Jema

5. Shopping Language

5:16 p.m.

The Goodwill is busy as hell.

In a way, I should feel some sort of comfort knowing that my family isn't the only one who shops at secondhand stores, but honestly it's embarrassing nonetheless. I feel like everyone who picks up a six dollar shirt still judges the people who snatch the three dollar shirts off the racks. Rich kids go thrift shopping because Macklemore said it was cool; poor kids have shopped there since before anyone knew who Macklemore was.

The three oldest kids remind each other of Mom's rules before dispersing inside the huge store. I head over to the flannel section instantly, mostly because it seems like the one section that's unoccupied in the entire store, but also because that's the only thing I can wear without looking ridiculous. A green and grey plaid catches my eye before someone catches my arm. Whipping my head around with a small, barely-there shriek makes the girl back away about a foot. "Christ, you scared me."

"I'm sorry..." she says hurriedly. "I thought you were... someone else. Geez... I feel dumb."

"No, it's alright," I nod, smoothing out my shirt and looking up into her brownish eyes. It's no surprise that she's taller than me by probably an inch. Being small (5'6", to be exact) means the world around is bigger for me than it is for most others. "I look ten, so-"

"Yeah, I thought you were my hermano," she says with a frown. "Not that you do look ten or anything..."

I shrug. "I kinda do. No big deal. I hope you find him. It's a pretty big store." Her face falls drastically but she manages a small, fragile smile. I'm familiar with that look all too well. She's getting lost in her own thoughts. Bad thoughts. "You alright?" I ask, knowing full well she isn't. Sometimes you just need someone to snap you out of it.

"Yeah, yeah..." she says, unsure. "It's just that he went missing three months ago. I... I'm sorry to bother you. You just look like him... he's half-white--sorry again." Her breaths pat the air in odd intervals, as if she might sob here soon.

"Hey, no it's seriously okay," I nod with a sympathetic smile. "I'm really sorry to hear that." She crosses her arms and uses a few fingers to toss at the fabric of the flannel shirts.

Her brother is a missing person. He's gone from her life right now. Someone she grew up with for ten years--a decade--gone. Just like that. As much as Anna and I bicker, I'd never be able to live with myself if she suddenly went missing. I wouldn't be able to handle if anyone in my life went missing. Things like that give me the chills. "I'm Jema."

"Jennifer. I like your bonete," she smiles. I smile and subconsciously pat the top of my head. I learned a bit of Spanish from Mom, but not enough to fluently speak it. She even has trouble fluently speaking the language, and her family was Hispanic. She was Montez before she was Eckart. So, the language may have slipped, so what? I know a few words to get me by, however.

Doing the simple math, I guess I'm technically one-half Mexican, which gives me tan-ish skin. It shows more prominently in Dennis, and hardly at all in Corey. I think that's why Dennis is considered the most attractive one.

"Thanks. A gift from my brother. He's around here somewhere."

Jennifer chats with me for probably thirty minutes about what seems like everything. We have a lot in common, such as music taste and preferred literature, as if we've met before, and by around six o'clock, I can tell she's hinting towards attraction.

I'm terrible-- horrible at breaking news to people about anything. It once took me about an hour to properly tell Trinlee her goldfish died while it was under my care for three days back in November. Telling Jennifer I'm gay after talking with her for half an hour seems a little ridiculous, and kinda harsh, even though it shouldn't. I feel like I'm leading her on. Unfortunately, this happens all too often. Girls end up talking to me for a while and then I have to break the news that I'm smothered in the pride flag. A lot of them don't believe me, and assume I'm not attracted to them for some reason. That's never fun.