And then, suddenly, I was being picked up. Carlos got my legs. Javy had my torso. Guillermo was holding my head and shoulders. Then the rest of the guys noticed and came over, and they all started carrying me too, above their heads like I was their sacrifice. Only Danny held back. He watched us.
Part of me wanted to try to fight them off, but the rest of me knew that resistance would be stupid. I had to hold back and let this run its course.
I had a random thought—maybe they were taking me somewhere fun. Maybe Danny had used his clout with them to organize some sort of special surprise for me, a big “I’m sorry” kind of thing. Maybe we could all emerge from this as amigos.
Nope.
We were never going to be friends. When did I come to this conclusion? Oh, I’d say it was when I felt my feet being lifted high above my head, then when I felt my body going upside-down vertical, then when I felt fourteen hands let go of me, then when I felt the stinging clang as my head crashed down hard against metal, and then when I smelled the rancid stench of half-eaten burrito mixed with days-old yogurt.
I had been dumped face-first into a trash can.
I’m not sure how long I was in there. Trash can time is sort of like dog years or time spent in deep space. It’s all messed up. All I know is that it felt like forever and that I kept expecting Danny to yell, “Cut it out, guys!” or “¡BASTA!” But he never did.
I guess I could have tried to get out myself, but A) that would have been kind of difficult to pull off, actually, and B) I was afraid. Once I was in there, I couldn’t hear the guys laughing or anything, but I could sense their presence—all of them standing around the trash can admiring what they’d done, this work of modern art they’d created, those short, skinny legs sticking out of the can, those blue gym shorts and size-too-big basketball shoes kicking and flailing pathetically. I bet it was kind of poetic in a life-ruining sort of way.
And I could sense Danny standing there, watching.
Finally, I heard a voice. It was Mr. Morales.
“Guys, what are you—what’s going on? Is that Jake?”
He made them pull me out and he called all of us into the locker room, together. I imagine my hair still reeked of that disgusting, unidentifiable liquid that always seems to exist at the bottom of the trash.
Mr. Morales asked them to explain themselves. Guillermo said that we had all been horsing around, me included. Mr. Morales told them that bullying is taken seriously at this school. If he found out that they were lying to him, he said, they could all get referrals. That’s like a detention, plus they call your parents, plus it goes on your permanent record. For some of the guys who actually have permanent records, a referral is pretty bad news. For the ones who have been held back before, like Guillermo, a referral could mean yet another year at SP. Or maybe juvenile hall.
Mr. Morales asked me, smelly me, if what Guillermo had said was right. Had we all just been messing around?
“NO!” I wanted to scream out. “NO, YOU FREAKING IDIOT! NO!”
But I knew I couldn’t be the one to tell the truth. Imagine what the guys would have done to me then. They’re all Raiders, for crying out loud, except Danny.
Danny was my only hope. He had to be the one to tell Mr. Morales what really happened, what they had really done to me, or otherwise they were going to get away with this. I looked over at Danny. He wasn’t looking back at me. He was staring off at the wall. He didn’t say anything.
Thanks, Danny.
27 • Danny Uribe
Sunday, March 21
It happened last Saturday, but still I can’t stop thinking about it.
I knew Hannah would be getting back from her movie around 11, so I snuck into her room at 10:30.
I know it sounds mad creepy, but I had a reason. I needed to talk to her. I couldn’t get her to talk to me any other way. She never said nothing about all the cards and flowers I left in her room the few weeks before, and she’s not gonna go talking to me at school where people would see us. Plus, I figured, you know, it all started in Jake’s room. Maybe we could get it going again in Hannah’s room. Then we’d see what happened in my room.
At first I thought I would just leave a letter in her room and that’s it. But then I thought, You know what, I know she still wants me. If I talk to her one-on-one, she won’t be able to deny the way she feels. If I can get her one-on-one, we’ll for sure get back together.
Being in her room all alone made me feel like a stalker. I started to feel like maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But no. I wasn’t there to take weird pictures of stuff or to steal her underwear. I was there to tell her how much I love her. I wasn’t being creepy. I was being romantic. She’d see the difference.
The car came up the driveway. The front door of the house opened. Hannah said good night to her mom. Hannah’s room door opened. Then Hannah saw me sitting on her bed, and that’s when she screamed.
It was just one of those short screams, like seeing a spider. Not loud or long enough for anyone else to hear, which was good. But the way Hannah looked at me…it was worse than if she’d seen a spider.
She asked me what I was doing there. No. Wait. She asked me what the hell I was doing there.
I said, I have to talk to you. Why have you been pretending like you don’t even know me, I asked, even here at your house? It’s fake. It’s BS. I know we want each other, that’s what I said. What happened at the dance shouldn’t change that.
Hannah said that the dance didn’t change the way she felt about me, but that it changed the way she thought about things. That’s how she put it. She said the dance made her realize that we couldn’t be together. I asked her why.
She asked me if I had joined the Raiders. I said no. I mean, I said yeah, all my friends are doing it, so yeah, I’ve thought about it a little, but if that would keep us from getting together, then of course I would never join. She said, Well, that’s the reason we can’t be together, Danny. Think about what you just said.
But you still love me, I told her.
No, she said. The dance made her change the way she thought about me. And once she started thinking about me different, then that’s when she started feeling different about me. That’s what she told me. Then she said she never loved me. We’re too young to love, she said. She used to like me a lot, Hannah said, and she still likes me, sure, but not in that way. Then she told me to leave her room.
One more kiss, I asked her. Please.
No, she said.
Don’t do this, I said. Please don’t do this.
Leave, she said.
So I left.
I hate Jake.
I hate his gay-ass voice. I hate how he thinks he’s so much smarter than people. I hate what a freaking loser he is. I hate him and that’s not going to change.
My mom made my family go to church for Easter. It’s not like me to listen when I’m in church, or even to be awake, but when I was there this morning the priest was saying stuff that I really connected with. He was talking a lot about how Jesus got killed and then came back. I mostly care about the killing part.
Jesus died because he got betrayed by Judas, one of his closest homies. The reason Jesus got betrayed was real dumb, too. His friend basically called him out for being too popular. His friend was jealous.
At least Jesus knew what was coming. I never could have seen Jake becoming such a little bastard. I mean, we’ve been friends for life. We used to do everything together. And like yeah, it hasn’t been the same this year, I guess. But there’s a reason for that. I’m growing up and he’s not.
I guess I always thought that after a while, Jake would just get over being a little kid. I thought that some time in seventh grade, Jake would have to start acting his age instead of the number of pit hairs that he has. I thought he would start being like everyone else at school. I always thought that when that happened, then we’d be tight again.
But then this year Jake started annoying the hell out of me any time I wanted to do somet
hing fun, complaining about how I always leave him behind. He started hanging out with Dorothy, and together they’d do nothing but watch cartoons like gay little babies. He started stealing my report cards from the mail and yelling at me about my grades, and like, no one gets to see my grades but me. I don’t even show them to my parents. Plus, Jake still looks like he’s eight. Sounds like he’s eight. Plays ball like he’s eight.
After he did what he did at the dance, it’s obvious that he’s still just a kid. Just a little retard who doesn’t understand how his actions hurt the people around him. He’ll never realize how he ruined my life, that’s for sure. I hate him so much. I can never be friends with him again. So who cares how many trash cans he gets dumped in. That’s the kind of thing a Judas deserves.
Instead of going home after church, I took my parents to Bella Vista. We went there with my cousins and aunt and uncle. Some of the Raiders and their families were chilling at the park. The little kids were looking for Easter eggs. All of the eggs were filled with confetti, and the kids were cracking them over their heads. It was just a Sunday afternoon BBQ. Everyone was clean, everyone was straight. Today my mom even said how nice all my friends were. She has no idea that all of them are gangsters. And I don’t need to tell her, either.
When I got there, I saw all the guys from the basketball team and all the other fools that I know on the Raiders. It was cool to see them with their moms and nieces and stuff. They were mostly hanging on their own, though. I basically knew everyone there, which was tight. And they all seemed real happy to see me.
“Danielito!” shouted Chuy.
“Wassup, Señor Clutch?” said Edgar.
Guillermo looked at me and nodded.
Gordo, who I guess is out of juvie now, ran up to me smiling, and he gave me a big fat dude hug. He handed me a hot dog. He said he’d get me a beer when my mom wasn’t looking.
“One thing, though,” he said all smiling. “The Coronas are being saved for Raiders only.”
Some of the guys around me made an “ooohhh” sound, like when a kid gets a slip to the principal’s office.
“Well, what if I really want a cold one?” I said.
Gordo smiled. Everyone made another “ooohhh.”
“You gonna be one of us now?” Javy asked me. “You gon be a Raider, cuz?”
I spoke before even thinking about it, really.
“Let me talk to Guillermo,” I said.
It was like he’d been waiting for me. Guillermo got up from where he was sitting, on a park bench with a couple of high school veteranos, far away from the adults. He came up and met me. The two of us walked away from the group, over toward a swing set.
A couple of kids were making each other dizzy on the swings, like me and Jake used to do when we were in second grade. I think one of the kids was Guillermo’s nephew. When we got there, they ran off. It was just me and the shot-caller.
I stood up straighter than normal and I looked at him right in the eye. I’d never planned what I was about to say, but in a way I think I’ve had the words ready for a long time.
I didn’t used to like who I was. I mean, I had a good life, I know that. But it wasn’t really my life. I lived at Jake’s house and I went to Jake’s school. I did things with Jake’s family and with Jake’s money. I was Jake’s friend. And I wasn’t really anything else.
My friends get who I really am. They don’t drag me along to their things. They let me do my own thing. They don’t talk down to me. They look up to me. They don’t have to try and understand me. They do understand me. They’re just like me. They’re a part of me. And I love them for that. And yeah, pretty much all of them are Raiders.
There were so many things keeping me from becoming a Raider. I didn’t want to disappoint Jake. I didn’t want to lose Hannah. And I didn’t want to put myself in danger. I’ve seen what happens to the fools who first join the Raiders, the guys like Gordo who one day don’t have records and then, just like that, end up in juvie. I’m not stupid. I’m not a follower. I don’t want bad things happening to me for no reason.
But the more I think about it, the more I realize something. To really become a part of my friends, to really become a part of the Eastside, and to really show Javy and Carlos and Gordo and Edgar and Chuy and Guillermo and all those guys how much I love them, there’s no choice for me but to become a Raider. And plus, since all the guys want me, and since I’m smart, and since I don’t want to be disrespected like some random gang recruit, I realize something else. I can join on my terms.
“I’ll be a Raider,” I said to Guillermo when we were standing there at the swing set, “but not your pawn. I don’t want to take the crap for stuff I don’t do. I don’t want to be Danielito. I want it to be like it is on the team. I want to be important. ¿Comprende?”
Guillermo gave me a hard look. Then he stepped up close to me like we were about to make a drug deal handshake.
“Of course,” he said, in a voice so low that I could barely hear. “You have my respect. You’ll always have my respect. And you know what else? You can have my job.”
Main recruiter. Guillermo had just made me the main recruiter. Only my first day and already I was a shot-caller.
Guillermo gave me another hard look. Then he grabbed my hand, shook it tight, and brought me in for a gangsta hug. He said one more thing.
“Welcome to the family.”
Thirty Signs That You Suck
People constantly come up to me and ask, “Queen Hannah, how do I know if I’m cool?”
My answer is always the same: “Well, my humble subject, here’s the thing: you’re not cool. You suck.”
“But I don’t want to suck!” they tell me. “How can I avoid this terrible fate?”
“Well,” I say, “the first step to not sucking is admitting that you suck.”
“But how can I tell that I suck?” they ask me.
“Well,” I say. “There are thirty signs.…”
You suck if…
You’re named something boring like “Mark,” “Paul,” or “Rachel.”
You named your dog something boring like “Shadow,” “Midnight,” or “Oreo.”
You are described as “nice” when people have to sum you up in one word. “Nice” = not pretty nor funny nor cool = not interesting = you probably named your dog Oreo = you’re boring.
You think the word “amazing” isn’t used often enough. Uh-mayyyy-zeeng.
You read for fun. You can’t wait to finish Johnny Tremain…so you can reread Johnny Tremain! Then you’ll go online and hit up the Johnny Tremain message boards!
Your parents don’t let you watch TV. Not even PBS.
You do nothing but watch TV. The couch cushion is conformed to your butt.
You have a passion for the outdoors. Your favorite hair accessory is a deer tick.
You and your best friend dress up as twins sometimes. You know, matching side ponytails and all that. To go with your matching lack of other friends.
You and your sibling(s) were forced to dress identically at some point in your lives. Just in case your parents were idiotic enough to maybe lose you at Disneyland.
You’re a ginger.
You’re a curly.
You spike your hair.
You bleach the tips.
You like to proudly display your thong and you plan on getting a lower back tattoo. A butterfly would be really cute and only historically slutty.
You walk around school wearing a basketball jersey with no shirt underneath.
You play basketball wearing a jersey with a shirt underneath.
You sometimes make your Facebook status a passage from the Bible. Just in case God’s checking his News Feed.
You have, at some point in your life, uttered the sentence, “I live for the nights I’ll never remember with the girls I’ll never forget!” Or you plan to upon immediately joining the most mediocre sorority at your future college.
You say fake curse words like “fudge,” “shoot,�
� and “hecka.”
You’re a jelly bracelets kind of girl. (You know what they mean.…)
You write boring things in people’s yearbooks, like “2 good + 2 be = 4gotten.”
You ask your teachers to sign your yearbook.
Your only picture in the yearbook is your school picture.
You think it’s funny to refer to someone named Hannah as “Hannah Banana.” It never occurs to you that she’s keeping a list of everyone who’s ever done this, and that someday she will make them all pay. Perhaps on her popular and influential blog.
You’re one of those people who smells weird for no reason.
You are cute-looking, but secretly an ass.
You look like an ass and are actually still an ass.
You think it’s romantic to be creepy. You would hide in someone’s room and wait for them to come in before you confessed your creepy love.
You think you know what love is.
Rumor Mill
Math teachers Mr. Peterson and Ms. Montez just got engaged. Also, Ms. Montez has been looking kinda fat recently. Is 1+1 about to become 3? Or is Ms. Montez just fat?
Brian Fenton (he of the hideous acne) just started dating this rando sevvy girl Chloe something. And now she has terrible acne. Or is it acne…?
Apparently, as a special birthday present, Jamie Mackintosh’s parents are letting her have a small group of friends including Marco sleep over at her house. How do you say “gross” in Italian?
Then again, it’s not so gross given that Marco is totally 9,000 percent gay.
And, in gangbanger news, word on “tha streets” is that Danny Uribe (a.k.a. Seabrook’s Finest) recently became the hombre in charge of recruiting innocent babies to Los Raiders de San Paulo. Congratulations, Danny. Mama y Papa would be muy proud.
Queen Hannah’s Words of Wisdom
When in doubt, no one cares about you.
HANNAH OUT.
Uribe Not Enough as Pirates Fall to La Mesa
By Emily Colman, Pirate Press
Trash Can Days Page 15
