Gage Park, Chicago, Illinois, United States of America- Earth, April 23rd, 2018 A.D.
“¡Amá!” I raise my voice so my mother can hear me from the kitchen. No response. I huff. “¡Amá!”
Silence. Of course. Why do moms only hear you when you talk back under your breath but not when you’re shouting?
I push my laptop off my lap and onto my bed, getting up to slip on my chanclas. It seems I’m going to have to walk over there myself.
At the staircase, I try again, “¡¿Amá?!”
Only my own breathing could be heard. I walk down the rest of the way into the kitchen, almost letting out another shout before finding my mom peering through our window above the sink, the one that faced the house next to ours. I walk up to her silently.
“¿Qué haces Amá?” I speak into her ear. She snaps her head to mine, glaring.
“Eres una chismosa, Selene. Vete,” she replies, shooing me away. I cross my arms and pout. But I don’t leave. Instead, I lean over her shoulder slightly and look out of the window to see what she was inspecting.
New neighbors- or rather neighbor. The house on our left had been empty for about a year, but it seems it was going to be occupied from now on. The last neighbors were an old Cuban couple who decided to spend the rest of their lives in Hawaii. I envy them.
A guy around my age steps out of a grey Compact SUV Subaru Forester and slides off his shades. His toned muscles ripple as he opens the door to the backseat to rummage inside. I study him when he comes back out with a box. His almond brown skin and dark brown hair seem to glitter in the sun, his long legs carrying him over to the front of his house in 5 quick steps. He must be at least 6′2". Not that tall, considering my dad was 6′4" and my mom was 5′10".
His shoulders tense and before I can close the curtains, his eyes meet mine. I couldn’t see their color from here, but they seemed piercing. He doesn’t give us a weird look, he doesn’t curse at us for being creeps, instead, he does what I least expect- he smirks.
Crackling energy vibrates off of him in waves. My stomach clenches. “He’s a fallen angel, isn’t he?”
Amá only nods. I close the curtains in front of her as fast as I can. “Come on, we don’t want him to suspect us.”
“Yeah, okay,” she says. But by the crinkling in her eyebrows, she knew as well as I that he already did.