Page 43 of Pride High 2: Orange

“Yeah. Music nerd equals music nerd. We could probably dress Anthony up like you and nobody would know the difference.”

She swatted him playfully and laughed. “I’d like to see that actually.”

“I bet Anthony would too. You know how many times I’ve had to hear about the lip gloss already? He made us stop to look at some at the mall. He’s so weird. Hey! Did you hear that he came out to Cameron’s mom? They both did. At the café down the street.”

“Wow! How’d it go?”

“As awesomely as possible,” Omar replied. “Moms always love Anthony, so no shock there. Pretty big deal though, meeting the parents.” He could see her tensing up and pressed on, hoping to get past her defenses before they were fully raised. “And if you think about it, we’ve been dating longer than they have. I mean, you’ve met my parents already.”

“Omar,” Silvia said, her tone apologetic. She didn’t need to say more.

“Are you ashamed of me?” he asked. “I can dress nicer if that helps. Or is it because I don’t have a job yet? Would you let me meet them then?”

“It’s not you,” she promised. And not for the first time.

“Oh. Are you embarrassed of them? If so, I know the feeling. My dad does this trick when we’re at restaurants where he stuffs toothpicks in his goatee, and they actually stay there. That sounds like comedy gold, but you should see the looks people give us. And you know what? I don’t care. Really!” he added when she started laughing.

“Your family is great,” Silvia said, wiping at her eyes. She became more somber when saying, “Tell me again how they got here. It wasn’t your parents who immigrated from Iran, was it?”

“No. My grandparents came here when they were still young.”

“Mamani?”

“Yup! Her and my grandpa.” Omar reached for her hand, trying to imagine how it must have been for them to leave their entire world behind. Being with the love of your life must have helped.

“What was he like?” Silvia asked.

Omar toyed with her fingers, seeming taken by the burgundy polish on her nails, before he looked up. “Kind of cool. He had a tin soldier collection that he used to let me play with. My grandpa was really into history. He died when I was little, so I don’t remember much about him.”

“Was it hard for them to immigrate here?” Silvia asked, already searching for the answer in his eyes.

He was happy to stare back. “I don’t know. You should ask Mamani. Or I guess I should actually. I bet she has a few stories.”

“That’swhat you should be filming,” Silvia stressed.

He smooched her. “You’re brilliant! And I will. Hey, what about your family? When your parents came to the US, how did all of that work?”

She didn’t answer right away. Or at all really. “Even if I did introduce you to them, it wouldn’t mean anything.”

“It would to me.”

“Fine, but not like in the movies, where it’s a formality before people get married.”

“That’s cool,” he said. “No, it’s great! Maybe we can have a big dinner where your parents and my parents—” He stopped when he saw her face contorting. “Orwe can take it slow. But um… Am I understanding you right? I finally get to meet them?”

Silvia seemed to hold her breath before she finally exhaled. “I’ll think about it. Until then, I really would like to see that video of Mamani. Once you’ve recorded it. Okay?”

“Best homework I’ve ever gotten,” he said with a salute. She should have rolled her eyes at how cheesy this was. She smiled instead, leaving him more convinced than ever that she was the most beautiful girl in Kansas—no—in the entire world!

* * December 8th, 1992 * *

Ricky was trying to keep his eye on the ball while also keeping tabs on Diego, who was acting strange again. They were still playing coed volleyball in PE, which had been going fine until Diego spiked the ball and it smacked into a girl’s leg on the other side of the net. She accused him of using more force than was necessary, which seemed to set him off, because he kept it up, repeatedly leaving his position to slam the ball, no matter which side of the net it landed on. The other players were getting sick of it too. Silvia shot Ricky a quizzical expression, but all he could do was smile and shrug like everything was okay. Although he wasn’t sure about that.

“Gomez!” their coach shouted. “Let the ball come to you orI’llcome over there.”

Diego didn’t react well to the threat. Ricky watched his massive hands clench into fists and could practically count the beats of Diego’s pulse as a vein throbbed in his neck. Ricky kept holding his breath during the remainder of the set. When the next one started and it was Diego’s turn to serve, he dropped the ball to the floor and began dribbling it around the gymnasium like they were playing soccer. He wouldn’t stop, even when Coach Henshaw blew his whistle and began chasing him around. Diego eventually kicked, passing the ball to Ricky, who stopped it with his foot and picked it up.

“Do youreallywant to fail PE?” Coach Henshaw shouted. “Wait in the hall!”