Page 23 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar

Mopping while I can smell the quesabirria Abuela is making is torture. I think she’s making the food smell extra good just

to tease us.

“Finished!” Moni says, jumping up from her spot on the couch and rushing over to the kitchen.

“Not so fast.” Abuela holds her palm face out to Moni. “No one eats until we all eat. Besides, I need to check your work,

and you still have violin practice to do.”

Moni slumps her shoulders and goes back to the coffee table, where she picks up her worksheet and hands it to Abuela, then

goes off to the corner to get her violin.

“Bueno. Monica, this looks good,” Abuela says, clapping her hands together just as I’m finishing up the floors. “Let me check

your work, Cesar.”

“You have to check mine too?” I ask, suddenly regretting the lackluster job I did.

Not only does Abuela point out every individual spot I missed and make me do the whole thing over again; she then grabs a paper towel and wipes the floor to test if it’s completely pristine.

Since the paper towel obviously comes back less than pure white, it’s a fail.

After having to re-mop three times over, once with Moni’s help after she’s done practicing, we finally get it clean enough to where she’s satisfied.

“All right, time to eat.”

“Finally,” Moni says, and we both hurry to the kitchen, where we each put together our plates and bring them over to the dinner table.

Something feels slightly off, so I glance down to see the bug-eyed demon spawn staring at me and licking her lips between

my legs. I tense up and slowly pick out a tiny piece of meat from my plate. I’m about to toss it under the table far enough

away from my crotch so Lareina stops threatening me when Abuela notices.

“Lareina! No begging!” She snaps her fingers, and the dog slowly walks away from the table and sulks on the couch. I let out

a relieved breath.

Abuela doesn’t waste any time eating. Instead, she gets straight to business.

“Cesar, you’re new here, so here’s how this is going to go. I’ll answer the question I know you’re thinking first: I don’t

know any better than you do how long you’ll be staying here. That will be entirely up to you. We’ll need to enroll you back

at Rover, which might take a few days, so until then, you’ll be working in the house with me during the day while Monica goes

to school. We eat breakfast and dinner as a family. Our mornings start early with a daily horoverse reading—”

“I still think they missed an opportunity with that app name,” Moni interrupts.

“What is it, like a scary book?” I ask. Why the hell would Abuela have us reading horror novels before school?

“More like Bible astrology,” Moni says. “I personally think they’d have a better chance at reaching their target audience

if they called it horoscripture. Or better yet, holyscope. Godstrology, even.” Moni clicks her tongue and shakes her head.

“Seriously, it’s like they didn’t even try. And what’s with that logo? I could design a better one using clip art, it’s not

even—”

“As I was saying.” Abuela clears her throat, and Moni becomes the embodiment of the grimace emoji. “Every day you’ll get a list of chores to

do, and once you finish those and I check to make sure you did them well, you can have the rest of your time to yourselves.”

“It’s not a lot of time. Don’t get your hopes up,” Moni says under her breath.

I nod, taking another bite of my quesabirria taco.

“You’re both essentially grounded while you’re here, so no leaving the house, no phones, no computers—”

“No TV, no video games, no fun,” Moni adds, copying Abuela’s voice with a finger raised like she’s lecturing both of us.

Abuela shoots her the stink eye, but there’s a tiny hint of a smile that cracks for just a split second. “You can have all

the fun you want, as long as you get your chores done and follow the rules.”

“Really?” Moni claps her hands the way Abuela does, and I can’t tell if she’s making fun of her or if she’s genuinely picked

up some of her mannerisms from staying here. “Can we have a game night?”

“Why don’t we let your primo settle in for tonight, and we can talk about something like that another day.”

I raise an eyebrow. Board games with Moni and my grandma doesn’t exactly sound fun, but whatever. Anything to keep me from dying of boredom, I guess.

After dinner, Moni shows me to our shared room, which is completely empty except for a bunk bed in the corner.

“I’m on bottom,” she says as she crawls into the lower bunk.

“Fine by me.” I didn’t bring any pajamas with me, so I climb into the top bunk fully clothed.

We’re quiet for a few minutes, and I’m starting to think Moni has fallen asleep when she finally breaks the silence.

“No one appreciates ingenuity in my line of work,” she says, all fast like she’s been holding it in since we got in bed.

“Oh,” is all I say, since I’m way too tired to make more words than I absolutely have to. Moni doesn’t seem to have that problem.

“I came up with an innovative product packaging idea you can’t find anywhere else on the market, but all my dad cares about

is a failed drug test! What a hypocrite, right? Unlike him, I actually try my own product to make sure it’s good. That’s why

my customers are happier than his.”

“That sucks,” I say, still not really knowing how else to respond.

“That’s why I’m here,” she continues. “Because of the drug test. He didn’t even want to know the rest of the story!”

I know she probably wants me to tell her why I’m here now, but instead I ask, “How long are you staying here?”

“No idea. Long enough I’m going to school here for now. I think my dad’s trying to teach me a lesson about public schools

being bad or whatever, but I actually really like it here!”

Great. I’ll be here until I die, probably.

“So what got you sent here?” She asks outright this time.

I roll over, as if to roll away from the question. “You’re really persistent, you know that?”

She laughs. “I mean, I’m curious. I’ve been here by myself for a week. It’s nice to have someone else to talk to. I mean,

it’s obviously not good for you that you’re here, but it’s good for me, and that’s good enough for me.”

I can’t help but let out a small laugh. “Fine,” I say. I guess there isn’t any point to hiding it, really. “I got expelled

from Catholic school.”

“What’d you do?” she asks, not even pretending to feign sympathy. I kind of like that.

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“What can I say, I’m a nosy bitch.”

I let out another little laugh. Normally, I’d be really annoyed at all the questions, but something about Moni makes me feel

less on edge. Maybe it’s because we’re kind of the same. As a musical prodigy turned drug dealer, she’s just as much of a

disappointment to her dad as I am to my mom. She knows what the pressure is like, and what it’s like not to live up to it.

“I got tagged in a picture on Instagram of me with a bottle of tequila, and I added it to my page like a dumbass,” I finally

say.

I can hear Moni draw in a breath through her teeth. “That sucks. Can they really expel you for that if it wasn’t on school

grounds, though?”

“Yup,” I say. I know in public school they wouldn’t have been able to do shit about that, which is probably why Bianca posted the picture in the first place, but Catholic schools have a different set of rules. They have no problem using social media and your personal life against you.

Moni doesn’t answer. I’m about to start being nosy myself and ask her a question when she starts snoring.

Guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow.