“I’m gonna break up with her,” announced Francis on the bus, trying to lace his fingers with hers. Lucita pulled away, cringing. Now, knowing everything she knew, she hated him. But she had to play this out and pretend like she knew nothing.

“Francis, no. I can’t do this. This is wrong. You shouldn’t have kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

“And it was wrong! I don’t feel that way for you. I don’t. And…I never want to kiss you. I always tell you no, and you just—”

“Don’t pull that bullshit on me. You do want me. You kiss me back every single time.”

“Because I don’t know what else to do! And,” she knew this last bit would hurt. In fact, she hoped it did. “Francis, it’s not you I’m kissing. In my head, it’s Cyrus. It’s always Cyrus.”

Something dark fell over his eyes. What she was doing was dangerous, but she was sick of it. Sick of him taking advantage of her sadness, of him forcing himself on her. And she was disgusted with herself for letting him. It was true; she pretended it was Cyrus, but she felt trapped whenever she was there.

“You love me. Just admit it.”

“You’re not hearing me, Francis. I do not want you. I do not love you. I cannot stand you. Come on, you don’t really love me. If you did, you wouldn’t be acting like this.”

Lucita was crossing a line now. She was getting too dangerously close to really hurting him. But she needed him to leave her alone, fake pictures be damned.

“You’re wrong. I do love you, and I will make you see that you love me too.” He snatched her wrist, pulling her close to him. This was her fault; she let him think he could do what he wanted, and she would bend to his will. Not anymore.

“Let go of my wrist.” Everyone knew she had issues with being touched. She hated it, hated brushing shoulders with strangers, hated rooms with too many people, it made her feel claustrophobic. It didn’t matter how big the room could be, the size of a convention center, but if there were too many people walking by her, taking away what little personal space she had, she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

It was always easier being around people she loved and cared for. But Francis was not one of those people.

“Make me—” The bus stopped, and she stomped on his foot, snatching herself away from him to jump off the bus. He tried to chase after her, but the people on the bus crowded the doors, blocking his exit. On the sidewalk, she flipped him off. Lucita knew she should worry more, but he had a place to be, a strict family life that meant he couldn’t just get off and do what she was doing.

So Lucita waited and hopped on the next bus that stopped by.

It was a lonely bus ride that gave her the peace and quiet to think. She hated Francis, but she hated a part of herself, too. Lucita had pushed them together and hadn’t seen that Francis had just used Liz – poor Elizabeth – to make her jealous. It hadn’t worked, not really, but that meant none of it had been real for him. He had just played her friend, who had already been insecure about the whole thing.

God, she was such a stupid idiot, she thought, scolding herself.

Next, she thought about everything Francis had done. And those pictures. God, those stupid pictures. Why did he think blackmailing her into a relationship would work? But no, no one was that stupid. That was all Evie and Tiffany. They wanted those pictures to ruin her, to spread lies around the school. They just manipulated Francis into thinking it would work out for him.

He was as stupid as she was.

Elizabeth was going to hate her. She thought and thought about everything she could do to save her fragile friendship but came up short. Luci just had to talk to her before Francis.

She deserved a little hate, though. God knows she hated herself enough.

Walking from the elevator to her mom’s office felt daunting. She was a little later than usual, nothing a little white lie wouldn’t smooth over, but still, ever since that blowup, her mother had been acting weird.

And gods know she already had enough to deal with, than her mother’s attitude changes.

Walking through the door, her mother greeted her at the receptionist’s desk. It looks like they lost another one, forcing all the paralegals to take shifts working the front desk. Why did it have to be her mother’s turn?

Her mother looked up at her. She was smiling.

“Hi mommy.”

“Hola mijita.”

She even sounded jovial.

“Um, I need the car keys to grab my books from the car.”

“No need, I brought them up here for you during my lunch break. Which ones do you need?”

“Oh,” she had never done that before. “Um, Bio, Trig and World History.” With a smile on her face, she handed her the books. Before Lucita could even say thank you, her mother continued.

“You want to go out for dinner tonight?”

“Um, sure. Where?”

“How about Moonlight Diner? You love that place.”

“Okay.” Lucita was hesitant about her mother’s new attitude. Were they just going to ignore the blowup forever?

Taking her books to the kitchen, she set herself up at her usual table in the corner next to the vending machine. After about an hour of doing trig equations, her mother walked through the kitchen door sitting across from her. Lucita froze, suddenly afraid of whatever her mother was going to say. Would she throw a tantrum here at work? Would she lash out at her? Would she gaslight her? Her smile was gone, her eyes severe. Together, those were never a good combination.

“Mijita, are you happy?”

Lucita was taken aback. That…that was not what she had been expecting. Putting her pencil down, she swallowed deeply.

“What?”

“We don’t talk like we used to. You used to tell me everything. What happened?”

A part of Lucita wanted to scream. Now, she wanted to have this conversation now?

Looking around the kitchen, she willed someone to open the kitchen door. “You really want to have this conversation now? At your work?”

Lucita tried to control her condemning tone. Her mother never liked that tone, but it was hard. After all this time, she wanted to talk now? And the question, what an obtuse question. She cut herself; of course she wasn’t happy. She was miserable, angry, and sad all the time. It was like one day she was happy, so elated nothing could hurt her, and then there were the days when everything hurt.

“I’m on my lunch break, so yes. Why did you stop talking to me?”

She couldn’t believe it, she was making this about her. Of course, her mother was making it all about her. She always made everything about her.

“Because you stopped listening. You…you make everything about you. It feels like I’m a prisoner in my own home. Like I live in some gilded cage. I’m always scared that I will do the wrong thing or say the wrong thing, and you will lose it on me. I feel like everything I do is to your whim and your emotions. You’re happy, and I know those days are so fleeting. It’s like walking on glass every day living with you. You scare me. I can’t be honest with you about anything because I never know how you will react. I never feel safe around you.”

Her mother just sat there, staring at her, lip quivering.

“Oh, mijita, why didn’t you tell me how sad you were?”

Sad. Lucita resisted the urge to clench her fist. What a small diminutive word to describe how she felt.

“Sad? Mom, you always get mad at me when I cry. How am I supposed to tell you I’m depressed?”

“I only yell at you when you cry over something stupid.”

The words were like a slap to her. This, this was why she didn’t want to have this conversation with her.

“See? This is what I’m talking about. You’re not hearing me. It shouldn’t matter what I’m crying about. You should listen to me. Instead, you always dismiss me or call me a spoiled brat, or tell me you’ll give me something to cry about. It’s not like I cry over not getting a toy or something like that. I’m crying because I’m sad, and you never listen to me. All my life, you’ve never listened to why I’m crying. You dismiss it every single time.

“If I don’t get a math problem right on the first try when you try to help me, you call me stupid, you insult me. You yell at me. Why do you think I stopped asking you for help with my homework? You yell and scream at me, and when I start to cry, you threaten to hit me like it’s nothing.

“Your feelings are the only ones that matter to you. Mine don’t. So I cry in my sleep, or I hide away at school and cry there. You…you don’t listen, and you don’t hear me. And I don’t even know how to deal with the whiplash of your emotions anymore on top of my own. I can’t do it. I can’t be your mom when you’re supposed to be mine. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of feeling this way. I’m tired of hating you a little more every day. I’m just tired, Mom.”

She tried to let those words sink in, evenly meeting her mom’s gaze. Her mother looked away, ashamed, tears brimming in her eyes.

“I…I don’t know what to do, mijita.”

“Yeah. I don’t either.”

They sat there in silence. Lucita barely contained all her feelings, tempering them into a barely shaking body, clenching her fists tight. She looked at her mother, wishing she could talk to her, wishing she could tell her about school, about Cyrus, Matthew, and Francis. Wishing she could talk to her about her mistakes. Lucita wished she and her mother had a better relationship. Maybe this was the first step to that. But her mother, Lucita, didn’t know if she would ever change if her words had meant anything to her. Because if not, nothing would ever change between them.