The Truth Is by NoNieqa Ramos

Author:NoNieqa Ramos
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fiction-Young Adult, Young Adult Fiction, Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Sexuality, Gender, Identity, Social Themes, Dating, sex, Diversity, Multicultural, Culture, People, #ownvoices, Bravery, Contemporary Culture, contemporary fiction, Courage, Family & Relationships, Friendship, LGBT community, LGBTQ+, Love, NoNieqa Ramos, Own Voices, ownvoices, People of Color, Puerto Rican Americans, Relationships, Romance, Sexual Identity, Teenagers
Publisher: Lerner Publishing Group
Published: 2019-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

14

“Oh God, pray for me,” I say, glancing out the window as we pull up to my house. My mother is standing on the porch.

Danny: “Please tell me she’s chopping wood?”

It’s the chainsaw. I sign the cross and crawl out.

“Hi, Mrs. Reyna,” Danny says, trying to be all polite to a woman aiming a chainsaw at him.

Prisha and Sarah have somehow morphed into the back seat.

“Ma . . .”

Once I’m by her side, she lowers her weapon. Walks up to the window where Danny is sitting. She takes a survey of everyone. One by one. Finally, she steps back to aim her finger and her curse. “You people,” she says pointing at each one of them, “you don’t come here to my house. To my street again. If I see you around here . . .” She handcuffs my wrist with her ninja grip.

“. . . I’ll call the police! Do you hear me? All of you!”

Baldwin clicks his—uh, their tongue and adjusts their glasses. “It’s not really your street, Mrs. Reyna,” they correct her. “This is public—Oh my God!”

My mother’s chainsaw is making her cheeks vibrate. “My daughter is not for ANY of you!”

Baldwin peels onto the street. Back inside, she releases my wrist, launching me into the kitchen. It’s going down.

I look at her. It’s not my mother. It’s the ghost of the woman who hasn’t slept in weeks. Who she was haunts who she is. The hands that once built, soldered, drilled, nailed are now the machine. Her eyes are funhouse mirrors.

My pocket vibrates with a text. I know better than to check it right now.

She pulls out a chair and steadies herself with it. “I don’t want to have this conversation. I don’t want to say things you’re not strong enough to hear.” She lifts and slams the chair against the floor. “I don’t want to make this a conversation you’ll never forget.”

From the time I left for school to the time I jumped in Baldwin’s car, I’ve shrunk and grown, aged and regressed. I am square in the eye with the woman I used to look up to. I’m naked with the woman who taught me to dress. I’m all messed up feeling like I’ve outgrown this house, but I still want so freakin bad to fit inside.

“But you,” slam, “put,” slam, “me in this position. You make me the monster.”

From me, silence. All the words in my head are coming out in a language I can’t even understand. No hablo myself.

“Where,” slam, “are,” slam, “your fucking,” slam, “shoes and socks?”

I’m barefoot with the woman who taught me to tie my shoes. A stray grain of rice sticks to the sole of my foot.

“They’re—on Prisha. I think—”

“Who is Prisha? Where did you meet these people? I don’t know them. But apparently I don’t know a lot of things. Maybe anything. Why weren’t you at school this morning?”

“Blanca,” I mutter. “I thought she was missing, but she was hiding. Playing hide and seek. She hid and wanted me to see—”

“Blanca wanted you to what? Verdad.

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