"The only thing worse than a boy who hates you: a boy that loves you." –Markus Zusak, The Book Thief.
Marisol was hanging out at Martin's apartment once again. This time, the subjects to study were languages. Martin was going like crazy through French, Italian, Portuguese, Spanish and German textbooks. Marisol stared at her Spanish textbook, next to his huge pile of books and copybooks, and sighed with boredom. They were sitting together on the floor, working on the coffee table.
She already knew Spanish. She didn't have to study at all, she nailed tenses and conjugations better than anyone in her class. She had had some troubles with Greek when she went to Camp Half-Blood, her head not as hard-wired to Ancient Greek as her parents'; but she still managed to pull it off. She was getting bored, and when Marisol got bored, she was a pain in the ass. Luckily for her, Martin still thought she was just energetic.
"How do you say 'I like you' in French?" Marisol asked.
"Je t'aime" he said.
"Isn't that 'I love you'?" She asked confused, but also amused.
"In French you don't say 'like'. It's not 'I like chocolate', it's 'I love chocolate'. Kind of. You can mean you like it and not love it, but the word for both things is the same." Marisol smiled, mockingly.
"So you love me." She gave the question a shot, not really sure she wanted to know the answer. He was deeply focused on his textbooks.
"Yeah." He said, and Marisol blushed. Her heartbeat rose. Then he realised what he had just said and lifted his eyes from his Portuguese homework. "I mean," he thought about it, and looked at her. She was retaining her breath, trying to decide whether fainting right now would be overdramatic. "Yes. I love you, Maddie." Marisol felt teary, and took his face in both her hands to kiss him. "I love you." He said once again, and she smiled.
"Je t'aime" she said. Martin arched an eyebrow.
"What's that supposed to mean?" She leaned against him, and rested her head on his shoulder.
"That's up to you to figure out." She said, still uncertain whether she loved him or not. She was both happy and scared now, knowing he was sure and she wasn't. Her previous relationships had been nothing like the one she had now with Martin, and that made her doubt. Did that mean she loved him? Did that mean she didn't? 'Je t'aime' was a good way to avoid having to make the choice to say it. Martin simply smiled and kissed her forehead, getting back to his textbooks. He had some important tests that week and he had to ace them.
"What's the past for 'she used to read Shakespeare novels'?" Martin asked her.
"In French?"
"No, silly, in Spanish. En español, señorita." Marisol giggled. Martin had a terrible accent.
"You don't really call girls señorita in Spanish, you know?"
"You don't?" He looked betrayed, like he'd realised then he'd been lied to all his life.
"Then how?"
"¿Quieres ir a tomar algo conmigo? He pensado que eres realmente bonita.[1]"
"But you're not naming her in any way in that sentence."
"That's the point, you avoid doing so." She smiled. "Now, what you asked me to translate. 'Ella solía leer novelas de Shakespeare'. What do you want to use that for?"
"A short story."
"What about?"
"The most annoying girl in the world, it's—" Marisol took the copybook, impressed by the fact that a second ago he was reviewing Portuguese.
"This is about me!" She said, surprised. "It also has some terrible mistakes. You sure you're the best in your class?" Martin laughed.
"I get perfect scores in every test. Maybe I should suggest my teacher to be less forgiving. And of course it is about you. We're supposed to write a short description in past tense about someone we care about. It has to be a novel-like description."
"How did you know I read Shakespeare?" She looked at him, surprised.
"You don't fool me with your motorcycle magazines, Maddie. I know that you hide Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet or Macbeth behind them. The last magazine you were reading, in fact, was different. You were hiding Poe, Edgar Allan Poe." Marisol was wide eyed while looking at Martin. She kissed him again, and she would have forced him to kiss her all afternoon, but he had to study. He always had to, but they were important.
"Martín?"
"Hmmm?" He wrote something down, then looked up.
"I know this might sound like a crazy idea, but Seba is coming home this weekend, and we're going to have a nice dinner and everything and I was wondering—"
"If I'd like to have dinner at your place?" He guessed.
"You know you don't have to, you can say no and it'll be okay, really."
"Why would I say no? That sounds like a great idea." Marisol's eyes widened.
"Really?"
"Really. In fact, I'm glad you asked. I was beginning to think you were embarrassed of me." He admitted, and Marisol frowned.
"Now, why would I ever be ashamed of you? You're perfect." Martin smiled.
"I don't know. I have a low budget, I'm a flower nerd, a geek. I'm sure you could find a reason." Marisol rolled her eyes.
"You have a freaking scholarship. You are smart, you're humble and you're polite. True, you study a lot, but that makes you hardworking, and you are indeed a flower nerd, but that's awfully cute. And romantic." He grinned.
"Is it?"
"Yes. Like in our first date, when you told me the yellow tulips meant there's sunshine in my smile, and the variegated tulips meant I have beautiful eyes. That was like, epically romantic. Had you told so to half the girls you've had a crush on, you would have turned out to be Han Solo instead of Luke. A way prettier Luke, though."
"I don't get the reference." Marisol's mouth fell open.
"You haven't watched Star Wars?" He shook his head. "I'm so making you watch it. In the meanwhile, what I meant was that you wouldn't have been single when I met you."
"So I'm bad at flirting."
"Basically. Yes... kind of. I'm happy it is that way, though. Bought me a chance." Smile. "Now, aside from all those things, my parents have never, ever, invited any of my boyfriends over. They haven't even suggested it, but now they have. I just didn't want to force you into it. My dad will be there, and so will be my brother, and Gwen." Martin pulled Marisol into a hug and kissed her crown.
"Don't worry, I can take them." Marisol looked up to him, and was amazed by the way he looked invincible. "They won't be able to make me turn my back on you."
"You're like my personal superhero, you know that?" She kissed his shoulder, over his shirt.
"Now I do." Marisol searched for his lips and finally Martin gave up his hopes of getting any more study that afternoon. He couldn't go on having Marisol by his side, constantly giving him reasons for wanting to kiss her. She sat on his lap, kissing him passionately, making him blush bright red. He simply traced circles on her hipbone with his thumbs. She tried to get lost in the steady flutter she felt whenever she was this close to him, tried not to focus in the 'I love you' stuff. Marisol kissed his neck and Martin opened his eyes and fixed them on hers.
"You know you shouldn't do so." He told her.
"But I want to." She pouted. Why was Martin always so considerate with her? Sometimes she wished he could be a little ruder.
"I know. Eventually, though." He kissed her, kindly as always, and she let him. She let him kiss her his way. Slow, carefully, gently... what. Had she been dreaming or had he just kissed her jaw? Her jaw— and oh, her neck. Martín, Martín, Martín, Martín, was all her trail of thought. I can do this, this I know, she thought. He stopped at the base of her neck, and went up to her lips again. Marisol was breathing heavily. Martin was so gentle, and she couldn't do that. His kindness put her off her game, because she didn't know kindness like his. She put her arms around his neck, trying to hide the fact her hands had lit up. It was kind of embarrassing.
"Got it." She said, her cheeks flushed violently. "Okay, eventually." Martin smiled.
"I'm glad you agree." They kissed. And they kept kissing until it was dark outside.
Marisol was standing uncomfortably at the door, ready to hide Martin as he walked in. The doorbell rang, and Marisol opened the door, putting a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Her mother smiled at her from the other side of the door and Marisol felt anger rise inside her. Her family had been playing her like that half the afternoon, getting outside whenever she got distracted, and ringing the bell to make her believe Martin had arrived. She wanted to punch them.
She was wearing her black Chuck Taylors, jeans, and a pink t-shirt which read 'Not a princess, you puny fly-bitten mammet' which was her only Shakespearean t-shirt. Her dad loved it, and cracked up every time he read it. The doorbell rang once again and Marisol made a dismissive gesture with her hand, resolute to go to rest at her bedroom, already tired of having to open the door over and over again for her mum, her dad or Sebastián.
"Hello, Martin" said her mother as she opened the door, and Marisol was immediately back. There was Martin, looking very handsome. It struck her to see him without his uniform, or his camp t-shirt and denim shorts. He was wearing a plaid green shirt and khaki trousers, with green Chuck Taylors. Green suited him awfully good.
"Hello, Mrs. Valdez." He said, with a charming smile, and turned to Marisol, who patted him on the shoulder, so she could kiss him hello. Martin was very dull and shy, which let her know he was quite nervous. "Hi, Maddie."
"Hi, Martín. Come in." She took him by his hand and dragged him to the living room, directly after the entrance, at the left of the door. She made him sit on the sofa and began checking he was okay. "You can still get out, I won't hate you for that, I swear." He laughed, relaxing a bit. The first thing he noticed was how normal the place looked. Reversed mess everywhere (everything looking tidy, but you could almost feel something hiding under the sofa) and, surprisingly, they included the rests of wires and scraps of metal here and there as part of a tidy house. Flower bouquets rested over every table. The rug by the sofa was clean but, even so, you could see tiny stains of oil over it, which gave it an improvised and home-like pattern unique and quite special. Technological stuff (like laptops, radios and such) were scattered around the flat, and everyone acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
"You have a really nice place." Martin told Marisol, since Calypso was no longer around. That's when Sebastián and Gwen came in, and Martin stood up to say hello. Marisol glared at her brother, 'Don't you dare' her eyes said. Sebastián seated between them, very smoothly. He put an arm around Martin.
Gwen was indeed a beautiful girl. She had her mother's skin tone, but her facial features were clearly Asian. Her golden brown curls made her look like a model, even when she'd probably never used makeup in her life. She sat next to her boyfriend, between him and Marisol.
"Hey, man" Sebastián said. "I take my hat off for you. I can't believe you've stood my sis for three months. Congrats, I can no longer say anything. If you can take her for that long, you're doomed." Martin chuckled. They used to be good friends, but that was before Sebastián had to play his role of annoying older brother. Martin knew he didn't do it to be mean.
"I feel blessed" He said.
"Love is blind." Sebastián made a pained expression. Marisol was about to say something, when Gwen stepped in.
"Is it, Seba?" She arched an eyebrow and Seba swallowed, knowing he was in trouble. Marisol grinned. She liked Gwen; she was a good sister-in-law, always backing her up.
"Not when it comes to you, babe."
"Yeah, you say so." She stood up and walked away, and Sebastián followed almost as if they'd rehearsed that scene. But Gwen was just trying to give Martin some space to relax and both Martin and Marisol were thankful for it. Before they could say or do anything, Leo walked in. He was wearing almost the same clothes as always, though he was wearing no braces, and his shirt was clean. Calypso was in the kitchen, cooking. She cooked every time she could, because she could not bake and that bothered her.
Martin stood up and Sebastián, now watching from afar as he waited for Gwen to unlock the door she was behind of, grinned with amusement, feeling slightly touched by the memories of him meeting Gwen's family. Hazel was alright, and Frank, although always trying to scare him, was everyday more used to the idea of him dating his daughter. But Gwen's uncle, Nico, gave him the creeps and made him think he was dead boy whenever he said anything that could upset Gwen. That's why he hoped for his sake that Gwen would open the door before her uncle had time to materialise out of the shadows.
Martin held his hand in front of Marisol and Sebastián's dad for him to shake it.
"Hello, Mr. Valdez. It is very nice to meet you."
"Hello, Martin. It is good to meet you when you're not kissing my daughter." Marisol rolled her eyes and cursed under her breath. The show had begun. Martin was evidently nervous, with his red face, and his eyes fixed on the floor. Marisol took his hand and pulled it for him to sit, once again next to her. "How tall are you exactly?"
"Six feet five inches."
"What did your parents feed you when you were little? Saltpetre?"
"Papá, knock it off." Marisol tried, but she was saved by her mother, who yelled from the kitchen.
"Amor[2], where did you leave the carrots?" Leo looked towards the kitchen, which was rather huge, since they had modified it after they acquired the neighbours' apartment.
"What would you want pepper for, Callie? Weren't you doing fajitas?" He yelled back. Calypso snorted, audible enough for all of them to hear.
"No, I'm doing quesadillas. Of course I'm doing fajitas! And I need a few carrots." She said. Leo stood up and hurried toward the kitchen, at what Martin let go of the air he'd been holding. They still stayed silent, hearing the rest of it.
"Holy Hephaestus! I told you to do stuff to put in the fajitas. What is this, woman?" They could hear Leo exclaim.
"It is stuff to put in the fajitas!"
"Why do you always have to go all Greek on my Mexican recipes? Seriously, there's no chilli in any of these. Is that olive oil what I taste on the meat and the chicken? And why exactly are there no beans?" Martin watched amused as both Sebastián and Marisol put their hands over their mouths to muffle their giggles.
"I don't like to put chilli on the meat, nor the chicken. Yes, it is olive oil, it gives the food a nice flavour and it's healthy. And Leo, for the love of the gods, nobody except you likes beans on their fajitas. I'm doing some vegetables instead." She sighed. "You got to do the medias lunas before. I wanted to do them. Let me do this my way, okay?"
"But my beans." They suddenly went silent and Marisol and Sebastián rolled their eyes at the same time.
"What happened?" Martin asked Marisol.
"Mum is convincing dad to stop bugging her about the way she cooks... with their weird stares and such."
"Does this happen often?" Marisol nodded.
"You should've been here the time my mum wanted to bake apple pie and my dad asked for the recipe and waved her off the kitchen." Martin arched an eyebrow.
"Why would he do that?"
"Mum is an amazing cook, really, but she can set the kitchen on fire if she tries to bake anything." Answered Sebastián. Martin turned to Marisol.
"Would you burn my kitchen if you made dessert?" He asked.
"You wish. I am a great confectioner. Lend me your oven and you can kiss your abs goodbye, pretty boy." Martin chuckled.
"Then do so, Maddie. I dare you to feed me sweets until I gain five pounds."
"You're on, Martín." They were looking at each other, excitedly, holding each other hands, their noses nearly touching.
"Stop, please, you're giving me diabetes. I could get caries just by looking at you two, seriously." Sebastián complained. Marisol stood up.
"Oh, don't be jealous dear brother, I have some love for you too." She said, then leaned and kissed his cheek. Sebastián retreated immediately, brushing the back of his hand against where Marisol had kissed him.
"Ugh, gross. Little sister kisses. Those are forbidden since you began wearing bras. Ew." Marisol laughed, and Martin took it all in, amazed. As a single child, Martin always thought curious how siblings looked alike, and the way they treated each other. Marisol and her brother did not share many features, but they had the same smile, and their eyes had the same almond shape. They both had dimples in their cheeks when they smiled and snub noses. Though Sebastián's was longer and his features were more angular. He was also paler than his sister, and his hair was light brown.
"Dinner is ready!" Calypso announced from the kitchen. Gwen finally opened the door and offered Sebastián a kiss on the cheek, which he accepted without complaints.
"It's not ready. There're no beans." They all heard Leo complain. The four of them cracked up.
Martin sat between Marisol and Leo. In front of him was Calypso, and besides Marisol, were Sebastián and Gwen. Martin took some meat and guacamole; he did not dare touch the vegetables that had replaced the beans. The guacamole was especially good. Marisol filled her fajitas with a lot of vegetables and some chicken.
"Tell me, Martin. Are you studying?" Leo asked him.
"Yes, sir." Leo was visibly pleased by being called 'sir'. "I have a scholarship on a private school."
"So I'm guessing you get good grades."
"Straight As, sir." He admitted. Calypso smiled, pleased.
"Did I tell you he offered to take care of my greenhouse? He's a son of Demeter, you know." Calypso intervened.
"Did he? That's nice. The dryad kept forgetting to water your flowers properly. She's a plant, she should know about watering." He said in disbelief. "What are you planning to do once you're done with school, Martin?" Martin swallowed and cleared his throat.
"I intend to go to university, sir."
"Really? You never told me about it, Windflowers." Sebastián interrupted. "What do you plan to study?"
"Botany." Answered Marisol, feeling the urge to say something. "He wants to go to Harvard or Yale if he can, don't you, Martín?" He nodded.
"Very good choices. What else are you good at, Martin? Do they teach you languages at your school? Parli italiano?[3]" Asked Gwen.
"Si. Parlo anche francese, tedesco, portoghese e spagnolo. Si ha una pronuncia eccellente, Gwen.[4]" Calypso giggled, getting some of what he'd said.
"Pero si hablabas español, ¡podrías haberlo dicho antes![5]" She said. "Todos aquí hablamos español. Leo me enseñó a mí y luego a los niños. Seba le enseñó a Gwen.[6]"
"Esa es muy fabuloso, señora Valdez.[7]" Martin's pronunciation was sloppy and he did not make the sentences properly. He talked way too politely, and Marisol knew he wasn't very good with verbs.
"Si hablas español, espero que no te moleste que sigamos así el resto de la cena.[8]" Leo said.
"Suficiente. Creo que es bastante con que lo interroguen en inglés, ¿para qué torturarlo en español? Dejen a mi novio en paz.[9]" Marisol snapped. "Prometieron que se portarían bien. No me sorprendería que Martín terminase conmigo después de esto. Córtenla, por favor.[10]"
"Papá, mamá[11], I think Marisol is right. Had Gwen's uncle begun questioning me in Italian, I would've wanted to dig a hole and hide in it. Not to mention what would have I done had Mr. Zhang begun talking in Chinese." Sebastián stood up for Martin, and Marisol felt like standing up and kissing him on the cheek again. Gwen smiled proudly at Sebastián, who grinned with the satisfaction of making the girl he loved fall for him again. The rest of dinner went pretty swiftly. Marisol stood up when everyone was done.
"May I take Martin to my room?" She saw her dad's disapproving look, and she rolled her eyes. "I'll leave the door open, promise."
"Go on, cielo." Calypso said, and she had to practically drag Martin away, since he insisted it was impolite to leave before table talk.
"Ugh, you're such a masochist. You've got many problems and ninety nine percent of them are your good manners." She told him.
"What is the one percent remaining?" He asked, curious.
"I am." She smiled.
Marisol's room was by the dining room and by the kitchen. It was painted orangish yellow, with warm, cherry wooden floor. A poster of The Rolling Stones hung from a wall, and a stack of CDs and some books (mostly Shakespeare's) rested on a shelf over a desk. The desk had an iPod on it, and speakers. The rest was wires, tools, and magazines about motorcycles and technology. What looked like Marisol's only purse hung from the desk chair, over which rested a black backpack with patches which read 'The Beatles', 'The Rolling Stones', 'Macbeth Witches', 'Gryffindor Pride', 'I'm a hobbit, deal with it' and 'Thou lumpish dizzy-eyed dewberry'. Her bed comforter was white and the pillows on it were warm yellow, one of them was bee-shaped. Another one had Winnie the Pooh's face. She fell on her bed and rested her back on the wall, hugging her knees. He sat beside her.
"You have a nice bedroom." He stated. On her night table, rested a dragon-shaped lamp, and a ball made of celestial bronze scratches. "What's that?" He pointed to the ball.
"Oh, that's my cat Jerry's hairball." She said, nostalgic.
"Of course, your cat Jerry's hairball." Marisol laughed.
"When I was little, I asked for a pet, as most little kids do. My parents said I couldn't have a dog, because the apartment was too little for it to have enough space. My mum said I could have a cat. The problem was my dad thought an automaton would be a way better pet for me than a real animal. So he built me Jerry, the bronze cat."
"Where's Jerry now?" Martin asked, visibly curious.
"Dead. He tried to eat a rat. Didn't agree with his engines. Anyways, he was way better than my brother's goldfish." She immediately brought her hands to her mouth. "Don't you ever tell him I said so. It's still a sore point for him. He never got over Goldy."
"Was Goldy an automaton too?" Marisol shook her head.
"Goldy was a very fragile, alive fish. One day my mother was cleaning its fish bowl and put Goldy on a glass by the window. Goldy was found by one of the neighbours' cats. He didn't make it." Martin cracked up.
"That's a terribly sad story, I don't know why I find it amusing." Marisol laughed with him.
"Me neither." Their laughter died, and Marisol played with her thumbs, nervously. Half her thoughts were onto her daily debate 'Do I love him?' and half were worrying about the way dinner had gone. "So... from one to ten, how terrible was it?"
"Hmmm, three?"
"That being one 'It was horrible, I'm breaking up with you' and ten 'It was awesome, I can marry you without any worries', right?"
"No, that being one 'It was awesome, I can marry you without any worries' and ten 'It was horrible, I'm breaking up with you'." Marisol's face lit up.
"Really?" She sighed with relief. "What would a three be, specifically?"
"It would be a 'I can get used to this, I don't mind, as long as I get to keep you.' More or less. Maybe a 'I like your family better, can I break up with you and keep hanging out with them?'" Marisol picked a pillow and hit him with it.
"I knew it." She said, and was about to hit him a second time, but he stopped the pillow and took it. "Give me my bee pillow back." She demanded.
"I ask for something in exchange." He grinned. "You have to invite me to more dinners. I want your parents to acknowledge my existence and my presence. I want them to keep in mind I'll be the one to steal you away." Marisol looked down, lovestruck.
"Will you, indeed?" She asked.
"Of course. I'll go to uni to come back as a way improved flower nerd to sweep you off your feet." Marisol smiled, but her eyes were lost in the orangish yellow of the wall in front of her.
"You have great plans, and I wonder if I'm ever going to be able to pull off something at least half as great. I don't see an impressive future laying in front of me." She said.
"I do. You could do anything you want, in fact. You have several talents." Marisol forced a laugh.
"Right, like riding a motorcycle or being annoying." Martin poked her nose, and pulled her to seat against him instead of against the wall.
"You're smart, you read a lot. You enjoy classic literature. Your forging is outstanding, and I have never seen a better swordsman than you are. You know a lot about mechanics, and you manage yourself perfectly in three different languages."
"You can talk seven." She fought back.
"Lamely. That's not the same thing as talking three like you were born talking them." He took her hands in his. "You can work in your dad's repair shop, or open your own. You can forge supplies for Dungeons and Dragons nerds, or you can forge jewellery. You could even study classic literature, if you wanted to. Although I'm not sure that's in your plans..."
"My plans include me, my motorbike, money from savings and a highway." Marisol explained, for the first time ever.
"You wanna make a road trip?"
"I wanna make the road trip. I want to go everywhere, and I never want it to stop."
"Wouldn't it get lonely? I know you could meet people, several people, on the way. But if you keep moving around they can never make presence for long enough. Wouldn't you want to stay... anywhere?" Martin did not talk about his presence or absence in her plans. He was only concerned about its flaws.
"I'll stay where I run out of money. Settle there." She explained. Martin smiled, and kissed her temple.
"Do you plan for a white picket fence and a big backyard?" He asked. Marisol turned to face him.
"We demigods can't plan for those things, you know that. Monsters find us eventually. We are never certain about a future." Martin lowered his eyes.
"Yeah, us demigods. But the godly blood in you is almost inexistent. You can dream of white picket fences, big backyards, six children and a car. You should. Maybe not dream about that exactly, but you should have big dreams and big plans for the future." Marisol punched him softly on the arm.
"Ugh, stop talking like that, you sound like my parents, or Seba, which is worse. If there's anyone who should plan a future, it's you. You with your botany degree and your straight A's record." She turned, so he couldn't see how she blushed. "Plus, I'm getting you on my motorbike before I run out of gas. Don't think you'll get away so easily." Martin grinned and hugged her, kissing her behind her right ear, and Marisol felt herself melt between his arms. She played with his fingers, nervously. She'd had Martin all for herself, and they had been alone. She'd had him right in front of her and she had backed down.
It had surprised her greatly when Martin had proved her she wasn't ready for loving, which was incredibly stupid, because she was always ready for it. At least when it came to Martin. She had a thing for Martin like the sun for the day, like its light for the Earth, always shining through itself or the moon. Even if she could've been doubtful, she was always readier than Martin. But it had seemed as if he'd been protecting her, like he was up to anything, but since he cared for her, he knew she needed time. It was bugging her, the way she hadn't been able to say 'Me too' after he'd said 'Bye, I love you', the two walkie-talkie calls they'd shared after the first time he'd told her he loved her.
Now, she did have Martin all for herself, but the door was open, and only a few metres away, waiting for the precise moment, was her dad, or her mum. Marisol, nevertheless, had Martin in her room, and she could not fight the idea that it would be funny to see what would he do if she tried anything. She looked back, and kissed Martin over her shoulder, which wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing to do, yet it felt nice. Martin led the kiss to be brief.
"Why do you have all those geeky patches on your backpack?" He asked.
"Because," she said, clearly amused he'd found a new topic for her to get distracted with. "Books geeks and nerds are usually nice people to talk to, so if you don't get the references on my backpack, I mostly won't bother to talk to you." She explained.
"So it's like a quick personality test."
"Right."
"Do you have any others?" Marisol thought for a moment.
"What team?" Martin was confused.
"What team what?" Marisol sighed, with disappointment.
"That's maybe the lamest answer I've ever gotten. Most guys answer their favourite baseball teams, or their favourite football teams. Girls tend to say stupid stuff like 'Team Jacob' or 'Team Edward' or 'Team Gale' which are all equally stupid."
"Then which one would be the right answer?"
"Wildcats, of course." Martin chuckled, and Marisol turned around completely, kneeling in front of him before taking his face in her hands. "You gave me the first 'What team what?' which I will have to create a whole new category for. You owe me to make it worth my while." She smiled, suggestively. He shrugged, impassibly, and Marisol thought maybe he was getting too used to her teasing. It wasn't the same if he didn't blush and yell.
"Later, ok? I promise." Marisol narrowed her eyes.
"I want a little free sample." She said, and kissed him, kissed him nicely, but demanding for him not to back down. Martin would take any chance to speak his mind.
"The door is open." He said, Marisol kissed him. "Beyond the door is your whole family." Marisol kissed his jaw. She loved the way it was strong and angular, but did not make his face look any sharp at all. It was like all the cuteness in him came out through his pores and softened everything in him. "They could come in." Kiss, on the cheek. Kisses, all down his jaw line. Kiss, on his lips.
"Hmmm?" She mumbled, as if for saying 'And?' which made Martin lose his head. He held her by the shoulders, tenderly, so he could kiss her now, when from the corner of his eye, he saw a figure appearing on the doorway.
"Hey, Mrs. Valdez." Said Martin, clearly shaken a bit by the fact that he had been one second away from being found making out with Marisol. Phew. Calypso smiled, like she could tell what she'd almost stepped into.
"Dessert is ready. Martin, have you ever tried medias lunas?"
"Are there medias lunas for dessert?" Marisol turned to her mother, her face lit up from the prospective of a nice dessert. Calypso giggled.
"Yes, Maddie."
"What's medias lunas?" Asked Martin.
"Argentinean pastries. Kind of like croissants but not at all like them." Martin seemed even more confused.
"Dad usually makes them with jam inside, come on, they're nice."
Everything was ready. The cake in the fridge, Martin's gift, her plans, everything. She was going to give Martin the best birthday he'd ever have. She put on her favourite red hoodie (which she reserved only for winter) and put on a white knitted scarf. She'd love to wear a knitted hat, as well, but it wasn't cold enough yet. If she got used to it now, she'd freeze when it got colder. She put her backpack on, only one strap on her shoulder, when her walkie-talkie beeped. It could only be one person, so she picked up quickly.
"Mornin', pretty boy." She said as she put on her Chuck Taylors.
"Hey. Marisol, we can't date anymore." Marisol almost fell to the floor.
"Excuse me?" She almost yelled at the artefact, which was kind of silly, because she looked like a little girl annoyed with her toy. "Are you drunk?" She had to ask, it wouldn't be the first time a boyfriend of hers called her while drunk. It would be Martin's first erratic behaviour in forever, though.
"No, which kind of question is that one?" He sounded insulted enough. Okay, not drunk, she thought. Good to know. "I'm sick, so I can't date you anymore." Marisol let go of the air that had gotten stuck in her lungs, relieved.
"So you mean you can't date me today, because you're sick."
"Yeah. I'm sorry, darling. I was really looking forward seeing you today."
"Are you at your place?" She went to the kitchen and took the cake out.
"Yeah."
"Well, then stay there and take care."
"Marisol?"
"What, darling?" She mocked him.
"I love you, and I'm sorry for cancelling on you." Marisol bit her lip, thinking how, as delirious and feverish as he sounded, he still found time to say such things.
"Don't worry, Martín. I'll fix everything, okay?"
"Are you coming? Don't come, I have the flu or something, I don't wanna pass it onto you."
"Uh huh, yeah. Whatever. I'll see you later, Martín." She turned off the walkie-talkie, so Martin couldn't protest anymore. It was his birthday, and he couldn't not celebrate it. Also, Marisol had serious doubts about him being able to take care of himself while sick. She sighed and put the cake in a box. She took Martin's present and shoved it into her backpack.
"I'm out!" She yelled to her mum, who was probably already gardening, and shut the door behind her.
Martin felt dizzy. He hated this state of sickness, when you feel too bad for doing anything but lying in bed, but you can't bring yourself to sleep. He wished for a telly. It would solve his problem of insomnia. Also, he'd called Marisol early in the morning, around the time she was supposed to leave for school. He'd called her without even thinking about it, feverish, and couldn't quite remember what he'd told her. He hoped he hadn't said anything stupid. He also hoped he'd told her he couldn't make it for their date. Can't make it to my own birthday, how lame, he thought. The doorbell rang. Or maybe he had imagined it, yeah, that was the most probable thing. He imagined the doorbell rang several times more. Finally, he imagined someone knocked insistently.
"I'm burning the door down if you don't come to open it, Martín!" A voice came into his room. He smiled, groggily. His steps were lazy, but standing up made him feel more awake. Martin walked to the door, and opened it, hoping to realise he was just ranting. He looked, and there was nothing. He suddenly remembered most people were out of his immediate visual camp and looked down. There was Marisol with a million bags and a box in her hands.
"Move, it's heavy." She said. Martin tried to help her, but she avoided him. "You're so weak you'll ruin the cake. And that would be a complete tragedy." She left the stuff on the kitchen counter and began sorting things. The box went into the fridge. The bags were full of water bottles and other kind of bottles. And some thingies to eat. He recognised those, from somewhere. There was also a bag a microwave popcorn. Two bags of popcorn. Also, her backpack, which she left carefully on the floor.
"Shouldn't you be at school? Martin observed." Marisol rolled her eyes.
"As well as you. But we're both already here." She picked up a glass and poured some of the strange liquid into it. "Have you taken any medicine?" She asked, already checking the fridge again.
"Medicine?" Martin asked.
"Fuck. There's no cream in here, and I'll need some marshmallows." She turned around, and handed him the glass. "You're helpless." She exclaimed. "Here. Drink it, and go try to get some sleep." She saw how pale he was, how dark and swallow his skin was around his eyes. "Gods, you look terrible." She said, passing her fingers through his hair. Martin, as dizzy as he was, only closed his eyes to enjoy the wonderful sensation. It was so calming when Marisol ran her fingers through his hair... it brought him back to reality.
"Marisol, you shouldn't be here, I'm sick. I don't want you to get sick as well, plus, you mustn't skip school, no matter what, and—" she shushed him.
"I eat all my vitamins. I'm healthy because I eat properly. You only eat hamburgers and green stuff every single day. You can't hope to have a strong immune system like that. Now, drink it. I'll be right back. I skipped school for a good cause. I told you I was going to make this the best birthday of your life, and that's what I'm going to do." She winked. "Drink, take a shower and go to bed. I'll go buy some stuff. Do you have any keys you can lend me? You know, for not having to threat you with burning the door down if you don't open it." She smiled, and Martin could only think there should have been some kind of law against having such a perfect girlfriend. Like, what about the poor guys who could never get a girl half as wonderful as Marisol? Also, he thought what annoying and bossy mother she would make, since she was so used to getting her way with everything and everyone.
Martin drank, to discover what he was drinking was nectar, the drink of the gods. It tasted of medias lunas. He felt way better, well enough for doing as Marisol told him. He even opened the curtains.
When she came back, Martin was fast asleep. She entertained herself making soup with some spinach, carrots, chicken, potatoes and corn. She was soon over. Martin was sitting on the couch, looking more rested and more lucid. He frowned.
"You shouldn't be here." He said.
"But I already am."
"I can take care of myself."
"Clearly, you can't." She noted. "Otherwise you would've already thought of drinking some nectar for getting better. Or eating some ambrosia."
"It's not fair for you to take care of me like this." Marisol sat beside him.
"I care about you, Martin. I care about you more than I care about anyone." She told him. Saying this was not even half as difficult as it was deciding whether she loved him or not. "I want to be here to tell you how much you suck as a boyfriend for cancelling on me. And I want to be here to celebrate your birthday with you. Now you are, with no doubt, one lucky nineteen years old guy. You could never get a better girlfriend." She smiled, and tried to kiss him, just a brief kiss, but he wouldn't have it.
"I'm still sick." Marisol rolled her eyes.
"Don't be a baby. I'm not getting sick." She kissed him briefly and messed his hair. "I made soup, sickish boy. Chicken soup. Wanna eat some?" It was chill outside, and soup sounded nice. After they had eaten lunch, Marisol washed the dishes. She came by with some ambrosia cubes and gave Martin one.
"That's the last one" she warned him. "You should be like new in no time." Martin smiled.
"Thanks, Maddie." The ambrosia tasted like the pizza he and his dad always had for Thanksgiving. With extra cheese and everything.
"I brought Star Wars, episodes four to six. You can watch the first three episodes later. I personally like these ones better."
"Too bad I don't have a telly." He smiled apologetically.
"You have a laptop, don't you?"
"Yeah, but the disc lector is damaged and—"
"I didn't mean that one." Marisol stood up and came back with a gift package she pulled out of her backpack. "Open it." Martin was already shaking his head in disbelief and awe by the time he opened gently the gift paper (the way in which you carefully open it by taking the tape off and such) which totally drove Marisol insane. Inside there was a strange-looking device. It took him a while to notice it was, in fact, a laptop. A really cool and light one, which was definitely too modern for being cheap.
"I can't. I can't accept it." He said.
"Aw, come on. Took me forever to ensemble it. Don't even get me started on the chips and the operative system. Ugh, eons were lost on those. And making it match Windows or Mac? I wanted to die. Had to recur to my dad a thousand times, even though I swore not to when I began. Don't tell me now you don't want it, because you need it, and I will hit you with it if I did it for nothing." Martin was speechless, but he found his voice.
"You did this?"
"That's what I told you, silly. It may still have a couple issues. If it does, I can fix them, I'm sure I can. I have been studying computer systems for more than a month now. It's like the fastest processor ever to exist. It also keeps monsters away from it, because there's celestial bronze in the— well, you get the idea." She cut herself when she remembered he probably didn't have a clue of what was she talking about. "Do you like it?"
"Like it?" Martin stood up, putting the laptop aside, taking Marisol's hands in his. "You made a freaking computer. From scratch, just for me. You made a freaking computer and you don't think you're one for going to uni and such. Maddie, saying 'I love it' doesn't cut it. Saying 'I love you', doesn't do it, either. But yeah, I love it. And yeah, I love you." Now it didn't matter who was sick and who wasn't because he was so happy and kissing her while bursting with that feeling was just the right thing to do. Marisol hadn't looked enthusiastic about the gift, but now he was holding her tiny figure, he could feel how shaky she was. How worried, of making it right. Although part of her angst had nothing to do with him liking his gift. It had to do with him openly telling her that he loved her. His happiness became milder, yet not less existent, and he let go of Marisol, who seemed pretty proud of herself.
"So, Star Wars marathon?" He asked.
"Yeah, but I get to make all the mean remarks." Martin smirked.
"You know I suck at those."
"Touché."
Martin led her to his room which was the first time she ever entered it with permission. It was neat as always, and the bed was already done. Martin sat against a wall and rested the new laptop on his knees and boosted it on. Marisol cuddled against him, and he put his arm around her, cuddling her in. This is nice, he thought, as he felt the fragrance of her shampoo: plum. Marisol put the DVD in the laptop and they began watching the film.
"So, you may think Leia ain't as pretty as Padme, and that's true but—"
"Who's Padme?" Martin asked.
"Damn, right. You haven't seen the first episodes. Forget what I just said." Giggles. "Darth Vader is so funny because he's like evil but he isn't. Nobody takes him seriously enough." Pause. "You see that one? That one's Luke, and gods, he's like the lamest hero in the history of cinema."
"Isn't this movie like, a classic?" Martin asked.
"Yes, but it's a classic because the characters take it so seriously and you can't help to make fun of them." Laugh. "Did you see his face? It's like terrible hero face." More laughs. Marisol kept making remarks on every single thing she thought funny or so, and they kind of paid more attention to her incessant rattle than to the movies. After the first episode, Marisol sat upright.
"Do you want some popcorn?" He looked better now. He was no longer pale, and he seemed more energetic now.
"That would be nice." Marisol stood up and Martin thought most people would've already murdered Marisol for talking the whole movie. But he didn't mind. He liked to hear her voice, to know she was there, enjoying herself just by sitting next to him and watching something she'd watched before. She walked in, holding two bowls full of popcorn.
"Salty or caramel?" She asked.
"Salty. Who picks caramel?"
"I do. Salty popcorn is gross." She tossed him the popcorn bowl, and he caught it midair, not without spilling some of it.
"You shouldn't toss stuff." He said.
"Okay, mum." Episode V went quickly and Marisol made comments like 'Do you get now why you were a prettier Luke rather than Han Solo to your crushes?' or 'Ew, if you get in trouble with Jabba the Hutt, don't expect me to save your butt, because he's so disgusting' and such. Marisol sat upright again by the end of the movie.
"I brought stuff to make hot chocolate, and eat cake... sing happy birthday. I should go get things ready." She moved to stand up, but Martin caught her by the arm. "Is there anything wrong?"
"Just— you can do that later. It's nice just to sit with you. At any rate, we won't be able to watch Episode VI before you go, so I guess we can use the time we would've invested in watching half the movie." He said. Marisol sat back beside him, with a wide grin.
"But I'm not leaving early." She explained. "Tomorrow's Saturday. I can stay as long as I want."
"No, you can't. Because it's dangerous for you to drive back to your place too late at night." Marisol chuckled, and kissed him. Martin put the laptop aside to make room for her on his lap. He held her hips, drawing swirls and figures on her hipbone.
"I didn't plan to drive home late at night. I planned to drive home early in the morning. Maybe not so early. At noon." She melted against Martin, kissing him, to silence his complaints.
"I'll sleep on the couch, then." He said.
"What about sleeping with me?" She teased, and he drew himself back, and shook his head.
"Valdez, how many times—" Marisol kissed his cheek.
"I was only checking. That I still made you nervous and such." Martin smiled.
"Oh, you do." He kissed her grin. "You do." He kissed her shoulder.
"I'm sleeping on the couch, though." She said, kissing him sweet, caressing his neck under the neckline of his pyjama shirt.
"No way."
"Yes, you're sick. Maybe the ambrosia makes you feel better, but I have to make sure you get through it completely." His hands went up to her face.
"Didn't you mention something about a birthday cake?" He asked.
"I baked it myself."
"I'd love a slice."
They went to the kitchen and Marisol took the box out of the fridge. The cake was small, for no more than ten people, but there were just two of them. Marisol set the candles and lit them. She wondered if Martin had other friends besides her, and how maybe she had stolen him and forced him to spend his birthday just with her. Instead, Martin had other thoughts about it.
"Wow, I think it's been years since the last time I blew candles on a cake." He said. "Actually, I think it's been years since the last time I had a birthday cake." Marisol was stunned.
"What do you mean it's been years since you last had a birthday cake?"
"For the last few years I haven't celebrated my birthdays at all. My dad sends an Iris message, and a birthday present via mail. My friends at camp are year-rounders, and they're not many. There're some nice people in mortal school, but I spend most of my time studying, so I don't hang out enough for people to ask or care for things like birthdays." He gazed at the candles on the birthday cake. Marisol couldn't help to think how lonely and sad was not to celebrate your birthday.
"From now on, I take it as my responsibility to bake you a birthday cake and sing happy birthday to you." Martin smiled. "Now, don't forget to make three wishes before you blow the candles."
"Wasn't it just one wish?"
"Boring rules. My dad says in some places of South America they've three wishes, so he raised us to those wishing rules. They make three wishes when they blow the candles. That makes two wishes lost per year of life to any other culture in the world." She explained. "Now, blow those candles and make your wishes. And don't forget about me, I need someone to wish for me to get a new boyfriend. The one I've got is awfully cute and nice, and that's not fair to the rest of the feminine population." Marisol didn't have a great voice and hated singing, but she did her best to sing Happy Birthday for him. Martin hesitated a few seconds of wish-making and blew the candles. He turned to Marisol and pulled her closer.
"Thanks, Maddie. For being so awesome, and giving me a really nice birthday." He kissed her, and Marisol smiled, triumphant, knowing she had done it. She'd given him the best birthday ever.
"Now, you gotta bite the cake." She told him.
"What? Why?"
"I was taught it was something you ought to do, good luck or something. Now do it." Martin sighed, and leaned over the cake, and he should've seen it coming, yet he was not able to stop it, when Marisol helped his face into the cake. He came out with the face full of cream and chocolate. Martin glared at her. "I should've also mentioned you have to be careful with people around you. They will try for your face to get imprinted on the cake." Martin rolled his eyes but grinned. He licked his lips.
"Holy Demeter, this cake is delicious." He noted.
"Is it? I'm glad you like it. I haven't tasted it yet." She pulled him down from his shirt collar and licked some cream off his cheek.
"Yup, really good." She noted, with a tricky smirk.
"Here you have some more, then." He took some cream off his face with his hands, and applied it to Marisol's. She giggled, passing a finger through her cheek to cleanse it and eat the cream. Martin leaned over her. "Let me help with that." He kissed her cheeks clean. After they had finished teasing each other, Marisol helped Martin to get the rests of cream off his face by the sink, laughing at the way some cream got trapped between his eyelashes.
"Do you want some hot chocolate?" She asked when she was done. Martin looked out the window, and saw how cold and dark it was outside.
"Sure, spoil me a bit more." And he sat on the couch, looking at her cut the cake and pour milk and wipe cream. Once again, he couldn't help to think how nice it'd be to have her doing stuff like this all the time. She finally came around the couch with cake first, and then with mugs full of hot chocolate, with wiped cream and marshmallows. When they were done, they headed towards the bedroom and watched Star Wars, Episode VI. Marisol was tired, and made very few comments about it.
"Don't stare at Leia for too long." She said, when Leia dressed up as a slave appeared on screen. "I'll feel jealous."
"No way." He told her. "She's half as beautiful as you are. Even if with less clothes on." And kissed her left temple. The movie was almost done, and sleepiness crept over Martin. He was really content with the fact Marisol had done all those things for him, and just for him. Nobody ever had troubled itself so much just for his sake.
"I love you." He told her, brushing her hair.
"I know." She said.
"Don't get all Han Solo on me." He protested but, when he looked down, Marisol was already asleep. He found himself trapped, as he couldn't move to go sleep on the couch without waking her up. "You selfish girl, using me as your pillow." He said, but he put the laptop on the floor, moving the less he could, and turned her ever so slightly to wrap his arms around her. Her breathing was paced and almost soundless. He eventually fell asleep as well, with his arms around her.
Marisol rolled to find an empty space next to her. She grumbled, confused, knowing she hadn't gone to sleep alone. She extended her arms, looking for someone, but there wasn't anyone. She opened her eyes, and woke up. She was under a blanket, and someone had taken her converse off her feet. It was rather cold in there. When she sat up, Martin came into the room with a tray.
"Good morning, Maddie. Did you sleep well?" She smiled, and patted the bed beside her so he could sit. On the tray there were two cups of hot chocolate and two pieces of cake. She arched an eyebrow, while he sat next to her.
"You made breakfast for me? Before you even got laid?" She whistled in admiration. "I must say I'm impressed. What are you going to do when we have sex? Fill the room with flowers?" She mocked, and then made a surprised face, gesturing to the plants all around her. "Wait, you already did that!" Martin blushed and glared at her, offended.
"You make it so easy for me to regret being nice with you."
"There we have it, Han Solo. Now you know how to get the ladies." She picked up a mug. "You sure it is safe to drink?"
"Ha, ha, Valdez. Very funny. And yes, I tasted it before I served it. Ain't as good as the one you did last night, but at least it works fine enough." He was pouting, and Marisol grinned. She took a sip, and then another one.
"Tastes fine to me." She drank a bit more. "A bit more than fine, actually." She kissed his cheek.
"What time do you have to leave?" He was worried. Oh, my cute boy, Marisol thought.
"Right after breakfast. Dad will probably have a heart attack once he makes the math. Thankfully, my mother won't help him. Which is indeed very good, because she most probably has already figured out where I was all night."
"You shouldn't hide info from your parents." Marisol gave Martin an amused look.
"Remember when I told you I was one percent of your problems?"
"Yeah."
"I tend to increase. Right now I'm five percent of them. You're the one dating a bad girl now, guapo." Martin grinned.
"Yeah, because you're so, so bad; insulting people in Shakespearean style."
"Shut up, babe."
"You're so not adopting that as a new way to call me by." Marisol grinned.
[1] Do you wanna go drink something with me? I've thought you're really beautiful.
[2] Love, dear, honey, etc.
[3] Do you speak Italian?
[4] Yes. I also speak French, German, Portuguese and Spanish. You have an excellent pronunciation, Gwen.
[5] If you talked Spanish, you could've said so sooner!
[6] All of us talk Spanish. Leo taught me and the kids, and Seba taught Gwen.
[7] That is very fabulous, Mrs. Valdez (but with several grammar mistakes).
[8] If you talk Spanish, I hope you don't mind if we continue like this the rest of the meal.
[9] Enough. I think it's enough you have to question him in English, why torture him in Spanish? Leave my boyfriend alone.
[10] You promised you would behave. I wouldn't be surprised if Martín broke up with me after this. Cut it off, please.
[11] Mum.