Dear Diary- scratch that- Journal,
Okay, so I don't know what's been going on, but something's wrong. Stuff between Ramona and I has been… weird.
Maybe it's because Lola dumped me a week ago or because Popko hasn't stopped talking Ramona up all summer, but I suddenly don't see her as a sister anymore. Don't get me wrong, I still love her and care about her and get annoyed when she takes too long in the bathroom, but it's just that now, when she comes out of the bathroom with just a towel on and her hair all wet with water dripping down her shoulders, I can't help but stare. Something's wrong, right? Doesn't that sound wrong?
It hasn't been that bad or that often, to be honest. I can blame the staring on the fact that she's a girl and I'm a boy and we're living together, so it's kind of inevitable. She's still Ramona, so I just ignore those random hormone-fueled moments as well as I would ignore any other cute girl in nothing but a towel (not well, but I manage) and carry on with my day.
No, the real problem is much worse and much weirder. You see, whenever she-
Wait. Here she comes. Shh.
"Hey, Jackson." Her smile is bright, but her eyes are distracted. She's looking for something. "Have you seen my earbuds?"
"Uhh, yeah. One second."
I remember Max using them the other day, if only I could remember-
"Oh, yeah. Here they are."
She accepts the pink earbuds quickly, her hand brushing mine for a millisecond before she's out the door.
"Gracias," she calls over her shoulder as she flounces into the hall.
See. That. That right there is the problem. Every time she speaks Spanish, my heart starts racing and my palms get sweaty and it's such a fucking turn on. And she does it all the time. You'd be surprised how often that girl can switch between languages in one sentence. You'd be even more surprised how hard I can get from that one sentence. It's honestly kind of embarrassing how affected I am by it. I don't even understand Spanish, so I don't get why it's so… stimulating, for lack of a better word.
Ugh. This is weird. That was weird. I should stop writing. I shouldn't be writing these thoughts down. But I need to tell someone. I can't tell Max, because, well, duh: he's just a kid. I'm not going to tell my kid brother about this stuff. I can't tell my mom because she's my mom and I definitely can't tell her mom. Aunt Stephanie is usually cool about this sort of stuff, but I still feel like it'd be really awkward. Same goes for Matt or Steve. My summer school friends would just tease me about it and so would Jimmy, come to think of it. Popko is 100% out of the question and Fernando is 200% out of the question; they would beat me for days. The only person left is Lola, but she's my ex-girlfriend and Ramona's best friend. Not only that, but while we were dating, she gave me a super big talk about how not cool it is to fetishize someone's race or ethnicity after I made some stupid comment. I don't know if language falls under that category too, but I'd rather not risk it. I have to let these thoughts out somehow, no matter how lame keeping a journal might be.
I think I'm going to go insane if I have to keep living with her like this. At first, I thought I would hate her moving in because she's so annoying, but now the real problem is finding new and creative ways to hide mid-conversation boners. What has my life become?
I have to go. Ramona's calling me downsta- holy shit what was that word and why does it sound so hot when she says it?
Truer words have never been spoken. Get it? Never mind. Now is not the time for puns; I need to find some looser pants.
I should be working on Secretly Yours or The Finer The Line, but I just binge-watched Fuller House and this idea was bouncing around in my head. There will never be any blatant sex or anything of that nature- are you kidding me? They're fourteen or something- but Jackson will be very open about how Spanish makes him feel, if you get my drift.
There should be five or six chapters, one uploaded each day, so I'm going to officially call this Jamona Monday.
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