Guava Flavored Lies: A Lesbian Romance, page 1
GUAVA FLAVORED LIES
J.J. ARIAS
Copyright © 2022 by J.J. Arias
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For my wife.
CONTENTS
More by J.J. Arias
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
BONUS Epilogue
FREE Short Story
About the Author
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CHAPTER 1
Fifteen Years Ago
Our Lady of Solitude High School
“You’re such a brat,” Lauren muttered under her breath, her swollen lip throbbing as she glared at Sylvie.
Sitting across the hallway from her, Sylvie, an irritating girl dressed in a plaid uniform skirt and disheveled white Oxford shirt, narrowed her eyes. “You started it,” Sylvie replied through gritted teeth.
“Girls,” Sister Catherine snapped, her sandy hair peeking out from under her white veil. “That’s enough. Don’t add to the trouble you’re already in. Sister Gloria has no patience for unladylike behavior.”
Lauren looked down at her shirt where the pocket had ripped. Where Sylvie had practically torn it off her chest. Where she still felt the pressure and weight of Sylvie’s fingertips.
Anger flashed hot and renewed in Lauren’s stomach. They wouldn’t be in this situation if Sylvie wasn’t such a nightmare.
“Sister,” a woman from the front office poked her head into the hallway where they waited for the assistant principle to hand out their punishment. “The phone call you were waiting for—”
“Oh, yes. I will be right there. Thank you.” Sister Catherine’s gaze bounced between Lauren and Sylvie as if weighing her options. “Can I trust you two not to inflict any violence upon each other for a minute?”
“I’m not the one who—” Lauren started, but Sister Catherine didn’t let her finish.
“Ms. Machado,” she interrupted. “This is not the time to plead your case. Can I trust you or not?”
Lauren pushed her long, dark brown hair over her shoulder and straightened. “You can count on me Sister.” She turned her attention to Sylvie, her gaze and silence sharpened to a lethal point. “I’m not the heathen.”
Sylvie, her light brown hair no longer neatly confined to her usual high ponytail, seethed. “Heathen? That’s hilarious coming from a—”
“Enough! If I so much as hear a peep out of either one of you I’ll make sure Sister Gloria doubles your punishment. That is no threat, so don’t test me.”
Lauren chewed the inside of her cheek to keep silent as she glowered at Sylvie. It was her fault they were sitting outside the assistant principal’s office instead of in their environmental science class.
Sister Catherine pursed her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest. She expected an answer.
Always the consummate brown-noser, Sylvie chirped like a mangy parrot. “I don’t have a problem following rules.” Smugness festered in her honey-colored eyes as she turned her attention from Sister Catherine to Lauren. Her pointy chin aimed at Lauren in silent accusation.
“Thank you, Ms. Campos,” the nun replied with a sigh.
Sneering, Lauren stared right back at her nemesis until Sister Catherine cleared her throat.
“I won’t start anything,” Lauren replied stiffly. She didn’t add that she would be happy to finish whatever Sylvie kicked off.
After some trepidation, Sister Catherine left them alone. As a parting gift, she warned them again that they were already in plenty of trouble. Lauren knew she was right, but wished the nun understood how maddening Sylvie was and how irritating. She was salt in a wound, dirt in the eye, sand in a bathing suit. She couldn’t be blamed for trying to yank her hair out.
Sitting across from each other in blue molded plastic chairs, Lauren and Sylvie played the most hostile game of whoever-blinks-first-loses. The longer Lauren stared, the more her muscles tensed.
Lauren tried to keep her mouth shut, but the images kept replaying over and over in her mind. Sylvie and Patty on a date. The Patty that Lauren had a crush on since junior year. A crush Sylvie overheard Lauren talking about in the locker room after softball practice. It was no coincidence that Sylvie asked Patty out the next day.
“Coldplay,” Lauren murmured, disgust forcing her attention away from Sylvie.
“What was that, Loser Lou?” Sylvie taunted her with the name no one had used since elementary school. No one but Sylvie. “If you have something to say, say it. Don’t mumble,” she challenged.
“Coldplay,” she repeated, enunciating every consonant. “You got a date with the one and only Patricia Guerra and you took her to whack-ass Coldplay.”
“What’s wrong with Coldplay? You’re just jealous that she would never go out with you,” Sylvie replied, her upper lip trembling while she tried to keep her cool.
Sylvie was too easy to rile. Lauren could get her to explode in seconds. If she got her to lunge again, she might get her expelled. What a blessing it would be to never see her stuck-up face again.
“What’s wrong with Coldplay?” Lauren repeated, sitting back and crossing one bare leg over the other. “Nothing is wrong, I guess.” She shrugged. “If you like lame lyrics and pained wailing.” She laughed.
Sylvie tried to laugh, but her bad temper was so poorly contained it was palpable beneath the fake cackle. Offending her took such little effort.
“What the hell do you know?” Sylvie’s pulse throbbed visibly in her neck, as if a tiny rage monster might break through her flesh Alien style.
“I don’t think a degree in music is required to notice they’re just a Radiohead rip off.” Lauren smirked. “A bad one.”
Sylvie’s lips disappeared into a fine, thin line. “Whatever.”
Lauren was going to continue taunting her, but the door at the end of the hall flew open. Clamoring voices and shoes clacking against wood floors destroyed the relative silence.
Watching four adults try to wedge through the same opening at once would’ve been comical if Lauren didn’t know what was coming. Sylvie’s mom muscled her way in first, followed by Lauren’s mom, leaving the two dads to wrestle for last place.
“Mami! I didn’t start it!” Sylvie cried as her mother, a tall bottle-blonde in a sundress, darted toward her like she was rescuing a duckling from oncoming traffic.
“I know, mi niña.” Ms. Campos threw her arms around Sylvie. As she hugged her daughter, Ms. Campos’ head swiveled to Lauren. She offered the same icy glare her daughter always wore. “It’s not your fault some people haven’t been raised right.”
Lauren’s mother, her dark hair framing her full face, stood between Lauren and Ms. Campos. The expensive outfit she wore to spin class showed off more curves than was appropriate for a trip to a catholic school, but that didn’t inhibit her mother. “Don’t talk to my daughter, Barbara.”
Lauren’s father appeared at his wife’s side. “What can you expect from these people? They’re classless.”
“Classless?” Mr. Campos bumped his round chest against Lauren’s father’s sternum. Lauren’s dad, lean and tall, towered over Sylvie’s dad, but that didn’t stop him. “That’s hysterical coming from you.”
“We’re not the family of thieves,” Lauren’s mom barked.
Sylvie’s mom replied with a cold, sarcastic laugh. “Now you’re just projecting, you two-faced—”
“Two-faced?” Lauren’s mother matched the maniacal fake laughter. “Says the women who has paid a small fortune in plastic surgery to literally have a second face!”
“She started it! This is her fault!” Sylvie pointed at Lauren as their parents argued.
Lauren’s anger flared in response to the false accusation. Mostly false. “You’re such a liar!”
Before Lauren could process her movements, Sylvie leapt toward her. “You provoked me!” Sylvie screamed. “You always provoke me!”
Like a hawk swooping in talons first, Sylvie flew at her face with her hands outstretched. Sylvie’s dad, despite being built like a chubby Hobbit, moved fast enough to catch her. He tucked his petite daughter under his arm. Lauren struggled against her father’s hold to defend herself from the not entirely untrue accusation.
Chaos crescendoed to deafening levels as the six of them squabbled. In the confusing mess of blame and cross-accusations, the assistant principal’s door swung open.
Sister Gloria, a severe woman in her eighties dressed in a pristine white habit, appeared in the doorway. Her presence alone froze them in place. For generations, the all-female student body at Our Lady of Solitude had questioned whether the tall and imposing woman played professional football in her youth.
“What is going on here?”
Sylvie’s dad put her down as her mother straightened her uniform and pushed her hair out of her flushed face.
“Sister, good morning—”
“Does it look like a good morning to you, Ms. Machado?”
In an instant, Lauren’s mom traveled back in time. Rubbing her hands down her pant legs, she was a teenager gathering the nerve to face an authority figure.
Not to be outdone, Sylvie’s mother rushed forward and stood a few inches in front of Lauren’s mom. As if competing to see who could be more contrite.
“We have little tolerance for this kind of behavior,” Sister Gloria announced, her tone as sharp as a razor blade. She fixed the older women physically shielding their daughters in her gaze. “I shouldn’t have to tell either of you that.”
The great Campos-Machado rivalry spanned countries and generations. How many times had they been hauled to this very office staring down the business end of this very nun?
Sylvie’s mother, her store-bought features sharp and narrow, cast her eyes to the floor. Instead of capitalizing on the moment of weakness, Lauren’s mother let shame soften her stance.
“This is the second incident this year,” Sister Gloria started, her irritation growing. “Clearly, my leniency the first time was a mistake. Perhaps suspension will make the message clear.”
Every ounce of heat fled from Lauren’s body. They were only months from graduation. Months from her escaping to California.
“Dad,” Lauren whispered to her father who was standing next to her with his arm around her shoulders. “UCLA,” she mouthed, her eyes wide as terror rushed over her.
Understanding dawned on all of them at once. Even Sylvie went from looking angry to petrified as she clutched her mother’s hand.
“We take this very seriously as well,” Sylvie’s father started as he walked around his wife and daughter and neared the irate nun standing in her doorway. “I can assure you that Sylvia will be thoroughly punished for her role in this spat.” He glanced back expectantly at Lauren and her parents still huddled together.
Lauren’s mother reacted first, stepping forward and standing tall at Mr. Campos’ side. “Yes. I think we are all agreed that no matter who started it, the girls should not be engaging in petty squabbles. Lauren will suffer the consequences of her actions, starting with losing her car until graduation.”
Wincing, Lauren didn’t have to exaggerate the pain of such a loss. There was no way her mother was going to lie to a nun. If she said it, that meant the convertible BMW she loved so much was not seeing the outside of the garage for a while.
Sylvie stifled her laugh, but Lauren heard the amusement in her breathing. Snapping her attention to the side, Lauren glared at her.
“Sylvia will also lose her driving privileges,” Sylvie’s father echoed, earning an inaudible gasp from his suddenly unamused daughter.
“And that’s just the beginning,” Lauren’s mother promised. “I can guarantee that we will make them learn this lesson, but there is no reason to ruin either girl’s future with something like this on their record, is there? It might give their colleges the wrong impression.”
Sylvie’s dad nodded aggressively. “Yes, let’s not take official action. The girls are both very sorry for their momentary lapse in judgment.” He glanced over his shoulder as if giving them a cue. “Aren’t you, girls?”
“Of course they are,” Lauren’s father nudged her. “They’re ready to apologize for their inappropriate behavior,” he added when she didn’t move.
“Why don’t you show Sister Gloria that you’re sorry,” Sylvie’s mother prodded her daughter.
Forced to face each other, the best Lauren could do was suppress her snarl.
She wasn’t sorry. Not even a little.
Given that Sylvie couldn’t look at her without glaring, she probably regretted elbowing her in the face as much as Lauren regretted tearing out a fistful of her hair. Not one bit.
“Lou,” her father bent down to whisper in her ear. “Pídele perdón,” he instructed, ordering her to apologize.
Lauren wanted her mouth to move. It was bad enough that she’d probably be grounded with no car, no phone, no TV, and no friends for months. She really didn’t want Sylvie to ruin college for her too.
When Sylvie’s mom whispered something in her ear, her shoulders dropped but her lips remained sealed. She couldn’t bring herself to apologize either.
As soon as Sister Gloria started to speak, Lauren blurted the magic words under threat of force. “I’m sorry Sylvie.”
I’m sorry you’re such an insufferable mutant, she thought before plastering a smile on her face.
“Me too,” Sylvie replied so fast it was nearly unintelligible. When her mother pushed her with her elbow, she sighed and gritted her teeth. “I’m sorry, Lauren.”
“Now hug it out, girls,” Sylvie’s dad added as he opened his eyes wide, indicating they better play along. “You want Sister Gloria to see you’re sincere, don’t you? Assure her that this is not going to happen again.”
There were easily a thousand things Lauren would rather do than hug Sylvie, but she also sensed Sister Gloria wasn’t buying their cardboard apologies. Like ripping off a bandage, Lauren closed the gap as Sylvie took two pained steps forward.
Awkwardly, Lauren leaned in to the coldest hug ever recorded as she barely touched her rival. Sylvie unexpectedly pulled her in tight, crushing her as she pressed her lips to her ear.
“Patty is a really good kisser,” Sylvie whispered as she squeezed her tight.
Instead of body-slamming her to the ground like she wanted, Lauren held her so tight she could’ve given her the Heimlich maneuver. “So is your mom.”
“Okay, why don’t you girls go back to class,” Lauren’s dad said as he pried her out of their hostile embrace.
“Here, put your sweater on,” Lauren’s mother chimed in as she yanked off the dark blue cotton sweatshirt wrapped around Lauren’s waist. “It’ll cover your shirt.”
Eager to erase the signs of their fight, both mothers set to making them look composed again.
“While I’m here, Sister Gloria,” Sylvie’s dad started as if they could distract the nun long enough to free them. “I’ve been meaning to make a donation to the school. You know for the orphanage,” he added, reaching back to his wife who had started rifling through her purse.
“Yes, us too.” Lauren’s mother already had her checkbook in hand. “Is now a good time?”
