I was already feeling pretty damn good about myself. Just getting inside the house of the Mexicans was enough proof for Jeff that his new Spanish "bro" didn't have any limits. Teresa was such a vibe - like, seriously, God, I'd kill for a woman like that when I actually grow the fuck up. But Señor García? That cabrón was just sitting there in complete silence, probably reading my mind and cataloging every single inappropriate thought I'd ever had about his daughter.
I think he knew exactly what boys my age have running through their heads 24/7. And spoiler alert: it's not homework. That's when Isabel came back.
"My daughter is back," Teresa announced, and I immediately wanted to shift into some kind of attractive pose - you know, lean back all casual, maybe run my hand through my hair like those guys in movies. But Mr. García's eyes were locked on me like a heat-seeking missile, silently communicating that if I even thought about doing anything stupid, I'd be eating through a straw for the rest of my very short life.
"Mamá," Isabel said as she walked in, and joder, hearing her voice in person was like... fuck, I don't even have words. "Escuché una voz extraña y me preguntaba. ¿A quién tenemos en la casa?"
She looked directly at me, and I swear my brain just completely shut down. Then she turned back to her mom: "¿No es este el chico nuevo que vive en la casa de los güeros?"
Güeros. White boys. That stung a little, but whatever - I was technically living with the Lee family, so fair enough.
"Cuidado, Isa," Teresa replied with a little laugh. "Él entiende español. Te dije que aprendieras náhuatl."
Náhuatl. So that's what that ancient-sounding language was earlier. These people were operating on levels I didn't even know existed.
Teresa turned to me with that same motherly smile. "Hugo, meet our daughter, Isabel."
"Isabel, this is Hugo."
"Nice meeting you, Hugo," she said, flashing me this smile that probably could've powered half of California. But I could feel my time running out faster than a phone battery at 1%. You'd have to be completely brain-dead not to notice the way Señor García was staring at me - like a predator deciding whether I was worth the effort to hunt.
"Gracias por todo, señor. Gracias, señora," I said, backing toward the door like a smart person who values living. I could actually see Mr. García's shoulders relax a little as he replied.
"No es mucho. Ahora eres parte de la familia."
Part of the family. Yeah right, compadre. More like "part of the watch list." But then - and this is where my brain completely abandoned me - I turned to Isabel and said, "Isita."
Isita. Like some kind of cute nickname. Like we were fucking friends or something.
The temperature in that room dropped about fifty degrees. Mr. García's head snapped toward me so fast I thought he might give himself whiplash. His eyes went from "mildly suspicious" to "planning your funeral" in exactly 0.2 seconds.
That little nickname? That was me crossing a line I didn't even know existed.
"Nice to meet you," I managed to squeak out before speed-walking toward the door like my ass was literally on fire. And I left. Fast. Before Señor García decided that "part of the family" meant "buried in the backyard."
Pinche idiota, Hugo. You were doing so well until you had to go and give his daughter a pet name like you've known her since kindergarten.
Only God could tell what that moment meant to me, but frankly, it was fucking everything. This was way better than that time I completely fabricated some bullshit story to Francisco and Ramos about hooking up with María Navarro back at IES Luis Vives.
That lie worked like magic for months - had those cabrones thinking I was some kind of Spanish Casanova who'd actually touched a girl's boobs and lived to tell about it. I was riding that fake glory like a king until that absolute idiota Ramos decided to expose my ass in the most humiliating way possible.
Picture this disaster: we're playing truth or dare at some party, everyone's a little buzzed, and this pendejo Ramos - thinking he's being a supportive wingman or some shit - asks María straight up whether we fucked. Just like that. In front of everyone. Like he's asking about the weather. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die right there. My soul actually left my body for a few seconds.
"¿Te refieres a esto, Hugo?" was the first thing María said, pointing at me like I was some kind of exotic bug she'd never seen before. Then she just... laughed. Not like a cute giggle either - this was full-on, stomach-clutching, tears-in-her-eyes laughter that went on for what felt like seventeen hours.
The rest of that night? I'm not even putting that mierda in this story. You'd laugh at me too, and I've got what little dignity I have left to protect. Let's just say it involved a lot of people finding out that Hugo González was still very much a virgin and had about as much game as a broken PlayStation.
But this time was different. This time I was actually going to lie to Jeff with some basis in reality. Sure, I'd probably exaggerate the hell out of it, but at least I'd actually spoken to Isabel. Face to face. In her own house. With her parents present and everything. That was progress, joder. Real, measurable progress.
So I went home - you're fucking right I did - walking with a little more swagger than usual because Jeff was definitely waiting by that window like some kind of suburban spy, ready to hear how his new Spanish "bro" had handled business.
And I was more than ready to teach that gringo how it's done. Well, how I thought it was done. With maybe 70% more confidence and success than what actually happened. But hey, that's what makes a good story, right?