Careful to keep my voice gentle, I asked, “Why do you keep taking it if it makes you sad?”
“My mom thinks I’m fat.”
I felt the ache in her throat. Like it was my own.
The other girl rolled her bug eyes. “Your mom’s anorexic. My mom says I’m clumsy. This is supposed to make me graceful.”
I felt sorry for them. Mamá would never call me fat or clumsy. Then I remembered my mamá wasn’t around to call me anything at all.
“Why’d your mom bring you?” asked the girl with the bug eyes.
My stomach lurched. I glanced into the stands at Miss. She smiled and waved. The other girls’ eyes followed my look.
The girl with braids said, “Is that your mom? Isn’t she on the news?”
My hand went right to my hair, my finger twisting and pulling. Like I was trying to yank it all out. Then I nodded.
The bug-eyed girl said, “She’s pretty. Come on. Let’s jump in the tumbling pit.”
That night — like so many others — I lay awake, counting my lies. Each lie was a little thing. Like a toothpick. A tower of toothpicks I kept building taller. One more toothpick, and the whole thing might collapse.
I’d lied saying that Miss was my mom. I’d lied to keep Miss from taking Rosa swimming with us, and I kept lying so Miss wouldn’t know Papi had to work all the time. Then there was the big lie, the one that felt the most dangerous — the one about my parents having papers.
And because I’d told so many lies, I had to lie to myself.
I told myself everything would be all right.
MISS WAS ANNOYED that I wasn’t ready when she got to our apartment. But we were the last ones to arrive at the youth center’s Back-to-School Night for kids in the Amigo-Amiga program, so I was happy about the way it turned out. Miss had to park a few blocks away. No one saw her wheezy brown van.
I’d told Angélica she drove a red convertible.
The parking lot was crammed with food booths and a bouncing castle. It was my first time at Back-to-School Night. Angélica had bragged about how much fun she’d had with her Amiga for the past three years.
Now that I had an Amiga, it was my chance to get even.
People stared at Miss. Even if you didn’t know who she was, with her sunglasses and her hair glowing in the afternoon light, you’d guess she was a TV star.
I slipped my arm through hers. My Amiga. She looked at me and smiled. I saw myself grinning back in the twin reflections of her dark lenses.
Mrs. E. stood at the registration table. “Kate!” Her eyes flicked over to me, then back to Miss. “Have you —?”
From the corner of my eye, I caught the tiniest movement of Miss’s head. I turned to look at her, but couldn’t see past her sunglasses.
I was uneasy.
Miss put her hand on my back. “We need to get Jacinta set up for seventh grade.”
Mrs. E. reached into a stack behind her and grabbed two backpacks. “Green or purple?”
“Can I get a pink one?”
“Those are for elementary school.”
Green or purple — not much of a choice. Purple is pretty, but it’s too sad. I don’t want to carry sorrow around all year. But there’s already too much jealousy in my life. And green is an ugly color.
“Purple.”
“Can we get one for Rosa?” Miss asked.
I stiffened.
Mrs. E. shook her head as she handed me the backpack. “Not until she’s in the program.”
Until? I whipped my head around to look at Miss.
“Let’s get a hot dog.” She steered me to the food line. They had cotton candy, but I knew better than to ask Miss for “sugar” before having something substantial. We got hot dogs and sodas and sat down.
I had trouble with the ketchup. “Miss, can you open this?”
She took the packet from me and tried tearing at the corner, like it said.
Nothing.
She tried again.
It exploded.
She wiped her face with her hand, leaving a tomatoey smear across her cheek, then stared at the red stain on her silk blouse.
I got busy eating so she wouldn’t see my eyes laughing. I looked to see if Angélica was watching. She wasn’t.
She huddled next to her Amiga at a table by themselves. Angélica’s eyes were red. Her Amiga rocked her, not saying anything.
Miss hadn’t held me like that since the day we met. The green beast whimpered in my belly. But watching Angélica, I knew I didn’t have to try to be better than her anymore. With her papá dead, she’d always be jealous of me.
The bite of hot dog stayed in my mouth. My jaw refused to chew. I swallowed the piece whole. It ripped my throat all the way down.
I’d seen Angélica at school, but I didn’t hang out with her, afraid she’d see the guilt in me.
When Tía was in high school, she used to babysit Angélica and her brothers, but Angélica’s family had never met Victor. I worried someone would say something — that my guilty secret would come out. In the barrio, you didn’t know everyone, but you always knew people who knew other people.
But I was Angélica’s best friend. And because of Victor, I owed her. If I hadn’t won that last Lotería game, maybe her papá would still be alive.
I looked around for something to push Angélica out of my mind. My eyes wandered to the words on the tired brown building — MAPLEWOOD YOUTH RESCUE CENTER. “Miss, what are you rescuing me from?”
She’d poured some of her diet lemon-lime soda on a napkin and was dabbing at the ketchup stain. She looked up. Her eyes followed mine to the sign. “What do you think?”
I squinted at the sign and thought of the last few months. Aching for Mamá’s arms, Papi working all the time. Feeling vulnerable. Worrying about Abuelita. Fighting with a bossy big sister and listening to a whiny little sister who cried aloud for Mamá while I cried in my heart.
The night before Mamá left, alone under the covers with her, I’d accused Mamá of loving Abuelita more than me.
Mamá had stroked my hair. “It’s not like that, mija. I made Papi come back to America because I wanted our children to get an education. But when we left, Abuelita made me promise that if she ever needed me, I would come back.”
I wrapped an arm around her neck. “Then promise you’ll come home if I ever need you.”
She promised. But she’d lied.
And that’s when I ran into Miss.
Suddenly my life was full. Going to the movies. Swimming. Gymnastics. Dinners at her big house, swinging in the hammock with Ethan and Cody.
The best was when Miss read to me. She wasn’t cuddly. Miss was all knees and elbows. But when she’d read, I’d lean against her, that smell of flowery hair spray. Her words swept me away, to a magic castle where kids flew on broomsticks and fought evil wizards. When Miss stopped reading, I was surprised to be sitting in her family room.
She kept scrubbing at the ketchup stain. The red blob had spread across her chest. Her napkin was shredded, her blouse drenched in lemon-lime soda. And because she was Kathryn Dawson Dahl, everyone watched. It reminded me of the day we met.
I grinned. “Boredom.”
She looked up.
“You rescue me from boredom,” I repeated.
The snort.
What I said to Miss was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. In my world, where family comes first, Miss saved me from always being last.
We finished our hot dogs. I wanted cotton candy, but as I gathered up my trash, Miss touched my hand. Instantly I missed Mamá. Like she was leaving me all over again. Water came to my eyes.
Miss whispered, “I need to ask you something.”
The lump in my throat kept me from answering.
“I’d like to be Rosa’s mentor, too.”
The green beast stood on its hind legs and roared, breathing fire through my throat, into my head. My eyes burned. “Wha —?”
“I’m worried about Rosa. Her being with that boy.
”
My face got hot. “I wish I’d never told you that.”
“No, it’s good you told me, because —”
“Rosa can get her own Amiga!”
Miss squeezed my hand, but I pulled it away. She sighed. “I can see you’re not ready for this.”
She sat back and stared at nothing.
The beast settled in my chest.
But he kept one eye open.
AFTER my last educational opportunity with Miss — the one where she dragged me to watch a play by William Shakespeare — I didn’t want to be at home the next time she showed up.
Shakespeare is a dead guy who’s responsible for the most boring three hours of my entire life. In this play, some lady drops a hanky, gets strangled for it, dies, comes back to life, and tells everybody she killed herself — then dies again.
That’s the whole show. I’m not even kidding.
And now Miss wanted to take me to the ballet? I wasn’t even sure what it was. At Halloween, I’d see little girls dressed in pink tights, wearing tiny crowns and scratchy, poofy skirts. Angélica said the ballet was ladies dancing on their tippy-toes to old music, which sounded really stupid.
So when Miss’s name flashed up on the phone, I let it ring. Maybe she’d think nobody was home and go to the ballet without me.
Rosa stopped feeding Suelita. “Who is it?”
“Miss.”
The phone rang.
“Answer it!”
“I don’t want to talk to her.”
The phone rang.
Rosa moved to get it.
I snatched it up. “¿Bueno?”
“Jacinta? It’s Kate. Sometimes it’s cold in the theater, so bring a sweater. Not that ratty one. Something nice.”
“Miss, I can’t go.”
Pause. “Because —?”
“I — my dad’s at work — we have to watch Suelita.”
“Rosa’s there?”
Trapped. Rosa glared at me, a spoonful of rice motionless on the way to Suelita’s open mouth.
“Yesss.”
“Then you can go! Are you dressed?”
“No.”
“Get dressed! These tickets are expensive.” Miss was always telling me how much things cost. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Click.
It was Rosa’s turn to yell. “You can stay with Suelita, fix dinner, and do laundry. I will go with Miss!”
“She’s my Amiga!”
“Not if you won’t go with her!”
“I’m going!” I stomped into our bedroom and slammed the door.
I wasn’t ready when Miss arrived, so she drove fast — even though she knew it scared me — speeding to “make up some time.” She broke the silence. “You look nice.”
Since Miss wouldn’t let me wear Mamá’s sweater to the ballet, I’d had to borrow Rosa’s. Crossing my arms, I stared out the window. The Rocky Mountains towered on the left. I heard Miss’s voice in my head. “You’ll never get lost if you remember the mountains are west!”
That was the educational opportunity when Miss had handed me a map and we drove all over Maplewood. She forced me to give directions. To the store, to the library, to my school. She made me say, Go south, or Turn east, instead of saying, Go right, or Turn here, like everyone else does. Always pushing me to learn stupid stuff.
So I was still frowning when she drove into a parking garage. She pulled into a space and switched off the motor. I expected her to sprint across the parking lot like always. Instead she turned to me, her voice tired. “Could you at least try to appreciate this educational opportunity?”
Nag-O-Matic.
I stared at the concrete wall in front of us. “I get ‘educational opportunities’ at school. The Amiga program is supposed to be fun.”
“You had fun at the television station. You spent half an hour on the weather computer.”
“But that last educational opportunity was boring. What kid likes Shakespeare?”
“How many times can I apologize for that?”
“Angélica’s Amiga lets her pick where they go.”
Her eyebrows came together in the middle. “You want me to be like other people?”
My stomach twisted. “Sometimes. When you make me do weird stuff.”
One of her eyebrows went up.
“Like Shakespeare,” I added.
“Some people like Othello. It’s romantic.”
“It’s stupid. The choking part was good, but real people don’t talk like that.”
She sighed. “Your world is too small.”
I wasn’t really mad at Miss. I’d told myself I was, but it was another lie. I was mad at Mamá. If she’d been home, I wouldn’t need some gringa who tried to turn me into someone I wasn’t. I wouldn’t even talk to Mamá the last time she called. But she still hadn’t agreed to come back.
Miss hurried me to the back door of a massive stone building and pushed the buzzer. She gave the man her name. Her names. All of them.
He led us down a corridor.
“This doesn’t look like a theater,” I told him.
“We’re backstage. I’m taking you to the green room.”
“Everything is green? Like the Emerald City?” I thought of the “film classic” that Ethan had made me watch.
The man grinned. “The place performers wait is called the green room, no matter what color it is.”
I let out an angry huff. One more person who smiled because I didn’t know stuff. But then he opened a door, and I forgot to be annoyed.
Fairies filled the room. Kids smaller than me wearing wings, and ladies dressed like flowers. One man wore a tight costume the color of his skin, like he was naked. Except for a big leaf.
A woman turned. “Kate! I do not see you for a long time!”
On her golden head sat a glittering crown. Sparkles covered her skin. The fairy queen floated across the room to us. Smiling, she gave Miss little air-kisses, one on each cheek.
Miss pulled away from the fairy’s clingy skirt, which left bits of glitter on her black velvet pants. “Nadine Robert, meet Jacinta.”
The fairy took my hands. “Enchantée!”
“Where are you from?” I breathed. Miss smirked. I should’ve said, How do you do?
The fairy smiled. “I am from France.”
“Nadine attended the Paris Opera School,” said Miss.
“Opera?” Even the word sounded boring.
Nadine Robert smiled again. “Do not worry. We have no opera tonight. Just the ballet. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. By William Shakespeare.”
“Shakespeare?” Horrified, I turned to Miss.
She grabbed my shoulders and steered me away. “Uh — Nadine, can we drop by after the show?”
How could she? I’d been learning Miss’s words, so I knew what to call it. Betrayal. But if I was going to spend the afternoon pouting, this was a good place to do it. Red velvet seats near the stage, and floors that weren’t sticky. A chandelier hung from the ceiling.
And there were three balconies. I pointed at the seats floating in the air. “Miss, we should sit there next time.”
She smirked. “Next time?”
My face got hot. I won’t have a good time, no matter what.
Miss said, “I usually do sit up there. I can’t afford these seats. The youth center got them for us.”
Oh.
“That’s why I’d like to be Rosa’s mentor, too. We could all get free tickets.”
I folded my arms again. To help me remember not to have a good time.
The lights dimmed. In the darkness, music started. I hung on to the armrests, my fingernails digging into the plush velvet. But the music reached out and swept me away. I’ve never seen the ocean, but it’d be like this. Waves of music flowed through me and into me.
I tried — really, really hard — to hate the ballet.
But it’s hard not to laugh when couples chase each other through a magical forest where fairies fly around making everyb
ody fall in love with the wrong person. And it’s very, very hard not to like a show when Nadine Robert — the most beautiful woman in the world — is in love with a guy who has the head of a donkey.
Backstage, Nadine Robert signed my program. Her last name was spelled like the boy’s name, and not the way it sounded: row-BEAR.
Next to her picture she wrote, Pour ma chère amie Jacinta. Miss said it was French —“For my dear friend Jacinta.”
The same thing Eva Chávez had written.
“How many famous people do you know, Miss?”
She snorted. “Not nearly enough.”
I wished that Mamá could see the ballet. She liked beautiful things.
Why am I thinking about her? She’s not thinking about me. I shoved her image out of my mind.
Back in the van, Miss said, “Keep that program. Nadine Robert is a true artist.”
That’s when I knew “art” isn’t just things in a museum. Art can be fleeting and eternal. I thought that up myself. It sounded like poetry, so I said it over and over in my mind.
Fleeting and eternal.
Like something Nadine might say in her low, throaty voice. Without thinking, I said, “I’d like to talk French.”
I WIPED my sweaty hands on the van seat when Miss drove past the sign: MAPLEWOOD COMMUNITY COLLEGE. Why did I let her talk me into this? A French class? With grown-ups? What kid in seventh grade wants to spend more time in school?
Maybe you’d think I should’ve learned to trust Miss, but she kept pushing me to try stuff that was harder and harder. She’d reminded me that learning French was my idea in the first place. I was flattered that she thought I could do this.
And maybe some part of me wondered if I could.
Miss shut off the van and jumped out, striding across the dark parking lot. I followed slowly, dragging my feet.
I couldn’t talk to Angélica about it. I still avoided her, afraid I’d blurt out the story of how I beat Victor at Lotería the night he killed her papá. A black cloud of guilt surrounded me. A double black cloud, because I knew Angélica needed me.
Avoiding her was easy, now that we didn’t have the same classes.
When school had started, Miss made sure I was “properly assessed”— which made Mamá happy when I told her. All her dreams for me were coming true.
Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco Page 7
