Lessons in Pure Life Read online

  “Diego!”

  “Okay, okay, no more distractions,” he declares glibly.

  “I’m not kidding.”

  “Me neither. It’s serious.” He claps his hands together. “It’s the Olympics.”

  “Okay.”

  “The world is watching. It’s all up to you now.”

  “Great.”

  “I should do a countdown for this event.”

  “Doesn’t a judge have to shoot a gun or something?” I adjust my position a little, my fingers gripping like I’m driving Diego’s bike.

  “I don’t think the judges do any shooting. Especially in gymnastics.”

  I giggle. “Right. I’m going to fall off soon; you better count me down.”

  “Ten, nine, eight—”

  “From three, man. From three.”

  “Three, two, one.”

  “Oh jeez!” I squeal as I shift my weight forward and let gravity drop me. The moment I’m aware of being exactly upside down, muscle memory brings me back to a peaceful stop on top of the bar again. I’ve done it! With my butt and thighs automatically clenched, my feet point out behind me at a thirty-degree angle.

  Diego and I grin at each other, mouths open. I feel good-dizzy.

  “Impresionante,” he says with genuine surprise. He claps a few times and raises his arms over his head, pumping them up and down slowly. “Again, for the gold medal!” he whispers hoarsely like an announcer, coming a little closer.

  Fear has dissolved into energy. I lean forward again like a budgie on a swing and whip around, pausing on top before falling into a backward rotation. As the sky rushes away from me and the sand below comes into view, I heave my hips up and over the bar. The world spins around me, or is it me around it?

  Diego has both hands on his head and is looking at me like I landed here in a spacecraft.

  “Mierda. That’s pretty good.”

  “Trust me, I’m as shocked as you are.”

  A wave of nausea wades miserably through the top of my stomach. Even Mary Jane can’t overcome body-whirling illness. Still, I somehow pulled a gymnastics routine out of the ancient depths of my memory. As if that weren’t enough of an out-of-character move, I basically spun through the air on my own momentum in front of the sexiest man I’ve ever met. And I didn’t fart. In fact, nothing came out of my body except a feeling of elation. My arms feel shaky, and I hop down from my perch, landing softly on my toes.

  “Who are you?” Diego says softly, shaking his head in mild amusement and, dare I say, amazement.

  The question hits me oddly hard. I try to picture myself, but there’s no image there. It’s just emptiness.

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly.

  Diego walks around the structure to where I’m standing in the sand. A combination of sobering up and wild anticipation crash together in my chest.

  “We know one thing: you’re a gold medal winner.”

  “Thanks. Maybe I should quit teaching and join the gymnastics team.”

  “Don’t do that,” he says. “You’re a good teacher.”

  “Thanks.”

  There’s nothing between us now. We’re out of drinks and joints and bars and broken glass. Just empty space and the things we’re filling it with.

  “I’m serious. I mean, I was joking when I said you taught me English, but hearing you work with the class and having fun with them, you have something, for sure. My English is better because of you.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s true. My spelling has definitely improved.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t need to say anything.”

  Bouquets of plumeria fill my heart, replacing any remaining uncertainty. I look up at him and let him see what I’m feeling. Reaching out, I brush his forearm with my fingers.

  “Thanks, Diego.”

  His takes a step forward, reaching out and touching my hair. My entire body perks up, my skin sensing every movement as we make contact. It’s quiet. Even the cicadas have shut up. I can smell fresh laundry, floral dryer sheets. I can’t imagine anyone’s doing laundry at this time of night, so it must be him.

  “Lia, I—”

  He’s interrupted by a strange swooshing sound, like a big wave rolling onto a beach. I look around, confused; we’re miles from the ocean.

  “Shit,” he says, “hold on.” He's fishing in his pocket irritably, pulling out his phone that swooshes again, and I realize it’s the sound of a text message. The light seems bright in the darkness, and he squints his eyes against it. Even with his face all scrunched up in the white phone-glow, the lines that cut into his face are crisp and handsome. I get a glimpse of what he’ll look like in twenty years or so, his face lined more deeply but still startlingly attractive. His bone structure will keep him ruggedly gorgeous until his face sags with old age. And even then, look at Clint Eastwood.

  “It’s my sister.”

  “Genesis?”

  “No, Asuncion. She’s sixteen – she’s driving me fucking crazy. I have to phone her, okay? I’m sorry.” He’s agitated.

  “Take your time,” I say, backing up.

  I can’t imagine more intensity in the Valverde family. Between Diego and Genesis I’m already overwhelmed.

  He walks over to the lone streetlight about thirty feet down the road with the phone pressed to one ear. I wander over to the swing set and sit down, trying not to listen, which is actually pretty tricky when it’s super quiet in the wee hours of the morning. I hear snippets of dialogue, something about the time, and repetitive questions about why she’s crying. He’s speaking so fast that I can’t pick up much more. Gripping the rough ropes of the swing, I lean back and gaze up at the sky. I can’t find the moon anymore, but Scorpius is shining clearly.

  Diego’s footsteps crunch toward me and I sit up. He stops in front of me and takes a swing rope in either hand.

  “My sister’s drunk. Her boyfriend left her at a party in Coco,” he says flatly.

  “That sucks. What a jerk.”

  “He’s an idiot, but she knows it,” he sighs. “I don’t want to leave, but I have to pick her up. Can we go?”

  Right. Home. There’s a reality I’ll have to get back to, and I’m not sure what it’s going to be like. I don’t want to leave this dreamscape where Diego and I are cozy playmates and I have special abilities.

  “Of course.”

  “Lo siento…” He’s distracted, eyes clouded over. At this point I wonder how sober he is, but I’m not sure how to bring it up.

  “Uh, is it safe? You know, to drive?”

  He looks pained. “I’m safe, and I’ll get you home without a scratch, gringa.”

  “All right.”

  That was awkward. We walk in silence toward his bike. I hope I remember to rinse my feet before crawling into bed tonight.

  “Here.”

  I take the helmet he’s holding out and put it on and climb aboard. “The perfect moto outfit,” I caption.

  He leans against the bike, looking me up and down approvingly. I look down at myself, feet dusty with sand, the turquoise fabric against my thighs. I smile and buckle my helmet.

  “I’m ready if you are.”

  He climbs on and I shimmy into a comfortable position, wrapping myself around him. As we set off onto the dark two-lane highway, I take the whole night around me into my lungs. If I could capture it I would, but it’s already whipping past me, and I know I’ll be in bed alone soon. Tomorrow is going to come no matter what, but it’s the last moments of night, and I can hold onto them for just a little longer.

  We arrive at my building too soon, and he stops the bike outside the complex, pulling it over to the side of the road by the gate. As I let go of him I can’t help but let my hands linger and slide slowly across his flexed stomach muscles. They feel firm – not lumpy, not soft, but warm and solid, alive. Pushing off of him by pressing my palms into his lower back, I sli
p off the bike, not sure if he’s going to leave me here or what.

  “I guess you have to go to your sister,” I say, biting my lip involuntarily.

  He watches me for a minute and then covers the bottom of his face, like he’s shy again. “Come on, I’ll walk you in.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nods. “But we have to go now.”

  We pass through the gate. The guard doesn’t seem too worried about us, half-smiling briefly before going back to the soccer game on his iPhone. I point out the way and we walk around the pool to my door. My heart has begun to pound like I’m nervous all over again, and suddenly it feels like there’s all this pressure for something to happen. It’s so nice to be on the cusp of something, anticipating the next move rather than lying in the wake of fulfillment. Of course, zombie robots couldn’t tear me away from Diego if he kissed me good night.

  “This is me,” I say casually, having always wanted to say that. I wonder how many girls are saying that right at this moment.

  Diego leans forward, resting one hand above my head against the front door. I can’t look directly at his arm pulling out of his shirt, but it looks delicious in my peripheral vision. All of my anything melts in a sudden rush. I want to laugh at how completely outside my control it is. I’m soft with affection and attraction, my lips curving into a pouty smile.

  “Lia,” he murmurs, “I want to tell you something.”

  My heart does gymnastics.

  “What is it?” I smile encouragingly.

  He winces, and in one terrifying moment it seems like he’s about to pull away. Don’t give me bad news, please don’t give me bad news.

  “I want to say I’m sorry. I don’t want to get all serious on you or anything, but I don’t want to go further before I apologize for being so unfair to you. I gave you a real hard time,” he says matter-of-factly.

  I’m surprised and relieved. Another unexpected move. But he’s right.

  “Wow,” I tease him, “this is a shock.”

  He smiles, but another part of him pulls it down, shaking his head.

  “I know, but it’s true. I was angry at myself, with my situation, and when I met you, everything came up to the surface. I had been able to push it down, I didn’t even know, really, but you made me question my behavior.”

  He’s looking at me like I’ve done him a great favor, but I’m confused.

  “How do you mean?”

  He’s sheepish. “I saw you walking on the beach with Katherine that day I met you. You did some little pose for Jose and it made me angry.”

  “Because you thought I was some dumb gringa?”

  “No. Well, maybe at first, a little.”

  I shove both hands against him playfully, his warm, strong chest not lost on my fingertips. It barely moves him and he laughs a Diego laugh, huh. Stepping toward me, a few inches closer than before, he takes my left hand in both of his. The world can end and I would fly right out of my skin, a sizzling grenade.

  “Do you want to know the truth?” he asks, looking up at me under his brows, his hat backwards again, flush against his forehead.

  I nod, transfixed. A cloud is lit up in the distance, and a grumble of thunder follows a few seconds later.

  “I was jealous. Right away I was jealous that Jose met you first, that you liked him so easily. Everyone likes Jose right away…” He trails off, rolling his eyes. There’s a pause, and we both look down at his hands clasping mine. My hand is hot inside his massive ones like I’m inside a sandwich press, but I want it. They are such beautiful, masculine hands. Thin, woven bracelet made of thread around one wrist. Red pony bead like the love he wears on his sleeve for Cata.

  I’m sweating and he’s sweating, but it isn’t gross. It’s real.

  “But you looked so pissed off to be talking to us, I just assumed…”

  “I don’t always like meeting new people. It’s harder for me. I’m not trying to be a dick, but it ends up that way. Mostly I didn’t like the way you made me feel.”

  “Well, I’m glad you told me about it. I can’t believe you were jealous.”

  He bites his lip and looks down at the white cement. I’m on fire but I don’t let on.

  “You came with a reputation, you know,” he says.

  “What? What kind of reputation?” I whisper hoarsely.

  He laughs quietly. “It’s nothing bad.”

  “Okay, then what?”

  “Katherine told us about you, is all. We were beach camping and we’d just found out that a new North American teacher was joining the program with a fancy degree in administrative business or something—”

  “Not even close, but continue.”

  “Yeah, anyway, it became kind of a joke that this… académica sexy was coming to town to be all strict and whip us into shape.”

  “Académica sexy?”

  “It was just a dumb joke. But then you actually showed up; a bunch of guys saw you at the cantina with Katherine, so they knew it had to be you. When they saw you, people had… strong reactions, I think is the word?”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb.”

  “You are very different from what we’re used to.”

  “But I thought that I wasn’t different, that you guys love blonde, blue-eyed girls because they’re the unfamiliar. Jose told me, like, I basically didn’t have any chance with you.”

  As soon as it’s out of my mouth I realize what I’ve said, and a shiver of embarrassment courses through me. I can feel a blush turn my cheeks pink, and heat shoots up my spine.

  “Really?” He pauses, listening carefully. I notice that he’s squeezing my hand tighter. I go on.

  “He said that you weren’t particularly fond of gringas, so there’s some conflicting information, but I still don’t understand why people have strong reactions. Have I offended someone?”

  “No, no, that’s not what I mean.” He steps closer and I can see his five o’clock shadow. “That’s not what I mean, but I have to go.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I’m disappointed.

  He laughs, surprised. He’s suddenly twice as engaged, lips parted and eyes playful.

  “You really want to know?”

  “Well yeah, after you’ve built it up!”

  “All right. The guys think you’re pretty sexy.”

  “The guys from the cantina?” I’m not sure what he’s getting at, but this information makes my stomach tingle uncomfortably. I don’t know why.

  “Not only them. They just saw you first.”

  He smiles, shy all over again, and I see it for what it is now. He pulls my hand up to his lips. His breath on my fingers is extraordinary, like static electricity sending tingles down my arm and into my heart. His eyes roll upward to look at me, and he kisses the delicate skin on top of my hand. I don’t even know what expression is on my face, but he’s smiling gently at me.

  He likes me, he likes me, he likes me. Truth bounces around in me like too much popcorn. A whooshing wave sounds again and he pulls his hand away, stepping back but keeping his eyes on me. I start fumbling in my pocket for the key to the front door.

  “You will be okay tonight?” he asks hoarsely.

  For a second I wonder if he wants me to invite him in. I want to open my door wide for him. Instead, he catches me off guard by closing the gap between us. In one swift motion, his hand sweeps around my waist and cradles my back while he keeps the other behind his back, almost like he doesn’t trust it. I feel a scratch on my cheek and a wonderful, soft breath of air caress as he kisses my cheek gently. Really, his lips land somewhere between my jaw and ear, a smooth part of my face that isn’t used to getting much attention. He breathes into my hair, and my eyes roll back with pleasure. It’s a hint of how easily I could lose control of myself around him.

  Rather than just stand there, dumbfounded, I want to reciprocate, so I indulge in the embrace. His hand is huge and warm on my back, and I go to reach my arms about his shoulders. As soon as they make contact with that big, war
m cotton-wearing boy, it feels rotten to stop.

  I could spend all night encouraging him to do whatever it is he’s considering.

  He leans down toward me until there’s an inch between us, space disappearing until it’s a vacuum, a black hole where nothing can resist getting pulled into ultimate, material destruction. Only essence remains.

  His lips hit mine harder than I expect. As soon as we make contact, that delicate not-knowing-what-to-do-around-the-other shrugs off like an old, worn coat.

  Just like a dream.

  There’s nothing between us but the spaces we’re filling in for each other. His tongue is large, smooth. I thought this kind of kissing could only be clumsy, but he’s all mature.

  So surprisingly slow it completely unwinds me. The man has self-control.

  He takes his time to focus on giving me what I want, which is something in between showing respect and seducing me. His grip is firm around my waist as though he’s steadying himself against my body, bracing himself like a storm is coming. And it’s true.

  It stops as quickly as it started and we’re breathless, foreheads pressed together.

  I’m on the other side, a new me who knows what it’s like to kiss Diego. I know what it’s like to finally act on the endless reels of fantasy that have been running through my mind all this time.

  Whoosh, goes Diego’s phone.

  He freezes, then sighs dangerously close to my ear. My hair is hot where he exhaled. Damn you and your idiotic boyfriend, Asuncion.

  “Okay.” He holds me by the arms and wrenches himself back, clearing his throat with a pained smile. Both hands are then shoved into his pockets, and he nods farewell.

  “Good night, Diego. Thanks for getting me home safe,” I say, not wanting him to go, but starting to feel woozy.

  “Good night, Lia.”

  He turns away and begins to jog into the darkness. I watch him until he disappears behind a palm tree, and stand outside leaning dreamily against my door until I hear his motorcycle start up in the distance.

  14

  “So, if I ask you what the opposite of wide is?”

  “Narrow,” they say in unison.