One in a Million (Wish 5)

3 - Paco

The January wind bit coming off the Hudson. Tom could smell the snow in the air. He would be late for mess if he didn't get a move on. He stepped away from Washington Hall, hoping to keep the call from breaking up.

"Tori, I can't hear you. I have to go. Email me, please. I love you."

When he chose West Point, he knew he would give up a lot. As a plebe (or first year), he had very little freedom. His weekends weren't like Jon's. His brother went to parties and explored the city. Tom's weekends were spent studying or doing physical activities.

He assumed they purposely made the reception horrible on campus. The cadets were being trained to be leaders. They wouldn't be able to just call home in a war zone. Everything was to prepare him to serve his country.

Tom fell in behind a couple of stragglers. He usually sat with guys from his floor, but their table was full. Instead, he took the first available empty seat. Dining reminded him of Hogwarts. The food was plentiful and served family-style.

"Let's see what the house-elves served tonight."

Tom smirked at the guy across from him. "I was just wondering if the platters would magically replenish themselves."

"I'm so hungry I could eat all those potatoes. I'd rather have Arroz y Frijoles Negros. Mama makes the best black beans and rice." He licked his lips. "Mmm mmm mm."

Tom thought of home, and the pain in his chest increased. His mother was a wonderful cook, but they didn't have a special meal. Thoughts of home could send him spiraling backwards. It had been three weeks since he and Jon drove away from Weston and Trey hadn't contacted either to apologize. He and Jon emailed every day, so he would have told him. Tom also emailed his mother. Before the New Year's debacle, he spoke to her on Sunday evenings using the payphone. It wasn't very private, but it worked. In order to avoid his father, he stopped calling.

"What are you thinking about... Hayes?" The rice and beans kid looked at him with warm brown eyes.

"Home."

Another kid said, "Don't do it."

"Rabbit hole."

"Yeah. I know. I'm Tom."

"Chris." "Ben." "Stephan." "Paco."

"Where you from, Paco?"

He had a slight accent, but people said Tom did when he let the Rs drop off words. He was working hard to stop it. That and the use of the word wicked. He used it for something good, like he had a wicked good time with Tori. He could still use it for evil. His sister-in-law was a wicked witch.

"Miami. You?"

"Boston."

He listened to Paco talk about his family. It sounded like every day was a party, and he didn't mean like the ones in Bea's ballroom. Even before, his family was nothing like Paco's. He left the mess with Paco, and when they separated, he waved.

"See yah around."

"Adios, amigo."

Tom smiled. He liked how he laced Spanish into his English.

In his room, his roommate Greg was lying on his bed. Tom got along with everyone, but Greg was a challenge. He never shut up and was an obnoxious know it all. If Tom said the sky was blue, Greg would argue it was a specific shade of blue. He didn't apply himself. Tom sat at his desk for hours of homework, but Greg just laid there talking about how much he hated the potatoes. Tom put his earbuds in without music, hoping to drown him out.

He opened his email. He had one from Jon telling about his weekend. Tom replied: I ran ten miles and studied for ten hours. His mother wrote about trivial things like charity events. She knew not to mention Trey or Jessica.

There was an email from Tori. She complained about the phone service. She kept asking why he and Jon left. He told her they fought with their father. It was partly true, but if he mentioned the witch, Tori would want to know more, and he had to keep Jon's secret. She ended her email with: Counting the days until you're home in March. He knew she would be upset by his reply when he told her he was going to Nashville for his break. He suspected he'd do homework all week, anyway.

He sought out Paco when he could, because he liked the guy right away. They couldn't be more opposite, but they clicked. He learned Paco was his nickname. Francisco Álvarez Carillo was a second generation Cuban-American.

"I'll take you to Miami one day."

Tom doubted it would happen, but liked the idea all the same.