Scarred Hearts

11 | Silly boy

There was a moment, at the tender age of six, that rocked Nicholas's world. The notion had been there before, shaking like an earthquake beneath his feet, with a shy yet annoying intensity, just enough to make him feel off balance here and there.

It all started when the girl arrived.

She was a small thing, seemingly retreating into herself like she didn't belong - which, she didn't - with big, curious, astonished eyes that swallowed everything they saw. Her skin was darker than his but not as dark as Max's. It was like Amelia's. An observation Nicholas swept under the rug, yet it was what first made his ground shake.

Whatever she had brought with her seemed less significant than her manners, but it appeared she had left those behind in Mexico. He had tried tirelessly to learn her language to welcome her, yet when he spoke to her, she only looked at her mother with a dumbfounded expression, as if his Spanish fell short, making his efforts seem feeble in Amelia's presence. Amelia and Valeria, on the other hand, conversed so naturally,  the words rolling out of their tongues so effortlessly they reminded Nicholas of two birds sharing a melody.

The ground beneath his feet shook harder.

When the girl turned to him, she spoke with perfect Spanish pronunciation, clearly mocking his failed attempt at the language. He concealed the feeling of injustice like the polite boy he was, unlike her; she hadn't bothered to mask her mockery when he struggled with Spanish.

It was evident from her expression that she liked his house, filling Nicholas with pride. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, she wouldn't cease her crying and screaming and, god, she had no manners  at all. Sometimes, Nicholas swore she did it on purpose just to irritate him, rubbing in his face that no matter how ill-mannered she was, she would always have a place in his house.

The truth was, she had no business being at his house, she didn't belong, and she clearly made no effort to change that. She was ungrateful and Nicholas wasn't going to tolerate that. She didn't even speak English! What was she doing in America if she didn't speak the language? He was learning her language when he wasn't even the one moving to another country.

He hated, hated, hated when she talked with Amelia because they would use their language, and Nicholas's Spanish skills were still too green to grasp their conversations. Was she complaining about him? How he'd taken his things away from her because she wasn't careful enough? Or how, at times, he struggled to mask his judgment of her? Or worse, that one time he locked her outside?

Sometimes, he'd ask Amelia what they were discussing, and she would simply reply, "Just random talk". But it was just random talk Nicholas was outside of. And whenever Amelia spoke to him in English, Valeria would start screaming again.

The only words the girl consistently uttered that he understood were 'no,' 'please,' and 'home.' It was a constant intertwined repetition—no, no, no; please, please, please; home, home, home. These same words, over and over again. Plus the name Isabella came upon as often.

"Why is she always screaming?" he asked Amelia on more than one occasion.

"She's homesick," she'd reply each time as if it were the first he'd asked.

Then one day, the day his world turned upside down, he dared to make a suggestion that had lingered in his thoughts for a while. To send her away, back to where she came from. Plant the seed that maybe it was time for Valeria to go back home, but the idea never had the chance to blossom into reality.

"Well, if she's homesick, she should go home."

"This is her home," Amelia replied without taking her eyes off the dishes she was washing.