Because You're Different ✔

4. Polite

June

I rolled the windows down, enjoying the warm California wind blowing through my hair. My belly hurt from laughing, and a grin was still stuck to my face. Sam and I were going to write a book, or multiple, like J.K. Rowling had done, and we were going to get filthy rich. Well, I was going to get filthy rich, he was rich enough already. It didn't bother me, though. Mom's old car worked just as well as their expensive brand-new Mercedes-Benz. And at least I had my mom. Sam had never mentioned his parents, not even once, and we'd been friends for two weeks already.

I looked sideways at her, the best mom in the world, and was remembered of Valentina — they were so alike, like Valentina was her niece instead of my dad's. Both so pretty and alive. Oh, I had so much to tell Valentina! "Mom, can I call Vale when we get home?"

"Of course. You have lots to tell her, I'm sure."

"Oh, yes. Me and Sam, we're going to write a book. It's gonna be a bit like Harry Potter, but different — without the magic school. Sam's character is an old wizard, and mine is queen Mencia, and she rules over a country named Eyana..." I rattled on and on, not having been this content since two months ago, when I'd still been surrounded by my whole family.

"I'm sure if you keep on practicing, you might write something good one day," she said, and by the earnest expression on her face, I could guess what was coming: a warning. She liked to warn me. Dad said she couldn't help it, that abuela made her that way. "But you need to remember you can't make a living out of publishing books. Artists lead a hard life, living from paycheck to paycheck."

"I know. But maybe we get lucky like J.K. Dad said I have a very refreshing writing style."

She snickered at that. "Your dad isn't exactly the most objective critic. That fool loves everything you do."

Yeah, probably. Didn't mean it wasn't true, though. I thought I was a good writer. Better than Sam, anyway, although I'd never say that out loud. Making up stories with him was a lot more fun than doing it by myself, and he was definitely a lot more creative than Valentina, who's fantasy didn't seem to go any further than dark-eyed princes on horses or motorcycles. I giggled, imagining Sam's reaction if I'd add one of her characters to our book.

"Te veo feliz, corazoncito," mom said.

"Well, I am happy. Sam is really nice."

She smiled like she always smiled when I was telling a lie, and I already flustered red, even though I hadn't done anything wrong. "It's not only Sam. That brother of his, hm, Nathan?"

I tried to prevent my mouth from straining because that would betray my thoughts immediately. How did she know? Well, I guess she was a woman as well, and even though she was married, that obviously didn't stop her from noticing when a guy was absurdly attractive. Like Nathan. Just now, he had wanted to open the door for me again, only at the last minute, he'd changed his mind. With a smug smile, he'd said: "Oh, I forgot. You don't want me to open doors for you."

I'd attempted to not blush scarlet. "It's fine. As long as it's the polite thing to do." And I had managed to keep a straight face while he'd reached for the door handle, laughing. He was very handsome when he laughed. Like he was doing it only for you. I wondered if he had a girlfriend. He probably did. I should ask Sam. Or not. He might get suspicious.

"I mean, a boy like that, it's like he came straight from some movie poster, don't you think?" Mom seemed to be enjoying this conversation thoroughly. I, on the other hand, wasn't.

"Mom, please shut up."

"He said he's studying to be a lawyer. At Stanford."

"I know. I think he's really smart."