by Diana Lopez
“They will. Next time.” She must have seen me frown. “Sometimes you have to tell people what they want to hear,” she added. “Would your parents let you hang out with someone who was in trouble?”
“No.”
“Okay, then.”
We continued through the mall, shouldering past slower people and occasionally bumping into mothers with strollers that seemed built for shopping bags instead of babies.
I didn’t like to lie. It made me nervous. I always got caught. Plus, I felt so guilty, especially when I lied to my parents. As far as I could tell, they had always told me the truth, even about tough things. Like, after my cat Cyclone died, I asked if I’d die, too. They said yes. I was five or six at the time, so that kind of info really hurt. But they gave it to me anyway.
Nina found the exit, and soon we were near the bus stop.
“Thanks a lot,” I mumbled.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“My mom and dad will be waiting,” I said. “They probably made coffee. Now I’m going to get grounded when your mom doesn’t show up.”
“No you won’t,” she said. “Just tell your parents we were in a hurry. We dropped you off at the corner so we wouldn’t have to turn into your street. Tell them they’ll meet my mom the next time and mention that she was really disappointed about not getting to visit.”
“You don’t get it, Nina. I’m not good at lying. My parents can read me. It’s like I’ve got a marquee on my forehead. Every time I lie, my forehead tells the truth.”
“Always?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“What about Raindrop?”
I hated to admit it, but she was right. I had lied about Raindrop. But that was a different situation. I was protecting him from my mom. She’d take him to the city shelter, and he’d be gassed.
“You’re not as innocent as you think,” Nina chuckled. “If that invisible thingamajig on your forehead worked all the time, your parents would know about Raindrop by now. Besides,” she added, “you won’t have to lie. The bus will take you right to the corner of your street, and my mom really is in a hurry since she’s got to get my dad from the airport.”
“Okay, okay, I get it, but …”
“But what?”
“I’ve never been on the bus by myself,” I admitted.
This time, Nina let out an impatient sigh. “Gosh, Windy. You’re beginning to sound like Elena. I thought you were cooler than this. Look,” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder, “taking the bus is no big deal. I do it all the time. It’s so easy. You don’t even have to transfer from here.”
“But …”
“I tell you what. I’ll wait till you get on. I’ll even buy your ticket.” She reached into her coin purse. I saw several bills in there, which surprised me since she’d already spent a lot of money.
“Here.” She tried to give me a few dollars.
I waved it away. “Maybe I should call my parents.”
She stepped back. “Call your parents? I thought you were my friend.”
“I am. Didn’t we just become breath sisters?”
“I thought so. But as soon as you call your parents, they’ll call my mom, and we won’t get to hang out anymore. She’ll make me quit band, or worse, make me transfer to another school again. She’s real strict, Windy. I’ll probably spend the whole summer locked in my room.”
This was horrible. I could feel Nina’s trust slipping away.
So what if she snuck out and asked me to lie to my parents? She just wanted to spend time with me, right? I should be flattered, not mad. I imagined Nina looking out her window as the neighborhood kids walked to the pool or skated down her street. I imagined her phone ringing and her mom saying, “She can’t talk. She’s grounded.” And I imagined her mom changing the computer password to keep Nina from emailing her friends.
“I won’t call my parents,” I decided. “I’ll take the bus.”
“It’s okay, Windy. I’m the one who messed up, remember?”
“No, I’ll take it. Really. It’s no big deal. Like you said, it’s one bus, no transfers.”
“Are you sure?” Nina asked.
I nodded.
“At least let me buy the ticket,” she said.
“You kind of have to,” I teased, “since I don’t have any more money.”
As I took a few dollars, she hugged me.
“Windy, you’re better than all the breath sisters I had at my other school.”
The bus wasn’t so bad, especially since none of the passengers noticed me. They all had the same blank stare. They smelled like fried chicken or hamburgers and wore uniforms with fast food logos. Or they wore cleaning lady aprons or the bright orange vests of construction workers. Everyone was getting off work, and they looked as tired as my mom. Some even fell asleep, yet they magically awoke at the right stops. I knew I was getting close to my neighborhood when I started to see Spanish billboards like the McDonald’s sign with “Me encanta” below the golden arches and the Bank of America sign picturing a girl in cap and gown next to the words “En cada marca de tu vida. Hablemos.”
Sure enough, I reached the corner of my street and got off. When I stepped through the front door, I found Dad leaning on the armrest of the sofa, a no-no in our house, while Mom stood with her hands on her hips. Something had upset her — something that kept her standing after a hard day of work. I touched my neck, worried she could see a mark there.
“Nina’s mom was in a hurry,” I quickly explained. “She said she’ll meet you next time.”
“It’s just as well,” Mom said. “Your father and I are having a discussion.”
That was too easy, I thought. Usually, my folks had a zillion questions. Then again, “discussion” was their code word for “fight.”
They didn’t say anything else. They didn’t move. I felt like the remote control button that had “paused” their scene.
“I guess I’ll go to my room now,” I said.
They nodded. I could tell they wanted some privacy.
As usual, all three cats were in my bedroom. It was their favorite spot in the afternoon when the sunlight poured in. I put my purse and Dillard’s bag on my vanity, and Cloudy immediately went to investigate. El Niño barely turned his head to acknowledge me, but Sunny jumped on the bed, rolled onto his back, and purred. That was how he said, “Rub my belly, please.”
“Later,” I whispered to him because I wanted to eavesdrop on my parents. If they weren’t mad at me, then what were they fighting about?
I stood at my door, hoping to overhear them, but my parents never yelled, even when they were double mad. So I tiptoed and stood behind the doorway that led to the living room.
“So you don’t like my hair?” Dad asked Mom.
“No. It’s too orange.”
“It’s supposed to be blond. Just give it a few days.”
“Why would you change your hair color in the first place?”
“Because the people at the TV station prefer light hair.”
“But you’re not on TV,” Mom said. “You work at the radio station. So it doesn’t matter what you look like.”
“I might work at the radio station now, but being on TV has always been my dream. No one listens to the radio anymore.”
“That’s not true,” Mom said. “Lots of people listen.”
“Lots more watch TV.”
I heard Mom sigh. I recognized that sigh. It meant the hard truth would follow.
“Listen, Alfonso, you have to face it,” she said. “You didn’t get the job. You need to accept it and move on.”
“Do you think my parents accepted their situation?” Dad asked. “Why do you think they left Mexico? Why do you think they worked so hard?” He paused, then answered his own question. “They wanted me to live the American dream. And this is it. Being on TV. And I can be on TV if I … if I …”
“If you what?” Mom asked.
“If I look the part,” he said.
“There are al
l kinds of people on TV,” Mom told him. “White, black, brown.”
“And all of them change their hair and their clothes — whatever it takes.”
“Changing your looks won’t get you that job. A lot more goes into being a TV weatherman.”
I heard my dad stand up. “Are you saying I don’t know my stuff?” He sounded seriously offended. “Because I’m better than that guy they hired.”
He stomped away before Mom could answer. He probably went to the garage. Whenever he felt frustrated, he calmed himself by reorganizing his tools. He’d probably reorganize his tools and sweep the cobwebs today.
Before I could sneak back to my room, Mom discovered me.
“What are you doing here, Windy?”
“I was on my way to the bathroom,” I said.
“No, you weren’t. You were eavesdropping.”
The truth-marquee on my forehead must have been working again.
“Have you figured out an interest?” she asked. “Because summer’s right around the corner.” She didn’t care about my interests — not right now anyway. She just wanted to scold me because she was mad at Dad, which meant she was mad at everyone.
“I like cats,” I offered.
“Cats?” I could tell she wanted to explode with impatience. “Well, go figure out how to make them useful. All those things do is eat, sleep, and leave hairballs on the floor.”
With that, she marched to her bedroom.
So I went back to my own room, kicked off my shoes, and plopped on the bed. Cloudy, always the investigator, jumped off the vanity to sniff my shoes. He sniffed them for a long time, as if he could smell all the stores I’d walked through.
“You nutty cat,” I teased.
I’d had a tough day. Raindrop, my parents, Mrs. Vargas, the choking game. I opened my notebook and added a new list — “The Top Five Things to Worry About.”
In San Antonio, a light rain can cause a dozen car accidents, while a heavy rain can wash away swing sets and whole trucks. But even after the worst storms, the sun returns, sometimes with a rainbow, and the city looks as if it had a good scrubbing behind the ears. I always go outside and wonder what all the fuss was about — why the storm seemed scarier than it actually was. That’s how I felt about the choking game. I’d spent a whole Sunday worried about it, but when I walked onto campus, I remembered that Nina and I were breath sisters now, and this secret made me feel special. After all, the other girls didn’t know about the choking game, so they didn’t have a breath sister like me.
That morning, I got to school early as usual and waited where the buses dropped off kids. Elena’s bus was always the first to arrive, and she was always the first to exit.
“You’re like a human cargo ship,” I said as I grabbed her gym bag and her piccolo case. She had tennis shoes slung over her shoulder, a Target bag filled with fresh school supplies, and a suitcase with wheels for her books. “You must be the only person who empties her whole locker each weekend.”
“I can’t help it,” Elena admitted. “Two days is a long time. I might get bored. I might want to review something.”
“Then take one book, not all of them.”
“But what if I’m not in the mood for that book? If I take all of them, I’m bound to find at least one that’s interesting to read.”
“So which one was interesting this time?” I asked.
Elena giggled. “I don’t know. I never got bored enough to find out.”
Elena’s locker was on the second floor, so we lugged her books up the stairs. She pulled the suitcase while I pushed it, the wheels as wobbly as those on old shopping carts. Then Elena’s tennis shoes slipped from her shoulder, and the Target bag tore, so we had to chase the pencils that fell out. We restocked her locker, both of us digging our shoulders into the door to close it. We still had fifteen minutes before classes began, so we went to the restroom to kill time. “Did you and Nina have fun at the mall?” Elena asked.
“It was okay,” I said. Part of me wanted to tell her about the choking game, but when I imagined myself telling her, I also imagined Elena lecturing me about how dumb it was. There was no way she could understand what being a breath sister meant. Plus, I’d promised Nina to keep it a secret. Somehow keeping this a secret felt like lying, but how could it be lying if I wasn’t saying anything? I had to keep my promise, so I wouldn’t mention the choking game. “Look what Nina got me,” I said instead as I reached into my purse and pulled out the scarf. “Nina got one, too. We’re going to wear them on the same day.”
“Where did you buy it? I’ll need one, too.”
Why was Elena such a copycat? Sometimes she really got on my nerves. “I don’t remember,” I lied. “We went to so many stores.” She looked down, disappointed. “But look what else I got.” I took out the compact, mascara, and lip gloss. “Want some?”
“No, I’m not into makeup, and neither are you.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Since when?”
“Since now.”
She rolled her eyes. I could tell she didn’t believe me. See? That was why I couldn’t mention the choking game, because Elena could be — what did she call it? — a bummefier, as in someone who makes things a bummer. I thought about the times she talked me out of toilet papering Courtney’s house, or sneaking into a theater to see an R-rated horror flick, or keeping twenty bucks from a wallet we found at the library one day. I knew these things were wrong, but they were fun, too. And none of them really hurt anyone. If I always listened to Elena, Raindrop would have starved by now. I wasn’t going to let her talk me out of makeup, too, so I rubbed the compact powder on my face and then applied the lip gloss and mascara.
“How do I look?” I asked.
“Like Windy — only with shinier lips and clumpy eyelashes,” she teased. “I don’t see why you wear makeup when your glasses hide it all.”
I looked in the mirror. With my glasses, I hardly noticed the mascara. Elena was right. Why wear makeup when I wore glasses, too? After all, no one would notice. Ronnie wouldn’t notice. Then again, I didn’t need my glasses, did I? True, my vision was blurry and I couldn’t see the chalk-boards without them, but I could see large objects like my classroom doors. I could probably find my desk, too.
I moved my lenses up and down, trying to compare how I looked.
“That settles it,” I said. “No glasses. I can always put them on when the teacher writes on the board.”
“I was kidding,” Elena laughed. “Don’t take them off. You’ll get lost.”
I ignored her, folded my glasses, and slipped them into my purse.
“Just point out my locker, will you?” I said. “I know which section it’s in, but I can’t read the numbers very well.”
“Do you need me to unlock your combination, too?” she asked.
“Good idea. Otherwise, I won’t be able to get my books.”
Elena shook her head, but she walked me to my locker and opened it anyway.
Then I went to my morning classes. Nina was a no-show, so nothing exciting happened — except that Liz asked where she was. She asked me. That was when I realized that she wasn’t spending much time with Courtney and Alicia anymore. She was doing her own thing, with her own group of in-crowd girls, and all of them were wearing scarves like Nina.
Without my glasses, I couldn’t see the video in science, but I could hear just fine. And since I was forced to listen closely, I took more notes. I probably learned more about Isaac Newton than anyone else in class — like, he’s the guy who came up with gravity, not the guy who invented Fig Newtons. See how smart I was getting? I should have ditched my glasses long ago.
Finally, it was lunchtime.
“Can you read that again?” I asked Elena as we stood in line. Each day the cafeteria ladies wrote the menu on a chalkboard.
“Quit being so helpless,” she said. “If you’re not going to wear your glasses, you’ll have to depend on your other senses — you know, learn to be more nosependent
or earpendent.”
“Hey, guys.” It was Nina.
“Where were you?” I asked. “We thought you were absent.”
“I had a really bad headache,” she said, “so I spent the morning in the nurse’s office. She let me sleep it off.”
“Is that why your eyes are bloodshot?” Elena asked.
I punched her. She could be so nosy.
Luckily, Nina didn’t mind explaining. “Yeah. Sometimes I have high blood pressure, and it makes the little vessels burst. That’s what causes my headaches, too.”
I winced. The whole thing sounded painful.
Today, her scarf was blue silk with a gold paisley pattern. She wore it like a necktie and stroked it absentmindedly as we waited in line.
“You’re here,” I heard Ronnie say.
“Yes,” I answered. “After speech, I got here as fast as I could.”
He laughed. “Not you, Trouper. I meant Nina.” Then turning to her, he said, “Didn’t see you in class today.”
“Major headache,” she said.
“Are you feeling better now?” He sounded really concerned. Why was he so concerned?
“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. I just get headaches sometimes. It’s no big deal.”
She seemed tired. If I remembered correctly, she’d had a headache last week, too, but not one that sent her to the nurse.
The line inched forward, but we were still twelve or fifteen people from the serving ladies.
“So, Ronnie,” I said, hoping to jump-start the conversation, “how was your weekend?”
Before he could answer, Elena said, “We saw Windy’s adopt-a-granny!”
I wanted to pinch her. Why’d she tell him I spent time with a fake grandma?
“Your adopt-a-what?” he asked.
“Just a lady we helped out,” Nina said, saving me from my embarrassing moment. “We did some volunteer work at an old folks’ home, and then Windy and I went to the mall.”
“Wow. You girls are really nice to help the old people. I have to help my abuelita all the time.”
How cool was that? Ronnie and I both called our grandmas “abuelita.”
“Old people have trouble walking,” he went on. “And they forget all sorts of things — like their own names.”
