Page 22 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar

Dona Violeta takes my hand as she leads me to my abuela’s front door like I’m a scared toddler, but I don’t react. Instead,

I just let my hand lie limp in hers.

Dona Violeta is basically my grandmother. She’s more of a grandma to me than my abuela ever was. But I don’t know if that’s

because Abuela didn’t want to be there, or because my mom didn’t want her to be.

I find myself standing in front of the door with Dona Violeta like a zombie. None of this feels real. Dona Violeta knocks,

and a few seconds later, an older woman with brown skin and a chihuahua in her arms opens it. She looks taken aback, but not

at seeing me. There’s a brief pained look on her face as she looks at Dona Violeta before she switches into a nasty-looking

stink eye. Do they know each other?

“Violeta,” Abuela says curtly as she pets the shaking chihuahua, then looks to me and gives me a different kind of stink eye.

One that says “You’re in big trouble.” I shrivel under the look.

“Be gentle with him, Graciela. He’s going through a hard time,” Dona Violeta says, not seeming to care that I’m right here and can hear every word.

“How I care for my grandson is none of your concern.” Abuela shoots her another glare. “Why are you even here?”

“I’m sorry,” Dona Violeta says softly, her tone hinting at some deeper meaning I’m not privy to.

“You can go now, Violeta. Cesar?” She opens the door wider and steps to the side, allowing me to enter. I look to Dona Violeta,

who nods in reassurance, then backs away while I take a step inside.

Abuela doesn’t put the dog down to hug me or anything in greeting like Dona Violeta would; she just silently steps aside for

me to enter.

The house looks bigger from the inside. The living room is slightly larger than ours, and it looks like there’s a main bedroom

on one side of the house with a hallway and one other bedroom at the end of it. Abuela finally puts the chihuahua down once

the door is closed, and the little thing runs right past me and onto the couch, where someone is sitting and working on some

kind of worksheet on the coffee table. At that sight, my whole mood is saved.

“Moni?” I rush over to get a better look. I completely forgot she got sent here too!

She looks up from her worksheet, then her face lights up with recognition. “Cesar! Holy shit, you too?” she asks as the dog

hops into her lap. “What’d you do to end up at the problem-child house?”

I shrug. It’s not like she needs to know everything.

Abuela claps her hands, snapping Moni and I out of our conversation. “ándale, let’s get to work. The floors won’t sweep themselves.”

She materializes a broom seemingly out of nowhere and hands it to me. “Monica, don’t get distracted. No dinner until your

homework is done. Cesar, no dinner until the floors are swept and mopped.”

I let the broom fall to the floor when she holds it to my chest. “I don’t even know you; you can’t tell me what to do.”

Moni’s eyes widen, and she swipes her hand across her throat in a cut-it-out kind of gesture. I ignore her, crossing my arms

and giving my grandma a glare.

“Let’s try that one more time before I sic Lareina on you.” She gestures to the tiny chihuahua in Moni’s lap. Is she really

trying to joke around after I just got kicked out?

“My room’s over there, right?” I roll my eyes and point down the hall. “I’m going to bed.”

Before I can turn to head in that direction, my grandma points at me with her whole arm and shouts, “Lareina, he’s not listening

to me!”

I expect Moni to laugh or my abuela to crack a smile, but instead the chihuahua flings itself off Moni’s lap and darts toward

me, barking viciously like I’m her next meal.

“What the fuck!” I yelp as I book it away from the tiny monster. I almost trip over my own feet as I scramble toward the bathroom

and slam the door behind me, locking it for good measure.

The dog keeps barking outside the door, and I can practically hear her mouth foaming. I think my abuela’s plan backfired on her because I’m definitely not leaving this bathroom. How is getting me killed by a rabid dog supposed to make me do chores?

“Lareina, leave it.” The dog actually quiets at the command, and footsteps approach the door. “You can either come out and

get to work or stay in there as long as you want, but no one is having dinner until the floor is clean. Your prima wants to

eat too, you know.”

I ball my fists and try to breathe through the budding anger. Using Moni against me is fucked up. She’s the only person I

know who might actually get me, being a fellow “problem child,” like she says.

Fuck it. I unlock the door and shove it open to find my abuela standing just outside, waiting for me with the broom in hand.

I grab it from her and stomp back to the living room without making eye contact. Moni mouths a “Thank you!” before getting

back to her worksheet.

“And, Cesar.” Abuela raises a hand toward my shoulder, then retracts it. “I’m not your mami, okay? We all have shit we’re

going through and all of our heads are a little messed up, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have to take accountability for

our actions. That’s what you’re here for.”

“Fine,” I mumble.

“Oh, and your phone,” she says, holding her hand out expectantly. I think about resisting, but one glance at the chihuahua

from hell sets me straight. I reluctantly pull my phone out of my pocket and hand it to her. Then she walks off to the kitchen

to make dinner.

Despite how annoying it is, this is probably a good thing.

I got exactly what I wanted, right? Mom, Yami, and Jamal are so mad at me they’ll never want to speak to me again, and they’re all much better off that way.

Now they can live their lives without having to babysit my mental health.

I’m not going to Slayton anymore, so no one has to worry about me maintaining my scholarship.

I don’t have to face Yami at school, either.

And Rover isn’t all bad. Sure, Nick and his minions are there, but it’s a big enough school that I can probably avoid them.

Jamal, on the other hand, might be a little trickier to avoid since we’ll probably be in all the same honors classes.

Still, it’ll be fine. Jamal will probably just ignore me like my mom did. I gave him more than enough reason to.

It’s actually a perfect situation. This way no one will have to feel guilty if anything happens to me. Whatever happens to

me will be my responsibility and mine alone.

For the first time in a long time, I feel good about the future. A future I hopefully will have no part of, and everyone will

be better for it.