Emilio was a no-show, and as I watched Samuel climb out of his truck, I knew he was here as a favor to his friend, to finish up the work Emilio had started. “Hey, mamí,” he said when I met him outside. “E sent me to—” “Unbelievable. He can’t finish the job himself?” I asked. “Sent you to do his dirty work? Where is he?” Samuel put his hand up, shielding his eyes from the sun. Or maybe from me. “I look like his secretary or some shit?” “When did you last see him?” “We hung out last night.” “Did he say anything?” I asked. “He said lots of things, Jude: Hey, Samuel. Pass me the remote. You got any Doritos? I hate this show.” “Samuel.” I rolled my eyes to the sky. If all boys insisted on being this dumb, I’d have to start my own book—The Book of Broken Skulls. Because that’s exactly what I was about to do to every last one of them. “I don’t care about Doritos! What did he say about me?” “What is going on here, girl?” Samuel laughed.
What do You think about The Book Of Broken Hearts?
