Chapter two

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"Finally! I'm on my way to our new apartment." Arlo happily said over the phone.

"That's great. How do you like Toronto so far?" I asked him.

"It's amazing minus my best friend whining about his grumbling stomach and having nothing to eat at the apartment except some junk." He explained.

It was half past seven in the evening and the snowflakes slipped onto my window before melting and sliding down.

Esmeralda entered my room and sat in front of me on my bed, waiting for me to tell her who was on the phone.

"Arlo." I mouthed.

"Invite him for dinner." She whispered.

I nodded and informed him before ending the call.

"Now chop chop! Got some work to do." She sang and dragged me to the kitchen.

Esmeralda and I had already gotten along together in the past two days and she seemed nothing like the conservative girl she portrayed herself to be when I met her after ten years.

Sure, she was a private person but she was crazier than I was. She was a lively little girl who was more of a loudspeaker than I was, energetic and flashed a toothy smile all the time.

Crazy and the crazier under the same roof. It couldn't get any better.

"I know you're eagerly waiting to meet my friend." I winked at her.

"Yup."

"Oh, his best friend is coming too. I haven't met him, actually."

"Why am I getting a feeling that they're jaw droppingly hot?" She questioned me.

"Well, see for yourself." Was all I said before getting down to work.
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"If two hungry men are coming over for dinner, potato wedges and pot chicken and rice are not going to satisfy them, don't you think?" She questioned me, after the dishes were ready.

"Agreed. I'll prepare an appetizer-"

"And I'll bake some easy drop biscuits." She finished my sentence.

Half way through my appetizer, I got a doubt and soon, I called my grandfather who was an expert at making that Spanish Pisto.

Listening to me speak in Spanish, my cousin's jaw touched the floor.

"You're Spanish?" She was shocked.

"On my father's side, yes." I replied.

"How did I not know this?"

"Uh, I usually speak Spanish only with my father and his parents. That explains why you didn't know about it and why I don't have a weird English accent." I explained.

"Why don't you speak Spanish frequently? Your accent is perfect."

"I-I don't know. Actually, I did have a heavy accent until eighth grade and I was bullied for it. I was well versed in English as well but my accent was something which I couldn't help. That's when I stuck to English and spoke Spanish occasionally. So I usually don't tell anyone that I'm Spanish because I'll have to explain to people why I don't speak Spanish frequently. So pretending to not know Spanish is going to save me so much energy and endless explanations. I know it's totally dumb, but then there's me."

"Sucks to be bullied for speaking such a beautiful language, Rey. But you speak so well."

"Really? But you can't tell anyone that I'm Spanish, okay?"

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