The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School
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Synopsis
National Book Award Finalist * William C. Morris YA Debut Award Finalist * Goodreads Finalist for Best Teen Book of the Year * Walter Honor Award Winner * Pura Belpré Honor Book * Lambda Literary Award Winner for LGBTQ+ Young Adult
A sharply funny and moving debut novel about a queer Mexican American girl navigating Catholic school, while falling in love and learning to celebrate her true self. Perfect for fans of Erika L. Sánchez, Leah Johnson, and Gabby Rivera.
Sixteen-year-old Yamilet Flores prefers to be known for her killer eyeliner, not for being one of the only Mexican kids at her new, mostly white, very rich Catholic school. But at least here no one knows she’s gay, and Yami intends to keep it that way.
After being outed by her crush and ex-best friend before transferring to Slayton Catholic, Yami has new priorities: keep her brother out of trouble, make her mom proud, and, most importantly, don’t fall in love. Granted, she’s never been great at any of those things, but that’s a problem for Future Yami.
The thing is, it’s hard to fake being straight when Bo, the only openly queer girl at school, is so annoyingly perfect. And smart. And talented. And cute. So cute. Either way, Yami isn’t going to make the same mistake again. If word got back to her mom, she could face a lot worse than rejection. So she’ll have to start asking, WWSGD: What would a straight girl do?
Told in a captivating voice that is by turns hilarious, vulnerable, and searingly honest, The Lesbiana’s Guide to Catholic School explores the joys and heartaches of living your full truth out loud.
Release date: May 17, 2022
Publisher: HarperCollins
Print pages: 400
Content advisory: This book deals with issues of racism, homophobia, immigration, and the suicidal ideation and hospitalization of a character.
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The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School
Sonora Reyes
Thou Shalt Not Trust a Two-Faced Bitch
Seven years of bad luck can slurp my ass.
It’s been way too long since I punched something, and that vanity had it coming. Stupid mirror. Stupid Yami.
Whatever. Mirrors are overrated, and punching them is underrated. I’ve never liked looking at myself anyway. Not because I don’t think I’m cute. I mean, I am cute—objectively—but that’s beside the point. I like this new reflection better. It’s cracked enough that I’m hardly recognizable. Splintered in all the right places. I did that. With my fist. Who says I’m not tough?
I don’t run from a fight—as long as it’s with an inanimate object. I didn’t punch the mirror hard enough to shatter it, but the pulsing in my knuckles tells me I hit it pretty hard. My chest swells at the accomplishment, and so does my hand.
Shit. That’s a lot of blood.
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have done that. My hand is shaking and starting to drip, but I’m stuck. All I can think about is Bianca, and the other thing I really shouldn’t have done.
Who quits their job just to avoid the possibility of running into an ex? Not even an ex. An ex-traordinarily two-faced bitch. An ex–best friend, who I’m ashamed to have ever had feelings for.
Bianca’s never been good at keeping secrets, so I don’t know why I thought she’d keep this one to herself. It’s my own fault for trusting her. Last time I saw her was when she outed me at the end of sophomore year. I was happy to never see her again, but today she just had to walk right into the coffee shop I work at. Worked at.
She has some nerve trying to confront me at work. It’s not like I could defend myself. I never could, against her. Because of her, I couldn’t even make it a couple weeks into my
summer job.
So you’re running away to Catholic school now? Are you that desperate to avoid me?
Yes. Desperate enough to quit my job, too. Anything to keep from seeing her. Anything.
“Yami?” Cesar knocks at the door but doesn’t wait for a response before cracking it open and peeking inside. “I’ll call you back,” he says to whoever he’s on the phone with. He must have heard the mirror break. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of my fist, so I jump in before he can say anything.
“Was that your girlfriend?” I tease.
“Something like that.” He shrugs.
“You’re such a player,” I say, shaking my head.
“Anyways, you okay?” My brother stares at my bloody knuckles and the mirror, waiting for an explanation I don’t give. I should be the one worried about him, not the other way around. His knuckles are freshly scabbed like mine are about to be, and he has a black eye. Just another variation of the usual.
“Are you okay?” I throw the question back at him. His eyes flick to the mirror and back at me before he walks in. He hops over the dirty clothes on the floor and onto my bed, grinning.
“I got all As!” he says. Okay, so I’m not the only one deflecting. Cesar and I have an unspoken rule: you can ask personal questions exactly once. If the question is avoided, you don’t pry. That’s how we keep the peace. I give Cesar a high five with my good hand, then go to our shared bathroom to wash off the blood, leaving the door open so he can hear me.
“¡Eso! No wonder you got a scholarship to Slayton.”
Cesar is definitely the better student between us. He skipped a grade, so we’re both about to be juniors. A lot of people assume we’re twins, which I don’t mind. It makes it slightly less embarrassing that my younger brother is so much smarter than me. I’m not in all honors classes like him, but I do all right.
Without a scholarship of my own, I’ll need to get another job ASAP to pay my half of tuition. It’s the only way Mom could afford to send us both to Slayton Catholic, and I’m more than happy to do the extra work. I would probably die of embarrassment if I had to go back to Rover High after what Bianca did. Catholic school and another job will be worth it if I never have to see her gorgeous, backstabbing face ever again. Goodbye, Rover, can’t say I’ll miss you.
I make sure all the blood is gone and dab some of Cesar’s superglue on the cut before going back to my room. By the time I’m done, you can barely tell I hurt myself. If nothing else, hiding my pain is one thing I’m good at.
Cesar’s lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, fidgeting with the cross at the end of the chain around his neck. “Do you really want to go to Slayton?”
I shrug and fall onto the bed next to him.
Bianca isn’t the only reason I need to go to Slayton, but I can’t tell Cesar that. As far as he knows, Mom’s forcing us both to go because we need a “better education,” with the best
teachers and more advanced classes. It’s also Mom’s way of making up for the fact that she doesn’t have time to take us to church anymore.
At least, those are the reasons we tell Cesar. We don’t tell him it’s also because of all the trouble he’s been getting into at Rover, and that Mom thinks Slayton will be safer (because of the Catholic values). We don’t tell him I insisted on going with him to keep him out of trouble. It’s a fancy-ass Catholic school, but it’s a fresh start, for both of us. And at least now I’ll know to keep my mouth shut about any crushes. This time, I’ll be stealthy gay. Like Kristen Stewart.
Cesar rolls on his side to face me. “I heard it’s nothing but white people there.”
“Probably.” The students at Rover are mostly Black and Brown Chicanes, but Slayton’s on the north side of Scottsdale, about a forty-minute drive from where we live. Let’s just say there’s not a lot of melanin over there. I could probably pay my tuition selling sunscreen between classes.
“And the football team sucks,” he says.
“You don’t even play football.”
“And now I never will.” There’s a sad gleam in his eye, as if playing football was once a dream of his. I swear he’s the most dramatic guy I know.
“Aww, pobrecito.” I try to pinch his cheek but he swats my hand away. He’s only ten months younger than me, but I’ll never let him forget he’s the baby.
“I heard they make you do, like, ten hours of homework a day. That’s called child abuse. When will we sleep? When will we eat? We’re gonna starve!” He throws his arms in the air.
I laugh and hit him with my pillow. “We’ll live.” I don’t mention that he’s the one who’ll have the excess homework, with all the AP and honors classes he’s in. “Besides, it’s better than the alternative, right?”
“What alternative?”
“You know”—I gesture to his bruised eye—“getting jumped?” His jaw clenches, and I immediately feel bad for bringing it up, so I keep going. “Or eating moldy chicken nuggets for lunch. That’s child abuse. At least Slayton can afford to feed us real food.”
“I guess.” He doesn’t sound amused. Cesar has no self-preservation instincts. It’s almost as if he wants to keep getting his ass kicked at Rover.
I throw my arm around his shoulder. “Don’t worry, if you ever miss Rover food, just lick the bottom of your shoe. You’ll feel like you never left.”
He lets out a little snort and throws one of his legs in the air. “Excuse you, my shoes are clean AF. This is five-star dining right here.”
“The bottom of your shoes, tonto.” I go to flick his ear, but he sees it coming and flicks mine first. “Ow!” I rub my ear. Damn you, slow reflexes.
It’s fine, though. I’d rather have a flicked ear than a mad-at-me little brother.
My phone buzzes, and Mom’s picture lights up the screen. I don’t know why she calls my phone when she could call my name. Our house isn’t exactly big enough for me not to hear. I
answer anyway.
“Hey, Mami.”
“Ven pa’ acá, mija.”
“Coming.” I hang up. My mind is racing, trying to come up with some excuse for how the mirror broke.
“Tell her I broke it.” Cesar must have read my mind, even though he’s not even looking at me. He’s good at that.
“Why?”
“She’ll believe you, and I won’t get in trouble.” He’s right. Cesar is Mom’s little baby. He breaks a mirror and she’ll want to know if his hand is okay. I break a mirror and I’m grounded, at the very least. Still, I’m not throwing him under the bus.
I roll my eyes and head to my mom’s room. In the hallway, I avoid looking at her collection of crosses and the gallery of Jesus portraits on the walls. Because apparently one Jesus isn’t enough holiness to literally scare me straight—not that Mom knows she needs to. I wish Cesar didn’t buy into this stuff so hard, so I could at least complain to him about it. The biggest portrait makes me particularly twitchy. Jesus is staring directly at me—no, through me—and his eyes are all sad like he knows I’m going to hell. I can’t shake the feeling that it doesn’t matter if I’m in the closet or not. Mom’s voice nags in my head: Jesus sees everything. There’s a burning in my gut, like the crosses are trying to exorcise the gay out of me. I keep my eyes on the carpet and speed-walk the rest of the way down the Hallway of Shame and into her room.
I almost step on a half-made beadwork earring on my way in. The angular design looks like it’s going to mimic a red-and-orange flower. As usual, the floor is littered with beads, strings, wires, and other side-hustle supplies. Mom makes jewelry and Mexican beadwork to sell in her spare time, and she does a damn good job of it. As if she isn’t already busy enough with her full-time call center job and two kids. I check to see if she saw me almost step on the earring, but she doesn’t react.
She pats the space on her bed next to where she’s lying. Her hair is in a messy bun, and she’s wearing sunglasses—the ones she wears when she has post-crying eyes. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I don’t think it’s the mirror. I’m the one she calls when she’s wearing her sunglasses. She’s always too worried about Cesar to put her problems on him.
I hop over the mess on the floor and up on the bed to assume our usual cuddling position. Her bed is way comfier than mine, and no matter how old I get, I’ll always feel safer in it. She pulls me into a hug and strokes my hair. I close my eyes, and we’re both quiet for a moment.
She doesn’t say anything about the mirror. She must not have heard me break it. I know I’m supposed to be comforting her right now, but I feel so guilty. I have to come clean.
“I quit my job,” I blurt out, better to rip off the Band-Aid. She would have figured it out anyway. “But I’ll get another one, I promise.”
“Ay Dios mío . . .” She sighs and gives herself the sign of the cross. “Don’t tell me Bianca convinced you to quit. She’s a bad influence on you.” Bianca’s name makes my body go cold for a moment.
“No, Mami. We’re not even friends anymore.” I try not to let it get to me that she hasn’t even realized. It’s only been a few weeks since Bianca outed me, so maybe Mami’s just been too busy to notice.
“Ay, ay, ay . . . Then we’ll talk about a new job later.” For some reason she doesn’t sound mad about me quitting. Not the reaction I was expecting.
“Okay . . .” It takes a while for her to say what she actually does want to talk about.
“I need you to do me a favor. Okay baby?” Her voice is hoarse.
“Yeah, Mami?”
“You know I want what’s best for you and your brother.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know what to do with that boy.” She rolls onto her back. “Your dad was always so good at getting through to him.”
I don’t say anything. Dad got deported back to Mexico when I was ten. We talk on the phone and video-chat sometimes, but I haven’t actually seen him in years. After he left, my mom went through hell trying to get him back and spent all her savings on legal fees. But the system failed us, and he’s not coming back.
Papi and Cesar are the only two people who I feel like really get me. It sucks I only get to talk to him on a screen for short bursts at a time.
“I talked to him today. He misses you. And Cesar.” She wipes her eye under the glasses. “Cesar just . . . he doesn’t listen to me like he listened to your dad.” I can breathe a little easier knowing she’s upset about Cesar, not my job, or even the mirror. But I know she’ll eventually make this about me. She always does.
“Cesar’s gonna be okay, Mami.” I squeeze her hand. Cesar will always insist he’s fine and play tough guy, but just because he hits back doesn’t make it a fair fight. Mom and I have tried to ask why he keeps getting into fights and what’s wrong, but he lashes out or retreats when he feels like he’s being questioned. The best I’ve been able to do for him is keep an eye out, but I’m even failing at that. It seems like every time I look away he’s either picking a fight or getting jumped, so I feel powerless to stop all the black eyes and busted lips he keeps coming home with.
“He listens to you.” Mom’s lip is quivering, and I don’t know what to do. I shove my wounded fist into my hoodie pocket. If she figures out I punched something, she’ll think I’m the reason Cesar’s been fighting. One misstep always makes things my fault. It’s a lot of pressure, having to be the perfect role model for my brother when I can barely keep it together myself.
Since Dad’s been gone, there’s been this unspoken rule that I’m supposed to take care of Cesar the way he did. According to Mom, anything bad that happens to Cesar is on me.
I’m tired.
“What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to set a good example. Tell him this will be a good opportunity for the two of you. Look out for him. This new school is small, so you won’t have a problem.” It feels like she’s saying I haven’t been looking out for him. As if the whole reason I got a job in the first place wasn’t so I could follow him to Jesus School to look out for him. I want to tell her it’s not my fault what happens to him, but she wouldn’t buy it if I did.
“Okay, Mami.”
“Oh, and you’re grounded.”
“What?” I sit up. How can she ask me a favor, and ground me, while she’s cuddling me? I’m surprised my neck hasn’t broken from the whiplash.
“Until you find another job. You know I can’t afford to send you to that school.”
“I’ll find another job,” I say. I was already planning on that. Being grounded doesn’t matter anyway, since the only person I have to hang out with now is Cesar.
“And you’ll look out for your brother.”
“Yes, Mami,” I say as I crawl out of her bed. I’ll let Cesar think we talked about the mirror.
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