by L. B. Dunbar
Suddenly, a man circles the back of the vehicle wearing dark jeans and a white tee that contrasts sharply against his own tan skin. He tugs at the shoulder of the girl yelling and leans forward to help the other. Once he frees another extra-large duffel bag from the back seat, he places an arm around the smaller girl. Then his head turns as if he’s looking over his shoulder. He stills and twists in the direction of my window, and my breath hitches.
Stepping back into the recesses of my kitchen, I can only hope he didn’t see me. My glimpse of him was so quick that nothing of significance registered, but my skin still prickles with the thought he might have seen me.
Do I want him to notice me?
I don’t, so I take another step away from the window and continue with my own dinner.
Lesson 4
Sisters are a curse and a blessing.
[Leon]
As Lena and Lys are fighting in my driveway, I feel eyes on me. My hackles rise, and I pause, looking over my shoulder before twisting completely. The sun reflects off the back window of the house next door, so I decide it’s nothing.
No one’s watching me. No one’s searching for me. Not anymore.
Still, it’s a reason I don’t want to take in the girls. Who knows who followed them? Who knows who Lena told with her big mouth even though she was warned not to tell anyone where she was going? Although I’ve been out for more than a year, I wonder if the feeling will ever disappear—the need to search my surroundings and glance over my shoulder at every turn.
“Magdalena.” I use my sister’s full name as I lug the duffel bag over my arm and lead both girls into my place. “Stop yelling at Lys.”
‘The elder sister is so cursed and shrewd.’ Shakespeare would recognize that in Lena. My seventeen-year-old sister is a handful and having her here will take great patience. She’s almost half my age and filled a void for my mother back when I was eighteen. Lena hates that she had to come here, but she also knows she can’t risk the state finding her alone in an apartment she can’t afford to pay the bills on. She’s finishing high school. Not up for debate.
My other sister Amaryllis goes by Lys. She’s fourteen, quiet and shy, and more reserved than loudmouthed Magdalena. She might be upset about moving here and starting a new school, but as a freshman, it will be easier for Lys than for Lena, who is a senior. I’m hoping the small town and slower pace will be good for Lys as she keeps her head down and stays out of trouble. If trouble doesn’t find Lena, she just creates it.
I’m not close to them, as they are almost like a second family to my parents. When Lena came along, I was out of the house and in with the gang. I didn’t come around often, so I’ve missed most of their growing up. I tried to stay away from them on purpose, hoping to keep my family safe by distancing the association. But my parents need me now.
Immigration issues. Possible deportation.
Lena and Lys could not be left alone.
As we enter the house, the living room is piled with bags, and I point at the stairs.
“There are three bedrooms. The place came furnished, so pick which room you want. You’ll see which one is mine.” My room faces the driveway. It’s also parallel to a window in the house next door. We’re neighbors who share the drive, which could be difficult when I get a truck. We can’t both park in the same spot. For now, her Honda parks near the back, and I pull my Harley off to the side. With Lena’s SUV, it’s going to get complicated.
I haven’t met the neighbor yet. Mrs. Drummond told me she’s a teacher, a local favorite, and newly divorced. All statistics I don’t need to know. I just want to get along with her and not have issues with this driveway.
“I’ll start something for dinner.” Having my sisters here is going to seriously cut into my budget. I’m making enough money—enough for rent plus utilities and a future truck payment but with a grocery limit. I can’t afford to have Lena hogging water like my father complains about or Lys leaving lights on because she can’t sleep in total darkness.
I step into the kitchen, pulling out meat I prepared and froze the other night and a box of dried rice to boil.
“This place is awful,” Lena says behind me, taking in the outdated kitchen with its black refrigerator and dark brown countertops.
“It’s also now your home,” I snap. Papi told me Lena has attitude, and I’ve known girls like her. I won’t be putting up with it, but I take a deep breath, trying to tell myself it must have been scary. Hearing about the factory raid and how those without papers were rounded up must have been frightening for Lena and Lys. As I’ve been living for so long without my parents, I’d forgotten my sisters are kids who still need them. Plus, they’re girls, and I’m not trying to be a dick, but my parents protected them and sheltered them more than Israel and I had been. It’s definitely been an easier life for the Ramirez Round Two clan.
“It’s an entire house,” I remind my sister, who lives in a small apartment with my parents where the walls are paper thin, and she shares a bedroom with her younger sister. At least here, she’ll have a little bit of her own space.
“This sucks,” she mutters, crossing her arms and leaning on the jamb between the kitchen and dining room. My head snaps up, ready to lay into her again until I see her head lower. She doesn’t mean my place as much as leaving behind her home.
“It’s gonna be different,” I warn, “but you’ll adjust. You might even make new friends.” Better friends, I hope, considering our mother told me Lena has been drifting toward the wrong crowd. She’s a smart girl and doesn’t need that kind of trash in her life.
“Take your bags up to your new room while I work on making dinner.” I’m not a great cook, and with Lena here, I’m hoping maybe she can take over. Maybe she knows a recipe or two from our mother. I’d say I long for those days with Mami and Papi, but I hardly remember them. It seems like a lifetime ago.
+ + +
Later that night, I skip my ritual of a beer at Town Tavern. I go there mainly for companionship even though I don’t speak to anyone but Baz, the bald bartender and owner. The guys at the garage where I work aren’t too bad and ask me out once a week, but each night, I need to hear voices outside the ones in my head. It’s too quiet in this town, and it’s a reminder I’m alone.
As I stand in my room listening to Lys yell at Lena for taking too long in the bathroom, I realize my aspirations of peace might be over. I have no idea how long my sisters will be with me. Could be only a few weeks, which would stink because they’d have to be yanked back out of school, or it could be until their winter break. I have no way of knowing how long my parents’ detainment will last. They didn’t want me to come to them. They only wanted me to take my sisters.
In my room, I have a small lamp next to my bed lighting the space. My window is cracked open to allow in fresh air, and the shade is up when I notice my neighbor across the way through her window. Hers is covered in a sheer material, something flimsy and light, so I can see right through it. I reach for my lamp, clicking it off. I have no way to guess her height or age, but the subtle curve of her body and a profile view which accentuates her breasts tells me she’s all woman. She’s also wearing something skimpy and shimmery.
Like a dumbass, I stand before my window, my eyes focused on her as she moves about her room. A large lamp on a stand lights the space, and she pulls down the covers of her bed. Looks like she has a nice bed with white sheets and a thick comforter. She probably has extra pillows in frilly colors scattered across it. I shake my head.
What do I care what her room looks like? I don’t need to glance over my shoulder to know I only have a mattress on a metal frame with a set of sheets and no blanket. My pillowcases don’t match the sheets. Still, it’s a bed, not a bunk. I no longer sleep with someone over me. I stare across the drive and watch as she rubs up and down her long arms, probably moisturizing or something girly like that. She tucks her hair upward, tying it up on her head before she sits on the bed with the lamp still on. The light strea
ms over her. For some reason, I’m mesmerized by her seated position—feet tucked under the blanket, knees pulled up to her chest. She puts on eyeglasses and holds something in her hand. A phone? A tablet?
Whatever it is, she tosses it onto the bed after a few minutes and falls over to her side, her backside aimed at me.
What happened? I want to call out. Tossing a phone like that can only mean one thing. Something has upset her.
Is she crying? Is she angry?
I continue to stare until I hear someone banging on the bathroom door outside my room. I flinch even though I don’t spook easily. I call over my shoulder to stop banging on the door like that, but when I turn back to look at my neighbor’s house, her room is dark.
Show’s over.
+ + +
The next day, I discover I can’t just send Lena to the high school to register the girls. I need to be present and show proof of guardianship, which I don’t have. I swear six times when Lena calls me to give me the news. She tells me it won’t take long to fill out the paperwork if I can get there soon.
“Stay there,” I mutter. “Let me see what I can do.”
My boss, Dixon, is a decent guy. I don’t know how exactly he makes money off his garage in this small town with a limited clientele. The place is attached to a gas station just off the highway, but Dixon also owns a second place where he restores vehicles and motorcycles. I haven’t graduated to that level of trust, so for now, I work the general pit at the gas station with oil changes, tire rotations, and tune-ups. It’s nothing like my previous experience with cars, where I stripped them and disposed of the parts. Nothing where I can use my painting talents. I’m fortunate he was willing to take on someone who’s been in jail. It’s been difficult to find a job.
“Dude, I hate to ask, but I need to take like, a half hour break. You can count it as my lunch.” In the pit next to mine is Arnie Shepard.
“What’s up?” he asks, leaning out from under the hood of someone’s minivan.
“My sisters moved in with me and can’t get registered at the high school without an adult.”
“So they called you?” He arches a brow, and I chuckle. He’s a bit backwoods and no AJ, my best friend from home, but Arnie’s still a decent guy. He’s roughly my age with shaggy dark hair and kind of a deer-in-headlights look to him.
“Yeah.” I sigh. I can’t have shit interfering with work. I need this job, and I’d been contemplating a second one just to keep myself busy and the money flowing.
“I guess that’d be alright. The high school, you say? Man, I shiver thinking back on that place.” He wiggles his full body in exaggeration and wipes his hands on a rag. “But yeah, do what you gotta do. If you have any trouble, I got a friend whose wife works there. Ask for Tricia Walker. She’s a teacher.”
I tip my chin. I won’t be asking anyone for help, but I appreciate the offer. “Thanks, man.”
Heading out on my bike, I hope this won’t take too long.
I don’t expect trouble, which is usually when it finds me.
Lesson 5
Eyes are the window to the soul.
[Tricia]
It’s almost the end of my first week back to school, and the sun is dipping down in the sky. I stayed late to organize for the next week and comment on first week letters. It’s been good to see Trent’s younger brother every day. He comes to my room to wish me good morning, pops in near lunch to wave or stops by before heading home. Each day, I make sure he has a lunch and visually scan him for signs of stress at home. Does he look showered? Are his clothes clean? He’s learned to be rather self-sufficient, but I like to think I’ve been a guiding force in some of his survival over the years. Unfortunately, I know most of his hurts can be covered by clothing, and even then, some bruises run deeper than skin. He wears a bright, brave face when I see him and doesn’t mention Trent.
Each day this week, my neighbor has graciously woken me with the roar of his motorcycle. Thankfully, the SUV driven by the younger girls living with him has remained parked in the street, allowing me the parking space next to my house. I often wonder who the girls are. The older one could be a much younger girlfriend based on the hourglass shape of her body. While she looks young, I have no idea about the age of my neighbor. The few times I’ve caught him in profile or with his head down, I couldn’t get a read on him. He could be twenty or forty. I wasn’t a good judge of such things.
I’m packing up for the evening in my classroom—finally—when I hear something in the room next to mine. I assume it’s the night shift custodial crew, and I look forward to seeing Pasqual, the older Italian man who greets me each evening with Italian I can’t decipher. Hitching my bag over my shoulder, I scoop up a set of journals for tonight’s bedtime reading and head to the door. I flick the lights off, then exit into the wide, dark hallway and turn back to lock my door. The lights don’t activate until movement triggers them, and I don’t see Pasqual’s cleaning cart, but I hear desks shuffling again in the room next to mine.
Stepping up to the door, I notice movement within the classroom. Someone crouches between the row of desks as if looking for something. The body disappears, and I decide to investigate. I find the door unlocked, which is surprising, and then reach inside, easily hitting the light switch.
The person stands, blinded momentarily by the florescent illumination and the shock of getting caught. In his hand, he holds a pink notebook pressed to his chest, but he’s dressed head-to-toe black, and he’s definitely not a student.
My eyes narrow. Do I know him?
“Jesus,” he hisses, lowering his head and the notebook to his side.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask, using my best teacher voice.
“I was just leaving.” He moves up the aisle of desks, but I stand firmly before the door. He stops when he notices I haven’t moved, and he tips his head.
I focus on his face. He looks vaguely familiar. The eyes, gray and intense. The clean jaw, which is sharp and etched as if cut from granite. Dark hair, cut close to his head.
Is he the man I ran into in the alley? It can’t be him, can it? I’d been drinking the other night before rushing out of the bar to avoid Trent, so I’d make a terrible witness as I hadn’t gotten a clear enough image of him. Is it a fluke this man looks similar to what I remember? I hadn’t seen my savior again, and I’d just assumed he must have been a lingering tourist. The summer season was almost over in Elk Lake City.
“What are you doing?” I repeat, glancing down at the notebook in his hand.
“My sister left this behind and said she needed it tonight.” He chuckles to himself like it’s a joke, like he isn’t breaking into a school building.
I should ask who his sister is, but instead, I question, “How did you get in here?”
He tilts his head and gives me a sly smile. “Don’t think you really wanna know that, pretty lady, do you?”
Pretty lady?
“You can’t be in here, and how do I know you need that for your sister?”
“Know many thirty-five-year-olds wanting to steal a pink notebook?” He holds up the book and jiggles it before him.
“Maybe I should call security.” It’s a bit extreme for sheets of paper attached with a metal spiral, but I set my stack of notebooks down on the nearest student desk and rustle through my bag for my phone. I don’t want to start slipping down the path of every teacher’s nightmare—school bombs or a deranged shooter—so a quick call to security should clear this up.
“Now, wait a minute. Let’s not do anything foolish here.”
His statement surprises me. I finally have the phone in my hand, and I’m ready to press the buttons when his fingers encircle my wrist. Instantly, I still. It isn’t him exactly, but I don’t like to be touched unaware as I am. My eyes leap to his, finding them brilliant, metallic, and a bit intimidating.
“Don’t touch me,” I hiss, the warning stronger than necessary. He quickly releases his fingers, keeping his palm just off my skin
. However, he’s already marked me. My wrist burns from the heat of his touch, and a tingle ripples down my arm with something unfamiliar but not unwelcome. His head tilts again, questioning my tone.
“Take it easy,” he says, keeping his voice soft. His eyes search mine, but he isn’t going to find anything in them. He won’t be able to read my history in them. I’ve been good at keeping my secrets deeply masked inside me.
“Step back,” I warn, and he takes an exaggerated step back and straightens his body. In all honesty, he could race past me and escape out the door before I even say English literature. He’s much taller than me with an athletic build, like a basketball player with long and lean muscles that still look thick in his jeans and leather jacket.
His eyes hold mine.
“Just calm down,” he says, almost teasing me.
“You’re breaking and entering,” I tell him as though I’m an expert in such activity. My overreaction is a result of my racing heart.
“For a notebook?” His smile becomes blinding. “Pink is my color,” he continues to jest, holding the notebook up against his abdomen. “But today I think I prefer green.” He tips his head, eyes focusing on my face. “Or is it brown?”
I glare back at him. “Those sound like drab colors,” I mock, wondering why we are discussing colors when he still hasn’t explained how he got in this classroom.
“They might be the most beautiful color combination I’ve ever seen. ‘For she had eyes and chose me.’” His lip slowly crooks up in the corner with a sexy smirk. Or is it a sly smile? A dimple forms, and my insides double dribble. My mouth dries. Why is he looking at me like that, and why does he have to have a damn dimple by his lips? Lips that I notice are slightly plump and soft pink, and I wonder how they’d feel against mine.
I . . . what?
