The Takedown Page 11

  “Is there anything to block it?” Mac asked.

  “Not this week,” Caleb said. “Yo, Alfie, hermano. Cerveza me.”

  Now that I had stopped crying and the immediate drama was over, Mac took his arm away. The stoop fell silent. I sniffled.

  “Need a tissue?” Alfie dug around in a takeout bag.

  “I got it.” Rupey waved the wadded-up one I’d thrown at him, like it was a white flag. “Sorry, just, you know, I can get kind of protective.”

  “It runs in the family,” Alfie said. “It’s our one admirable quality. Along with Mac’s useless addition skills. Hola, hermano, ever hear of a Doc?”

  There was a simultaneous low burble of laughter.

  “Need a cerveza?” Caleb offered me his.

  “Need us to beat some people up?” Victor burped.

  I blew my nose. “Yeah, only about five hundred thousand of them.”

  Again, the low appreciative laughter. Now I got why Mac surrounded himself with these guys. It was the same reason I surrounded myself with Mac. Life felt better in their company.

  “Mugrosos, not that we don’t enjoy your clever repartee—”

  “Ooh, ‘repartee,’” Rupey interrupted. “Look at the novio go all French for the girl. Réplica’s not good enough for you anymore, cuz?”

  “All-caps BUT I need to talk to the lady in private.” Mac offered me a hand. “I kinda, like, need to apologize for what a dick I was yesterday.”

  “A super-huge dick,” I said as Mac pulled me to my feet.

  No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I groaned. Caleb hid his face in the crook of his elbow. Victor choked on his beer. Mac held up his hands, feigning innocence. Alfie made a quiet extended laugh noise that sounded like “Huh-huh-huh-ahhhh.”

  “So immature.” I rolled my eyes. “You guys are worse than my brother.”

  “Lo siento, you’re the one who said it,” Mac laughed, then pounded fists with Rupey. “And all I have to say is, thank you for noticing.”

  “Meet me at the park on Saturday. We’ll get tacos.”

  It was the first week of senior year, lunch. One second I was considering a browning avocado roll, wondering where they sourced the nori from; next Mac was there, spinning his Doc between his fingers, smelling freshly showered, and setting my weekend agenda. I glanced over my shoulder to check that he wasn’t speaking to the girl in line behind me.

  “What,” I said in monotone, “am I the last Park Prep girl you haven’t been with?”

  He laughed. “There might be a couple freshmen I missed. Come on. Sunshine. Tacos. Saturday. Noon. I know you’re free. I checked your G-Calendar. I’ll meet you on the library steps. Perfect gentleman, I swear.”

  My lips turned down but my shoulders lifted up; my head tilted forward. Without my consent, my body had agreed. I immediately regretted its decision.

  “Ugh,” Audra’s avatar said, then made a tsk sound later that night. (Thank you, Teen Sounds extension pack.) “Why are you stressing? It’s one daytime date.” Then Sharma txted:

  sharm & Mac equals good guy. Aside from kissing addiction.

  “Ooh, it can be like a test.” Fawn flapped her hand at me over FaceAlert. “See if he gropes you. If he doesn’t, he’s changed. If he does, you have to promise to tell us everything that comes after. I heard he does this thing with his thumb that will melt you.”

  On Saturday, when I got to the library, Mac was already there, holding a daisy. When I tucked it behind my ear, he grinned. And not like a wolfish grin, just a pleased one. Over the next four hours we teased each other, talked nonstop, and eventually held hands. We walked through the park, cut over into Sunset Park for tacos, and circled all the way back to the library. I never expected that this amalgamation of bad-boy stereotypes might also be funny, genuine, and kind. It was a great date. But, I mean, Mac had had a lot of practice.

  Once we were back on the library steps, Mac untangled the wilted daisy from my hair and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

  “And now I’m going to kiss you.”

  He did. And, well, whoa. If I had been with anyone else, it would have been the perfect, expected end to the best non-school-related afternoon of my entire life. But as we kept kissing, all I could think about was Fawn’s test. We hadn’t crossed into Groping, but we weren’t exactly in High Five country either. I pushed him away.

  “I’m not interested in being one of your mannequins.”

  That’s what I liked to call the girls Mac screwed around with. It made it easier to think of them as interchangeably pretty and empty-headed. Mac took my hand, ran his thumb along my lifeline. Was this what Fawn had meant? Because it didn’t make me feel slushy so much as flammable.

  “You know, I’ve liked you since I saw you wearing that green dress at orientation.”

  The best I could describe what Mac was wearing the first time I saw him was “boy gear”—pants, shirt. And that was only a guess. Trying to shake off its misgivings, my heart did a fluttery jig.

  Telling it to chill, I softly replied, “You’ve had a funny way of showing it.”

  He flashed his lopsided smile, shrugged.

  “Yeah, I kinda, like, went through a slutty phase.”

  “Three years is a kind of long ‘phase,’ no?”

  “Which must be why I’m so totally over it.”

  He pressed my hand gently between both of his, staring at our entwined fingers. Then he leaned in for another kiss. And maybe it was because I’d seen him do this countless times before, but my hand slipped out of his. I backed away and said for the first time the same seven words I’d been telling him ever since.

  “I think we should be just friends.”

  Mac looked at his now-empty palm, laughed dryly. “Hermosa, you and I will never be just friends.”

  I expected him to go away after that. Instead we ended up talking on our Docs every night and meeting up every morning. He’d run to see me between classes, so he could walk me to mine even though it guaranteed he’d be late to his. Every Saturday, no matter how busy we both were for the rest of the day, we’d grab food and chill in the park for a bit. He came to my debates. Before I knew it, I’d become the president of the Mackenzie Rodriguez fan club while remaining its only unaffiliated member. I’d thought I’d proved him wrong about us not being able to be friends. Right until he called me a slut outside Park Prep.

  Now we were sitting across from each other on his bed. Mac had worried his curls into a puffy ’fro.

  “You know that isn’t me in the video, right? I tried to tell you. Someone is messing with me.”

  He nodded. “I probably knew when I saw it, but Channing Gregory showed it to me with this mierda-eating grin, and I just got so pissed. At you and him and me.”

  “You called me a slut.”

  “Kyla.” His expression crumpled. “What can I say? If I could take it back I would. I mean, lo siento mucho, but, like, I think that was the only reaction I was capable of in my state of massive disintegration. I felt like someone used an expansion ray on my heart and then, like, set it to pulverize.”

  “Isn’t that how you killed the final boss in KillCrush Seven?”

  “Yeah, remember all the blood? I’m really, really sorry.”

  He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. I put my feet on top of his. When I got upset, Mac said cálmate, tranquila; then he made me play-wrestle or dance with him. Mac was so even-keeled, I’d never had to repair his mood before. I scooted forward so our knees were touching. Putting a hand on either side of his head, but like over half his face, my thumbs right under his eyes, I forced him to meet my gaze.

  “Question,” I said. “If I’m not allowed to plan after-school snack with you anymore, what point is there to life?”

  Rolling his eyes, he lightly clonked his forehead against mine. Then he gathered my hands and held them in his lap.

  “Kyla, can we be serious for a sec? Because there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time.” H
e gently skimmed his thumb over my cheek, and I couldn’t help thinking, Is this the thing he does?! Because it caused more of a pleasant static shock than a melty sensation. “And maybe this isn’t the right time, considering that whole I-don’t-ever-want-to-see-your-face-again bit, but I strongly believe, like more strongly than I believe that Manchester United will win the cup this year, that you should go out with me. Or you know, in question form: Will you be my girl? Por favor. Y gracias.”

  As Mac traced a line from the curve of my jaw to my neck to my collarbone, a thousand different emotions surged through my body. Excitement, giddiness, nervousness, por supuesto, but the largest percentage of me felt annoyed. For nearly four months, I’d waited for Mac to ask me to be his girlfriend. Anytime we were particularly cuddly or he said my name in that serious way he had or he rubbed his nose against mine, I held my breath, expecting to be kissed. And on any of those occasions, despite his past, and my trepidation, and my hard-line—correct!—stance that we’d last longer as friends, I would have said yes.

  But he hadn’t asked me in those nice, appropriate times. He asked me now. When I’d spent the last thirty-six hours being eye-groped by everyone who saw me. And maybe it wasn’t fair, but having Mac ask me out right at that moment didn’t feel much different from the hundreds of times that request had been made to me online over the last two days. I couldn’t have felt more physically dirty if I had slept with my teacher all-caps PLUS every stranger who had propositioned me. The very last thing in the world I was thinking about was pairing off with someone.

  “Macky, I’m not sure now’s the right time.”

  “Okay, so when is? Six more months? Right when we’re about to go away to college? A year? How about just one more month?” He took my Doc and tapped in my password. “By then we’ll have figured out this video mess, and your college apps will be in, and you’ll realize I don’t like you any less; I only like you more.”

  I watched him set a reminder on my Doc for January 23 that read: Say yes to Mac asking me out.

  “How did you know my password?”

  “It’s a simple equation, actually; all you have to do is…” He rolled his eyes. “All you have to do is know you even a little, hermosa, to know your password is Malin’s inauguration date. And you wonder how someone hacked into Scholar?”

  “But I use Shield.”

  “Yeah, but Shield doesn’t update your Doc password. Plus, what’s your Shield password? Let me guess. Malin’s inauguration date.”

  “It is not,” I sniffed, but only because I intended on changing it as soon as I left.

  Mac’s eyes met mine. They burned with resolve. “Be my girlfriend, Kyla.”

  “I won’t be bullied into going out with you, Mac. I feel like you’re only trying to claim me because the video made you jealous.”

  “No, dummy, I’m trying to ask you out because I like you.”

  Hey, fellas, a quick word about trying to convince the girl you like to go out with you. Maybe don’t call her stupid as a persuasive tactic.

  “And if I thought we’d last more than a week, maybe I’d say yes.”

  As Mac’s shoulders rounded in hurt, I let out a rush of air and tried to laugh. Kyle liked to remind me that not everyone chose to argue as an extracurric: i.e., not everyone enjoyed heated discussions or was able to walk away from them completely grudgeless like I was. We’d only just made up. I didn’t want to be fighting with Mac. Not about this.

  “Come on, Macky. You know you don’t do relationships. You pillage and then move on.”

  “Let me ask you something: You think before we went on that date this fall, I had a reason to be up on three every afternoon freshie through junsies? You know all my classes are on one.”

  After a click of hesitation, he lightly bit my pointer-finger knuckle. I’d prefer not to describe the tingles that this created. Just please know they existed. He smiled. I didn’t.

  “That’s called infatuation.”

  “Or maybe it’s called just the sight of you made my days bearable. I think this”—he motioned to the space between us—“is a little different than pillaging.”

  “My point exactly: You think it’s different. And what if it’s not? In a few weeks’ time this”—now I motioned to the space between us—“could be nothing. Macky, do you know what everyone says about the girls you hook up with?”

  “That they’re awesome?”

  “That they’re skanks. And right now, confirming everyone’s opinion of me is the last thing I need to do.”

  He quietly studied me, squinting. “Nah, that’s not what this is about. You care even less what those Park Prep clones think than I do. This isn’t about them. It’s about you. So tell me, princesa, how long before you stop thinking I’m a skank?”

  Step. Back.

  “Don’t you dare ‘princesa’ me, Mackenzie Rodriguez. It’s not like I’m making this up. How long did you date Monique after you marauded her at the welcome-back junior picnic? How long did you and Lizzie last after you did the vertical grind at junior prom?”

  “It’s called the reggaeton.”

  “Is that also the name of what you two did in the parking lot after? I’m trying to keep you in my life. I’m not trying to be that girl who—still—buys you energy water at your soccer matches months after you dumped her. I realize your brain might be kind of fuzzy because you haven’t kissed anyone for a record-breaking number of weeks—”

  “Weeks? Try, like, almost four months.”

  “But history doesn’t lie, Macky. We’re essentially perfect as is. We see each other all the time; we’re constantly on txt. You practically equal my favorite. Do you really want to mess with that?”

  “For the chance to kiss the girl I like? Yeah, I’m willing to take the risk.”

  “But I’m not. And for what it’s worth, my biggest priority right now isn’t hooking up—”

  “Neither is mine.”

  “—and that doesn’t make me a high-maintenance princess.”

  Fine. Maybe I’d been suppressing some resentment. And maybe my delivery was harsh. But it didn’t make any of what I said less true. He sprawled away from me, frustrated. Grabbing onto his headboard, he stretched backwards so I could just see his perfect stomach.

  “I’m not the opposing side, Kyla. You don’t need to decimate me.” When he sat back up, his features were smooth again. “So indefinitely, then. The answer is you’ll hold my past against me indefinitely. Bien, bien. Ahora yo sé. Somos solo amigos, Ms. Cheng.”

  In an exact mirror of his mom, whenever Mac got flustered or upset, he spoke more Spanish.

  “You’re mad.”

  “I’m not mad. Just, no lo sé, disappointed.”

  I didn’t know what was supposed to happen next. We’d never talked about any of this before—it just kind of lived between us—and when I’d imagined doing so, things went smoother and there was more hugging involved. Maybe this was where he rolled his eyes and said, What am I going to do with you? Because he realized that the question was more what would he do without me. I couldn’t deny that he was right. Barring the completely inappropriate timing, I wanted to date Mac. So how long would it take to stop worrying that doing so would mean losing him?

  “Maybe we can just table the discussion until I can sort out the video mess.”

  “Sure. Aces.” He got to his feet and pulled on a hoodie. When I got to my feet, Mac lightly put a hand on my shoulder. “Can I just ask one favor?”

  “Okay…” I stretched the word out with wariness.

  “Do you think maybe we can be, I don’t know, less affectionate? ’Cause I know we’re only friends, but sometimes we act like more, and I think it’ll be easier if I, like, touch you less.”

  This day had officially grown as terrible, humiliating, and heart-wrenching as any day ever lived by anyone in that exact five-foot radius. (President Malin always said it was important to keep a healthy perspective.) He let his hand drop. This felt like my driving test all over
again. I could see all the errors I was making; I just didn’t know how to correct them in that moment.

  So, dumbly, I nodded. Sure. Yes. Less physical touching would be aces, Mac.

  BTW, I also failed my driving test.

  Mac sighed with relief. “Gracias.”

  “De nada.”

  Unfortunately, we were standing toe to toe, nearly right on top of each other. This was normally where he’d hop around and pretend to box with me or swipe a finger down my nose or tug my earlobe or flap my hood over my head or fix my bangs or touch me in another hundred little ways that made my tummy constrict.

  How were we supposed to say good-bye now that we had “no touching” restrictions in place? How were we supposed to do anything we normally did?

  Mac held up his fist. I bumped it with mine.

  Oh, terrific.

  “Come on, I’ll grab Victor’s bike and escort you home.” Then he scrunched up his nose in a way that meant that whatever was about to come out of his mouth would make for one irritated Kyle. “Unless you’re afraid that might make you skanky by association.”

  When I got home, Dad was in the living room, waiting. He clicked pause on the anime he was watching as I collapsed on the couch next to him. Mom and I had a general script to follow at times like these. Huge fight. Tension ebbed. Tension built. Huge fight. Repeat. But this was new ground for me and Dad.

  “A new anime, huh?” I said.

  “Boy-Kyle turned me on to this one. It’s stupidly good.”

  “I’ll believe half of that last sentence.”

  Dad snorted. “Audra was here before.”

  “She was? That’s weird. I just saw her at dinner. She didn’t tell me she’d be dropping by. Was she okay?”

  Dad shrugged. “She seemed great. Spent about a half hour talking with Mom in the kitchen.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing, really. They were just chatting.”

  “Did she leave me a message?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  Great. Rub it in, universe. My mom got along famously with everyone except me. As if he could tell this conversation was taking us into choppy waters, Dad cleared his throat and said, “So I found a person.”