Gabi a Girl in Pieces Read online

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Gabi, a Girl in Pieces is a work of fiction. Any likeness to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Gabi, a Girl in Pieces. Copyright © 2014 by Isabel Quintero. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written consent from the publisher, except for brief quotations for reviews. For further information, write Cinco Puntos Press, 701 Texas, El Paso, TX 79901; or call 1-915-838-1625.

  FIRST EDITION

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Quintero, Isabel.

  Gabi, a girl in pieces / by Isabel Quintero. — First edition.

  pages cm

  Summary: Sixteen-year-old Gabi Hernandez chronicles her senior year in high school as she copes with her friend Cindy’s pregnancy, friend Sebastian’s coming out, her father’s meth habit, her own cravings for food and cute boys, and especially the poetry that helps forge her identity.

  ISBN 978-1-935955-94-8 (hardback : alk. paper) —ISBN 978-1-935955-95-5 (pbk. : alk. paper) —ISBN 978-1-935955-96-2 (e-book)

  [1. High schools—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction. 3. Pregnancy—Fiction. 4. Gays—Fiction. 5. Family problems—Fiction. 6.Mexican Americans—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.Q438Gab 2014

  [Fic]—dc23 2014007658

  Book and cover design by Zeque Penya

  Electronic edition handcrafted at Pajarito Studios

  Dedication

  En primero:

  para la persona who first read to me and taught

  me that words mattered and changed you.

  Gracias, Mamá.

  Y en segundo:

  for all the gorditas, flaquitas, and

  in-between girls trying to make their space in

  the world.

  Don’t worry, you got this.

  —ISABEL QUINTERO

  Gabi

  Start

  July 24

  My mother named me Gabriela after my grandmother who—coincidentally—didn’t want to meet me when I was born because my mother was not married and was therefore living in sin. My mom has told me the story many, many, MANY times of how, when she confessed to my grandmother that she was pregnant with me, her mother beat her. BEAT HER! She was twenty-five.

  That story forms the basis of my sexual education.

  Every time I go out with a guy, my mom says, “Ojos abiertos, piernas cerradas.” Eyes open, legs closed. That’s as far as the birds and the bees talk has gone. And I don’t mind it. I don’t necessarily agree with that whole wait-until-you’re-married crap though. I mean, this is America and the twenty-first century, not Mexico one hundred years ago. But, of course, I can’t tell my mom that because she’ll think I’m bad.

  Or worse: trying to be White.

  July 25

  Less than a month before school starts again. Ugh. It’s not like I don’t want to go back to school (because I do), but I also want to lie around and do nothing for a little bit longer. Eat some tacos. Eat a few more Rocky Road ice cream cones from Rite-Aid so I have an excuse to talk to the really cute guy there who has a full sleeve but has to cover it up because apparently Rite-Aid keeps it classy. Not like he’s asked me for my number but, hey, at least I can say he’s given me something sweet.

  What I really want to do before summer vacation is over is try the new super-hot wings from Pepe’s House of Wings, located—conveniently—down the street. The wings are rumored to be so hot that you have to sign a waiver before you put one little drumstick in your mouth. Which makes me wonder, what horrible thing happens when you eat them? Could you possibly have a heart attack from ingesting so much capsaicin? (I like that word. It makes me feel scientific.) DEATH BY DIGESTING FIERY WING. Sounds borderline mythical. Maybe you stop breathing but are on such a spicy-wing high that it doesn’t matter because it’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten and it’s like there are angels lifting you into heaven while your mouth burns away here on earth.

  But, with my luck, I’d probably just get the runs.

  Right now though, I seriously have to get up and clean my room before my mom sees the little treasures under my pillow. That woman is always finding my stash.

  July 25

  Later the same afternoon…

  Okay. So I met up with Cindy and Sebastian and we had the wings at Pepe’s House of Wings. But my best friends are weaklings when it comes to spicy food and only ate barbecue and lemon pepper wings. Chickens. I, however, ate the super spicy (aka Caliente Caliente) wings. It felt so good signing that waiver, like I was about to do something so epic, so courageous, so dangerous, and so for the benefit of all human kind that I would be willing to sign my life away to do it. Of course it would be just like me that the most dangerous thing I have done up to this moment would be food related. Ugh.

  Note to self: lose some weight. It is senior year, after all.

  July 25

  Later…

  I was right. I got the runs.

  July 28

  What the fuck just happened?

  Long day. Have to sleep.

  July 29

  Yesterday was unreal. Cindy called me and told me that she needed me to come over because she had to tell me something. Last time one of my friends said they had to tell me something was when Sebastian told me he was gay. He called me and said he had “something” to tell me. Not that I didn’t know. I mean, I’ve known him since the third grade and he’s always been gay. But I was happy that he finally came out, to me at least. It was funny too. He took me to Denny’s and said, “Gabi, I have something to tell you.” And I was like, Oh my God, he’s gonna tell me he’s gay. And he was like, “Ugh, I can’t say it.” So he wrote, “I’m gay” on a napkin and passed it to me. I looked at it and couldn’t help whispering, “I know.” We both kind of laughed and were relieved.

  Now he just has to tell his parents.

  But when Cindy said she had something to tell me, I was wondering how I would react if she told me she was a lesbian. It would be super weird, wouldn’t it? I mean, we’ve gotten dressed in front of each other, gone skinny dipping in her pool. Should I be concerned about that? I doubt it. Not that I thought she would be checking me out (a lot) because, really, who checks out the fat girl?

  Cindy didn’t tell me she was a lesbian though—which really would have been easier to handle after I found out what the “something” was.

  The something was that she might be pregnant.

  PREGNANT? Really? What the hell?! I mean I didn’t even know she had had sex. Or that she had a boyfriend. What kind of best friends for life are we? The kind that don’t share such intimacies, I guess. (I hope I used the word intimacies correctly. I need to get back into school mode.) Anyway, I was so pissed at the situation. Pissed and disappointed. Not at the fact that she had sex, but that she hadn’t been careful. That she had just become another statistic: Hispanic Teen Mom #3,789,258. Or some ridiculous actual number that we had been lectured about last year and had sworn we would never become. We had even criticized the girls who showed and called them stupid. “When we have sex, we’ll use a condom.” We had been so sure about it.

  Our conversation was something like this:

  Me: (sitting comfortably and spinning around in her desk chair) Hola muchacha! What is so urgent I had to leave a pack of half-eaten Oreos behind hidden in my underwear drawer?

  Cindy: I saw…IT.

  Me: It? That stupid movie about the clown who’s really a spider? I know. We watched it together.

  Cindy: No. It. It. You know, a boy’s It?

  Me: (no longer spinning around in Cindy’s desk chair) Wha…? What do you mean? Please tell me you mean a boy’s clown movie? Because you can’t mean penis. You can’t mean THAT.

  She looked at me with tears in her eyes, threw herself on the bed and started crying. I was in shock.

  Me: (In my best I-am-here-for-you-best-friend-even-though-you-just-did-something-really-stupid voice) It’s okay. It’s okay. Please stop crying. Just tell me what happened.

  Cindy: I went to a party with German a few weeks after we got out of school and I got drunk and then we did it in his car and I haven’t gotten my period! What am I going to do?

  Me: What?

  Cindy: Oh my God! Aren’t you listening?

  Me: Yes. I almost wish I wasn’t, to tell you the truth. You went to a party, got drunk, and fucked German. I was listening. But you never told me any of this. Ever.

  Now I started to cry. Not only because I was hurt about her not telling me, but because I knew that she had just fucked up her future in a major fucked-up way.

  Cindy: I didn’t tell you because I knew you would be mad. Would be like, “Why are you going out with that idiot? Why are you going to a party at Sandra’s? Why are you drinking?” And you know what? You’re right! I shouldn’t have gone but I did. I did! What do I do? What if I’m pregnant? I can’t have a baby! I don’t want to change diapers! My mom is going to kick my ass! Seriously, she’ll kill me!

  Me: Okay well…(I felt bad for her because her mom probably would kick her ass). You’re not even sure if there’s a bun in the oven. Maybe you haven’t gotten your period because you’re stressed? I read somewhere that that can happen.

  Cindy: Really? Are you sure? That’s probably it then. (She sounded too relieved, so I had to bring her back to reality.)

  Me: I didn’t say I was sure. I said maybe. But to make sure, why don’t we go
to Stuffix Pharmacy after the SATs on Saturday and get one of those pregnancy tests?

  She agreed. After we settled down, got some ice cream and Hot Cheetos, we watched Juno and thought about how much Sunny Delight we would have to buy.

  July 30

  I lay in bed for a long time this morning, thinking about Cindy and the fact that she could be pregnant. I don’t like German, she was right about that. He’s an idiot. German is one of those guys who knows he’s super hot and assumes that girls HAVE to like him. Like, if he asks a girl out and she says no, he’s one of those guys who will say stupid things such as, “Well, fuck you, stupid bitch—I was trying to do you a favor.” One of those gems. What he doesn’t understand is that we don’t have to like him. It doesn’t matter if you’re a beauty queen like Cindy (tall, thin, beautiful olive skin and curly brown hair) or if you’re me (short, plump, long straight hair, and super light-skinned), if we don’t like you, well, we don’t like you.

  I don’t know how Cindy could’ve been so stupid as to have sex with him. Anyone but German would have (probably) been better.

  The rest of the day I spent arguing with Beto about how loud his music was and that—although I appreciated his love of the Notorious B.I.G.—Rosemary, the little old lady next door (who I love to visit), did not. It didn’t matter though, because all I got was a lot of door slamming, volume raising, and “You’re not my mom.” He’s right. I’m just his older sister—but only by two years.

  August 1

  Saturday. SATs. I woke up late this morning. I had set my alarm for 7:00 a.m., but didn’t get up until 7:27. I didn’t have time for the bacon and eggs my mom had made, only enough time to kill my dragon-breath with some toothpaste and change into the freshly worn clothes from yesterday. Even then, I barely made it to school in time for the test. Thank God, I can drive now. Otherwise I would have been screwed.

  I waited for Cindy after the test and we drove to the pharmacy to face the moment of truth. On the way there, we went through all the possible scenarios. What if she is pregnant? I suggested she tell her mom that an angel had come to her in a dream and told her not to be scared but that she was carrying the son of God. If her mother was as Catholic as she says she is, then she has to believe her. Cindy didn’t think it was that funny, but I laughed my ass off!

  We walked into the pharmacy. Luckily no one was there. No one except that nosy bitch Georgina. Ugh. And I knew she would have something stupid to say. We got what we needed and went to pay. As luck would have it, she was the only one with a register open. Georgina just smirked at us and said, “Well, Gabi, I know this isn’t for you. No one would be fucking your fat ass. So, I guess, the winner is…Cindy! Does German know yet?” (She said this in the most annoying voice possible which—for Georgina—is pretty damn amazing because she already has the most annoying voice possible.)

  I don’t know what made me say it but I grew some balls at that moment and said, “Your mom would be fucking my fat ass. So shut your trap and do your job, Kmart.”

  Which, now that I think about it, was an absurd comeback. Why would her mom be fucking my fat ass? Just like me to be saying something dumb like that. Georgina just kept making that stupid face as we walked out of the store.

  We went to my house and did the deed.

  The stripes turned pink.

  We hugged, threw ourselves on my Hello Kitty bedspread, and cried.

  August 5

  I was sitting at the back of the bus today, watching the old retarded couple making out (like usual), thinking about Cindy, when Georgina got on the bus. As soon as I saw her stupid clown face, I really wished I had begged my mom for at least another hour to let me borrow the car so I could visit Sebastian. I tried to act like I didn’t see her and pretended to text but, of course, she sat next to me.

  “Hey, fat ass.”

  “Hola, Little Payasa.” She really hates it when I call her that. So I do it as often as I can.

  “Look at those two retards. How nasty. People like that should never ever make out. It’s so freaking gross!”

  I told her she was an idiot and not to say things like that because that was mean, and how does two mentally challenged people loving each other affect her, but talking Georgina out of being an idiot is like making carnitas out of chicken—unnatural. Luckily my stop came by quick, and I was able to leave her behind just as she was beginning to ask about Cindy.

  “So how is your prego…”

  I made an unkind gesture with my middle finger and stood up.

  When I got off the bus, Sebastian was already waiting. He had been gone for a few days with his family on a vacation to Mexico, Mazatlan or somewhere like that near the beach, so he was ultra tan. Right away I knew he was upset.

  “Oh my God! I just talked to Cindy!”

  “Did she tell you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Can you believe that shit?” He shook his head and I said, “Well, she’s gone and done it now, and it sucks big hairy ass. But—she wants to keep it. I was there the day she told her mom. For moral support, you know, but it went bad. Really bad. Her mom almost beat the shit out of her. Slapped her hard across the face and asked me to leave. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t want to leave her, but her mom went crazy and was yelling at me to go home, and I was afraid that she’d hit me too, so I booked it and left.”

  We kept going on like that the whole two blocks to his house. When we got there, we locked ourselves in his room. We talked about Cindy forever, and then I finally asked him about his trip. He told me about all the cute boys he saw. His dad let him drink beer with him because apparently in Mexico there is no legal drinking age. Even embryos enjoy a beer with their tacos, he said. I wonder what that would look like? Hmmm. We kept on talking about Mexico and about his grandma who is hilarious and an awesome cook. Sebastian told me about how close he felt to his dad now and that he thought that he would tell him about being gay and that he was sure he would understand. I’m not too sure about that. His dad may be cool with him because they threw back a few beers, but his dad hates gays. I know. I’ve heard him say it. His exact words were, “I hate pinches jotos.” I didn’t tell Sebastian though, because I thought it would hurt his feelings. Even if I told him, he would say something like, “It’s different because it’s me. I’m his son.” Yeah, I don’t think that would be the case. We talked some more about school and how excited (and nervous) we are that this is our last year and our plans for the future and blah blah blah. It was getting late so I had to leave. He walked me to the bus and waited with me. We heard a car screech to a stop and turned to see what had happened. There was a homeless looking guy on his bike weaving across the street towards us. It was my dad. Luckily the bus showed up before he saw me.

  August 7

  Sebastian told his parents. He is sleeping on our couch until he finds a permanent home.

  August 10

  Sebastian hasn’t really said anything since his parents dropped him off. They didn’t even come in, just dropped him off and threw his stuff on the sidewalk. Cindy came over that night, we watched Pride and Prejudice, and my mom ordered us some pizza. She wasn’t too happy that Cindy came over though, but she let her stay because she knew that Sebastian needed his friends. Earlier today she had gone on this whole spiel about Cindy’s pobrecita madre and the pain that she was going through because of her bad, bad daughter. It was really long. It was something like—

  “You can’t hang out with her anymore. She is a bad influence. She’s a bad, bad girl. I knew that she would come to this. Always so desperate and siempre de ofrecida, no se daba a respetar. No respect for herself at all. What’s she gonna do? Quit school? Probably. She can’t do both. Maybe she should give up the baby. I don’t want you to talk to her anymore. She’ll give you bad advice and convince you to do the same thing she did, and then you’ll go and open your legs for everybody. You know who I feel sorry for? Her mom. How is Linda going to show her face at parties and church now? Didn’t that mensa think about what she would do to her madre? Claro que no! No mas abrio las piernas y ya. Que bonito! Of course not, how nice. But now that she opened her legs and had a good time, the one who is going to have to deal with everything is her mom. Que selfish. Don’t even think about calling her or going over there. Her mom is probably feeling really depressed and probably wants to be alone. I’ll have to call her and tell her I’m sorry to hear about what happened. Pobrecita Linda, I wonder what she did to deserve such a bad girl? Thank God, you’re not like that.”