“Can you show me anyway?”
So she showed me the shriveled brown stems.
“Oh.”
“I told you, they already bloomed this year.”
My chance to see a hyacinth. And I was late.
Miss went to take a shower, saying she needed to get the TV makeup off her face or she’d break out like Mount Vesuvius.
The boys joined me in the backyard. Ethan ran to get into the hammock, stretched between two trees. Oh! A hamaca. Abuelita had one on her veranda in Mexico, where I used to take my naps as a little kid. I didn’t understand how you could play in one. But that was before I’d met the Dahl boys.
“Let J.J. go first,” said Cody. “It’s her birthday.”
So Ethan got out, and I climbed in. He said, “Grab the sides and wrap it around you. Cover your face.”
Cover my face? I got suspicious. But I did it.
They started pushing, and the hammock started swinging. My stomach did a flip. I screamed, then laughed.
“Hang on!” shouted Cody.
I rose and fell, my stomach never catching up to the rest of me. I felt the leaves of the trees brushing the sides of the hammock. I laughed so hard, I couldn’t breathe. Then I was upside down! The boys kept pushing. I kept swinging around and around and upside down.
It was probably the most fun I ever had.
I helped Ethan set the table while Cody took the lasagna out of the oven. I wished my family could eat together every night, but with Papi working two jobs and Mamá in Mexico, most nights it was just me and my sisters. I felt a lump in my throat as I thought of my last birthday, when Mamá made tamales.
Then I remembered my news. “Miss, I forgot to tell you! I can take gymnastics!”
She looked up from the milk she’d poured. “You have the application?”
“At home.”
She went back to pouring. “It’s too late for summer gymnastics. You’ll have to wait until fall. We need to work on your memory.”
Nothing was wrong with my memory. Every day I’d begged Papi to sign the paper. He agreed the day before, when he’d asked what I wanted for my birthday.
I’d said, “The only thing I want is to take gymnastics.”
I’ve said many stupid things in my life, but if I could take back only one, that would be the one. I wish I’d said, “I want our family to be together,” and hugged him tight.
Instead I folded my arms and waited.
Papi looked at me. Then he got up and shuffled through the papers by the phone. From his shirt pocket he pulled out a pen and started answering the questions on the scholarship form. When he got to the place for an address, he left it blank. So the people from the city wouldn’t know where we lived. So we’d be safe.
Papi was careful. But he wanted me to be happy on my birthday.
Right now — wherever he is — I want him to be happy.
After dinner Ethan started to put in a movie.
“Miss, I should go home.” I’d told Rosa I’d be back early.
“You sure?” Ethan flipped the cover of the movie at me.
I forgot all about my promise to Rosa. This was one movie I hadn’t seen. At church they said it was bad. So I had to see it. And I kept waiting for the bad parts.
After it was over, I asked Miss, “Why do people think that movie is bad? The boy saved everybody.”
“Because there’s magic in it.” Then she looked concerned. “Will your parents be upset that you watched it?”
“No, Miss. They know magic isn’t real.”
“Then don’t worry about other people. What do you think?”
“I loved it!”
“The book is better,” said Ethan.
The boy in the movie walked through a brick wall to enter a magical world. I didn’t know it, but I was going to do the same thing — cross into an enchanted land just by saying the magic words “I want to read that book.”
But right then it was time to go home. When we got to our apartment, Miss came inside to get the paper for the gymnastics class. Suelita must’ve been in bed, but Rosa stared at the TV, her face frozen. “Mamá said to tell you happy birthday.”
My heart slid into my stomach. “She called?”
“It’s your birthday.”
Then I saw the other cake. The one Rosa made. My stomach — with my heart still inside — went into a knot.
Mamá walked all the way into town to call and wish me happy birthday. How long had Papi waited before leaving for his night job? Suelita probably cried herself to sleep because she didn’t get any cake.
Miss looked at my presents, unopened on the table. She frowned. “You’re celebrating tonight? Isn’t it rather late?”
I said nothing. Rosa said nothing.
I got the gymnastics paper from the stack by the phone. I handed it to Miss, as the fun of being at her house dissolved like sidewalk chalk in the rain.
“Happy birthday,” she said, waiting for me to thank her.
I wanted to. If I hoped to visit her again, I needed to be gracious. But I was afraid I would cry. She drifted toward the door, her face confused. My chance was slipping away. “Miss!”
A smile lit up her eyes.
I whispered, “Thanks, Miss. Can I come to your house again?”
She blinked. “We’ll see.”
Then I was looking at the empty doorway.
LATE ON AFRIDAY NIGHT, my sisters and I played Lotería at Tía’s house. It’s a Mexican game, kinda like Bingo. It was fun at first.
Suelita kept shouting “¡Buena!” whether she’d won or not. Then our cousins did it, too. Standing on kitchen chairs in their diapers with their tiny hands raised to the ceiling.
“¡Buena!”
Tía Carmen, Rosa, and I couldn’t stop laughing, but Victor scowled. He kept drinking, getting madder. Tía said we should stop because the babies were sleepy, but Victor insisted we keep playing, swearing at us in Spanish. He didn’t like to lose.
I hadn’t won a game either, but I didn’t care so much. Then, in the last game, I only needed La Muerte — the Death card — to win. When Tía flipped over the picture of the skeleton, I raised my arms in triumph. “¡Buena!”
Victor stood, his chair crashing into the kitchen wall, and swept the cards to the floor. The babies screamed. Tía ducked. Rosa flinched.
I jumped up, facing Victor, staring into the jagged scar on his eyelid. Whatever happened, I wanted to see it coming.
Victor kicked the table leg. Drinking glasses toppled. Fizzy brown soda spilled across the table, soaking the cards. Victor stormed out, slamming the front door. I started breathing again. We heard tires squealing as his truck roared down the street.
My sisters and I spent the night at Tía’s. We sometimes stayed there just for fun — but that night Rosa and I didn’t want to leave her alone in case Victor came back. We didn’t sleep. We held our aunt’s hands and cried together.
When we got home the next day, Rosa and I lied to Papi. We told him our eyes were red from staying up all night, playing Lotería. We didn’t want him to forbid us from going to Tía’s. But our silence was tinged with black and red — guilt and danger.
We spent the morning napping and watching television. I even told Miss no when she invited us swimming. I was that tired.
Our stories — the ones Miss called Mexican soap operas — had just come on the television when Angélica’s number flashed up on caller ID. Rosa waved at me to pick up the phone so the ringing would stop.
“¿Bueno?” I heard crying. “Angélica?”
“Mi papá!” she sobbed.
My heart came into my throat. “I’m coming right now.”
I hung up and turned to Rosa. “I think Angélica’s dad got deported.”
Rosa pulled her eyes off the television and stared at me. We thought having a parent be deported was the worst thing that could happen to a kid.
We were wrong.
Walking to her apartment, I practiced what I would say. He’ll
come back. They always come back. I rounded the corner and saw neighbors crowding the sidewalk. Angélica’s mamá sprawled on the grass. Angélica and her little brothers were piled around her, crying.
Torn plastic yellow streamers fluttered from the handrails on the porch. Black writing spelled out the words CRIME SCENE — DO NOT CROSS.
Angélica’s papá would never come back. Her papá was dead.
The next day after church, I sat with Miss in her van in front of our apartment. Her arms remained folded across her chest, waiting for me to talk. My face was swollen from crying, so I had to tell. Not everything. Just the part about Angélica’s father.
Then I glanced up. Her eyes tried to see into me, so I lowered my head again.
She unfolded her arms. Her voice was soft. “Please tell your friend I’m so sorry.”
I nodded.
“The truck drove up onto the porch?” Miss asked.
I nodded again.
Miss swallowed. “I heard about that. I just didn’t realize it happened in your neighborhood. I hope they throw the book at that drunk driver.”
She moved one hand to the ignition and the other to the steering wheel.
“They’re deporting him,” I said. Then I stared at my hands so she wouldn’t see my secret.
She froze. “Without a trial?”
Maybe deported wasn’t the right word. They gave him a choice. Mexico or jail. But I didn’t want Miss to think I knew too much, so I nodded as I looped my hair around a finger.
She frowned. “You’d think they’d want him to do some jail time.”
Nobody cares if Mexicans kill each other. I didn’t say it out loud. But I thought it really hard.
The drunk driver — the one who killed Angélica’s father — was Victor. Police said if he came back to America, they’d put him in jail for good. Either way, Tía would be raising their children alone.
I’d sat on the curb and held Angélica. We’d cried together. At the time I didn’t know it was Victor who took her papá from her. It was good I didn’t know. She might’ve smelled the guilt in me.
But when I got home, I saw Rosa’s note. She’d taken Suelita and gone to comfort Tía.
I never liked Victor, but he was part of us.
One more secret for my family to keep.
MAYBE YOU’D THINK I’d feel bad getting bawled out by Miss. Who likes getting yelled at? But Miss was treating me like one of her own kids.
That made me feel good.
And it was better than being at home with Rosa. She was spending the summer watching our cousins so Tía could work. If I’d been there, I’d be taking care of babies, too.
Instead I played in the hammock with the Dahl boys. The three of us landed ourselves in trouble because of Ethan’s new game — Kill the Cow. I say landed in trouble because I was airborne before I hit a sprinkler head. It’d cracked in two.
In this new game, the person who was the “cow” stood in front of the hammock while it swung high and fast with another person inside it. The hammock hit the cow, sending it flying across the yard.
When the sprinkler broke, I was the cow.
Ethan and I agreed to hide the broken piece.
Cody confessed.
Maybe Miss will be glad that I wasn’t hurt and forget about the sprinkler. Wrong.
She pressed her lips together. Whiffs of air blew out of her nose, but she wasn’t laughing. “The three of you owe me an hour of yard work.”
Ethan groaned.
“Each.”
At first all three of us worked in the backyard, but Ethan kept snapping at Cody like an angry dog. So Miss put Ethan to work in the front yard. Then it was just Cody and me.
I clipped the shriveled stalks. “Hyacinths are ugly.”
Cody smirked. “When you see hyacinths, spring is here. They’re dependable.”
I’d rather be named for a beautiful flower, but Cody approved of dependability.
“What flower does your mom like best?” I asked casually. As though the answer weren’t important.
“Roses.”
I knew it.
“Cody, are you jealous?” The words popped out before I thought about them.
“Of what?”
“Of — having to share your mom with me?”
He shrugged. “You and the rest of the world.”
Maybe having a famous mom wasn’t so great.
After an hour we’d filled two trash bags with weeds and clippings. Cody started cutting flowers and putting them in a pail.
“What’re you doing?”
“These are for you.”
“For me?” My face got hot again.
“Mom told me to.”
Oh. I felt like a balloon after someone let the air out. Getting my first flowers from a boy because his mom told him to.
I stood in the kitchen as Miss put my flowers into a jar. Their smell reminded me of Mamá. I wished I could give them to her. Or to Abuelita. Then I thought, Mamá and Abuelita have each other. Who do I have?
Miss hummed while she arranged the flowers. She wasn’t wearing her TV makeup, and it made her look both older and younger somehow. Her hair was messy, pulled back in a ponytail. One copper curl fell against her cheek.
“Miss, gardening isn’t a good punishment. I like it. Can I work in the garden with you sometime?”
She smiled. A new smile. Small and soft. I thought she might say something about spending time with me. Instead she said, “It wasn’t punishment. It was your opportunity to fix things. If you break something, you’re obligated, right?”
I thought of my picture frame — the one she’d ruined — and nodded. “Right.”
“SEE, MISS? It says we owe a lot of money.”
She took the letter from my shaking hand.
The envelope said CITY OF MAPLEWOOD. I knew it would be about gymnastics, so I’d opened it, even though it was addressed to Papi. But I was afraid to show it to him.
I was glad that my sisters were at Tía’s when Miss arrived. I needed her to tell me what to do. Looking back, the answer was simple. I should’ve thrown the letter away.
“Miss, how’d they know our address?”
She glanced over the top of the letter. “It was on the application.” Then her face went all weird. “The address line was blank, so I filled it in. Your dad didn’t do that on purpose, did he?”
I wrapped a lock of hair around a finger. “No. He probably just forgot.”
Miss look relieved. “That’s what I figured.”
She took her cell phone from her purse and punched in the number at the bottom of the letter. “Good afternoon, Mr. Benton. This is Kathryn Dawson Dahl.”
Miss used her whole name. I smirked. Leverage.
“Well, thank you, but I’m hoping to get back to anchoring. Until then, I’m mentoring one of the daughters of the Juárez family. They submitted an application for scholarships?”
Pause.
“They got the letter, but there’s no way they can pay for all of this. What about just the gymnastics class?”
I heard a man’s voice rumbling.
“Sure, but based on their income, I hoped you’d drop the charge.”
Her face froze and she turned away from me.
“You can’t assume that. The girls were born in Colorado.” I tried to imagine what Mr. Benton was saying. I walked around Miss so I could read her face, but she turned away again.
“The parents’ status has nothing to do with it. The family pays sales tax, so they contribute to your budget, but they’re not receiving services.”
“Miss —?” I chased her in circles, trying to tell her to forget it.
“I’d like to speak with your supervisor.”
Sharp words came through the phone line. Laser beams shot out of Miss’s eyes. If Mr. Benton had seen them, his words would’ve jumped back down his throat. “No, that’s not the end of it. Believe me, Mr. Benton, this is not the end of it.”
Irritated, she punched a butt
on on the phone, then stared at the wall. Her laser-beam eyes looked like they’d burn a hole right through it. So I was surprised when she spoke. Her voice wasn’t angry. It was thoughtful.
“Jacinta, it’s none of my business, but I don’t want to start something I can’t finish. Do your parents have documentation?”
An earthquake rocked my world.
Never, ever, had anyone asked me that. Even other Mexicans didn’t ask.
Miss didn’t know that she’d stepped way over la línea. Much too personal.
I didn’t want to answer her. I needed time to think. My hand found my hair and began twisting. “Of course my parents have papers.”
Miss nodded. “That makes things simpler.” She started punching buttons on her phone. “Maplewood, Colorado. City manager’s office.”
At her last three words, my knees turned all watery. I waited until we were in the van before asking. “That lady you called — was that Mr. Benton’s boss?”
“His boss’s boss.”
A trickle of sweat tickled my side. “Is Mr. Benton in trouble?” What I meant was, Am I in trouble?
She made her most dignified snort. “That would be a yes.”
I waited in the chilly gymnastics room for the instructor. Hunched on a mat, with my Michener Mountaineers T-shirt pulled over my knees, I tried to keep warm.
The temperature wasn’t the only reason I was trembling. Blond girls with ponytails bounced around me like popcorn on a stove. Miss beamed from the bleachers, but I didn’t smile back. Why did I want this?
With a splat, then another splat, two girls landed on the mat. One on each side of me.
“Are you in the beginner class, too?” asked the girl with freckles and skinny brown braids.
I looked from her to the other girl. Her hair was frizzy and yellow. Her eyes bulged in a cute-but-ugly way. They both grinned. I wasn’t sure what to do. But Cody and Ethan were white, and they were nice. I forced myself to smile and nod.
“It’s my third time,” said the freckled girl.
“Your third time? In the beginner class?”
As soon as they hit the air, I knew they were the wrong words. She looked at the ceiling so the water pooling in her eyes wouldn’t roll down her face. “I’m never gonna be good at gymnastics.”
Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco Page 6
