Stop Video Mute Audio

February 14, 2020

Every other girl in Miss Klees’ class smiles ear to ear, huddled together, whispering about the candies and cards they’ve received. Some from boys who like them. Some from boys who just want to make sure they’re not left out today.

Worried about leaving everyone out, except Beatriz.

It’s easy for her to brush it off. She’s the smartest one in class and as soon as they need help remembering every major European capital, they’ll come talking to her again. The As she marks on every single assignment, quiz, test, have so much more staying power than the dollar-store flimsy paper and blotchy ink all these Valentine cards are printed on and with. Won’t matter in a month anyway. The staying power of high school freshman thoughts, emotions, and loyalties are as reliable as a Wikipedia footnote. In a month, they’ll all be back to bickering the same way they’d been February 13th.

March 15, 2020

Everyone at home’s excited. Mom, dad, Benito.

Mom says she’s going to start baking fresh bread and finally make that amazing cuatro leches she’s always dreamed, and talked, about serving every Christmas. Dad always tells her not to be “tan ridícula” and ends up getting store-bought. It’s a Holguin family tradition that before midnight on noche buena mom gets tipsier than she can handle and goes off on dad in whispered, hissed curses about how he never has, never will, let her reach her full potential. Dad sits and listens with a smile on his face. Once she’s done, he’ll take a long, final swig of whatever’s in his glass and say she’s free to, “Hacer de su culo un papalote.”

Dad’s already on his third beer because he doesn’t have to be in tomorrow so, “¿Quien carajo is counting?”

Benito’s just glad to be missing school. Could be a tidal wave, in this case a plague, that’s crossing the entire planet. Long as he gets to stay home playing his stupid world-building, tribal-invading video game, everything beyond the front door can go kablooey.

At dinner, Beatriz tries hiding her sadness, but everyone sees and asks.

“I’m going to miss school.”

They all laugh.

“Don’t worry, you’re not going to miss a thing. Be glad you have a computer to tune in with,” Dad says, letting out a small belch before excusing himself.

Benito purposely lets out a loud one.

Dad balls his left fist and dares him to do it again.

“Stop the two of you. Tal para cual,” Mom says.

Beatriz knows this lockdown is going to be one long Noche Buena.

April 20, 2020

Today’s the day.

Miss Klees’ verbal quiz on European capitals.

Beatriz isn’t worried about flunking. She’s studied and has the material down. Verbal quizzes are so much easier than pencil and paper. One question, get it right; pass. Couldn’t be simpler.

Beatriz worries about turning on her camera and mic.

She’s been able to slip by the last few weeks but lately Miss Klees has been more vocal about Beatriz’s lack of presence. Some kids lagged at the start too but now she’s the only one still hiding behind a black screen and red-slashed microphone icon. If she wants to pass, she’ll finally have to click resume video and unmute.

Dad’s always screaming. About how he has nothing to do, nowhere to go. About how no one is hiring. “Not even that spic at the corner store!”

Beatriz doesn’t understand that one because abuelo and abuela are Cuban.

Sometimes, after him and Mom are done yelling back and forth at one another, he’ll come in to the room and start in on Beatriz. While she’s trying to hear Mister F’s lectures on informational text or context clues.

“It won’t matter in a week when they cut the Wi-Fi. Como carajo you expect me to pay for this, niña?” He said that a couple of days back during Miss Coley’s lesson on plate tectonics.

“Miss Holguin,” Miss Klees calls out.

Dad’s feet stomp up the stairs. Closer and closer.

“Miss Holguin. Please turn on your mic and camera, and give us the capital of Greece.”

Gosh darn it.

Athens.

So easy.

Dad’s feet sound like hammers getting closer. Maybe she has time to answer.

“Beatriz Holguin. This is your last chance. Capital of Greece!”

Dad’s too close now.

Miss Klees is mad at her too now.

It won’t matter in a week.

When they cut the Wi-Fi.

BIO: Hector Duarte, Jr. is a writer/educator out of Cutler Bay, Fl, where he lives with his wife, sons, and cat. His fiction has been published widely online and in print. His first short story collection, Desperate Times Call, was published in September of 2018 by Shotgun Honey Books. His debut novella, Icarus Over Collins, was published by Cinnabar Moth in March 2023. His second short story collection, A Town, United was published by Square Tire Books in 2025.

Follow on Social

Literary Garage: Storytelling with grit, heart, and no off-ramp.

© 2025. All rights reserved.

Connect

Follow us on Substack for updates and news

Special Features Editor and Warrior God: Michael Downing