Who: Carlos Ramirez and Kid-Marco What: Magic, religion and sword fighting Where: The Church When: Yesterday Warnings | Status: Religious stuff? | Complete
Marco had to fight with Jake for ‘permission’ to leave the gym, which had resulted in Jake looking frustrated, anxious, and scared, and Marco promising to come back in two hours after he told Jake where he was going and who he was going to visit. It was weird: Jake was even more protective of him than his parents were.
He pushed Jake out of his mind and focused on what he was currently doing, which was visiting the Church and looking for Carlos. Marco didn’t believe Carlos’s stories about vampires for a minute (he wasn’t stupid), but he was curious what Carlos would try to pass off as ‘vampire teeth’. It was kind of weird walking into a church without his mother; honestly she was the only reason Marco went. He didn’t know how he felt about God. It would be nice if there was a God, but nobody could offer him any proof, and he didn’t believe in Santa or unicorns either. Still, the windows were pretty, and being in church was calming and familiar.
The boy opened the door to the church and stuck his head in, “Hello?” He called out, his youthful voice reverberating, “Tio Carlos?” The word felt strange in Marco’s mouth; he didn’t have any aunts or uncles.
*** Carlos felt the intruder--visitor?--coming well before the door opened. How? Magic. He’d laid out a few alerts that chimed privately whenever someone advanced up the steps of the church or crossed the threshold. It said nothing for their type or their strength, only a vague suggestion that something was there. Which was all Carlos needed.
He popped his head up through the basement staircase then cracked into a grin when he caught sight of a dark, curly-haired little head poking around the doors.
“Hey! My man, Marco, right?” He called, dusting off his hands and wandering closer to the boy, gesturing him in. “Don’t be scared, lots of people are quiet in churches because it feels disrespectful to be loud. But if we can’t talk in God’s house then we can’t talk anywhere,” he said cheerfully. “And besides, I don’t bite.”
It wasn’t odd to Carlos to be referred to as ‘Uncle.’ It was standard. He was usually the older cousin in his family, but lots of his friends had kids and he was their tio by default.
“How’s it going? You ain’t homesick, are you? It’s okay if you are.”
***
Of all the things Marco was expecting, a head popping out from a basement wasn’t one of them. He jumped slightly, then shook his head to clear it. Why was Carlos in the basement? This place was weird.
“Yeah, I’m Marco. I’m not scared, Dad just says it’s impolite to shout,” Usually after his mother had been shouting. Which made Marco smile a little. His mom didn’t have any problem with shouting, but even she probably wouldn’t like him shouting in church, “What if God wants some privacy?” Marco asked, “I know I wouldn’t like it if random people came into my house and started talking.”
Homesick. Was he? Marco hadn’t thought about, he considered this place a dream. One of those dreams where you knew you were dreaming. So he figured he’d wake up eventually. He wasn’t really gone, after all. So he shook his head, “I’m not homesick because I’ll wake up when it’s time to go back.” He explained. Then his face took on a worried look, “I’m worried about Jake and Rachel. They have a lot of nightmares and they won’t tell me why so I can help.”
***
“God would understand and forgive the need to shout in his house,” Carlos replied, pivoting to look back at the Crucified Christ that overlooked the whole church. He gave a reverent pause then looked back at Marquito, smiling gently.
“Oh yeah?” He asked, thinking back to their conversation about Marco’s friends. Rachel the dead girl and Jake.. who Marco hadn’t talked about with Carlos specifically. He furrowed his brows. They were war vets, the three of them, they probably had some nasty PTSD going on. How did you tell a kid that though? Especially about people he cared about?
Carlos frowned and sat down on a pew, scooting over to allow Marco to sit too, and gesturing for him to do so.
“Probably they don’t want to upset you,” Carlos said, “and nightmares are private things, so they might not know how to share them with you.” The man paused again, “You could bring them to church one day, maybe. We don’t have any kind of priest or pastor or anything, but that’s okay.”
***
Marco slipped into the pew next to Carlos, finding the wooden seats as uncomfortable as ever. They were never the right size, and he either had to stick his legs straight out or sit on the very edge and graze his toes against the ground. It made his legs hurt. That was why he was so wiggly in church. He had to think if there was a God, he’d know that and have told them to put in better seats. So that was one more point on the ‘no God’ side as far as Marco was concerned.
He listened to Carlos, but gave the adult a look that told Carlos he’d just said something really, really dumb, “They’re Jewish.” Marco said. He wasn’t enough of a jerk to go pretend that Jesus would fix whatever problems Jake and Rachel had, “Besides, I don’t even know if I believe in God, so that would be weird.” He shrugged.
“I know they don’t want to upset me, but I’m not a baby! I want to help!”
***
“Oh,” Carlos replied, then he shrugged, “I didn’t know, my bad.” Jewish. Who would have thought? Not that God would care, right? Whatever though, Carlos didn’t have the kind of--what he assumed was--proper education to discuss religious differences with an 11 year old. So he let it go.
“It’s okay if you don’t believe in God, that’s what faith is and not everyone can do it. Don’t ever tell your parents I said that though, I know people can get weird about it.” Maybe talking about religion with someone else’s kid was a bad idea. Carlos backpedaled a degree, “Okay, look, why don’t we light some candles and say a prayer for your friends. That way you don’t have to bring them here and maybe God will take a closer look.” And besides, it might help Marco relax a little. Praying was comforting, even if you didn’t think anyone was listening.
“Did your parents teach you the prayers?” Carlos asked.
***
“Yeah, sometimes I’m jealous. Jake’s going to get a party when he’s 13, and I’m not going to get anything!” How fair was that? Why did Jake get extra stuff just for being Jewish? Sometimes the world was stupid.
Marco raised an eyebrow, then gave the man a puzzled look, “Dad doesn’t believe in God and it’s okay. Mom does and that’s okay too.” That’s what his parents had told him anyway. They said only Marco could figure out for himself what he believed in, and that’s why he tried to think about it a lot, “Mom did, but how do you know lighting candles actually works?” He sounded skeptical.
“Wouldn’t it be better to talk to them, or help them myself?”
*** Carlos couldn’t help but to laugh. Was this kid serious? He asked too many questions Carlos wasn’t prepared to answer. Didn’t most kids ask about the flawed logic of religion though? Who knew. Carlos’ family were a group of stand-by Catholics that mostly went to mass on Christmas and Easter. Except for Abuela who went every Sunday rain or shine.
“I don’t know that it does work, but I like to light candles and pray to the saints, it’s comforting,” he explained. “Maybe it doesn’t help those I’m praying for, but it helps give me a clear head. And what can we do with clear heads? Find more hands on solutions to helping our friends. You’re right, it would be better to talk to your friends but you can’t make them talk back. If they don’t want to talk, that’s okay.”
Carlos rose to his feet, “Come on,” he said. “What kind of church do you go to?” He asked. “In a Catholic church we’d touch the holy water, which we have none here because I can’t bless it myself, and do the sign of the cross.” Carlos knelt swiftly, facing the Crucifix, and crossed himself. Back on his feet, he smiled easily. “I found some candles, we’ll light one and say a prayer and talk about what we can do for Jake and Rachel. Cool?”
***
A scowl settled on Marco’s face when Carlos laughed at him. That was rude! He just had questions, that was all! His parents told him questions were good things! He crossed his arms and glared firmly, so that Carlos knew Marco was offended. But what Carlos said sort of made sense, so he got up and followed him to the front, following his lead and crossing himself.
“Mom’s Catholic too,” He answered, “Yeah. Okay.” Truthfully, Marco was more interested in the talking than the candle lighting, but if he had to pray to get Carlos’s help, he would.
***
“Oh, good,” that meant he’d spend less time combating a Christian approach. They didn’t believe in praying to Saints, after all. Whatever. Instead of turning off to the corner where the stand would usually be settled, Carlos moved around back to the staircase leading into the basement. “Don’t be scared,” he said, “the lights don’t work but it ain’t dark down here.” And creepy older man getting a boy alone inside a church accusations aside, hopefully Marco wouldn’t balk.
Down below, Carlos had turned the basement into a suitable living space. Something very typical for a bachelor of his current means, with a makeshift cot, a few haphazardly constructed shelves, a random assortment of what seemed like junk but were the tools of his magic craft, and a small altar of his own. There were still a lot of random artifacts that might or might not be typical of a church basement. He hadn’t moved anything out yet. The whole shebang was lit with several mason jars inside which Carlos had stored little green flames. Green because he’d wasted no time testing his magical ability to produce fire and light once the sun came out again.
Approaching the altar, Carlos took a little white candle and passed it off to Marco, then fished a lighter from his pocket which he also passed to him. “Here, don’t burn yourself. You don’t have to say your prayer out loud either. Say whatever you want inside your head. We’ll let the candle burn itself out.” He took his own and with a touch of will, lit his candle.
He prayed silently to Saint Jude, the saint of protection, to help the residents of Vas Captio through the trouble inside the dome and for a swift and safe journey back home.
***
This was kind of creepy and suspicious. Why did Carlos live in a basement? Especially a dark basement? Marco peered down into the basement and looked around for a bit before finally coming down, making sure to keep nearby the exit. Carlos sure had a lot of weird stuff, Marco wondered where it all had come from.
And the room was green. The candles burned green. Marco went over to look at one, examining it. Wait…
He got distracted by Carlos lighting a candle, and he frowned. How did he…
The boy caught the lighter and flicked it, lighting the candle, and then gave Carlos his lighter back. He closed his eyes. ’I don’t know if any of you are real. But if any of you are, can you please help Jake? And Rachel too.’ Marco added hastily, not wanting them to think he didn’t care about her if any of the Saints were real. ’Jake’s a good person, you should help him. Amen.’
It wasn’t the fanciest prayer, but that was partially because he had something else on his mind, “How did you light your candle? How do you have fire like that?” Marco pointed to one of the jars of green flame.
He backed up towards the staircase, “Are you an angel or a demon?” He looked suspicious.
***
Oh, right. Marco didn’t know Carlos was a wizard. Well, shit. Carlos replaced his candle on the altar and crossed himself again, “Amen,” he murmured then turned to look at Marco, puzzled.
“Neither,” he said shortly, “I’m a wizard.” Not exactly the most subtle of introductions and likely the boy wouldn’t believe it either. In a world of religion one was either good or bad and there was nothing in between, hence being either angel or demon in Marco’s eyes.
“I have met a couple of nasty demons though,” he said brightly. “I try not to run afoul of angels.” Hell, he’d never seen an angel but he’d seen the Knights of the Cross and that was close enough.
***
Marco rolled his eyes. A wizard. Sure. “Yeah, and I’m Spiderman.” He said with the same sarcastic tone his older self used, “You can’t be a wizard. Wizards aren’t real, and it wouldn’t be fair.” He said, eyeing the man, “If you’re a wizard, prove it.” He bet Carlos couldn’t, just like he couldn’t prove his ‘vampires’.
Man, Carlos must think kids were really stupid.
“Why would you be meeting demons anyway?” Even if demons were real, Marco wouldn’t believe him.
***
“How am I supposed to prove it? You'd never believe it anyway.” But Carlos grinned and held out his hand, palm upward, and with an effort of will summoned a small flame. It too was green, flickering merrily in his hand. “Fire's easy to call, it just takes a lot to control.” he pivoted, grabbing another prepared jar and placed the little flame inside. “I didn't have a lot of candles at first.” he explained.
As for demons?
“Mostly by accident, you don't want to run into demons on purpose. They're a bunch of assholes. Excuse my language.”
***
That was awesome. Marco stared at the fire in Carlos’ hand with undisguised interest and a little bit of awe. It was so cool! And so unfair. “Why do you get to be a wizard and I have to be a lame normal person?” Marco asked, scowling again. He wanted to be a wizard! Then he could do awesome things. Instead he was just a kid.
“Duh,” He responded, “They’re demons, not bunny rabbits.” Marco might not take the stories he was told seriously, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t listened to them. Some of his abuela’s stories had scared him for weeks when he was little, and he didn’t even understand some of what she said!
*** “Luck?” Carlos said, blithe. He snickered. “Mom's not magical either, but abuela is. Sorta. She's got a small talent, but she uses it well.” Not that Marco would understand any of that since it was all wizard lingo.
“Hey, don't be down on yourself. Most people got Talent for things, they just don't know it. I can't teach you to do these things, but there's some things everyone can do.” He offered Marco the jar, so he could look at the fire. “It isn't hot, that'd beat the purpose of putting it inside the jar anyway. See the writing? That keeps it from breaking.”
***
“Yeah, yeah,” Marco brushed it off, “Everybody’s good at something, everybody’s special. So I can do math. You can make fire!” That was way cooler than being good at math was, or being able to do stuff on computers.
“Why would I want to do those things? I bet they’re lame,” Still, the boy picked up the jar and examined the writing, “It looks weird. The letters are weird. What language is this?”
***
“I can't do math higher than algebra, “ Carlos said. High school algebra at that. Was it different than college algebra anyway? He didn't know. And he'd be impressed if he knew Marco could work computers. Carlos could do that a little, but they tended to die on him eventually which made intensive work pretty much impossible.
“It’s called pictoglyphs.. er, pictographs,” he corrected himself. “They’re Aztec, I had to learn a new language or two when I started learning magic.” It wasn’t that Harry Potter bullshit where you waved a wand and said some words and stuff came out. Transfiguration, what the hell was that anyway?
“I meant there are protective bits of magic regular people can do.”
And why not give Marco all the the tools he could to defend himself?
***
“So? Magic is more useful than algebra,” Marco said with another shrug. Carlos was just trying to make him feel better about not having magic, “Algebra isn’t that hard. Dad’s showed me a little. He was helping me make a game.” And they needed to learn about variables. It wasn’t that hard.
“Aztec, huh?” He peered at the jar again, “I thought they were all dead.” Marco said, “How did you learn their language?”
Protective magic. Otherwise known as lame magic. “Why bother? If a wizard wants to hurt me, it’s not going to help. I can’t stop myself from being burned.” Marco pointed out.
***
“I don’t know,” Carlos said, “math helps me with balancing the books at the restaurant.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter, then side-eyed Marco to watch his response. Everyone thought magic would solve all their problems all the time, but that just wasn’t the way it worked. Sure, they could do awesome things but that didn’t mean it was useful in the everyday. “You can make games? That’s pretty awesome, man. I prefer to go outside for my games though, like football. Well I guess soccer is the word.” Stupid English.
“That’s the thing, you gotta believe it’ll work for it to work, even the smallest things. Won’t do anything without faith.” He winked, took the jar back and placed it on the altar for now. He was trying not to turn that particular space into a ‘everything goes here’ kind of table, so much for that though.
“I learned this language the same way I learned English. By studying. My mentor had roots in Central and South America deeper than mine, so it was cool.”
“Here, wanna see some vampire fangs?” He quirked a brow. “They won’t bite.”
***
“Great, so I can work at a restaurant while the cool people do magic,” Marco replied. Sure, his parents always said life wasn’t fair, but this was ridiculously not fair! “Maybe I can make wizards dinner. You’re just trying to make me feel better about not being special.” He said grumpily. He brightened up quickly though, he liked talking about games, “Just little ones if Dad helps me. I made one where you had to run through levels without touching the floor.” That had been kind of cool, “Dad showed me you can use math to make levels!”
“He did a lot of the hard parts, but you can just use a variable to determine where things will show up!” It was an oversimplification, but Marco was excited.
It still wasn’t as good as magic, though. “Soccer’s okay.” It wasn’t great, but at least he was better at it than basketball.
‘You have to believe’, “What, is magic like Tinkerbell?” Marco asked incredulously, “I do believe in fairies, I do I do!” He snickered.
“How did your mentor know it, though, if all the Aztecs are dead?” It didn’t make any sense.
“I don’t think you have real vampire fangs. I want to see them.” That way he could prove Carlos was pulling his leg.
*** Carlos gave Marco his full attention when the boy started talking about games. A lot of it went over Carlos’ head because he didn’t know the first thing about how math was used in creating games, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t listen attentively. It made Marco happy, which was the point. “That’s really cool!” He said, enthusiastic. “What kind of games are your favorites, anyway? Racing games? Roleplay games? I know some guys that like to play tabletop games, those are weird.” Only because Carlos didn’t understand. He read nerdy books sometimes but he wasn’t that much of a geek.
“Hey, faeries are assholes,” Carlos replied. “The Tinkerbell sort, they’re dicks and you can’t trust them as far as you can throw them. Which is pretty fucking far. Excuse my language. The bigger ones are worse.”
He shook his head and went deeper into the basement-lair, pulling out a sword from a not-so-hidden spot. He wasn’t trying to hide it anyway, since the blade was basically useless as a weapon in the hands of anyone not Carlos himself. He only brought it back because the tassle hanging from the pommel of the blade was strung with the sharp-edged teeth of vampire fangs. “My mentor is like.. Three hundred years old, his teacher before that was pretty up there, too. Aztec roots, he learned some shit from them toward the end of the empire. You don’t want to hear the whole story, trust me. Here.”
He passed him the sword. “Careful, the teeth are sharp.”
***
His enthusiasm earned Carlos another eye roll, “You’re doing that thing where adults pretend to care even though they’re not interested at all.” Marco wasn’t an idiot. He knew Carlos didn’t want to hear about math or video games. Especially since Carlos didn’t seem like a nerd. He seemed more like the sports type. “Why do you do that?” Pretend to be interested.
“Are there any non-humans that aren’t assholes?” Marco asked, feeling okay with the swearing since Carlos was swearing too. And he wasn’t a baby. He’d been online. He knew swear words. It wasn’t a big deal, “People don’t live to be 300. What, are you going to tell me you’re 300? You don’t look 300.” He looked Carlos up and down. He definitely didn’t look 300 years old.
A sword was not what Marco expected Carlos to come back with, “Whoa!” He said with round eyes, “Cool!” Marco exclaimed in the voice of every pre-teen or teenage boy who got to see something they found absolutely awesome, “It looks like the ones in the museums!”
Despite his obvious excitement, Marco was careful when he took the sword, making sure to hold it in the same way Carlos had and to keep his hands away from the blade. He looked the teeth over critically, holding them up in front of the green light. He sort of wondered where Carlos had bought them, “I still don’t believe you.” He said with doubt creeping into his voice.
*** “I’m not pretending, I want to know what you like. Is that hard? I can’t do those things so it’s neat. Computers blow up, tvs, that’s why the lights aren’t working.” He gestured around at his little green jars of fire.
Carlos watched Marco handle the sword. His own body language was relaxed and unconcerned, but he’d be ready to jump in a flash if he thought the boy was about to run himself through with the blade. Marco was cautious though and Carlos appreciated that. Not every day you could trust an 11 year old to hold a sword without murdering themselves or someone else. He also shared Marco’s enthusiasm for the sword. His own glee when Captain Luccio presented it to him was something akin to Marco’s.
“I’m 25,” he stated. Young for a wizard. But a total badass, thank you.
He cracked a grin, “I started collecting them a couple years ago. The war was ugly.. And I guess keeping teeth of your enemies is ugly, too. But.. “ he shrugged, “a lot of my friends died.
“That’s kind of a dark thought though and we don’t have to talk about it. We’re supposed to be talking about how you can help your friends anyway, not magic and vampire fangs.”
***
“Why do you want to know what I like?” Marco asked him, then he shook his head in response to Carlos’s question, “No, it’s not hard. All you do is define certain things, like ledges and pits and stuff, and then you assign each a probability for happening in a certain length. Like every 3 screens there’s a 50% odd of a big pit, and every 2 there’s a 20% chance of a ledge, and then the computer can make the level for you, and it’ll be different every time!”
It was amazing.
So Carlos was 25. Okay. That was a lot different than 300. “You look like somebody who should be on TV.” Marco told him before passing him the sword back. It was really, really cool, but it wasn’t his.
“I’m sorry that your friends died.” Marco offered. The conversation made him sad. How would he feel if Jake died? The idea made him feel a little sick, “If I was a girl, I’d give you a hug.” Marco informed Carlos solemnly. But he was a boy.
“We can talk about it if you want to. If I get to talk about my things, you should get to talk about yours.”
***
“Because that’s what friends do?” Carlos replied. “They take active interest in each other’s interests.” He winked at Marco. So he liked the kid, however grudgingly given his older self was a little shit. That was a work in progress, but at least he got to understand the boy better from this perspective. Just sucked that he’d go from an earnest 11 year old to well.. That. Man, the world shit on Marco.
Carlos accepted the sword, moving to replace it in its safe spot. Well, an out of the way spot so he wouldn’t be tripping over it all the damned time. “I am handsome and angelic, I should be on TV, you’re right. Did I mention that in addition to being the best wizard of my class, I’m also a great actor?” He snickered. “Boys can give hugs, too, you know. It’s okay. I bet your friend Jake would like it if you gave him hugs sometimes too. I know that helps when things are rough. And if you’re nervous about hugging girls, don’t be!” Because Rachel could use hugs too, probably.
“It’s easy, since everyone’s just people. And it’s good of you to remember everyone’s got feelings.” A kid offering to listen to people’s problems. Who the hell was this boy anyway?
Carlos eyed him.
***
“Yeah. Okay,” Marco said, accepting Carlos’s explanation. If Carlos wanted to be friends, it kind of made sense. He still would rather people not lie to him, though. It was okay to like different things, “What are you interested in other than soccer and magic?” Marco asked.
“I hope I look like you when I’m older,” He said. Especially since Carlos was tall. That would be nice. Maybe people would stop calling him ‘shrimp’ if he grew some, “Then maybe I can be on TV!” That would be really cool. Marco wanted to be rich and famous, but who didn’t? He rolled his eyes when Carlos started talking about hugs, “I do hug Jake when he has nightmares.”
“I’m not nervous, it would just be weird, because Rachel is pretty,” Marco told Carlos, “What? You’re looking at me funny.”
***
“Cooking,” Carlos said, “and Law Enforcement. I didn’t like the police a whole lot when I was your age, you know. They kinda look at us funny and it bothered me, but I respect the hell out of them now. Sword fighting. That was the best part of my training, honestly.” Good old fashioned sword fights? Hell yes. “Especially with all the pretty girls that were in my cohort.” He snickered again, especially when Marco said he wanted to look like Carlos. He was a good looking man, after all.
“That’s nice of you,” he said, and meant it. “I’m just surprised is all, man. Not many kids are like you. I mean they’re not as aware as you. About other people, I guess. You’re concerned with feelings, most 11 year olds don’t even know their own feelings.”
Let alone someone else’s.
***
“You like cooking?” Marco asked. He’d never heard of a man who liked cooking, that was kind of weird, wasn’t it? “What do you mean they look at us funny?” It had always confused Marco that his parents told him different things about the police: His Dad said they were there to help, but his Mom said to trust his instincts and that sometimes you could trust them and sometimes you couldn’t.
“I wish I could learn sword fighting,” That would be amazing!
He shrugged when Carlos complimented him, then rubbed the back of his head, “I don’t know. It just seems right, right? I talk about what I want, and you talk about what you want to talk about. Feelings are complicated,” That was something Marco heard adults say a lot, “But they’re not that hard to figure out.”
***
“Yeah, mom taught me. Dad used to say if I grew out my hair I’d look more like his daughter, but he didn’t complain when he got food, did he?” Carlos grinned. His relationship with his dad was complicated, but that went without saying for most people. At least Carlos thought so. “Well, I mean, Immigration was always looking for undocumented people, kids and shit, so I tried not to get their attention. But that’s pretty much impossible for people like us. Racial profiling and all that.” He shrugged. Marco knew the score, even if he was still young enough to miss some things.
“Maybe the hard part isn’t figuring them out, but respecting and understanding them. That seems to be the hangup people have. But good for you, your parents are doing it right.”
Carlos grinned, “I can teach you to sword fight, but not with actual swords just yet.”
***
The boy tugged at one of his long curls. Sometimes people said he looked like a girl, but he liked his hair long! Marco didn’t think he looked like a girl, he just didn’t like how his hair got when it was short: It tended to curl off in all directions and just look stupid. He listened to Carlos and raised an eyebrow, “I’m not undocumented.” His mom had been very clear about that, “That’s stupid that they assume I am.” Marco declared.
He puffed his chest out with visible pride when Carlos complimented his parents, “They do everything right.” Most kids his age had lost their parental hero worship, but Marco hadn’t. He loved his parents, and they could do no wrong, “They’re smart and amazing.”
“Really?” He could learn to sword fight? “That would be awesome!” He said with barely restrained glee.
*** “It IS stupid,” Carlos agreed, but that was edging into a dark territory that tended to get under Carlos’ skin faster than anything. He didn’t think it was appropriate to bitch at an 11 year old about discrimination and shit. Especially one who already faced it. Better they talk about how to deal with it when it happened, he supposed.
The man eyed the boy. Kids. They were cute. It’d suck for Marco when he realized his parents were human, too. But for now there was nothing wrong with letting him have his pride and love for them. That was fine.
Carlos shook his head slightly, squeezed Marco’s thin little shoulder (the first time he’d touched him, actually) and laughed. “Yeah,” he said brightly, “but first let’s find some food. I’m thinking quesadillas.”