Running

by Natalia Sylvester

  “What time is Vivi coming over? So I know when you’ll abandon me,” Abuelo adds with a smile.

  “Her mom’s dropping her off in about ten minutes.”

  “How is Lily?”

  Abuelo knows all about the divorce, about how Vivi’s mom got locked out of her house from one day to the next.

  “I don’t know. Vivi and I haven’t talked much, with everything else that’s been going on.”

  All I know is that she’s not in a good place right now, and it doesn’t help that I haven’t really been there for her. That’s going to change today. I’ve decided that the only way I’m going to get through this campaign is to block it out. I haven’t checked the news all week. I haven’t checked the trending hashtags on Twitter. I haven’t asked my parents or Joe about the latest poll numbers and they haven’t brought them up either. I spent my last two lunch periods in the PODER office, making posters about protecting the environment and reading books about climate change in their library, and it was nice to focus on something other than my problems or my dad’s campaign troubles for once. The Florida primaries are in a week and a half so Jackie, Crissy, and Didier have started urging the seniors to vote, but they know better than to try to bring up the subject to me. Instead they’ve been helping me with my project, pointing me in the direction of reliable sources on the Everglades and sea level rise and proofreading my papers. Even Crissy took a moment to look everything over, and she told me that I have a pretty good report, but now I just need to take action.

  “You have all this information. Now what are you going to do about it?”

  Which is actually a really good, really overwhelming point. Of course I had to go and pick the one issue that’s so much bigger than me, it feels like I can’t possibly make much of a difference. Sometimes I think I should’ve committed to petting puppies like Justine. (Making dogs happy? There’s a task you can’t mess up.) But then I think of my dad and all our trips to the Glades and our beach cleanups, and I know it’d be harder for me to give up than keep going. So I’m figuring things out. Kind of. Slowly.

  Abuelo mumbles under his breath as he realizes an answer he already wrote into the puzzle is wrong. He’s using one of those erasable pens that don’t really erase at all. “No importa.” He folds the paper shut and changes the subject. “Qué bueno that you and Vivi will have plenty of time to catch up.”

  Two days and one night doesn’t seem like plenty of time after the week we’ve been through. When Vivi arrives, we run up to my room and shut the door before Ricky can come in. He’s had a thing for Vivi all year long.

  “Let’s go for a jog.” She pulls out a pair of yoga pants and sneakers from her duffel bag.

  “A jog?”

  “It’ll help with my stress. You don’t understand. Going to school on the beach is crazy, Mari. Everyone’s like, super stuck-up. This one group, all they do is brag about their parties on Star Island, or Hibiscus Island . . . I don’t know, I can’t keep track of all their private little enclaves anymore. If their parents are so rich then why the hell are they in public school, you know?”

  She gets quiet all of a sudden. We both know my parents sent Ricky and me to public school because they thought it’d look better for the campaign.

  “Trust me, you’re so much more laid back than them,” she says. “This one girl drives a BMW M3. Her parents practically live in Brazil so she has a house on Fisher Island all to herself. It’s so gross how all the kids suck up to her.”

  “Have you talked to her?”

  “No. I ran into her on my second day of school and she looked me up and down, super long, and then pretended she hadn’t seen me at all.”

  “That’s how the women at my father’s fundraisers look at my mom. She acts like she doesn’t notice, but I know it bothers her.”

  “Screw them,” Vivi says. “Are you going to change into your workout clothes or not?”

  We go for a walk/run. We stick to the back roads in our neighborhood because Abuelo warned us that he’s going to the post office in a bit, and if he sees us on Red Road he’ll pull over in the middle of traffic and take us home. My father partly blamed him for the drone fiasco last weekend, so now Abuelo’s being extra overprotective.

  It’s so humid I feel drops of sweat on my upper lip not even minutes after we take off. There are still puddles along the sides of the roads from the afternoon rain. They spread over the gravel into people’s front yards, forming semicircles of tiny swamps with grass poking out of the water’s surface.

  Vivi sprints forward and back while I speed walk to keep up with her. We pass houses that are four times bigger than ours and driveways that look like jungles, full of overgrown palm trees and bushes thick as walls. Trees with roots like claws line the sidewalk and stretch over the roads, leaning into one another to form a shaded canopy.

  I’m out of breath and cramping by the time Vivi slows down. It’s only then that I notice she’s taken us to her old neighborhood.

  “Oh. We’re here.” By now even the lizards scattering across our path are moving faster than I am.

  “I had to see it for myself,” Vivi says. Her house is the second one on our right. It’s a pretty plain one-story that’s shaped like an L, with a long stretch of windows along the front lined by hurricane shutters. There’s a big red and blue FOR SALE sign on the front yard, and a black placard that says PENDING on it.

  “He really didn’t waste any time. Out with the old, in with the new. Just like Mom said.”

  We go right up to the front door, where there’s a lockbox hanging from the knob so realtors can get the key. Vivi fidgets with it, sniffling uncontrollably.

  “I can’t even get into my own house.”

  Through the windows we can see it’s been staged. Strange paintings and photographs hang from the wall where her parents’ wedding portrait used to be, and the gray couch in the living room looks stiff and sterile, like no one’s ever sat on it.

  “Did he get rid of our furniture? What about my room? My mom’s grandmother’s dining table?” She runs around the side of the house toward her bedroom.

  “Vivi! Wait.”

  She’s already jumped over the wooden fence. The gate clicks twice and she opens it for me. “Just real quick,” she says.

  We don’t make it as far as her bedroom. We don’t have to. The blinds in the garage window are wide open, and instead of her father’s car, it’s filled with everything that used to be in Vivi’s house. The beige, flower-patterned couch where we used to watch movies on weekends until we passed out. The baby piano Vivi never learned to play anything on other than “Row Row Row Your Boat.” There are stacks of boxes scattered everywhere; they look like the uneven skyline of Brickell, with all of downtown’s in-progress construction. They’re labeled things like VIVI’S and LILY’S and MISCELLANEOUS. I picture Vivi’s father throwing stuff into them without a second thought. Everything’s tucked away, as if any indication of Vivi’s life would be damaging evidence in her father’s plans for the future.

  Plans that clearly don’t include her or her mom.

  Vivi tightens her jaw and slides her fingers off the window glass. “Come on.”

  She takes one look into her bedroom—now a gender-neutral baby nursery—and sprints off the property so fast I think we’ve been caught. I run after her.

  “Vivi! Wait! Wait up!”

  She doesn’t stop. Instead of heading back the way we came, she runs straight toward Red Road, the busy two-way street Abuelo told us to stay away from.

  Cars speed past us, not bothering to slow down for the puddles on the road’s edges. We try to dodge their splashes, but it’s no use. By the time we reach the house, our legs are covered in muddy splatters and clumps of dirt are caked onto our skin.

  In my room, Vivi sits on my desk chair and spins slowly side to side. She stares into nothingness.

  “I really thought this was temporary,” she finally says. “I didn’t think he’d actually sell the house.”


  “It said ‘pending’,” I offer. “Nothing’s final yet.”

  But we both know things are moving faster than we imagined, with a force beyond our control.

  twenty-one

  The next morning I’m woken by the sound of Vivi texting. The tiny taps of her keyboard had been blending into my dreams until I remembered she’d slept over. She’s always up long before I am. I roll over without opening my eyes and stretch.

  “Morning, sleepy. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You know you did,” I mumble.

  “I’m bored. And hungry.”

  “You sound like my brother.”

  “Come on. We only have six hours before my mom takes me back to the beach.” She sits up and holds a pillow against her chest, like she wishes it would protect her. At Grove High, Vivi was always the quirky girl, the one who couldn’t care less about cliques or trends because she’d decided from day one that she was going to pick and choose, on her own terms, who to hang out with and what she liked.

  Going to a new school in the middle of the year takes away all of that. You don’t get to decide anything. All the rules have been set before you got there and, what’s worse, you don’t even know them well enough to choose if you want to follow or break them.

  Not that Vivi would normally care.

  “Is it really that bad?”

  “I haven’t even been able to pick up the rest of my clothes from my dad’s,” she says. “I keep washing and wearing the same three outfits. Everyone thinks I’m a freak.”

  “They’re such jerks,” I say, remembering the look on people’s faces the morning the pictures of me came out. They were practically animalistic, so quick to pounce on a victim so long as it kept the attention away from themselves. “Do you think they ever grow out of it?”

  “Doubtful. Just look at all that happened with you and your dad and Gloria.”

  “Gloria? What do you mean? What happened?” I sit up in bed and Vivi immediately starts going through her toiletry bag. Her cheeks turn red and she won’t even look at me. “Vivi?”

  “It’s nothing. I just meant how all the media surrounded her apartment the night you snuck away.”

  “But . . . that was it, right?”

  “You really haven’t been reading the news? Like, at all?” She shakes her toothbrush at me in disbelief.

  “I told you. I had to block it out.” I’m beginning to think that was a huge mistake. If Papi were here, he’d remind me that problems only get worse when you ignore them.

  “It’s just . . . trolls with nothing better to do, that’s all. Harmless BS gossip about Gloria and her girlfriend.”

  “What kind of gossip? Gloria never mentioned any gossip.” My phone charger snaps as I pull on my phone, tipping a cup full of pens and papers off my desk. They scatter all over the floor, but I ignore them.

  Vivi puts her hand over mine. “Don’t. They really haven’t told you anything?”

  “No. And now you’re scaring me.”

  “Then it’s probably not a big deal. If it was, they would’ve said something. You were right to block it all out.”

  “I should at least check Twitter . . .”

  “Trust me. Don’t get into it. Just talk to Gloria. She’d tell you if it was bad.”

  That’s exactly the problem. Gloria has said like five words to me all week. Is this why she and Amarys have been fighting so much? Is this why she’s been avoiding me?

  “I’ll just text Amarys to see if they’re okay.” My phone is still in both our hands. Vivi gives me a disapproving look, hesitating to let go, when it vibrates. Out of instinct we look down.

  It’s Jackie.

  Having a meeting today. Urgent. You’ll want to be at this one.

  “Zoey mentioned you’ve been hanging out with Jackie lately. What’s she like? Did she really douse Principal Avila’s car with paint that one time?”

  “What? No.” Jackie’s practically a living urban legend. Only she would have rumors that actually make her look good. It’s like she defies every law in the universe. “She’s just intense, is all.”

  “I can’t believe you’re becoming friends with Jackie Velez.”

  “We’re just hanging out—”

  “Tell her to come over!”

  “What?”

  “I want to meet her. Zoey says she’s been shutting down anyone who talks shit about you.”

  “She has?”

  “She overheard Jackie asking people if they’d bothered questioning their sources or if they believe every little thing they read online.”

  “That’s really cool of her.”

  “Zoey’s been defending you, too, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “I know it’s probably really awkward without me, but give her a chance. She’s the kind of person who’s there for you when you need her.”

  “I wasn’t not giving her a chance.” Maybe I’ve skipped lunch with her once or twice, but I’ve been busy with my community service project.

  Which was supposed to be our community service project. Oops.

  My phone buzzes again. Jackie sends a bunch of question marks.

  “Ohmigod. You should invite her and Zoey over. Tell your grandpa it’s for school.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Please? I miss Zoey. And I want to be part of whatever this is,” she says, signaling at my phone.

  Whatever this is, Papi would kill me if he knew I invited Jackie Velez over. He’s convinced she’s what’s wrong with kids these days—not drugs or teen pregnancies or violence, but their radical ideals.

  What’s the meeting about??? I text.

  The environment. Sewage in the water.

  I show it to Vivi.

  She nearly chokes on her own saliva. “Yes. Ohmigod. That shit’s still in the water on the beach. The doctors at the hospital said my grandmother had gotten food poisoning, but honestly, what if it’s something she drank? What if my aunt’s right about the water?”

  She’s talking almost as fast as Abuelo when he speaks in Spanish, barely catching her breath between words.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll tell them to come. But only for like half an hour. So they can tell us what this is all about.”

  “Okay, great,” she says, looking like a million little gears are turning in her head at once. She runs into my closet and yells, “Can I borrow a shirt?”

  “Do you even have to ask?”

  Vivi comes out wearing a white boat neck top covered in a blue zebra pattern that ties in a small knot on one side. It’s one of those things I bought a while ago and then decided I couldn’t pull off. It looks perfect on her. “You should take a bunch of outfits with you. For school.”

  She gives me this proud mom smile, like she’s in awe of the gesture.

  “You’re better than a little sister I never had, you know that?”

  “Because all our clothes are the same size?”

  “Basically.”

  It’s crazy how you can miss a person even when they’re standing right in front of you. My parents will probably punish me for the rest of the year when they find out about Jackie coming here, but if it makes Vivi as happy as she is right now . . .

  Screw them and the campaign and the way things look. Whatever happened to caring about the way things are?

  twenty-two

  I’m super anxious when Jackie, Crissy, and Didier first arrive. For one, they come in carrying a truckload of paper rolls, paints, posters, and wooden sticks, and before anyone even says hi, Jackie wants to know where to put everything.

  “Help us unload the trunk?” she says to Vivi, as if they already know each other. Vivi looks momentarily confused, but she grabs a giant container full of brushes and Sharpies anyway.

  “¿Y esto? ¿Quién los mandó?” The way Abuelo asks, you’d think they came out of nowhere. “No, no, no, no . . . pa’fuera. No painting in the house. Your mother will kill me if you get paint on the couches.” He shoos us into
the backyard. Through the glass door, I can see Ricky staring at us with his hands cupped over his eyes, his breath fogging the view.

  Vivi’s phone beeps and she starts texting someone. Her keyboard is still super loud from when she was trying to passive-aggressively wake me up this morning.

  “You mind putting that on silent?” Jackie asks.

  I guess we’re skipping the introductions and going straight to making things weird.

  “Can we just . . . can you wait and tell me what this is all about?” I ask as Crissy and Didier start covering the patio tiles with newspaper.

  Crissy puffs up her cheeks and makes a sound like the air coming out of a tire. I decide to go into the kitchen to get us something to drink. I grab a few cans of Materva, fill a couple of glasses with water, and leave the rest filled with ice on the table for everyone to help themselves. It’s so humid out that the air drips onto our skin, and the glasses soak the newspapers and construction paper with their condensation almost instantly. The doorbell rings just as I finally sit down.

  It’s Zoey.

  “Ohmigod! You’re here!” Vivi jumps up and hugs her like it’s been forever. Maybe to her, it has. Maybe when you’re the one who’s taken out of your school, rather than the friend who’s left behind, time passes more slowly.

  I try to introduce everyone but end up just mumbling their names as they each nod.

  Jackie picks up a glass of water. Instead of bringing it to her lips, she holds it over her head and examines the bottom.

  “Is this tap?” she asks.

  “Yeah, but it’s filtered,” I say. “I can get bottled . . .”

  “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that, this is why we’re here,” she says, setting the glass down on the table. “We’re not going to be able to drink our water soon. Any of us. The contamination is out of control . . . haven’t you seen the news?”

  “You mean the sewage leak on the beach?” Vivi says.

  “Well, no. I mean, that’s a whole other mess, but that’s . . . not what we were talking about,” Crissy says. “We’re talking about the Biscayne Bay aquifer on the news. Almost all of Miami gets its drinking water from it.” She opens up her laptop and types something real quick, then flips it over so we can get a look. A map of Florida with nearly the entire southern tip from Boca Raton past Homestead is covered in yellow and gray lines.