“Do not encourage him!” yelled their designated warden of the day as she stomped her feet like a five-year-old. Joe, however, didn’t seem to have gotten the memo, because he put his fingers to his lips and whistled ear-piercingly loud.
“‘Happy to see you,’” the boy continued, spurred on by Joe’s enthusiastic whistle as he skipped toward them and, with a leap, landed on top of their desk, his eyelashes fluttering at Xavi. “‘Bleibe, reste, stay’,” his voice lowered into a deeper hum that sounded way too mature for his age, but was the most beautiful sound Xavi had ever heard. Even more beautiful than when Liza sang the same words.
Ms. Hatcher was right there, trying to pull the boy from the table, but he just reached for her wrinkled face with his slender fingers and smacked a loud kiss right in the middle of her forehead.
“‘Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome’,” he crooned, his hands remaining against her cheeks, as she seemed frozen in time. “‘Im Cabaret, au Cabaret, to Cabareeet!’” His voice surged into a final peak, then transformed into the most endearing giggle that made even Ms. Hatcher blush under her sickly yellowish tint as she gasped, “Now, I have never…”
For a few seconds, the room went quiet as the dust settled, and they all seemed to be holding their breath. Xavi’s heart was thumping so loudly in his chest, the sound echoing in his ears, that he felt the whole world must hear it too. His skin was tingling, but for once, it wasn’t the overlapping scars digging into his skin that caused the itch. It was something else entirely, a strange buzz underneath the patchwork of healed, burned flesh and numerous skin grafts that spread across his torso, back, and left arm. Then, simultaneously, the three of them burst into laughter, tears springing to Xavi’s eyes as the boy whose name he still didn’t know—but was longing to—sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, suddenly looking adorably shy and self-conscious.
“Mr. Cisnero!” Ms. Hatcher awoke from her stupor. “This isnotthe drama club, nor is it Broadway! Please sit down. You are disrupting detention.” The boy nodded, something flashing through his light-brown eyes which made Xavi’s stomach sink. And that’s when he noticed it. The bluish-purple shadow underneath the boy’s right eye, and the cut running through his bottom lip. “I will not tolerate this type of behavior, and I will have to contact your father if you do not settle down right this minute.” The boy froze, then slowly slid off the table, and walked to the back of the room where he slumped down in a chair. Xavi instinctively felt like getting up from his seat and going after him, but before he could move, he felt a hand on his wrist, and when he turned, Joe shook his head at him. Oh.
Xavi didn’t register Ms. Hatcher finishing her instructions or leaving the room, and it wasn’t until Joe got up next to him, pulling at his wrist, that he woke from his daze.
“C’mon,hermano,” Joe spoke quietly, nodding toward the back of the room, where the other boy was now slumped over, resting his forehead against the desk, the sleeves of his flowy, pink garment resembling two broken wings. Xavi got up and let Joe lead him toward the back, where they both lingered close to the boy, uncertain what to do or say. It ended up being Joe who spoke first. “Fuck her,” he said, loud and clear, puffing out his chest, his presence remarkably strong for a boy that small. The defeated figure sniffed and stirred slightly, but the boy didn’t look up. Xavi’s hand tingled with the urge to reach out and squeeze the boy’s shoulder in quiet solidarity, but he didn’t want to spook him, recalling how scared he’d looked when Ms. Hatcher had threatened to call his father. That had been pure dread reflected in those pale brown eyes. Instead, he decided to echo Joe’s epic words.
“Yeah, fuck her.” His voice shook a little, but the words rang clear and loud through the stuffy room just like Joe’s had.
The boy moved, then lifted his head and looked up at them, timid at first, before wiping his eyes and nose with the back of his hand.
“Fuck her and her nicotine breath and her fish eyes,” Joe continued, and Xavi and the other boy snorted simultaneously.
“Yeah, fuck her and fuck Mr. Garcia too,” Xavi chimed in. The boy’s eyes widened, then crinkled at the corners as a smile grew on his beautiful face, scrunching up his cute button nose.
“Ugh, I hate him!” Joe groaned. “He’s the worst,hermano.”
“I know.” Xavi nodded, then did something he’d never in a million years expected to do, but Joe’s display of affection and boldness made him want to be brave too. “I loved your song.” He smiled tentatively at the other boy. “I loveCabaret.”
“Thank you,” the boy whispered, his voice soft and velvety. Then he blinked at Xavi, and it was like Xavi’s entire life was reset at that moment, in a before and after, at the next words the boy spoke. “Me too.”
Me too.
“I’m Joe.” Joe held out his hand, gesturing at Xavi. “And this is Xavi.” Xavi’s chest warmed with the way Joe introduced him, like they were friends and hadn’t just met.
“I’m Lulu,” the boy murmured.Lulu.
“Huh?” Joe frowned. “Lulu?”
“Yeah, it’s actually Luis-Henrique, but everyone at my old school called me Lulu, and it kinda just stuck.”
“You’re new here?” Joe asked.
“Yeah, we just moved here a month ago from Pittsburgh.” That made more sense, Xavi thought, because he would definitely have noticed someone like this Lulu kid if they’d gone to school together for years. “I’m in… I’m in the drama club.”
“Cool,” Joe said, then got straight down to business. “So why are you here? In detention?”
“Ah, you know, just talking back at a teacher,” Lulu mumbled, but somehow Xavi could tell there was more to the story, and perhaps Joe could too, because he didn’t ask which teacher or what Lulu had said.
“What about you?” He looked at Xavi.
“Mr. Garcia,” Xavi spat, feeling anger build inside his chest all over again.
“Mr. Garcia?” Lulu asked, his voice frail and curious.
“Yeah, he’s my English teacher, and he’s the fucking worst.”
Joe nodded. “For sure. So, what happened?”
Xavi shrugged. He knew he’d been out of line, but Mr. Garcia just pushed his buttons with his ignorance and uninspired approach to teaching Xavi’s favorite subject, English. “I told him to shove his copy of‘the Catcher in the Rye’up his ass.”
