Chapter 3

I spent the entire weekend dreading Monday.

Every time I thought about going back to debate practice, my stomach twisted but quitting wasn't an option. I needed that prize money so Monday at six o'clock, I showed up to the library with my materials and waited.

Six fifteen. No Diego.

Six thirty. Still nothing.

At six forty-five, I started packing up. Of course he wasn't coming. Why would he? He'd made it clear he didn't care about debate, didn't respect me, didn't think any of this mattered.

"Hey."

I looked up.

Diego stood at the edge of the table, his backpack slung over one shoulder, completely unbothered by the fact that he was forty-five minutes late.

"You're late," I lashed out.

"Football ran long." He dropped into the chair across from me, pulling out his phone. "Coach wanted to run some plays."

"You couldn't text?"

"Didn't think about it." He scrolled through his phone, not looking at me. "So what are we doing?"

I stared at him. No apology. No acknowledgment that my time mattered. Just him being Diego.

"Put your phone away," I said.

"In a sec. Just texting Madison back."

"Now."

He glanced up, annoyed. "Relax. I'm here, aren't I? What more do you want?"

What I wanted was to walk out. To tell him to figure this out himself, to let the team collapse, to let everything fall apart just so I wouldn't have to sit here and be treated like I didn't matter but I couldn't. And he knew why.

"I want you to take this seriously," I breathed trying not to lose my shit.

"I am taking it seriously." He finally pocketed his phone. "I showed up, didn't I?"

"You're forty-five minutes late."

"Better late than never, right?" He leaned back in his chair. "So come on, teach me this debate stuff. How hard can it be?"

I pulled out my laptop and turned it toward him. "Watch this."

He squinted at the screen as the nationals finals round played. Within thirty seconds, his attention wandered. He started tapping his fingers on the table. Checking the time on his phone. Looking around the library at anything except the video.

"Can you please pay attention."

"I am."

"You're not."

He sighed dramatically. "Fine, but does it have to be so boring? They're talking so fast I can't even understand them."

"That's the point. You need to learn to talk that fast."

"Why? Can't I just talk normal speed?"

"No."

"That seems stupid."

I closed my laptop. "If you're not going to take this seriously..."

"I'm taking it seriously!" He held up his hands. "I'm just saying, maybe there's an easier way like, can't you guys just give me a speech to memorize? I'll say it at the tournament, and we're good."

"It doesn't work like that."

"Why not?"

"Because the other team will ask you questions in cross-examination, and you need to be able to defend your arguments."

"So write down the answers."

"There are too many possible questions."

"Then write down more answers." He pulled out the notebook Jamie had thrown at him. It was still blank. "Look, I get that you're stressed about the money thing but you're making this way more complicated than it needs to be."

My hands clenched into fists. "You think this is me making it complicated?"

"Kind of, yeah." He shrugged. "It's just a debate. You argue, they argue, someone wins. All this research and evidence and speed-talking seems like overkill."

"Then why don't you compete at the elimination round yourself?" The words came out sharp. "Since it's so simple."

"Because I don't know how yet." He said it like it was obvious. "That's why you're teaching me. So teach me the simple version."

"There is no simple version." I cried in frustration.

"Then make one."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab my bag and leave and never come back.

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "Let's start with the absolute basics."

I spent the next thirty minutes explaining the structure of a debate round while he took exactly three notes the entire time.

"You need to write this down," I said.

"I'll remember it."

"You won't."

"I have a good memory." He tapped his temple. "Football plays, debate stuff, same thing."

"It's not the same thing."

"Sure it is. It's just information." He glanced at his phone again. "Hey, how much longer is this going to take? I've got plans at eight."

"We've barely started."

"But you explained the structure thing. That's progress, right?" He stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "We can pick this up next time."

"We have three weeks," "Every session matters."

"And I'll be at the next one. Promise." He was already backing toward the door. "Same time Wednesday?"

"Wednesday is..."

But he was gone, the library door swinging shut behind him.

I sat alone at the table, my hands shaking with fury, and stared at his blank notebook.

Later that night, I stood on the Castellanos' front porch, exhausted and furious, ringing the doorbell for my babysitting shift.

Hannah answered, her face lighting up. "You're here!"

"Hey, Han-Banana." I forced a smile, trying to push down the anger from the library session.

"Ready for some fun?"

"Can we make cookies?"

"Maybe tomorrow. Tonight let's..."

"She's here?" Diego's voice called from upstairs.

"Tell her to wait."

Hannah ran off to relay the message. I stood in the entryway, my bag heavy on my shoulder, as I waited.

Diego came down a few minutes later, his hair wet from a shower, wearing sweats and a t-shirt. He barely glanced at me.

"Hannah's homework is done. She can have a snack but no sugar after seven. Mom and Dad will be back by nine." He grabbed his keys from the table. "Any questions?"

"Where are you going?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

"Out."

"You have debate practice tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'll be there." He opened the front door. "Relax. I've got it under control."

Which was a lie. A big fat Lie. Before I could say another word, he was already gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

I took a deep breath and went to find Hannah.

At least one Castellano appreciated me.