"Why do you always avoid my questions?"
"I'm not, it's just that there's nothing to say. Who would ever want to date someone they can't even talk to? It's not rocket science. My eyes are weird, and people get tired of me eventually. There's your on...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
SURPRISINGLY ENOUGH, TINO'S WASN'T VERY BUSY on a Monday afternoon.
Tables once filled with rowdy men and women conversing over burgers and corn dogs were now empty, the distant echoes of silence whispering through the tiny diner as the last customer paid for his food and headed out the door. Mathias swept his hair away from his eyes as his hands moved the across lackluster mahogany wood of the countertop until it sparkled under the overhead florescent lights. Mathias secured a clean, washed-out blue apron around his hips as he stepped out from behind the counters and went to each booth individually, cleaning up spilled drinks, and morsels of food people left on the chairs, floors, and tables.
"Mathias, chico," someone called, their faint Spanish caressing his name in a way only she could. Mathias stopped scooping the fries under the table as he cast a look over his shoulder at his mother, who was rubbing her temple as she emerged from behind the counter too. "Why are you still here? I told you to go ten minutes ago."
Mathias shook his head and a small smile formed on his lips. "Mom, it's okay. I don't mind helping out. It's what I always do." he stopped to sign, ketchup coating his fingertips.
"Yes, I know," Marcella's frown deepened at the sight, and Mathias went back to scraping the garbage off the floor. It was what he always did to help out, whether after school or skipping school entirely to help when the diner got busy, but it seldom ever sat well with her. "I don't appreciate you skipping school to help me out. I know we need the money, but you need an education, too. That's probably even more important right now."
"It's fine."
"No, it's not, and you're not staying here. Get up, young man," she commanded and Mathias immediately complied, even as a quizzical look formed on his face. She gingerly took his face in her hands — albeit with some level of difficulty with her measly height of 5ft 4" — and soothed out the wrinkle between his thick eyebrows as she always did. "Don't sulk, Mathias. I'll make you look like an old man before time," she advised. "and I'm sure the pretty girl at the café wouldn't be into that very much."
Colour dusted the tips of his ears and he instantly sprung out of her hold. "Mom!" he frantically signed then rubbed his eyes to dissipate some of the redness before it even started accumulating in his cheeks. "It's always about girls, isn't it? Why did I even tell you about her?"
Why did he? One, he knew his mother would use it to tease him, and two, he'd never seen the girl again, not at the café, not otherwise. It was like she vanished in thin air, and a nagging part of Mathias's mind kept bringing her up, along with a bunch of 'what ifs'.
What if he'd spoken to her that day? Maybe she wouldn't think he was a weirdo. What if he hadn't receded into his shell and put on his glasses? Maybe she'd be cool with him, and perhaps even get something to talk about.
Maybe he'd have his first kiss, first girlfriend, like all the other guys at school.
