my hands in his. Smiles beautifully at me. “When you graduate and turn eighteen, we can talk about this. But not until then.”
“I hate you.” I stand up, yanking my hands away.
“Isabel, don’t be—”
“Childish? I can’t help it, can I? Since I’m just a child.” I storm away, stomping my feet.
Feeling rejected. Feeling stupid. I put on makeup for him. I put on earrings for him. I wore my favorite blue dress for him. I looked in the mirror before I came, and I know I look much older than sixteen. Eighteen, at least. With my hair done right and a little makeup, everyone thinks I’m far older than I am. But not Caleb.
I can’t help but steal a backward glance at Caleb. He’s reading a newspaper now. Sipping espresso. Not a care in the world, as if he didn’t just break my heart.
I wait for him to look up at me, but he doesn’t.
I walk back home with tears blurring my vision. I scrub off my makeup, change into blue jeans, tie my hair back. Catch a train to school, and pretend nothing is wrong. As if I were just late for school, overslept, perhaps. Not heartbroken.
I feel myself falling. Hit the floor, but I don’t feel the pain.
Only the memory. Clear as crystal. Each emotion, what I was thinking. The way he looked. The openness of his expression, not the mask.
The dress, the blue dress.
I wore the blue dress for him.
For Caleb.
Chapter
Four
Beep—beep—beep . . .
