Gabriel’s heart seized. The pretty Latina girl was talking to him. He’d grown up in Texas before moving here four years ago, so he’d known a lot of girls like her.
His eyes went wide at her question. Ketchup? What did she mean? Oh god, did he wear one of his stained shirts without realizing it?
He looked down at his chest, searching for the stain. No, this was a clean one. He remembered his mom had just done all his laundry. No stains in sight. Then what was she...
Oh. Ketchup. Right. They were in a restaurant.
“Sorry,” he said, passing the bottle. “My mom hates ketchup. She says it’s a poor imitation if salsa. But she has to make the salsa herself, cause she can’t find anything here that doesn’t taste like ketchup and pepper.” Why was he talking about food? Why did he always wind up talking about food?
He flushed upon her revelation of where she’d seen him before. Wonderful.
“Yeah, I, um, had a cramp. In my leg. You know. Hard to do that stuff with a cramp...”
A cramp? Geez. How exactly was that somehow better than not being physically strong enough to lift your bulk off the ground?
“I’m Gabriel,” he said, alternately hoping she would keep talking to him and that he could crawl in a hole and die. It’d have to be a big hole, though. Maybe more of a ditch.
His eyes went wide at her question. Ketchup? What did she mean? Oh god, did he wear one of his stained shirts without realizing it?
He looked down at his chest, searching for the stain. No, this was a clean one. He remembered his mom had just done all his laundry. No stains in sight. Then what was she...
Oh. Ketchup. Right. They were in a restaurant.
“Sorry,” he said, passing the bottle. “My mom hates ketchup. She says it’s a poor imitation if salsa. But she has to make the salsa herself, cause she can’t find anything here that doesn’t taste like ketchup and pepper.” Why was he talking about food? Why did he always wind up talking about food?
He flushed upon her revelation of where she’d seen him before. Wonderful.
“Yeah, I, um, had a cramp. In my leg. You know. Hard to do that stuff with a cramp...”
A cramp? Geez. How exactly was that somehow better than not being physically strong enough to lift your bulk off the ground?
“I’m Gabriel,” he said, alternately hoping she would keep talking to him and that he could crawl in a hole and die. It’d have to be a big hole, though. Maybe more of a ditch.