In Motion

Chapter 3: The New by Interpol (2002)

"What? You two got shy to make out?" Gab jabbed in between laughs as he drove to our subdivision.

"She was my Grad Ball date, dude," I groaned, withering at the thought of our failed pre-college... whatever that was.

"I introduced her to you, remember?" Gab told me like I was a dunce. "Because no one would take your cheeks with a face."

That was true. I was a senior in high school who had looked stuck in perpetual puberty. I was willing to go stag that night when Gab pulled through with a last-minute date, a family friend. I was sweating in nervous intimidation when Dad and I picked her up that night.

Even in high school we knew Andi to be the captain of The Parliament. ("The... Paarrrrliamehnt," Gab and I used to say before breaking into fits of giggles. We had matured since then.) Her face was plastered on tarpaulins that hung on their school gate. I was way in over my head, but I had lucked out. She didn't think that I was a complete waste of her night.

Then college happened. She stopped wearing that oversized Parliament varsity jacket, grew out her hair, and went from watching football to actually playing it. We stayed friends, but I wasn't blind to the guys swarming around her.

So that was Andi and I: friends in that space between Maybe and Probably Shouldn't.

"Isn't she going out with that Student Council person?" I asked, trying to downplay my curiosity. "You know, the one who repeats his name while thumping his palm?" Too much there.

"Ricardo Rio Rio Rio Santiago?" Gab snorted, riding on my joke. "Nah, that's done."

I gave a non-committal grunt, trying to sound that I didn't care.

"You know what's surprising, though?" Gab said, sounding like he was reserving a parting shot. I could see my house a few meters away. "Andi still finds you cute."

A weak "heh" escaped from my throat, which made Gab snap his head to me.

"I don't see it," he said, frowning and shaking his head. "Rio Rio Rio Santiago is a hunk."

I punched him on the arm one last time before zooming out of the car, afraid of retaliation. Gab drove away, but not before opening his window and screaming "DOUGHBOOOOOY!" for all the neighbors to hear.

I looked at our well-lit house, a sign that my parents were home. I entered the front door, only for my younger sister Melissa to come bumping into me.

"Mel!" I half-screamed.

"I..." she began looking for an excuse. "I was going to open the gate for you." My fourteen-year-old sister was lame and her crush on Gab was even lamer.

"It was open," I said in a slow, taunting tone.

She panicked at being caught. "Shut up!" she snarked, marching back upstairs.

I was snorting my way to the kitchen, following the scent of chicken adobo, when I saw my mom wearing an apron and That Mom Expression.

"Hi, Mom!" I said, a laugh stuck in my throat, wiping the smirk off my face.

"What was Gabriel screaming about?" she asked, not amused. That was another thing: He was "Gabriel" to her. And Gab was always pleased with himself hearing her say it.

"And why are you and your sister screaming at each other?" she continued needling me.

"Doughboy," I sighed, kissing her on the cheek. "He called me 'Doughboy.'"

Her temple creased in confusion. I sighed. "You know? From Pillsbury Doughboy Pancake Mix?" I clarified in defeat, gesturing to my cheeks. The similarity dawned on her and she tried to hide her smile. It was one thing to have my best friend compare me to a mascot. But for my own mother to agree?