Electric Tacos (Wattys 2023)

EIGHTEEN

It was the weekend after Dia de los Muertos, and Ricky was exhausted. He could hardly even get up off his mattress, or do much more than stare up at the plain, boring ceiling.

He must have slept for at least ten hours, or maybe more. His throat was dry, and he was sweating buckets. His lips were sticking together, and his head was sore. His neck was aching and his legs were in an awkward position.

He wanted a glass of water, but he felt like crap. His stomach was rumbling, and his stubble was itchy. He was wearing nothing but his boxers, and cross necklace.

He just wanted to sleep for another fifty hours. Put in another shift, and ignore the strong sunlight blinding him through the gap in the curtain.

He sniffed his armpits.

Yuck.

He then wiped his eyes and looked down at the floor to find a lipstick-coated, wavy-haired, eyeliner-dripping girl lying there.

He jolted up.

The hairs on the back of his life stood up, and a shot of adrenaline fired through his body. He swallowed his heart, before double checking she was still there.

"Ay, what the hell?" he hissed before poking her.

She let out a sigh and opened her eyes. "Ricky?"

He stared at her, watching as she rolled over. He could see her thick eyebrows, dark brown doe eyes, sharp cheekbones, and dimples. "Marisol, what the hell are you doing here?"

Marisol yawned and sat up on the floor. "Tito said I could stay over."

"Tito?" Ricky was confused.

She nodded. "We're at Tito's, dumbass."

"We are?" Ricky looked around the room and saw he was in the only bed. The room was spacious, the dresser was clean, and so was the shelving. It looked nothing like a teenage boy's room. "Oh, shit."

"What?"

"What day is it?"

"The day after yesterday." She smirked.

He glared back. "Aight, for real. What day?"

She thought for a moment. "Sunday?"

"Sunday?"

"Sunday. The day before Monday."

"So, yesterday was Saturday, I can't remember."

She sighed. "We went to Electric Tacos, picked up Mateo, Chuck, and Jay, went to a party, you got wasted, pulled down your chonies, entered a farting contest, and farted so hard that you shit yourself."

"I did?"

She laughed. "After we kissed, and tried to make out. You were more interested in the food, and farting."

"I was?"

"You're making it sound like this is an interrogation and you lost your memory."

"Did I?" Ricky smirked.

"No, but you're about to if you keep asking questions like that." She said back.

"Ay, that was uncalled for."

"Like your morning breath–actually more like afternoon."

"Why? What time's it?" He asked her.

She rolled her eyes. The clock was on the table beside him, with vibrant green numbers flashing in the corner of his eyes. "Look to your side."

"It's one, and I missed chapel?" Ricky asked with a smile. "¡Ay, ahuevo!"

"Why do you hate chapel so much? It's not that bad."