Page 143 of Pride High 3: Yellow

“Maybe.” Hope exhaled. “When you’re identical like we are, people expect you to be the same on the inside.”

“Even her?” Keisha asked.

“Exactly,” Hope said with a grimace. “You should have been there when I cut my hair like this. She’sstillnot over it.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy.”

Hope chewed her bottom lip before replying. “Our identities are sort of wrapped up in each other. Or used to be. It’s complicated.”

“But interesting,” Keisha said, tilting her head. “I wouldn’t mind hearing more about it. Over an Italian soda, maybe?”

A smile began to appear on Hope’s face, but it froze when someone called her name.

“Are you coming or not?” Faith said, standing not far away with Troy.

“Sorry,” Hope said, her shoulders slumping. “Some other time.”

“Yeah,” Keisha murmured while watching her walk away. “Some other time.”

— — —

Diego wiped his hands on an old rag while glancing around the garage. He hadn’t been putting in nearly as many hours lately and was starting to miss the work, since it kept him connected to his father. That was especially important today. He noticed Jasper hobbling toward him. The old black man had been working at the shop for as far back as anyone could remember.

“I got the suspension bouncing again,” Diego said, gesturing at the Ford F-350 that was up on hydraulic lifts. “And the brake pads swapped out. That’s everything, right?”

“That should do it.” Jasper walked beneath the truck to inspect his work before nodding in approval. “You’re fast. Just like your dad.”

“I don’t mess around,” Diego said, appreciating the compliment. “Are the new guys still pulling their weight?”

“Oh, they need some guidance, but it’s nice to have extra hands around. Work is coming in and going out, nice and steady. Things haven’t run this smooth in years.”

“Just wait until I’m on summer break,” Diego told him. “I’ll get us so caught up that you’ll have to go looking for new customers. Or you could cut the brake lines of anyone who lives around here. That’ll get their attention and keep them from driving to one of the big chains.”

“Better make it the fuel line instead,” Jasper said with a cackle. “Otherwise they won’t be able to stop here, even if they want to.”

“Hey, you just volunteered,” Diego said with a grin. He noticed that the sun had sunk low enough to shine through the open garage doors. “You headin’ out?”

“That I am. You have yourself a nice night, son.”

“You too.”

He watched Jasper leave. Then he lowered the truck and parked it on the lot. Diego went back inside and closed up before going to his dad’s old office. He braced himself in front of the door, remembering the time that he had saved up his allowance to buy his father a money clip. He’d even stuffed five one-dollar-bills inside, which had felt like a fortune at the time. Of course Lorenzo had given the cash right back to him after opening his gift, claiming that there wouldn’t be enough room for his own money. The happy memory was tinged with melancholy, like a favorite car that was slowly being eaten by rust.

Diego opened the office door, knowing that more such memories awaited him inside. Then he stopped and stared, because his mother was sitting at the desk with her elbows on the surface and her face buried in her hands. When she heard him and looked up, he could tell that she’d been crying, even though she tried to hide it.

“You all right?” Diego asked, still hovering in the doorway. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her in there.

“Yes,” Marti replied. Her lip trembled before she steeled herself and added. “Today is his birthday.”

“I know.” Diego had already been to his father’s grave and left a sealed bottle of Orange Crush for him, instead of just the bottle cap, like he usually did. Some homeless guy would probably steal it, but his dad would like that. He was big on handouts.

“He would’ve been forty today,” Marti said.

Diego swallowed. “Oh.”

He sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk, expecting his mom to get up and leave, but she didn’t. They sat in silence for a few minutes without making eye contact, which wasn’t so unusual. He kept thinking of a million things he wanted to know, even though none of it was important. Did his dad like cake? If so, did he prefer chocolate like Diego did? Would he get excited about his birthday? Did that sort of thing matter to him? He left the questions unspoken, knowing how the smallest thing could set his mother off. He didn’t blame her. He’d lost a parent, which fucking sucked. She’d lost her husband. He didn’t know which was worse and didn’t want to.

“So what’s her name?” Marti asked.