I arrived at the airport with hope pumping through my veins like pure fucking adrenaline. This was America, goddammit! The land of opportunity, hot chicks, and dreams coming true. Jet lag? What jet lag? I was running on pure Spanish determination and teenage hormones.
Mr. Lee and Jeff were standing there like two lost tourists, holding up signs that read "Hugo Gonzalez" - and I immediately thought to myself, "Can't these pendejos write 'González' the right way? Did they fail basic spelling or what?" But fuck it, that didn't matter. I had reached the promised land, accent marks be damned.
Mr. Lee and Jeff seemed decent enough, I'll give them that. They drove me to what was supposed to become "home" - where mamá had prepared this whole feast for the new "member of the family." They tried their hardest to make me feel at home, which was gonna be about as realistic as me becoming the next Real Madrid striker.
Mamá showed me to my room, and I was already missing España like a lovesick puppy. These guys had put a guitar in the corner - a fucking guitar! - and that's what I hate about Americans: they think all Spaniards are walking flamenco shows. Like, what's next, a bullfighter costume and some castanets? Jesus Christ.
The parents left me and Jeff alone to "bond" or whatever parental fantasy they had cooking. I didn't know much about this family yet, but that son of theirs clearly knew jack shit about anything. Now I understood why they'd accepted to host me - maybe this Jeff guy had zero friends and they figured a desperate foreign exchange student was his only shot at human contact.
"How comes you speak English so good?" Jeff asked with this amazed expression, and I thought to myself, "Doesn't this idiota know that even my abuela speaks English these days?" Not that I was dissing my grandmother - it's just that anyone who wants to learn something in this generation fucking learns it.
"I speak it fine. Learned it from song lyrics," I lied smoother than butter. Of course I was bullshitting him - I'd studied English for years, but admitting that would make me sound like the nerd I actually was.
"Wow, that's so cool," Jeff said with this dopey-ass smile that made me question his intelligence. "I think me and you are gonna have an awesome time at college together."
Christ Jesus on a bicycle, I was an F-1 visa holder who'd arrived thirty days before classes started. Yeah, I had orientation and other bureaucratic bullshit to deal with, but now I was already panicking about how the hell I was gonna spend most of my time with Captain Clueless here. Back in España, I was always hanging with my cousin Francisco, actually learning useful shit - especially about girls and how to talk to them without sounding like a complete moron. But here I was, stuck with a guy who probably wanted to learn from me about things I hadn't even figured out myself. The blind leading the blind, Spanish edition.
Thank God almighty and all the saints, his sisters chose that exact moment to walk in.
Madre mía, I swear to Christ those girls had been expecting someone sexy because they'd dressed to absolutely fucking kill. And suddenly, my first thirty days in America were looking a whole lot more interesting.
Katherine walked in first - blonde, probably nineteen, wearing this tight-ass sundress that hugged every curve like it was painted on. But then Laura followed, and holy shit, that's when my brain completely short-circuited.
Laura was maybe seventeen, brunette, with these green eyes that could make a priest question his vows. She was wearing jeans that should've been illegal in at least forty-seven states and a crop top that showed just enough stomach to make me forget how to speak English, Spanish, or any other human language.
"So you're our Spanish exchange student," Katherine said with this smile that suggested she'd already made some very interesting mental notes about me.
"Sí... I mean, yes," I managed to stammer like the smooth operator I definitely wasn't.
Jeff, oblivious as always, jumped right in: "This is Hugo! He learned English from song lyrics. Isn't that cool?"
Laura tilted her head, looking at me with this expression that was half curiosity, half amusement. "What kind of songs?" she asked, and Jesus Christ, her voice was like honey mixed with whiskey.
Now I was trapped in my own bullshit lie. What was I gonna say? That I learned English from Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears? That would definitely kill whatever microscopic chance I had with these goddesses.
"Rock mostly," I lied again, trying to sound mysterious and cool. "You know... American rock bands."
Katherine laughed - not at me, but like she was genuinely entertained. "That's actually pretty smart. Music is the best way to learn language."
And that's when it hit me: these American girls weren't like the chicas back in Leganés. They weren't shy or reserved or playing hard to get. They were confident, direct, and apparently very interested in their new Spanish "brother."
This was either gonna be the best days of my life, or it was gonna kill me from sexual frustration. And maybe both.
But standing there in that Lee family living room, watching Katherine and Laura size me up like I was some exotic specimen they'd never encountered before, I felt something I'd never experienced back in shitty Leganés: possibility.
I felt like I had a real shot to change everything I was. I had another chance at life, a complete fucking do-over. I was in a world where no one knew who Hugo González really was - the nerdy kid who got picked on, who couldn't talk to girls without stuttering, who spent Friday nights playing video games instead of going to parties.
My book was unwritten here. The ending was completely unplanned. Back home, everyone knew my story: Hugo the bookworm, Hugo the awkward virgin, Hugo who'd never kissed a girl without paying for it in embarrassment afterward. But here? Here I could be anyone I wanted to be. I could reinvent myself from scratch.
Maybe I could be the confident Spanish guy who learned English from rock music. Maybe I could be the mysterious foreign exchange student who had all sorts of wild European stories. Maybe I could be the Latin lover boy.
Standing there with Laura's green eyes studying me and Katherine's smile promising all kinds of trouble, I made a decision that would change everything: I was gonna fake it till I made it.
Yeah, America, receive Hugo González. The new and improved version. Too bad I had no fucking clue what I was doing.