“Come on, Rosso. You wouldn’t rat out your partner, Russo, would you?”
He didn’t reply, but his eyes dropped to the small balls of baked goods covered in powdered sugar with a healthy smattering of rainbow sprinkles on top. Mia offered him one which he accepted in his palm. He tossed it into his mouth, and it was gone in seconds.
“Why are theyMexicanItalian?” Ross asked.
“My mom came up with it because it’s like me. I’m both. Also, I’m very sweet, which I’m sure you’ve already noticed.”
He didn’t react but his eyes scanned her face. She was used to it. When people couldn’t quite place her into an easy box, they’d study her like they were trying to figure out which of her features belonged to which group. After fielding strangers’ questions likeWhat are you?over the years, Mia tried to take it in stride. She was who she was, and, for the most part, it didn’t have much relevance in her normal day-to-day life.
“So your mom…” he started.
“She’s Mexican-American. My dad, he’s a judge, is Italian-American.” Her father’s parents had immigrated from a Northern Italian village near the Switzerland border after World War II. Her mom’s family had been in California since the 1930s.
“Do you speak Spanish?”
Mia’s cheeks warmed. It was embarrassing that she was half Mexican-American and yet wasn’t fluent in Spanish. English had always been the primary language at home. She rarely heard her mother speak Spanish except sometimes when talking to her grandma. Mia’s lack of bilingualism was one more thing which made her feel less like a real Latina.
She covered her uncomfortableness with a smile. “Just what I’ve learned in Spanish class. ¿Tú hablas español?”
“I’m white.”
“Why does that matter? I think it’s funny you didn’t ask me if I spoke Italian.”
His expression turned introspective before his lips pulled into something softer than a frown. “Do you speak Italian?”
“Just what I learned from my grandma and it’s mostly swear words. What are you, besidesjustwhite?”
His dark eyes dropped as he picked at the table’s edge. “I don’t know. Italian, Spanish, French. I guess a little of everything.”
“Aw, so you’re like me then, an American melting pot special number one.” She grinned. “Maybe someone should put together an Italian Spanish French cookie. But these cookies are pretty good, right, Rosso?”
He eyed her, taking another one from her hand. “They’re alright.”
“Do you ever smile?” she asked.
His brow merged together. “What?”
She leaned her head against a hand, popping another cookie in her mouth. “I was just wondering if you ever smile.”
He pulled his lips apart in a fake, toothy smile as if he were a robot attempting his first experiment at showing human emotion.
Mia almost spat out her cookie in a snort as she dropped her head into her arms, laughter shaking her core and crumbs spilling from her lips.
Ross’s expression melted into a deep frown.
When the laughter subsided, she touched his arm. “Sorry, but you’re a lot less of an angsty, bad boy when you have purple sprinkles stuck in your teeth. How’s mine?” Mia provided a broad smile for his inspection.
This time his mouth pulled at the corners in a genuine smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re a lot less of a know-it-all, nerd-girl when you have sprinkles stuck in your braces.”
She giggled, bringing her finger to her lips. “Shh! You’re going to get us into trouble.”
He met her eyes shyly. “Thanks for the cookies, Russo.”
“You’re welcome, Rosso.”
Things improved enough for Mia to stick with it, but it wasn’t always easy. A brooding Ross flared up enough times that she suspected his reading and writing skills were lacking more than he was willing to admit. She issued gentle corrections, but she could sense simmering frustration behind the wall.
But their time together wasn’t all homework. There were moments of chatting about school, friends, or whatever else was going on. When a hesitant Ross shared a paper, marked with a redC-, Mia hugged him as if he’d been accepted into Stanford. They also spent a fair amount of time teasing each other and laughing. She began to see Ross as a true friend and hoped he saw her as the same. When their sessions elicited angry glares and librarian hushes, she suggested they move the operation to her house.
