"Dude, your mom is so… chill," I said, dodging a plasma bolt.
She smiled, and it wasn't a flirty smile or a staged one. It was a tired, genuine, mom smile. "No, he's not. He's stubborn and he leaves his socks everywhere. But you see the good stuff. That's a gift." My frnd hot mom
Mrs. Delgado was hot. That was still a fact, like gravity or the price of gas. But the story wasn't about that. The story was about a sixteen-year-old kid who stopped seeing a "hot mom" and started seeing Elena—the woman who could beat you at Scrabble, who cried at dog commercials, and who, when Leo finally went to college, would be the one left behind, drinking her iced coffee alone in a quiet kitchen. "Dude, your mom is so… chill," I said,
He disappeared upstairs. I was left sitting on the couch, fanning myself with a pizza box. "No, he's not
"Sorry about the AC," she said, handing me a glass. "Leo says you're the only one who doesn't cheat at Mario Kart. High praise."
Leo threw a pillow at my head. "Don't let it go to your head, nerd."