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Avery
I BARELY NEED my usual morning jasmine tea to get me going today. I’m buzzing from waking up with Diego cuddled behind me, my body light and humming. I float through my morning routine of making tea and scrolling through my phone before I have to get ready to head to campus to use the library. I’m not going to ditch my study group this time. In fact, I plan to go to the university early and camp out at the library so I can’t possibly miss them. At least, that’s the idea, but my my routine is stalling out as I scroll through social media feeds, my brain sliding right off the words and gifs and pictures and looping back to thoughts of Diego.
I can’t seem to stop touching my hair. I dry it so it doesn’t drip all over everything, straighten it, and throw itinto its usual high ponytail, but then I keep running it through my hands. The ghost of Diego’s touch lingers in each strand, and somehow that memory is replaying more powerfully than anything else we did while naked.
As much as I want to replay all of it, I do need to get out of the house today. I dress needlessly cute in leggings under a thigh-length skirt and my coziest sweater, then head for campus. But my mind never really joins my body in the campus library. Normally, I love being here, but today I can’t summon an ounce of focus. All I’m thinking about is whether or not I should text Diego when I take a break to get some food at the cafeteria. I told him to text me, but he hasn’t yet. I remind myself it’s been a scant few hours since I saw him and I shouldn’t be disappointed, but I’m needy, especially after the night we just had. I want to hear that he’s thinking of me, that he can’t focus either, that I’m as much of a distraction to him as he is to me.
I hold myself back. Even when I leave the library, I manage not to text him. I don’t want to scare the guy off just when he’s opening up to me. For him to say we can do this again as long as we aren’t stupid about it is huge. It means this is real. It’s going to keep happening. He isn’t running from me. I don’t want to do anything that could jeopardize that.
I’m on the big, wide main path that goes past the dining hall and student center and all that stuff when I spot him. My heart dances around my chest like a little kidgiven too much sugar.
No. Play it cool, Avery. You’re on campus. You’re in public.
Right. If I get too excited, it could scare Diego and make him think I can’t keep our secret. At the same time, I refuse to pass him by without so much as a “hello.” Surely “hello” is safe. People say “hello” to their TAs and professors all the time.
I force myself to walk (and not run). I force myself to smile but not too broadly. I think I’m doing a pretty good job of looking like any other student approaching any other TA. But when I step up to Diego’s side and say, “Oh, hey,” he nearly jumps out of his skin.
His eyes go huge behind his glasses. He actually physically flinches away.
“Avery, what are you doing here?”
“I’m … on campus? I have a study group later and figured I’d show up early to get some work done. I do that sometimes, you know.” Part of me can’t help being disappointed that he reacted so dramatically to a simple greeting.
And then I see why I freaked him out.
A couple approaches us. They’re older than most of the students here and even without a word of explanation, I know they’re Diego’s parents. His father has the same shifting amber-honey-chocolate brown eyes behind glasses. His mother has the same smile and pitch-black hair. They even walk like him. And when they speak, theyhave the barest hint of the Midwest drawl that pops up only in very specific words that Diego says like “know” and “go” and “Wisconsin.”
“Oh, hello,” his mother says. “I’m Diego’s mother. Are you his friend?”
I blink. Even though I knew that was what she’d say, I definitely didnotplan on meeting my secret TA hookup’s parents today. Or maybe ever.
“I, um, I…” What the hell do I say? Is the right answer “friend” or “student” or “mentee” or something else entirely? What answer will make Diego feel safe?
“They’re my student,” Diego says.
His parents’ eyes go wide, like Diego just introduced a rock star or something.
“A student,” his mother says. “You take Diego’s class.”
That places me on steadier ground. This, I know how to talk about.
“I do,” I say. “It’s fantastic. Has he told you anything about it?”
And that’s how I find myself talking to my crush’s parents about the history of drag shows. I guess I should have some reservations about it, but it turns out that Diego’s parents are really easy folks to talk to. They’re curious and interested, asking genuine questions as I gush about a topic I care way too much about.
“We should go to a show while we’re here,” Diego’s mom says.
I blink, shooting a glance at Diego. What happened the last time we went to a show passes between us in one terrified look.
“We can … look into it,” Diego says.
“You aren’t going to shock us with this stuff,” his dad throws in. “We might be from a small town, but we’ve seen a bit of the world. It’s just a show.”
“I didn’t bring anything nice to wear,” his mother says.
I chuckle. “You don’t have to dress nice. Leave that to the performers.”
His mother seems pleased by that prospect, though Diego squirms with discomfort. I don’t want to push my luck. Successful introduction to parents achieved. I should take the win and get out of here. Except the moment I propose doing so, his mother’s face falls.
