"Espero que estés disfrutando América, pendejo," that fucker Francisco said, laughing like he always does when he's roasting the shit out of me from across the Atlantic.
"Bro, obvio. Las morras no me dejan en paz. You called it—gringas love los chicos latinos," I lied smoother than a used car salesman, trying to sound like some conquistador of American pussy.
I had been in the U.S. for literally two fucking days, and anyone with half a brain could tell that chicas weren't exactly beating down my door. But I had this fool on the line and I was cooking him good, standing by the window of my bedroom, feeding him bullshit like it was gourmet cuisine.
Jeff was wide awake downstairs - nobody in this house could sleep when that idiota was conscious and making noise. The guy had the sleeping schedule of a vampire bat on cocaine.
But then, through my window, I saw her. A stunning girl walking down the street. No, "stunning" doesn't even begin to cover it. Words cannot fucking describe what I was looking at - you'd have to see her with your own eyes to understand. She was the kind of beautiful that makes you question if God exists, because if he does, he definitely spent extra time on this masterpiece.
I immediately hung up on Francisco mid-sentence. Fuck that conversation. This was serious business now, hermano.
For the first time since arriving in this suburban American paradise, I rushed downstairs to look for Jeff. I needed his assistance, and I needed it right fucking now. My whole "fake it till you make it" plan was about to get its first real test. Because whatever girl I'd just seen through that window? She was about to become my new obsession. And I had no clue she was about to change my life.
"Bro!" I called out to Jeff, practically sprinting down the stairs like my ass was on fire and someone was chasing me with a flamethrower.
The look on Mr. Lee's face when he heard me call Jeff "bro" was absolutely priceless - like "Holy shit, this weird American boy of mine has finally got himself a friend! Martha, come see this miracle!" I swear he made some gesture to his wife, probably thinking they'd successfully rescued a social reject from international obscurity and turned him into a functioning member of American society. Screw that Hallmark movie bullshit, I had way more important matters to handle.
"I need to talk to you. NOW," I said after reaching him, grabbing his arm like we were about to plan some fucking CIA black ops mission.
We bolted up to his room, and I closed the door behind us with the urgency of a man whose life depended on it.
"Who's that girl down the block?" I asked, trying to sound casual but probably coming off like a horny teenager who'd just discovered the concept of women.
"The white one or the Mexican?" he replied, and that stupid son of Mr. Lee started trying to copy my accent like some discount fucking parrot at a pet store.
"Stop that shit right now," I said, waving my hands to shut down his pathetic mimicry attempt. "You sound like a gringo trying to order tacos at Taco Bell." Then, getting dead serious: "Come on, bro. You know exactly who the hell I'm talking about."
Jeff's eyes lit up like fucking Christmas morning, New Year's Eve, and his birthday all rolled into one orgasmic moment of pure joy. I swear to Christ, it was like he'd been waiting his entire pathetic existence for someone - anyone - to ask him about this girl, but didn't know how to bring her up without sounding like a creepy stalker who collected her used tissues.
"Isabel García Hernández," he said with more passion than I'd heard him use for anything since I'd arrived - more passion than he'd probably ever used for anything in his entire bland American life.
"Jesus, huh? One name was enough, cabrón," I replied, but something clicked in my devious Spanish brain like a slot machine hitting jackpot. The way Jeff said her name - like he was praying to some Mexican goddess - the dreamy look in his eyes, the way his voice got all breathy and weird... this absolute moron had been obsessing over that neighborhood beauty for fucking years. He was completely gone over her, probably jerking off to her memory every single night while crying into his pillow.
And that's when the lightbulb went off in my scheming little head: I knew exactly what to do. Pretend like I was the helpful foreign exchange student trying to get my new American "bro" laid, while actually positioning myself as the main character in this romantic comedy. Jeff would be my unwitting wingman, my useful idiot, and he'd never even see the betrayal coming until it was way too late.
Sometimes being a sneaky, manipulative Spanish bastard has its motherfucking advantages. This was gonna be easier than stealing candy from a baby. A very stupid, very American baby.
"¡Increíble! So you've been stalking this Mexican chica?" I asked him, and his freaking gaze could confirm everything I needed to know. The dude's eyes went wide like I'd just caught him red-handed jerking off to her Instagram photos.
"Chica? I'm learning Spanish!" he replied with this dopey excitement, like he'd just discovered the fucking wheel or something.
And that's when I started re-thinking this whole partnership thing. Maybe going solo would be smarter. This pendejo wasn't exactly what you'd call helpful - more like a walking disaster waiting to happen. But then again, at least I could use him as my backup plan. When I inevitably failed spectacularly trying to talk to Isabel, Jeff would still have faith in me because he'd think I was some smooth Spanish Casanova.
So I put on my best "supportive friend" act and assured him that I was gonna help him break his virginity with the goddess herself, Isabel García Hernández.
Guess what? We were no fucking different - two virgins pretending we knew what the hell we were doing with women. The blind leading the blind, international edition. But hey, at least I had better lies than Jeff did. And in the game of teenage bullshit, sometimes that's all you need to stay ahead.