Chapter eleven: Gringo Stupido
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"Dance is crap."
A snap of fingers snapped me back to reality, irritated and about glare at the culprit. Well that rapidly died down when I remembered I was at a bakery nearby our neighbor with LOR • EN • ZO.
Bittersweets, the yellow neon sign had read.
"You're getting distracted on me. Again." He pointed out, with a small raise of the eyebrows.
I locked my phone, no message from Angel yet. "I'm sorry- woah, did you just say dance is crap?"
"I had to say something to get you out of that trance of yours. Waiting for that boyfriend of yours to text you back?"
One of my pet peeves is when people pry their noses where they don't belong. But if this is Lorenzo's way of finding conversation, ask me whatever you want boo.
"If you're referring to the guy I'm thinking, he's not my boyfriend."
Lorenzo looked relieved for some reason, but something tells me inside he's laughing evilly.
"I thought you guys had something going on."
Yeah, me too. Deep down, an undiscovered side of me wanted to say. My heart doesn't know whether to function or not, at the thought.
My imagination is weird.
"He's a senior."
Changing topic. I grabbed hold of what this guy needed help for on math, glancing down. "Why did you even call me over? Everything's perfect," I chuckled, looking up. "Oh, here it is."
He looked over my shoulder all panicky. Out of nerves having ate my and his lemon cupcake that he bought.
I scrubbed my eyebrows together, while this happened. "There's something missing."
"What?"
"Kidding."
"You're actually rude, Madeline. That's not nice." He laughed, with this unknown twinkle to his eyes.
Why were our faces only inches apart, if not so long ago we were at a safe distance?
"Lorenzo?"
"Yeah?" I swear his eyes are blinking way too slow.
"There's something I need to try out."
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