Alex sat on the edge of the lumpy hotel bed, her head in her hands as Luke doused himself in what could only be described as chemical warfare in a bottle. The rancid cloud of "Arctic Blast" body spray clung to the air like a toxic fog. Haley was dramatically gagging into a pillow, Phil was heroically (and futilely) fanning the fumes away with a magazine, and Claire looked like she was one more disaster away from voluntarily checking into an asylum.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
Alex's phone lit up with yet another barrage of Marco's texts. Normally, she'd ignore them—but right now, his relentless spam felt like the only lifeline out of this nightmare.
Marco: yo u alive??
Marco: alex
Marco: ALEX
Marco: YO MAMI
She groaned and finally caved, typing furiously.
Alex: I'm going to lose my mind. This hotel is a biohazard. Luke broke a bottle of body spray that smells like a gym sock marinated in regret, and now I'm pretty sure we're all going to die of asphyxiation.
Marco's reply was instant.
Marco: LOL damn
Marco: sounds like u need a rescue mission
Alex rolled her eyes.
Alex: Unless you have a gas mask and a flamethrower, no.
Marco: nah but i got a better idea
Marco: wanna stay at my place?
Alex blinked. What?
She didn't answer for a full minute—which, of course, triggered Marco's spam reflex.
Marco: yo
Marco: mami
Marco: u there??
Marco: HELLO???
Finally, she snapped back to reality.
Alex: Of course not!
Marco: why not?? we friends ain't we?
Alex: Yeah, but I can't just stay at a guy's house!
Marco: 😂😂😂 bruh u so innocent
Alex's face burned.
Alex: Oh, so you just expect me to sleep over at your place, alone with you?!
Marco: …
Marco: we wouldn't be alone tho
Marco: my moms home
Alex paused. Oh.
She hadn't even considered that.
A fresh wave of Arctic Blast hit her nostrils as Luke triumphantly uncapped another bottle. Haley shrieked. Phil made a noise like a wounded animal.
Alex put her head on her knees and exhaled deeply.
Marco: so??
Alex: …Fine.
Marco: LET'S GOOOO 🔥🔥🔥
She didn't waste time. While her family was distracted by the olfactory apocalypse, she quietly stuffed her essentials into her backpack and suitcase.
Then—HONK HONK HONK.
"ALEX! MAMI! YOU COMING OR WHAT?"
Alex nearly jumped out of her skin. Oh my God, he's here already?!
Haley peered out the window. "Uh, Alex? There's a guy yelling for you."
"Yeah, I know," Alex muttered, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Tell Mom I'm staying with a friend."
Haley's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, what? Who is—"
But Alex was already bolting for the door, suitcase rattling behind her.
Marco's car was idling in the parking lot, bass thumping, his grin visible even from a distance.
"Damn, mami, you pack fast!" he called as she hurled her suitcase into his back seat.
"I was motivated," Alex deadpanned, sliding into the passenger side. "Go. Now."
Marco laughed but didn't argue, peeling out of the lot just as the hotel door flew open—Claire's bewildered face appearing in the rearview mirror.
"Uh… your mom's lookin' kinda pissed," Marco noted.
Alex didn't look back. "Just drive."
Marco smirked. "Aye aye, capitán."
As they sped away, Alex finally exhaled, the weight of the last five days lifting off her shoulders.
Marco side-eyed her. "So… you good?"
Alex leaned back in her seat, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah. I'm good."
******
The car rumbled through the streets, the hum of the engine mixing with Marco's playlist—somewhere between hip-hop and reggaeton, heavy on the bass. Alex stared out the window as the neighborhoods shifted, the manicured suburbs giving way to the vibrant, graffiti-tagged streets of South LA.
"So," Marco said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "You ever been to this part of town before? Or is this, like, your first field trip to the hood?"
Alex shot him a look. "I've been to downtown LA. It's not that different."
"Pfft. Downtown's for tourists and rich people pretending to be edgy." He grinned. "This? This is real LA."
"Uh-huh." Alex rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smirk. "You know, for someone who brags about being 'street,' you sure love showing off."
"Nah, mami, I'm just educating you." He leaned back, one hand on the wheel. "Gotta know the culture if you gonna hang with me."
"I'm not 'hanging with you.' I'm escaping a biohazard."
"Same difference."
They bickered the rest of the way, Marco pointing out landmarks ("That's where I got my first taco. That's where I got my first scar.") and Alex pretending not to be mildly fascinated.
******
The house was a modest single-story home, its pale yellow paint faded but well-kept, with a small front yard dominated by a towering cactus in a cracked pot. Marco hopped out, grabbing Alex's backpack before she could protest, while she wrestled her suitcase out of the back seat.
"Home sweet home," he announced, kicking the front door open with his foot. "¡MAMÁ! ¡LLEGUÉ!"
A voice shouted back from inside, rapid-fire Spanish with an accent so thick Alex only caught every third word.
"¿Qué quieres ahora, mijo? ¡Estoy cocinando!"
Marco dropped Alex's bag by the couch. "¡Traje a mi amiga, la lista! ¡Se llama Alex!"
"¿La niña inteligente de la que hablas?"
"¡Sí, esa!"
Alex blinked. Wait, he talks about me?
Before she could process that, Marco's mom emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She was a stout woman with sharp eyes, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun, a wooden spoon in one hand still dripping with something red and savory.
"Ay, ¡qué bonita!" she said, smiling at Alex. "Welcome, mija. Marco talk about you all the time." Her English was warm but heavily accented. "You stay as long as you need, okay? This your house now."
Alex, caught off guard by the immediate hospitality, managed a polite smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Rivera. I really appreciate it."
"¡Ay, no 'Mrs.'! Just Rosa." She waved the spoon dismissively. "You hungry? I make enchiladas."
"She's always hungry, mamá," Marco cut in, throwing an arm around Alex's shoulders. "This girl eats like a bird but complains like a—"
WHAP!
Rosa's chancla came out of nowhere, smacking Marco upside the head before Alex even saw her move.
"¡Ay, cabrón! Don't be rude to your guest!"
"¡OYE! ¿Qué fue eso?" Marco yelped, rubbing his head.
"You know what you did!" Rosa scolded, whacking him again for good measure. "¡Respeto, mijo!"
Alex bit her lip to keep from laughing as Marco ducked away, scowling.
"See what I deal with?" he muttered. "Abuse. Straight abuse."
Rosa rolled her eyes and turned back to Alex, her tone instantly sweet again. "Mija, you want something to drink? Juice? Water?"
"Water's fine, thank you," Alex said, still trying to process the whiplash of the last thirty seconds.
Rosa nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Marco rubbing his head dramatically.
"You good?" Alex asked, smirking.
"Nah, I'm traumatized," he deadpanned. "You gonna apologize for laughing?"
"Not a chance."
Marco sighed. "Damn. And I was gonna let you have the good couch, too."
Alex snorted. "Wow. How generous."
Rosa's voice floated from the kitchen. "¡Marco! ¡Ven aquí y ayúdame!
"Duty calls," Marco said, saluting Alex with two fingers before heading off.
Alex looked around the cozy living room, the framed family photos, the faint smell of spices in the air. For the first time in days, she felt… relaxed.
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
Alex followed Marco and Rosa into the kitchen, taking in the warm, cluttered space. The walls were lined with mismatched cabinets, their edges softened by years of use. A small, well-loved stove hummed under a pot of simmering red sauce, filling the air with the rich scent of tomatoes, garlic, and spices. The counter was crowded with chopped onions, cilantro, and a stack of fresh tortillas—clearly, Rosa was in the middle of cooking something delicious.
A glass of water, condensation already forming on the sides, sat on the table. Rosa nodded toward it.
"For you, mija," she said, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Thank you," Alex said, taking a sip. The ice-cold water was a relief after the chaos of the hotel.
Meanwhile, Marco was attempting to help—key word: attempting. He reached for a bowl of shredded cheese, but Rosa swatted his hand away.
"¡No, idiota! ¡Eso es para después!" she scolded, shoving him back.
"¡Ay, mamá! I was just—"
"¡Cállate y vete!" She waved the wooden spoon threateningly. "You ruin everything!"
Marco rolled his eyes but backed off, grinning at Alex. "Come on, mami. Let's go before she throws the chancla again."
Alex smirked and followed him out of the kitchen, leaving Rosa muttering in Spanish as she salvaged whatever Marco had messed up.
Marco led her down a short hallway, pointing at a narrow door. "Bathroom's here. It's small, but it works."
Alex peeked inside. The bathroom was cramped but clean, with faded blue tiles and a shower curtain covered in cartoon sunflowers. A single bar of soap sat on the sink, next to a half-empty bottle of Coconut Dream shampoo. The mirror had a small crack in the corner, and the towel rack was slightly crooked—clearly well-used but functional.
"Charming," Alex said dryly.
"Hey, it's cozy," Marco corrected, nudging her shoulder. "Like a little cave. But with plumbing."
Alex snorted. "Wow. Selling point."
They returned to the living room, where Marco flopped onto the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. Alex hesitated for a second before sitting at the opposite end, arms crossed.
"So," Marco said, grabbing the remote. "Wanna watch something? We got Netflix, Hulu, and—" he paused dramatically, "—illegal streaming sites."
Alex shrugged. "I don't care."
"Damn, mami, you're real fun when you're stressed."
She shot him a glare, but before she could retort—
"¡MARCO! ¡¿NO TIENES TRABAJO?!" Rosa's voice boomed from the kitchen.
Marco froze. "Oh shit."
Alex blinked. "What?"
"I forgot—I'm supposed to be at work in twenty minutes!" He sprang up, scrambling toward the door. "Shit, shit—"
"You forgot?" Alex said, incredulous.
"I got distracted!" He yanked his work boots on, hopping on one foot. "Make yourself at home, okay? Seriously. Eat whatever, watch whatever, just don't—I dunno, burn the house down."
Alex rolled her eyes. "Wow, what a vote of confidence."
"You're smart, you'll figure it out!" He grabbed his keys, then hesitated. "Oh, and if my mom offers you menudo, say no. Trust me."
And with that, he was out the door, leaving Alex sitting alone on the couch, listening to the sound of his car peeling out of the driveway.
She exhaled, sinking deeper into the couch.
Well. This should be interesting.
Alex stared at the door Marco had just rushed out of, the silence of the living room pressing in around her. She tapped her fingers against her knees, glancing around—the worn but cozy couch, the TV remote abandoned on the coffee table, the faint hum of Rosa still cooking in the kitchen.
Okay. Breathe.
They did tell her to make herself at home. And honestly, after the hotel nightmare, this place already felt like a sanctuary.
They did tell her to make herself at home. And honestly, after the hotel nightmare, this place already felt like a sanctuary.
She exhaled, then leaned down to untie her shoes, placing them neatly by the coffee table. Digging into her backpack, she pulled out her book—The Elegant Universe—and flipped to her bookmark. Adjusting her glasses, she tucked her legs under herself and started reading.
At first, she was hyper-aware of every sound—Rosa's wooden spoon scraping against the pot, the distant sizzle of something frying, the occasional muttered Spanish curse. But slowly, the rhythm of the house lulled her into focus. The words on the page pulled her in, and before she knew it, she had shifted positions, stretching out on the couch, lying on her stomach with her feet kicked up behind her like a kid.
Time slipped by. She read, got up to use the bathroom (noting again the crooked towel rack and the faint coconut scent of the shampoo), then returned to her book.
"¡Alex! ¡La comida está lista!" Rosa's voice called from the kitchen.
Alex marked her page and sat up, stretching before padding into the kitchen. The table was set with steaming plates of enchiladas, rice, and beans, the smell making her stomach growl instantly.
"Sit, mija," Rosa said, gesturing to a chair. "Eat. You too skinny."
Alex smiled slightly. "Thanks. It smells amazing."
She took a bite and nearly groaned. The flavors were rich, spicy, and perfect.
"This is incredible," Alex said, genuinely impressed.
Rosa beamed. "Good. Marco never appreciate my cooking. He just eat like animal." She shook her head, then took a sip of her drink. "So. You smart girl, yes? Marco say you go to universidad soon."
Alex nodded, swallowing another bite. "Yeah. Caltech, probably. For physics."
"Ay, qué inteligente." Rosa's eyes sparkled with pride, as if Alex were her own. "You make your familia proud."
Alex hesitated, then admitted, "I hope so."
Rosa studied her for a moment, then said, "You worry too much, mija. Smart is good, but life is more than books." She pointed her fork at Alex. "Marco? He not smart like you. But he live. You understand?"
Alex blinked. That was… surprisingly deep.
"I guess," she said slowly.
Rosa nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now eat more. You need energy."
Alex laughed softly but didn't argue, loading up another bite.
For the first time in days, she felt… relaxed. Maybe even happy.
And honestly?
That was a pretty good feeling.
******
After finishing the delicious meal, Alex pushed her plate away with a satisfied sigh—only for Rosa to slide the dishes right back toward her with a smirk.
"Wash," Rosa said simply.
Alex blinked. "Uh... what?"
"This your house now," Rosa declared, crossing her arms. "Meaning you not guest. Meaning you help."
Alex opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. She couldn't exactly argue without sounding ungrateful. With a defeated sigh, she gathered the dishes and got to work.
Rosa chuckled and patted her shoulder. "Good girl."
A few hours later, Alex was curled up on the couch, deep into her book, when Rosa emerged from her room.
"How long you stay?" Rosa asked, leaning against the doorway.
Alex glanced up. "Uh... two days, probably. Until the mold treatment's done."
Rosa nodded, then disappeared back into her room. She returned moments later with two folded blankets and pillows.
"Up," she commanded, gesturing for Alex to move.
Confused, Alex stood—only for Rosa to shove the coffee table aside with surprising strength. Then, with a grunt, she pulled at the couch, revealing a hidden mattress beneath.
Oh. It's a pull-out.
Rosa spread one blanket over the mattress, tossed down the pillows, and folded the second blanket neatly at the foot. "There. This your bed."
Alex smiled. "Thanks, Rosa."
"Clean towel in bathroom when you shower," Rosa added, checking the clock. "I go to bed now. You stay up, but no loud. Turn off lights when you sleep."
With that, she retreated to her room, leaving Alex standing in front of her makeshift bed.
She sat down, testing the mattress. It was... firm. Not as comfortable as her bed at home, but miles better than the hotel disaster.
Alex kept reading, took a shower, and was halfway through another chapter when, around 1:30 AM, the front door finally creaked open.
Marco stumbled in, kicking off his grease-stained boots and dropping his dirty work clothes in a heap beside them. He spotted Alex on the couch-bed, her glasses reflecting the dim lamplight.
"Yo," he said, rubbing his eyes. "How was my mom? She feed you? Yell at you? Both?"
Alex smirked. "Both. She also made me do dishes."
Marco snorted. "Classic." He stretched, his shirt riding up slightly. "I'm gonna shower. Then sleep. You good?"
Alex nodded. "Yeah."
He disappeared into the bathroom, and soon, the sound of running water filled the apartment.
Alex's eyelids grew heavy. She set her book on the coffee table, now pushed near the armrest, and removed her glasses, rubbing her eyes.
Just then, the bathroom door opened.
Steam billowed out as Marco stepped into the hallway—wearing nothing but a pair of loose shorts, water still glistening on his bare torso.
Alex froze.
Even without her glasses, the blurry outline of his toned frame was... noticeable.
Marco, completely unfazed, ran a hand through his damp hair. "What? Never seen a dude shirtless before?"
Alex quickly looked away, cheeks burning. "I—no, I just—"
He chuckled and started toward his room—then paused, turning back.
"Oh, hey. If you hear gunshots later, don't trip. It's normal here."
Alex's eyes widened. "WHAT?!"
But Marco just grinned. "Night, mami."
And with that, he vanished into his room.
Alex sat there, stunned.
Did he just—? Gunshots?! WHAT DOES THAT EVEN—
She exhaled sharply, then got up to turn off the lights.
As she settled back into the couch-bed, her mind raced—between Marco's nonchalance about potential gunfire, his stupidly toned abs, and the fact that this was somehow still better than the hotel—she couldn't decide whether to laugh or scream.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
She closed her eyes.
Tomorrow is going to be... interesting.
******
Alex woke to the sizzle of bacon and the rich, salty scent wafting from the kitchen. She sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes before checking her phone—7:15 AM.
Ugh. Too early.
Still, the smell of food was impossible to ignore. She stretched, grabbed her toothbrush and a fresh set of clothes from her backpack, and shuffled toward the bathroom. After a quick knock confirmed it was empty, she slipped inside.
A few minutes later—teeth brushed, face washed, and changed into jeans and a loose sweater—she stepped out, nearly colliding with Marco as he lurched toward the bathroom, half-asleep.
"Mornin'," he grunted, voice rough.
Alex barely had time to reply before he disappeared inside.
By the time Marco emerged—hair damp, smelling faintly of cheap body wash—Alex was fixing her hair in the hallway mirror.
"Sleep good?" he asked, leaning against the wall.
"After three days in that hotel hell? Yeah," Alex admitted.
Marco smirked. "Damn. Lucky you didn't hear any gunshots. I'm almost offended."
Alex rolled her eyes. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Nah, just means you slept too good." He tilted his head. "Maybe you should move in."
Alex's hands froze mid-braid. "Wha—?!"
Marco burst out laughing. "Damn, mami, your face—"
"Ugh. Don't do that," Alex huffed, cheeks burning. "It's too early for your nonsense."
"Nah, it's never too early," he countered, just as Rosa's voice rang out:
"¡Niños! ¡A comer!"
Breakfast was simple but delicious—crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and buttery toast. Rosa hummed as she moved around the kitchen, occasionally scolding Marco for eating like a wild animal.
Alex, still half-asleep, sipped her orange juice while Marco shoveled food into his mouth like he was in a race.
"Alright," he said suddenly, slamming his fork down. "Shoes on. We're goin' somewhere."
Alex blinked. "It's 8 AM. What could you possibly want to do this early?"
Marco scoffed. "Trust me, you'll like it."
"That's what you always say—"
But he was already up, disappearing into his room. By the time Alex reluctantly slipped on her second shoe, Marco was back—wearing a faded hoodie and sneakers, keys jingling in his hand.
"How are you already—?" she started, but Marco grabbed her wrist, tugging her toward the door.
"Bye, mamá!" he called over his shoulder.
Rosa waved without looking up. "Don't get arrested!"
The moment they were in the car, Marco reversed out of the driveway with a screech of tires.
Alex yelped, gripping the dashboard. "SLOW DOWN! OH MY GOD—"
Marco just laughed, shifting gears as they peeled down the street. "Relax! I taught myself to drive—that means I'm good at it."
"THAT MAKES NO SENSE—"
The car swerved around a corner, and Alex squeezed her eyes shut.
This is how I die. In a busted Honda with a maniac.
******
After a few blocks of Alex clinging to the door handle for dear life, Marco finally eased off the gas—only to occasionally slam the pedal again just to hear her yelp.
"STOP DOING THAT!" Alex shrieked as the car lurched forward.
"What? I'm keepin' you awake," Marco grinned, clearly enjoying himself.
At a red light, he pulled out his phone and fired off a quick text before tossing it onto the dashboard.
"Hey, mami," he said, drumming his fingers on the wheel. "You ever driven an ATV before?"
Alex eyed him suspiciously. "...No. Why?"
The light turned green.
Marco's grin widened. "No reason."
Then he floored it, tires screeching as he took the corner way too fast, nearly sideswiping a parked truck.
"MARCO, WHAT THE HELL—"
Ignoring her, he leaned out the window—not even looking at the road—and shouted back at the startled driver: "¡Lo siento, güey! ¡Mi culpa!"
Alex screamed, tears pricking her eyes as she braced against the seat. "YOU'RE GOING TO KILL US!"
Marco just laughed, swerving back into his lane. "Nah, mami, I got this. I'm crazy—but the good kind."
"THERE'S NO GOOD KIND OF THIS!"
When they finally skidded to a stop in the beach parking lot, Alex practically fell out of the car, dropping to her knees in the sand like she was kissing the ground after a near-death experience.
Marco, meanwhile, strolled around the car like nothing had happened, twirling his keys around his finger. He scanned the empty beach, scowled, then kicked the sand.
"¡Pinche cabrón! ¿Dónde está?"
Alex, still trying to steady her breathing, glared up at him. "What... what is happening?"
Marco sighed, checking his phone. "My homie was supposed to meet us here with the ATVs. We were gonna ride 'em on the beach—you, me, him, maybe a couple other guys." He squinted at the time. "...Ay, I'm early."
Alex stared. "You mean to tell me—after nearly murdering me with your driving—we're waiting?!"
Marco shrugged. "Yeah. Chill, mami. Wanna get a churro while we wait?"
Alex opened her mouth—then closed it.
This is my life now.
******
After a brief argument about whether churros counted as a "balanced breakfast," Marco and Alex ended up sitting on the hood of his car, munching on the sugary treats as they watched the ocean waves roll in. The morning sun glinted off the water, and the salty breeze made the early wake-up almost worth it.
"So," Marco said through a mouthful of churro, "you ever just... not think about anything? Like, just sit and exist?"
Alex gave him a skeptical look. "That's literally the opposite of how my brain works."
"Damn. That's your problem, mami. You gotta chill sometimes." He tossed the last bite of his churro into his mouth. "Life's more fun when you're not overthinking every little thing."
Alex rolled her eyes but didn't argue.
The rumble of an engine cut through their conversation. A beat-up truck pulling a trailer rolled into the parking lot, three ATVs strapped to the back. Two guys hopped out—one Hispanic, tall and lean with an easygoing swagger, the other Black, arms crossed with a smirk that screamed I'm already tired of today.
"¡Ey, cabrón! ¿Qué onda?" Marco called, sliding off the car to greet them.
The three exchanged a series of complicated handshakes, backslaps, and shoulder bumps that Alex could only describe as excessive.
"Alex, these my boys," Marco said, gesturing between them. "That's Javier—coolest dude you'll ever meet—and that's Malik, who thinks he's funny."
Malik snorted. "I am funny. You just got the sense of humor of a baked potato."
Javier nodded at Alex. "Nice to meet you. Marco won't shut up about you."
Alex's cheeks warmed. "Uh. Thanks?"
Marco shot Javier a look. "Don't start, hermano."
Javier just grinned and tossed Marco the ATV keys.
The guys quickly unloaded the ATVs, revving the engines to life. The machines roared like angry beasts, vibrating under their grips. Helmets were passed around—black, scratched, and smelling vaguely of gasoline.
Marco shoved one at Alex.
"Here. Safety first."
Alex stared at it. "Why do I need this?"
Marco's smirk was visible even under his helmet. "Oh, you know why."
"No. No way. I'm not getting on that death trap!"
"Come on, mami! Live a little!" Marco patted the seat behind him. "I'll go slow."
"LIAR!"
But after a few more minutes of Marco's relentless teasing and Malik's sarcastic commentary ("Damn, she got your number, Marco."), Alex caved.
She yanked the helmet on, muttering curses under her breath, and climbed onto the ATV behind Marco. Her arms wrapped around his waist in a death grip.
"If I die, I'm haunting you first," she hissed.
Marco just laughed. "Hold on tight!"
And with that, they launched forward.
The three ATVs tore across the sand, kicking up sprays of salt and grit. Alex screamed into Marco's back, unsure if it was terror or exhilaration—maybe both.
Marco whooped, weaving between Javier and Malik as they raced along the shoreline. Malik took a sharp turn, skidding sideways in a cloud of sand, while Javier popped a wheelie like it was nothing.
"YOU SAID YOU'D GO SLOW!" Alex shrieked.
"I am going slow!" Marco yelled back.
"LIAR AGAIN!"
But despite herself, Alex found herself laughing as the wind whipped past them. The adrenaline, the speed, the sheer stupidity of it all—it was fun.
Marco glanced back at her, his grin audible even over the engine. "See? Told you you'd like it!"
Alex didn't answer.
She just held on tighter and let herself enjoy the ride.