With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo

 

Santi

I’m one of the slowest students to clean my station, and when I leave the classroom Malachi’s leaning against the wall talking to Pretty Leslie. She giggles at something he says, but as if he feels me watching, his eyes swing my way. I raise an eyebrow and scoot past them.

“Hey, Santi,” Malachi says.

I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want to talk to Pretty Leslie, so I shake my head and keep going.

“Santi, I want to ask you something.”

I stop in the middle of the hallway and wait for him to catch up. He takes his sweet time walking over, Pretty Leslie on his heels.

“Wassup?” I say. I give Pretty Leslie a head-nod and she looks between Malachi and me, her perfectly penciled-in eyebrows furrowing.

“I’m good, Emoni. How are you?” She pops her gum, then lowers her voice in a fake whisper. “How’s your daughter?”

I force myself to keep smiling. I’m not ashamed of my baby. I’m not ashamed I had a baby. I’m not ashamed I’m a mother. I lift my chin higher. “Babygirl’s real good. She just started daycare little over a month ago. Thanks for asking.”

I look Malachi straight in the eyes. His dimples are gone.

“That’s wonderful!” Leslie says. “I don’t know how you do it, girl. I couldn’t imagine being a parent in high school. Right, Malachi?”

But Malachi isn’t listening to Leslie. His eyes are on me. If there was one thing I learned once my belly started showing it’s that you can’t control how people look at you, but you can control how far back you pull your shoulders and how high you lift your chin. Boys think of only two things when they find out you had a baby: thing (1) that you’re too much baby-mama drama, or thing (2) that you’re easy. Malachi pushes off the wall, but I keep myself as still as a dancer waiting for her cue before she spins.

“You called my name because you wanted to ask me something?”

“Santi, do you like ice cream?”

I glance at Pretty Leslie. She looks as surprised as I feel. “Uh, ice cream?”

“I have a craving for ice cream. If you’re not busy after school, you want to get ice cream?”

He’s the most serious I’ve ever seen him. I look between him and Pretty Leslie. The fake sweet smile she was wearing has cannonballed clear off her face into a pool of confusion. Is Malachi asking me on a date? In front of Pretty Leslie?

“I mean I know we’re not friends, or whatever.” He smiles. The playful gleam is back in his eyes. “But I was hoping we could talk.”

I let go of the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “I’ll meet you at the main entrance after the bell.”

And even though ’Buela raised me right, she didn’t raise me to be nobody’s punk, so I don’t bother saying sh—ish to Leslie.

And damn if I don’t have a little swag in my step as I walk to English.