Page 10 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar
I spend the rest of the day catching up on sleep, except for English with Mrs. Perry. I’m not trying to get detention again
and have my mom get on my ass. Yami used to cover for me whenever I got detention last year, but Mami eventually found out.
Now I have to be smart about it and only sleep in the classes where the teachers don’t care.
To my horror, Mrs. Perry puts a video up on the projector after roll call. How am I supposed to stay awake for that ?
I try my best to keep my eyes open, but I haven’t slept well in a while, and it’s really trying to come for me right now.
I don’t remember consciously deciding that I don’t care about detention, but I must have at some point, because the next thing
I know, the sound of the bell ringing jolts me awake and a detention slip is resting on my desk. At least she didn’t wake
me up.
I know better than to keep from telling Mami, or at least Yami, when I get detention now.
Trying to hide it last year didn’t exactly end well.
When The Event happened, my mom went through my phone and found out everything.
No point hiding it anymore, so I shoot Yami a quick text before the end of the day.
I’m cutting it a little close, since school’s almost over, but whatever. Better late than never, I guess.
Cesar: got detention
Yami: want me to tell mami?
Cesar:
While I’m on my phone, I notice I have another text from Hunter.
Hunter: want to hang out this weekend?
Since I keep forgetting to respond to him and he didn’t ask how I’m doing this time, I decide to text back before I have a
chance to get distracted and forget.
Cesar: Jamal has an open mic on Friday, want to come?
Hunter: He told me! I’ll be there for sure.
Sometimes I forget that people I know are friends even when I’m not around. I’ve always wanted my friends to like Jamal, but
since he can be a little socially awkward, they don’t always warm up to him. It’s nice to know Hunter’s an exception.
Even if me and Jamal can’t be together, I still want to be there for him. With Hunter there, it’ll be nice to have him as
a bit of a buffer so things aren’t weird.
I grin as I shove my phone back in my pocket before dipping into the cafeteria for detention. I take advantage of my time
in there by doing my homework, half listening to whatever animated story Coach V tells everyone else this time. Ever since
he started overseeing detention, it’s been a lot more interesting since he doesn’t believe in silence.
Today, he’s telling us about how his girlfriend’s abusive ex-boyfriend got him arrested ten years ago.
“Now, don’t get me wrong, violence is wrong. Always. That’s why I shot that mother trucker in the foot.”
I choke on a surprised laugh as I solve the last problem in my Calculus II worksheet, finishing just in time for the clock
to strike 3:30 p.m., signaling the end of detention.
“Remember, kids, don’t hit your partner. That way, you won’t get shot in the foot!” he says loudly over the sound of all of
us packing up our bags and rushing out the cafeteria doors.
Yami’s waiting for me at one of the tables in the quad, and thank God, she’s with Bo. Which means Bo is giving us a ride home
again today. Which also means I can put off the lecture just a little longer.
Yami and Bo get up from the table hand in hand but let go when I approach. They swarm me on either side, grabbing onto my
hands as we start walking toward the car. It’s like I’m a toddler and they’re protectively keeping me from running into the
street, but I know they’re just doing this to make sure I don’t feel like a third wheel. True to my everything-is-great persona,
I milk it, swinging my hands back and forth and practically skipping.
“So are you guys my moms now?” I laugh.
“We hereby adopt you,” Bo says.
“Hell no,” Yami says at the same time, then she laughs. “Sorry, Bo, but I’m not ready for kids just yet. At least, not ugly
ones.” She pats me on the head.
Bo pouts. “But he’s so cute!”
“But I’m so cute!” I echo, making the cutest puppy face I can manage. “You said it yourself, remember?”
“Well, sure, but I meant in that so-ugly-you’re-cute kind of way. Like Bo’s dogs.” Yami laughs, and I can’t help but laugh
too. Bo’s dogs are a little ugly.
“I mean, you have my face, so who are you really calling ugly?”
Yami gasps and clutches her imaginary pearls like she’s about to have a heart attack. “How very dare you!”
“Shhh, you’re both beautiful,” Bo says, giving my hand a squeeze and blowing Yami a kiss.
I pretend to savor every moment of Yami and Bo’s attention. Really, though, it just reminds me they’re giving up their alone
time to make me feel comfortable. However big or small, everyone’s always making sacrifices for me, and they all think I don’t
notice. I ignore the twinge of guilt in my gut and take the back seat for once, sticking my AirPods in my ears so I can at
least give them the illusion of some time alone.
When we get home, Yami cushions the blow from my mom by distracting her. Mami’s sitting at the kitchen table waiting for us,
obviously disappointed in me, but Yami walks in first and immediately brings up how much work she and my mom have to do.
“Did you see we got a bulk order today? What if you get started on that while I work on our existing orders, so we don’t fall
further behind?” Yami’s already walking to the living room, aka their workspace, like she expects Mami to follow her, but
Mami just sits there staring at me with sad eyes.
“I thought we were past this, mijo.”
“It’s not like I cheated on a test or anything,” I say dismissively. “It’s not my fault I fell asleep.”
“I never said it was your fault—”
“Then why are you on my ass?” I snap unexpectedly, and she looks taken aback.
She doesn’t say anything at first, and I just stand there, squirming under the ever-familiar pitying look she’s giving me.
I don’t know why she lets me talk back to her now.
It’s like she’s walking on eggshells around me ever since The Event.
Everyone does, really. Like she’s afraid she’ll lose me if she disciplines me like she used to.
I won’t lie, I’ve been talking back more and more, trying to get some kind of reaction out of her, but no.
All I ever get is that look. It’s so much worse.
“So you’re still having trouble sleeping at night, then?” she asks, eyes starting to shine.
“I guess so,” I say, shifting my weight uncomfortably. Why does she have to look at me like that?
She finally forces a smile. “It’s okay, mijo. I still have money on you being the next Jeff Bezos.”
“Ew, that’s not a compliment.” Yami gags.
Mami clucks her tongue. “You know what I mean,” she says, and I do.
She means I’m supposed to have a bright future. That I’m the always-exceptional straight-A student who can do no wrong, no
matter how much detention I get. Being a prodigy is a lot of pressure. Sometimes I wish I could just be mediocre. That I could
just be okay at something, let alone bad at it.
“Are your meds working all right?” She changes the subject when I don’t respond to her whole Jeff Bezos failure of a compliment.
“They’re fine,” I lie, almost interrupting. My meds weren’t doing shit when I was on them, so it’s not like there’s anything
different to report. Besides, I don’t want my mom worrying about me any more than she already does. “Can I go now? I have
homework.” I lie again; I finished my homework in detention.
“Okay, mijo,” she says, all sad, then pulls me in for a tight hug before going to join Yami in the living room.
I let her hug me even though I don’t know why she’s doing it.
I just got detention for the however-manyth time this year.
I should be getting grounded, not hugged. It’s all just so much worse.
She gives me one final squeeze before letting me go, and I get the hell out of there as quick as I can. I stay in my room
through dinner, counting down the minutes until Jamal calls me.
I know I shouldn’t be looking forward to talking to him. Usually, hearing Jamal’s voice makes me feel better, but it got complicated
after talking to Father John and getting that email from my dad. That light, fluffy feeling Jamal usually gives me is still
there, but now it’s mixed with a heavy dose of guilt and shame.
So when seven finally hits, I let the phone ring a few times before bringing myself to answer it.
“Hey, you,” I finally say.
“Hey, you,” he responds. “How are you today?”
“I’m good!” I say automatically. “You?”
“You sure?” Jamal asks. “Yami told me you got detention.”
“Yeah, and?” I say, rolling my eyes. Goodbye three-second-long light fluffy feeling. This time it’s not even replaced with
shame or guilt, but annoyance. I don’t need Jamal and Yami and my mom to be on my ass. And I don’t appreciate Yami talking about me to Jamal behind my back.
“And you’re deflecting. Are you okay?”
That’s when a wall builds up around me, and I suddenly don’t want to talk to Jamal anymore. “Okay, well, deflect this ,” I say as I hang up the phone.
And now the guilt and shame kicks in.