So I walked over to where Isabel was standing with the kind of confidence that only comes from having an audience and absolutely nothing left to lose.
Look, if you've been following this trainwreck of a story, you know I'm not exactly Mr. Smooth when it comes to girls. But something about having Tariq watching me like I was about to perform the greatest magic trick in history gave me this weird surge of fake-it-till-you-make-it energy. Plus, from our first awkward encounter, I could tell Isabel wasn't some uptight princess—she had that free spirit vibe that made me think maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't completely embarrass myself.
"Hola Isabel, ¿cómo estás?" I said, trying to sound casual instead of like a nervous wreck who'd been obsessing over her for days.
"Todo bien, Hugo. ¿Tú qué tal?" she replied in that beautiful Mexican Spanish that somehow made my name sound ten times cooler than it actually was.
But then she hit me with some real talk: "Creo que deberíamos normalizar hablar inglés, sobre todo en lugares públicos. ¿Cómo lo ves?"
Shit. She was right. Here we were in the middle of orientation, surrounded by people who probably thought we were plotting some kind of Latino takeover, speaking Spanish like we were back in our neighborhoods.
"You're totally right, Bel," I said, switching to English and trying not to sound like I was reading from a textbook. "We should stick to English in public places."
Bel. I called her Bel. Like we were already friends or something. Bold move, Hugo. Let's see if it pays off. And holy shit—it did. She smiled. Not a polite "this kid is trying too hard" smile, but a real one that made my chest feel all warm and fuzzy like I'd just chugged hot chocolate.
My day officially went from nightmare to fucking beautiful in 0.2 seconds. I could practically feel Tariq behind me thinking he'd just witnessed his boy transform into some kind of Spanish love wizard. His college experience was about to get way more interesting.
"Is your brother also joining Westbridge?" she asked, and I nodded like I was confirming state secrets.
"Yeah, Jeff's starting here too," I said, trying to keep my cool even though every cell in my body was doing a victory dance.
Her smile got even bigger. "Oye, tu hermano es medio raro, ¿eh? Pero raro chistoso. Like, we've shared schools forever but he's always been that weird kid who makes everyone laugh without even trying."
And just like that, we were bonding. This is the fucking beautiful thing about sharing a language—it's like having a secret code that makes everything easier. She was talking about Jeff like she actually knew him, not just as "that random white kid," and I could feel this connection forming that had nothing to do with me trying to impress her.
The best part? Westbridge was only thirty minutes from home, which meant Isabel and I were going to be spending a lot of time together. Commuting, studying, probably grabbing food between classes.
God, I love America. Land of opportunity and shared college experiences with a gorgeous Mexican girl who thinks my host brother is funny-weird instead of just weird-weird. But believe me cabrón, Jeff was weird.
"So what are you studying?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation going before my brain could catch up and ruin everything.
"Psychology," she said. "I want to figure out why people do the crazy shit they do. What about you?"
"Business," I said, which sounded way more boring than her answer. "My parents want me to take over the family restaurant someday, so..."
"That's cool! What kind of food?"
"Traditional Spanish. You know, paella, tapas, all that good stuff that makes Americans think we're exotic."
She laughed—actually laughed—and I felt like I'd just won some kind of lottery.
"I'd love to try it sometime," she said.
Was she... was Isabel García Hernández asking me to take her to Leganés? Nah. Was she confirming that we were to spend more time together? Because if so, this orientation just became the best day of my entire fucking life.
"Yeah, definitely," I said, trying to sound casual instead of like I was internally screaming. "I mean, if you're ever in the neighborhood..."
"I'm always in the neighborhood, Hugo. We're literally neighbors."
Right. Of course we were neighbors. Because my brain apparently stops functioning when she's around.
"Well then," I said, gathering every ounce of confidence I could find, "looks like you'll be trying Spanish food sooner than you think."
She grinned and took a sip of her juice, and I swear to God, even the way she drank was attractive. How is that even possible?
"Looking forward to it," she said.
Behind me, I could practically hear Tariq's jaw hitting the floor. His new Spanish friend wasn't just talking to the hottest girl at orientation—he was actually not completely fucking it up. Maybe this whole college thing wasn't going to be such a disaster after all.