Work Text:
Chapter 1
“Fuck.”
T.J. frowned at his forgotten cigarette, now burning at the skin around his fingernails. He was distracted, sitting outside a church in the dark as a woman in blue seduced him with the clacking of her heels. As she walked out he watched how the shape of her hips reminded him of those curvy perfume bottles. Her hair was straight and deep red and her skin was white enough to make his brown hands look like midnight.
Whatever.
He flicked his cigarette on the ground and stomped it as he sucked on his fingers. This was a mistake, he had to go home; there was no God here for him, no matter how many churches he went to, how many temples, synagogues, mosques. It was a lie, and of course, he knew that--he was a scientist for fuck’s sake, he believed in the universe. Stephen Hawking, Rakesh Sharma, Niels Bohr, Rachel Carson. He believed in them, not some asshole who decided there was a “greater force” that we must all appreciate. Where was his support, his reasoning? Albert Einstein himself said that if you couldn't touch, hear, see, or feel something, it isn’t real. So where the hell was this “god”?
The street lights made his shadow too long and his face look bony as he walked down the road. His dad was in the living room. He could tell from the glow of the blinds.
He flung himself back into his room’s window and the smell of food made his eyes sting. His mom was cooking with hella onions again. “Ma!”
“Yeah?”
“Turn the exhaust fan on!”
“It’s on! Aaja khaale nahi toh thanda ho jayega!”
He didn’t care if his food got cold, if he walked into the kitchen now, he would cry from the sheer amount of onions in his sabzi. He improvised. He washed his hands and eyes and started chewing gum while whipping a wet towel around. His mother was staring at him like he had lost his goddamn mind. “What the hell are you doing?” She had the whole hand-on-her-hip-and-squinting mom look going on.
“Yo, it burns, why’d you make chicken again?”
“We had a lot of chicken left. Baba wanted it anyway so I made it. You want something else, then make it yourself. And stop whipping that towel around, you’re getting everything wet! Badtameez. Gum thookh.”
He spits the gum while keeping eye contact with his Ma. His dad walked in. He patted him on the head. T.J. ducked soon after, his curls had product in them and didn’t want to wash his hair until tomorrow. They sat down and started eating. Tanisha was at college and T.J. was dreading senior year. His parents have been drilling him about visits and essays, but so fucking what? He knew that if he didn’t get into Cornell he was just going to take a gap year and wait until he did. They had the best facilities for aerospace engineering and biochemical studies. He wanted to work at NASA like his life depended on it.
“Tej, did you look at UCLA’s physics lab? I heard that they recently built a new friction module to decipher how air resistance still affect objects as they leave the atmosphere—up to 10 miles away from it.”
T.J. wasn’t interested in what his dad had to say. He wanted him to go to a university close by because it was cheaper. Cornell is his dream. He hasn’t even been able to properly visit but whatever. It’s amazing. Just. The best.
“Nah, Baba, later.” His dad shrugged, then began coughing. His mom sighed. He sunk in his seat and stuffed the chicken in his mouth as fast as possible.
That night when T.J. went to bed after a long facetime with his best friend, Max, whilst playing Halo on his Xbox, he resisted the urge to smoke. His father was coughing again. It was funny, he realized. T.J. had always been fond of irony, but she was cruel. Because while he had been smoking for the past two years, his father was dying of lung cancer. Where is your God now, he thought.
Whatever.
-
The crust on his eyes made him feel filthy. His phone was ringing, the ringtone set to Fireflies by Owl City for Max because of an incident involving ice cream, trying to ask a girl out, and wet pants. All while the song was playing in the back. “What the shit do you want?”
“What’s up, fucker?”
T.J. groaned. It was 10 o’clock in the morning, but it was summer. Anything before noon was too soon for him.
“Listen, Austin is having a party tonight and pretty much everyone in our grade is gonna be there, especially Nicole. Wanna ditch and go to Charlie’s instead?”
Ugh, Nicole. He dated her last year for a good two months before he found out that she had been cheating on him since basically the week after they got together. “Charlie’s like the food place or Charlie Russo?” he asked. He heard a sigh on the other end.
“Dude, when have we ever gone to Charlie’s the food place? Plus, Charlie said he’s bringing his neighbor over, apparently, he just moved here from Chile to study at UCLA.”
Fucking UCLA. “I’ve been wanting to go since it opened up last fall! But...yeah, aight. What time?”
“I don’t know, seven? I’ll text you.” And with that, he hung up. What day was it? T.J. switched on his iPhone. August 11th. Fuck, school started next week. He wasn’t ready for senior year. As he staggered to the bathroom to get ready, he remembered that he needed to double-check all of his college essays and applications, especially since he was applying early decision to Cornell. Besides, he was more likely to get in like that.
Ten hours and two cigarettes later, T.J. found himself waiting for a text from Max. What the fuck was he doing, forgetting to text him?
hey man im starting in 5
Oh, he thought. Nevermind. T.J. double-checked how he looked in the mirror. He was really excited for some reason. Probably meeting the new kid.
A flash of light through his windows and the squeal of metal signaled T.J. to hop in the car. He greeted Max. His heart started racing when their hands touched for their dumbass handshake.
How long’s this thing gonna be?” Max rolled his eyes.
“C’mon, man. We gotta be cool, Charlie didn’t mean to take your cig. Besides, he can get us some hella weed so shut the fuck up and let’s go.”
“You’re the one driving.”
“Asshole.” T.J. felt lighter, happier even. It felt like old times when he and Max would play in his yard or go to the beach. He glanced over. The car rolled to a stop at the light. Red flooded the inside of the car and T.J. could see the hollows in Max’s cheeks. Not the sunken kind, but the ones that came with high cheekbones and deep dimples. His eyes seemed colorless, perhaps because they were green and the stoplight’s red canceled them out, or maybe it’s because the longer he knew him, the lighter they got. He could see the prominence of his eyebrow bone, how immodest the arch of his brows was. His eyes traveled down. This was dangerous territory, and T.J. knew that. Max’s lips weren’t pink like Nicole’s, or soft like Isabel’s. They were kind of purplish due to his brown skin and chapped and they dipped like the curves on the woman he saw at the church. Suddenly, the lips frowned. “Do I have something on my face?”
T.J. gulped. “Yeah, a bunch of ugly.”
Max pushed him. “Fuck off man,” and the light turned green. T.J. looked straight ahead. Whatever.
-
Charlie was always a little bit of a dick, but that’s what happens when your parents are divorced and rich as hell. T.J. and Max stepped out of the car and walked to the front door. It was probably twice their size. “Man, I really wish I had money like this, I wouldn’t have to go to community college.” He was right, he wouldn't have to. Max’s grandmother had eight sisters and they all had kids way younger than they were supposed to, and Max’s mom had nine siblings, and they all had kids way younger than they were supposed to, so Max was left with five siblings and a 35-year old mother, which was why he was bullied for “importing all of Mexico” with his family. He only got mad because he was Cuban, not Mexican.
“College is college, you get an education either way and a better starting salary for jobs than if you don’t go at all.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t gonna go at all, I just meant that it would be cool if I could actually try to apply to a better school, apply my GPA and shit.” T.J. knew that Max was a smart kid, he was always focused on academics and got one of the highest SAT scores in their grade. He was relying on the fact that he could get full-ride somewhere, but college applications became expensive and Max started giving up. “Here, your hair is funky, did you take a nap before I picked you up?”
T.J. almost died. His hand came from nowhere and began ruffling his hair. His fingernails scratched his scalp, sending tingles down T.J.’s spine. Max was looking at him expectantly.
“What? Oh! Oh, yeah I-I did.” He didn’t. He had been pulling at his curls in anticipation. Why was Charlie taking so long to open the door? He nearly punched Charlie in the face as he desperately banged on the door. “Whoa, dude, chill.” T.J. glared at him.
As they entered the house, he saw a boy sitting on a barstool in their kitchen. He was big, like, large. Probably well over six foot and his t-shirt was kind of tight; T.J. was jealous of his pecs. But his face was modest for his large frame. His skin was light, but yellowish, spotted with moles and freckles like splattered paint, and his hair was wavy and black. He looked up. T.J. waved shyly.
“Hey, you must be the guy from Chile! How’s it goin’?” T.J. elbowed Max, and he frowned.
“Guys, this is Gabriel, Gabe, this is Max and T.J.” Charlie waved him over to join the group and T.J. swallowed loudly. He could be someone’s bodyguard probably, or a professional wrestler.
“Hi, it is so nice to meet you.” He had an accent.
-
They probably spent four hours at Charlie’s place, played video games, and took a couple of shots when it got quiet. T.J. learned that Gabriel came from Coquimbo, Chile, which was a relatively large city. His parents worked hard for him and his brother to immigrate to America for a better life, and he got into UCLA with a presidential scholarship. It was impressive, really. He balanced school life and two jobs. Extracurricular clubs and soccer. Or football, as he calls it. His laugh was shy, but once he got comfortable with them, he became louder. His eyes were brown, but sometimes they were green. But not like Max’s.
Fucking Max.
T.J. pulled at his hair again. He didn’t really know what he was feeling, only that he had to stop. But he had been feeling this way for a while. Since seventh grade, really, but he was straight. Definitely, positively, one-hundred percent straight, maybe. What he felt for Nicole was real, same with Isabel. But that’s not what he had to think about right now.
Gabriel was certainly interesting, to say the least. He mentioned how he would pull pranks on his jackass neighbors. Things like a trick liquid in their motorcycle so it would smell funny and smoke or make a pulley system for throwing water balloons every time someone stepped through the front door. Once, he said when the priest was spraying holy water in the church, he pretended it burned and the whole church, except for his friends, stared at him in horror. He said his neighbors called the cops on him for being the devil for a week. He was glad they met.
-
The next day, Charlie asked if he and Max wanted to help Gabe with moving in since they seemed to get along pretty well.
T.J. was pretty much drenched in sweat ten minutes into moving the boxes out of the car. Gabriel seemed to be just fine.
“So, Gabe, you’re not gonna dorm your freshman year?” Max asked.
“No, it is cheaper this way. I spent almost everything I had to move here. Estoy pato.”
Max wrinkled his nose, “You’re a duck?” Everyone stopped in confusion when Gabriel burst out laughing.
“It means, uh, how do you say...no more money?”
“Oh, like, you’re broke.” Charlie was smirking his nasty smirk.
“We’ve all been there, dude,” Max harrumphed at that and turned away. Gabriel’s eyebrows scrunched. “Why is he mad?”
“He’s a lil’ bitch, that’s why,” and when Gabe continued to stare blankly, T.J. offered, “It’s because Charlie’s loaded and Max isn’t. He’s a little sensitive when it comes to money.” Gabriel’s mouth formed an ‘O’ before he moved on.
Charlie pulled him aside, “Dude, why didn’t you tell me Max is touchy about that shit, I never would’ve brought it up! I could’ve helped him out, you know?”
T.J. glared. And then he sighed, “I don’t really think he’d want you to just give him money, man, it doesn’t work that way. Plus, you’re a little bit of an asshole, so you probably would never have caught on.”
“You’re a little asshole.”
“Yeah? You’re a puckered asshole.”
They went inside with the conversation. T.J. realized he had to pee and asked Gabriel about the bathroom. The fucker has an en suite, broke my ass. But, as he was about to enter the bathroom, something blinded him for a second. In a box by the bed, there was a gold certificate. He stepped closer and saw it was an embellishment on Gabriel’s high school diploma that reflected in the sun or something. He was going to put it back when he saw the paper underneath said in bold, red writing “DENIED.” Curious, he shifted the diploma to see exactly what he was denied from. Probably some ivy league shit like Harvard or something. But then-
Holy fuck. Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck. It was Gabriel’s green card approval, or disapproval, rather.
“What are you doing?” Shit. T.J.'s head whipped around.
“Uh, nothing.” Damn, as if Gabriel wasn’t already a big, huge, scary guy normally, he was even bigger, huge-er, and scarier when he was mad. “S-sorry, man, I was just-”
“Why are you looking at my papers?” he snapped.
“Look, I didn’t mean to snoop I just—”
“Get out!”
“What?”
“I said, get out!” T.J. flew. What the fuck just happened. He didn’t expect him to get so angry. Maybe scared or something. Max and Charlie came running out.
“What was that?” Charlie raised his eyebrows.
T.J. hesitated, “I don’t really know if it’s my place to say,”
Max rolled his eyes, “C’mon, we’re your best friends, what the hell went on in there?”
“Gabriel he’s...undocumented.”