Chapter Text
there should be stars for great wars
like ours. there ought to be awards
and plenty of champagne for the survivors.
“Where you staying now, Claudis?”
“Araceli’s letting me crash with her,” Claudia says. They’re sitting at Sonic’s, eating burgers that Oscar wouldn’t let her pay for. She ordered extra fries and a large milkshake to spite him, except now it means they’re sharing, and every time their fingers brush she can’t help but smile.
Oscar chews on the straw thoughtfully. She looks at him pointedly, rolls her eyes when all he does is grin. He says, instead of apologizing, “We never did anything for your birthday. Or for graduation.”
“Does today not count?” she asks, motioning between the two of them with a sandwich in hand. She punctuates it by taking a massive bite, returning his unimpressed stare.
“This ain’t a real restaurant,” he says, because of course that’s what’s important here. They haven’t seen each other in two weeks—the start of summer always means there’s more bullshit than usual in Freeridge, and Claudia had finals and then graduation to worry about, besides the whole aging out thing. She’s never been more grateful for being a May baby. She somehow managed to split her focus between school and figuring everything else out evenly, meaning she didn’t get anything below a B to finish out her high school career and packed her meager belongings without any help from her foster parents. Moved out on a Tuesday and slept at whatever shelter would let her stay for a few days before finally sucking it up and heading to the church Father Carlos was in charge of. Stayed there until Araceli came through.
The only reason she’s even staying with her is because her folks left for Mexico a few days after graduation, after they threw their only daughter a graduation party. Her parents don’t much like Salvis, even if Araceli stays arguing with them over it. Her brother lives over in Riverside, where he’s been in manufacturing for years. A lot of their folks are down in Mexicali, and every summer and winter finds their folks leaving for a few weeks to see them. Araceli’s taking summer courses, though, which means she gets the house to herself. By extension, Claudia has until July 1st to find a place to live and stack the money she needs to pay for it. She’s not totally sure she’s going to manage it, but on the flipside—
“You know you can just stay with me, right?” Oscar says, instead of arguing with her over celebrating her graduation. He’s real proud of her, for a lot of reasons, not least of which being that he dropped out the first month of junior year. He likes to joke it’s the only time he and his mother have ever agreed on anything. Claudia doesn’t find it half as funny as he does.
The issue of her moving in is a bit more touchy. She’s not a stranger to crashing at his place, did so plenty of times even before Penelope Diaz left. Spent most of winter and spring break with him, even, hanging out with Cesar while Oscar was out doing whatever Santo business needed to get done. She knows what kind of business it is, but for her own sanity she ignores most of it. It’s a little harder, now that Oscar has that massive cross inked across his neck, but. She kind of likes the way it looks, not that she’ll admit it. (The number of times she’s bitten him there, mid-coitus, since it healed is an obvious enough clue).
But moving into a known Santo meeting spot? Worse, being a woman there? Claudia hasn’t admitted it to Oscar, but she’s pretty sure only crackheads and kids who have no other option would want to stay around fulltime. Unfortunately she’s one of the latter right now. Something tells her, too, that moving in only long enough to save up for an apartment might go over badly. Fact of the matter is, though, that she needs her own space. Doesn’t matter if it’s with a couple roommates. Had a few foster homes, and even when her mom was still alive they apartment hopped more often than not. It’s been almost six years to the day since she died. Claudia wonders, every day, if she’s in a spot her mom would be proud of.
Oscar…Claudia loves him. Loves him like she’s only loved her mother, maybe, wholeheartedly and without any sense of salvation. Sometimes he looks at her and it’s like the whole world is right there in between them. But she tries to be realistic. He’s got a teardrop tattoo that means something serious. The Santo cross isn’t just a flashy image. He’s been dealing full-time since he dropped out of school and lately it seems like he’s been given some new responsibilities. Claudia knows what that means. Her man’s a career criminal. She knew that since the day he dropped out, the same day she admitted to herself (and him) that she wanted him. The memory of that first kiss still makes her toes curl.
Maybe she’s lucky in that sense. They’ve known each other so long they were friends before sex made things complicated. And really, it’s not all that complicated. They don’t say it much but Claudia knows he loves her as much as she loves him. Maybe even more. That thought scares her most. Oscar would rather she to move in, probably wants to play house to her, maybe because of Cesar and for sure because he just wants her that badly. They’ve been dating a year and a half; sometimes he’ll start to say something and then catch himself. Even if it’s just the two of them in bed or driving around or at the grocery store arguing over what meat to buy.
It would be easier to move in. But.
“Ay, Oscar,” she says, “I can’t do that to Cesar. He needs stability.”
“You planning on running off?” he asks, eyebrow raised. Claudia takes another bite of burger to avoid answering right away.
“I’m gonna transfer eventually,” she says, “but. Ya sabés, I need my own space. And none of your Santos like me, anyway.”
He twitches. “What?”
“Come on,” she says, flat, and takes a sip of milkshake. Hands it back to Oscar after. “I know most of them don’t like Salvis, which is dumb as hell, you know, la Oveja’s from San Salvador and Chilango is half.”
“Aw, but his mom is from D.F.”
“He’s half,” she says a little louder than she needs to be. He raises both eyebrows this time. She gets passionate about El Salvador, sue her. “He uses vos!”
“Only with you.”
“’Cause none of you Chicanos use it.” She’s not pouting, even if the way Oscar rubs his thumb against her lower lip argues otherwise.
“None of us call ourselves Chicano, nena,” he says, and kisses her like he thinks it’s cute. His facial hair is raspy. He’s lucky she likes him. Says, after, “You can stay with me just while you find an apartment, vale?”
“I was planning to,” she says, balling up the paper wrapper her burger came in and tucking it into a cupholder. “Kiss me again.”
Oscar laughs, but he listens anyway.
Cesar stays running around Freeridge by himself. He thinks he’s real grown, but it drives Claudia crazy.
“You telling me you didn’t run around like that when you was a shorty?” Oscar asks her. She’s fixing her hair in the passenger seat, windows rolled down like they weren’t fogged up half an hour before. The elementary school won’t let out for another twenty minutes, so there’s no rush to get there in time to pick Cesar up.
“I was my mom’s only kid,” she says, glancing at him. Oscar has one hand on her thigh, squeezes every now and then like he needs to remind her he’s there. “She survived the war, hombre, you think she was gonna let me run around como loca?”
“Shit, you ended up crazy anyway,” he laughs like he’s funny. She rolls her eyes, leans back into her seat and curls her fingers over his. “You run with Santos, baby.”
“I run with you,” she corrects, “we on our way to pick up Cesar from school, what, you think that’s some gangsta shit o qué?”
“It is,” he says, still grinning, and Claudia reaches out to poke at his dimple. Watches him like she always does.
“You’re soft,” she tells him, and he grabs her hand, laces their fingers on the console between them.
“That ain’t what you was saying earlier,” he says, “what was it? Ay, Oscar—”
“Ya,” she says, feeling her face go hot, “don’t start.”
“We got time for a quickie,” he says, straight-faced, and starts laughing when she goes Oh, my God, shut up!, “okay, no, we don’t, pero—”
“You’re so annoying,” she says. Says it at least once every time he comes by to pick her up. Twice when he’s being worse than usual. He tends to pay her back by pinning her to the nearest surface and getting her worked up again.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, bringing their hands up to kiss the back of hers, “start looking for parking, nena, you know some’a these moms be acting up.”
“Just the white ones,” she says, “oh, and Geny Martinez.”
“Yo, me odia,” he says, “but I swear to God, she’s the craziest broad in Freeridge, and you met my mom.”
“Oscar,” she says, half-scolding. Penelope Diaz had a lot of demons, not that it excuses how badly Oscar and Cesar ended up because of them. She’s been gone six or seven months; left in November, before Oscar’s eighteenth. Cesar didn’t even notice until it was Thanksgiving. Oscar dealt with it badly. Claudia had to tape up his pinkie and ring finger, dabbed iodine onto his raw knuckles. Told him it counted as part of his birthday present and got him a new pair of shoes anyway.
“I’m right,” he says, like she said otherwise. Parks in their usual spot, across the street from the school, and climbs out once Claudia does. They lean against the bumper like they always do when Claudia comes with to pick up Cesar. She had early release all year, and on days where she wasn’t at work at the church Oscar would pick her up and they’d go chill at the park, waiting for school to let out. He used to try and convince her to fuck in one of the slides, had her calling him all sorts of names while he laughed. He’s so annoying.
“Don’t start what you can’t finish,” she warns as he tugs her into the V of his legs, hands on her hips.
He grins. “What makes you think I can’t?”
“We stay screwing in your car,” she says, “and we’re on school property, Oscar, por Dios.”
“Shit, we could have gone home,” he says, “why did we fuck in the backseat again?”
Claudia laughs, wraps her arms around his neck. “We’re dumb.”
“Speak for yourself,” he says, and kisses her while the bell rings.
They’re still kissing when Cesar finds them. He makes a gagging noise, and Claudia pulls away with a giggle.
“Hi baby,” she says, grinning helplessly when she sees his face is all screwed up.
“We’re at school,” he says, eyebrows scrunched together like furry little caterpillars.
“So?” Oscar says, his arms still around her, “Es mi mujer, compa, I can kiss her wherever. Watch.”
“Oscar—” he dips her before she can finish, mouth on hers to keep her from yelling at him. She’s back up in seconds, feeling wobbly, hands up to catch herself on something. Cesar doesn’t seem amused.
“You guys are gross.”
“This is school property,” she says to Oscar again, like they weren’t just making out in front of the elementary school, and then offers Cesar a hug he accepts despite their misbehavior. “How was school?”
“Okay,” he says, “we get to go to the zoo on Friday.”
“That’s fun!” she says, and gets him buckled in the middle seat so they can stay talking on the drive home. “Who’s gonna chaperone?”
“Mrs. Martinez,” he says, and Oscar doesn’t quite manage to turn his groan into a cough.
He pretends to clear his throat. “Yeah? Monse’s dad outta town?”
“Yeah,” Cesar says, and when Claudia turns her head to look at him he’s kicking his feet a little. Blue Adidas. One thing’s for sure: Oscar keeps him dressed real cute. “But Jamal’s mom is coming too.”
“She’s cool,” Oscar says, like that’s the best thing a mom can be, and Claudia refrains from rolling her eyes. He should have offered to go with, probably, but there’s no way in hell they’re letting a dude with a Santos tattoo on a bus full of kids, even if one of them is his. She would have gone but she’s not related, and her and Cesar don’t look alike at all. She’s too dark, and her eyes give her away, besides. Oscar asks, “You hungry, Lil’ Spooky?”
Cesar perks up. “Can we get ice cream?”
“That’s not what I asked,” Oscar says, but gives in right away like he always does. “Mickey D’s sundae?”
“Can I get extra fudge?”
“Oh my God,” Claudia mutters, even as Oscar says yes.
She ends up staying the night, even if she pretends to put up a fight.
“Pa’ qué,” she says, even while he tucks her into bed like she’s Cesar. Nothing can get in the way of the kid’s bedtime routine, not that Oscar’s giving her quite the same treatment. He’s rolled her up in a sheet more than once, mostly because he thinks it’s funny when he gets her good and she’s still stuck even after he’s gone to the bathroom. “’S not like I’m getting any.”
“Cabrona,” Oscar says, tucking the sheet more securely under her ankles. He’s down to a pair of basketball shorts and Claudia wants him, same as always. “You want the baby to walk in on us?”
“I’m not that loud, first of all,” she says, pushing her fists up a little to see if he’s actually trapped her this time, “second, I have a place to stay.”
“You wanna sleep in Araceli’s bed? How many boyfriends she have this year?”
“Two,” she says, grinning when her arms come free right away. She pouts when he pins her again, not that she’s putting up any kind of struggle. “I don’t think she’s dumb enough to screw around in her parents’ house, querido.”
He gives her the same unimpressed look Cesar had after school. She bites her lip to keep from laughing.
“She’s repeating gym this summer.”
“Shh, her folks are pretending that’s not true. They threw her a party, even.”
“Fucking Araceli.”
“Be nice,” Claudia says, “she’s the only one’a my friends who likes you.”
“She’s your only friend.”
“Ouch,” she says, “do you and Cesar not count?”
“I’m your man, nena,” he says, “and Cesar is nine years old.”
“He’s my buddy.”
“Loca,” Oscar says, fondly, and then ducks out into the hallway. She has three minutes to wiggle out of here before he comes back and lies on top of her even though he knows it makes her hot in a non-sexy way.
She stays over often enough that moving in wouldn’t make a huge difference. Now that school’s out all she really does is work, and even with her two jobs it doesn’t add up to more than forty a week. It would probably be nice for Cesar, too, to have another person to take care of him.
Oscar does his best. He’s always done his best, and Claudia’s seen it herself for years. Maybe not when they first met, both of them still kids and with different chips on their shoulders, but all throughout high school, at least, since they’ve been friends, it’s been obvious. Forget any of that Santo shit. Oscar lives for Cesar. It’s just a fact.
By the time Oscar gets back she’s gotten her arms free; pulls her legs up as best as she can when he reaches for her again. It wouldn’t be bad, she thinks, to have this every night.
He tells her, “I’m letting you out.”
“Last time you said that you threw me on the couch,” she says, and he grins at the memory.
“That was a good one.”
“No it wasn’t,” she says, and finally gets the bedsheet off her. “I dunno how you can sleep under a cover when it’s this hot out.”
“Es una sábana,” he says, and moves to turn off the light, “it’s like sleeping under nothing.”
“Then why use it?”
“You can sleep without a blanket?”
“I can sleep anywhere,” she says. She’s gotten good at couch hopping and getting comfortable on shitty beds. Once, the summer before they started high school, Oscar found her curled up underneath a bench at the park sometime after midnight. He was out with the Santos and she was avoiding her foster mom’s brother. That was the first time she slept in his bed, not that they shared it. “You’re practically naked, anyway.”
He looks down at himself, and Claudia gives herself a moment to admire the view. When he looks up he says, “Nena, this isn’t close to naked.”
“Are you wearing underwear?”
“Yes.”
He’s got her this time. “Fine. Get in bed.”
“Watch your hands, baby,” he says, even as he slides in next to her and tugs her close, “eres como un pulpo.”
“I know you didn’t just call me an octopus.”
“Prove me wrong,” he says against the back of her neck, and she pushes her hips back just to spite him. So annoying. “See?”
She holds a hand up, wiggles her fingers. “Aquí están.”
“Dices que I’m annoying?” he says, and takes her hand in his. He presses a kiss to her shoulder; she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt as pajamas, her usual outfit when she stays over. “Whatchu want for breakfast?”
“French toast,” she says, knowing he’ll wake up early to make enough for the three of them, “what time we dropping Cesar off?”
“I’ll take him,” he says, “you got work, don’t you?”
“At noon.” She’s part-time at the church one day during the week and on weekends, works as a nanny over in Brentwood two days a week, depending on the family’s schedule. The kid’s barely two months old, so mostly she hangs out watching TV or reading while she’s over there, the house huge and empty and pristine like something out of a magazine.
She’d hate to live there, even if she’d kill for their bathroom; the shower looks like something from the future. It’s gorgeous. There’s another nanny who works Thursday and Friday; Claudia’s there Tuesday and Wednesday. They pay her fifty bucks a day, sometimes more. Easy money.
She’s not making nearly enough for her own apartment, sure, but she’s got decent savings. She could swing a security deposit and first month’s rent as is. Maybe at the end of the month she’ll be able to afford two months’. Her semester fees are due in August, and she’s budgeting, and Claudia knows she’ll be alright if she just moves in with Oscar but. That’s a problem for her to solve in the morning.
“I can take you.”
“Thanks,” she says, squeezing his hand a little. “I gotta head to Araceli’s after. Laundry.”
“A’right,” he says. Pulls her closer and they sleep.