Crossing the Line

by Malín Alegría

  Fabi could hear Alexis struggle. The sounds tore at her core. She couldn’t restrain herself and jumped out from behind the tomb, screaming at the top of her lungs. The two guys holding Alexis screamed, too, and leapt back in fright. They tried to run from Fabi, but a second figure in glowing gray appeared from the darkness and lurched at them with a long white sickle.

  “La Santa Muerte!” Dex’s friends shouted.

  Dex stood frozen, eyes wide in disbelief. He watched, stunned, as the ghostly figure dissipated before his eyes. Then he shook himself, noticed his friends running away, and started to sprint as fast as his feet could take him, not looking back.

  Fabiola rushed over to Alexis, shining her headlamp brightly over her. Alexis was in a daze, but fine.

  Georgia Rae hurried up to them and cried, “Oh, Fabi, I am so sorry.”

  “What? You were great. Those guys were so afraid of you. I couldn’t —”

  Georgia Rae stared in confusion as she interrupted, “What? I didn’t do anything. I got lost and couldn’t find you until I heard Dex screaming.”

  “Huh? If you didn’t jump out, and Milo was with me, then who?”

  Alexis’s eyes grew large. “La Santa Muerte,” she whispered, low enough for only them to hear.

  A branch cracked to their left. They screamed at the top of their lungs as they raced out of the old cemetery.

  Nothing was the same after that day.

  At Garza’s, Grandma Trini hijacked the jukebox and only played forlorn country ballads, bursting into tears at the end of each song. Leonardo went through the motions, creating his traditional classic dishes, but the food was on the bland side — lacking heart. Fabi’s mother spent most of the day looking out the window, and she didn’t even seem to notice the customers until they came up to pay. Additional duties were piling onto Fabiola’s plate, but she didn’t have the energy or desire to step up. The locals continued to come, but it was more out of habit.

  All Fabiola could think about was how she failed. Dex and his buddies were free to bully and rob to their hearts’ content. There was nothing she could do to change that. Tomorrow, Santiago would be taken to court and it was a hundred percent likely that he would go to jail for a really, really long time. The idea of Santiago locked up felt completely foreign to her. Every time the door chimed, she turned, expecting to see her cousin’s crooked smile at the entrance of the restaurant.

  Fabi sighed and looked across the dining room. Alexis was bouncing their baby brother on her knee. She looked up and smiled back. The “Santa Muerte sighting,” as it would henceforth be referred to in local folklore, united the sisters like never before. They were different people in many ways, but they would always be sisters.

  Tomorrow they were going to close the restaurant so that everyone could go to Santiago’s hearing. Fabiola couldn’t remember the last time her father closed the restaurant. But like Leonardo always said, “Family is family. The Garzas stick together, for better or worse.”

  Fabi looked at the stack of schoolbooks under the counter, still waiting for her to read. How was she going to get through it all? Just then Fabi received a text message. She didn’t recognize the number. It said:

  If you want to save your cousin follow this link.

  Fabi’s heart jumped. “I need a computer!” she cried.

  The little courtroom downtown was standing room only. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the thin gray hair of Judge Dexter Andrews II. Dex’s grandfather was a sickly old man, a shell of his former glory shrouded in black, sitting at the front of the room behind a heavy oak desk. Contrary to his feeble appearance, the man pounded hard on his gavel, ordering everyone to settle down.

  “If I don’t get some respect in my courtroom, I will cancel the hearing and have you all escorted out of here,” he yelled, turning blotchy red as if he had a bad case of hives. The threat seemed to work, and the audience quieted down.

  Still, when Santiago entered the room, family and friends jumped from their seats in a big commotion. People shouted his innocence. Girls promised to wait for him. His mother threatened to put him over her knee for a good old-fashioned spanking. The grandmothers leaned over the railing holding sealed Tupper-ware containers of his favorite foods. The bailiff came around to collect the containers to hold them for Santiago.

  Magda leaned over and whispered in Alexis’s ear, “Where’s your sister? She should have been here an hour ago.”

  Alexis checked her cell again, in case there was another message. “She said she was on her way.”

  “But that was an hour ago.”

  “I know, but she needed to borrow a laptop.” Alexis kept glancing at the back door. The waiting was killing her. Her heart sank when the judge began to read the charges. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Where was Fabiola?

  “Santiago Reyes, how do you plead to the charges of assault and battery, robbery, breaking and entering, and possession of stolen goods?” the judge asked in his gravelly voice. It sent shivers up Alexis’s spine.

  Alexis glanced over her shoulder and saw Dex, who had escorted the judge, his grandfather, into the courtroom. Now Dex was standing in the back corner of the courtroom with his arms crossed. He was wearing a sinister smirk. She had tried to avoid him all week, but Dex and his friends wanted to make an example of her. They circulated false rumors of sexual exploits around school like the evening news, and taunted her in the halls excessively. Now Dex caught her looking at him and mockingly blew her a kiss.

  “I’d like to plead half and half,” Santiago said in a joking manner. The crowd exploded in laughter and the judge pounded loudly, threatening again to throw everyone out if they didn’t hush. When the crowd settled, Santiago explained, “Okay, so maybe those hubcaps were stolen, but I didn’t steal them. I found them. So if you want to bust me for finding things, then you’re going to have to bust a lot of other people in this town, too. As far as breaking and entering, I had the key and maybe I broke some plates, but I didn’t think that was a serious offense. But I swear to you, Mr. Judge, sir, that I did not touch Chuy or any of those other guys, either. I didn’t.”

  The judge angrily waved his mallet in Santiago’s direction. “You think this is all a joke, don’t you? You like making a mockery of this court? Think it’ll be funny if I try you as an adult? Think going to prison is a joke, son?”

  Santiago’s eyes widened. He started to sweat. “No, sir,” he said in a timid voice.

  “What?! What did you say?” The judge cupped his hand over his ear.

  “No, sir!” Santiago repeated, louder.

  Friends and family went up to the witness stand to give testimony of Santiago’s character. His teachers, family, and soccer coach spoke. Most of the stories were pretty funny, but inadvertently, they all ended up with Santiago getting in trouble.

  “Ten years from now,” the judge said, gathering his papers in front of him as if getting ready to go, “you’re going to thank me, boy. Ten years from now you may have grown some manners.”

  “Ten years!” Alexis choked back, coughing uncontrollably.

  “Excuse me, Your Honor!” a familiar voice interrupted from the back of the room. It was Fabi. She was holding a laptop computer in her right hand. “If you please, I have evidence here that will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Santiago did not mug Chuy.”

  “Who are you?” the judge asked, annoyed.

  Fabi snaked her way through the crowd. “I’m Fabiola Garza, Santiago’s cousin.”

  “This hearing has gone on long enough,” he complained. “I will have no more shenanigans in my courtroom.”

  “Sir, you’re really going to want to see this,” she said, still holding up the computer.

  The judge invited Fabiola to his office to view the evidence. She set the laptop on the desk. Fabi noted a picture of Dex, from elementary school, smiling brightly, next to the judge’s stapler. She hesitated. This was Dex’s grandfather. Dex had parents and family parties just like Santiago. Fabi felt b
ad for the judge.

  The old man frowned. “I hope you’re not wasting my time, young lady.”

  She pressed PLAY and the computer screen lit up in action. The video was not the best quality. It was taken from across the street and from a cell phone. But with the light from the streetlamp in front of Garza’s restaurant you could clearly make out three guys with short hair beating up on a smaller man wearing a dirty apron.

  “There’s Chuy, the guy who was attacked, on the ground.”

  The judge said nothing, studying the three large men kicking Chuy from above. They all had short hair. Standing five feet away was another guy. It was obvious that he knew the attackers, because he didn’t stop it. But he didn’t participate, either.

  One of the attackers stopped, looked over his shoulder, and said, “What’s your problem?”

  The guy hesitated before calling out, “I’m cool.”

  “No,” the main attacker said, “get your ass over here and hit him. You’re either with us or —”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “What is wrong with you?”

  The guy shook his head, his hood fell off, and he ran. The video footage followed him down the block, clearly capturing the word “Dex” shaved into the back of his head. The cameraperson chased after him. But the angle was all wrong and captured the muzzle of some ratty dog with a sparkly collar. The video ended and Fabi took a deep breath. The judge thanked her for the evidence and asked her to leave.

  Fabiola stood in front of a two-story, Spanish-style, million-dollar home. She’d heard rumors that celebrity country singers and Mexican movie stars lived in this neighborhood, and secretly hoped to see someone famous. The splattering sound of water from the huge concrete fountain overpowered the chattering mockingbirds hidden inside the canopy of palm trees that encircled the estate.

  Fabi took a deep breath to calm her nerves, combed her fingers through her loose hair, and pushed the doorbell. A dog started to bark inside. Through the stained-glass double doors she could see a shadowy figure jumping around. “Coming!” a voice called out over the noise.

  Melodee Stanton opened the door. She flinched, and then made a disgusted expression as she said, “Oh, it’s you.” She was holding her mini Chihuahua in her arms. The dog, wearing a sparkly collar, snarled loudly at Fabi.

  “Hi, Melodee,” Fabi said, feeling her heart race. “I just came over to thank you.”

  “For what?”

  Fabi could feel her face getting hot. Had she made a mistake? “For the video you sent me.”

  Melodee rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what you’ve been smokin’, but I didn’t send anything. I don’t even know your stupid phone number.”

  “I must have made a mistake.”

  “Yes, you obviously did.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes again and started to close the door.

  But Fabiola grabbed on to the handle to stop her. “Oh, and I’m sorry about Dex. I know he meant a lot to you.”

  “That fool.” Melodee made a “whatever” gesture with her hand. “Military school will be good for him. Teach him some manners. Now, I would love to stand here and chat all day, but I have better things to do.”

  “Yeah, sure. Well, thanks, anyway.” Fabiola waved as she walked away. She didn’t quite understand what had happened, but she was glad she’d at least tried to do the right thing by coming over here.

  Fabiola Garza walked slowly toward her cousin’s truck down the street. She could feel Melodee Stanton’s eyes on her back. Looking forward, she noticed dark thundering clouds threatening to bring heavy showers.

  She didn’t know what the future held for her in this crazy small town, but she was ready to take it on.

  Border Town owes its existence to all the people who believe in multicultural teen literature. First, I would like to acknowledge and thank my fabulous agent and friend, Stephanie Von Borstel. I also thank my amazing editor, Amanda Maciel, and the entire Scholastic team for their enthusiastic support, trust, and commitment to this series. I wish to thank my super-cool familia, Mom, Dad, Bill, Suni, and the rest of the Ramírez clan — you rock! And I thank my fantastic crew of readers, Tracy “La Inspectora” Baxter, Hermilo “El Guapo” Guzman III, and Matthew “El Ojo” Armburst.

  This book would not be possible without the love and support of friends, teachers, librarians, and students of the Rio Grande Valley. I specifically wish to acknowledge Elizabeth Muñoz, Liza Lara, Juan and Maria Elena Ovalle, la familia Avila, Cynthia Perales, Moses Castillo, and Sarah Cuadra. Thank you for sharing your homes, your stories, and your Valle conmigo.

  abuelita: grandma

  Ándale: Go. / Hurry up. / Move.

  Aquí es: Here it is. / It’s here.

  basta: enough

  carne asada: grilled steak

  cárteles: short for “drug cartel”; a criminal organization that promotes and transports illegal drugs

  chanclas: flip-flops, sandals, slippers

  chifladas: crazy, wild, hootchie

  chile con carne: meat with red chili pepper sauce

  comadre: a good woman friend

  comal: cooking plate, skillet

  Con esa gente no se juega: You don’t play around with those people.

  conjunto: literally “group”; a musical group, usually a Norteño or Tex-Mex musical group

  copete: pompadour; hair styled to stand up above forehead

  diablo: devil

  Dos Rios: Two Rivers

  el valle: the valley

  En el nombre del Padre: literally “In the name of the Father”; the Lord’s Prayer

  Estás loca: You’re out of your mind.

  fresas: literally “strawberries”; also someone who is a snob, stuck-up, upper class

  gorda: chubby

  guapa: pretty, elegant woman

  huercos: literally “pigs”; used to refer to kids

  la lechuza: literally “owl”; witches who transform into owls/birds; if you see one it’s a bad omen and means someone’s going to die

  la mafia: Mexican Mafia

  la pulga: flea market

  la Santa Muerte: Saint Death

  limpia: cleaning, cleansing (physical or spiritual)

  los Dedos del Valle: literally “the Fingers of the Valley”; name implies a good accordionist

  maleducada: literally “badly raised”; rude

  mentirosa: liar

  menudo: tripe stew

  mija: short for “mi hija” — my daughter

  mojaditos: literally means “little wet ones”; used to refer to undocumented immigrants

  nada: nothing, a nobody

  norteño: northern Mexican cowboy style

  pan dulce: sweet bread

  picante: spicy, hot, racy

  piruja: loose woman, floozie, prostitute

  Por el árbol se conoce el fruto: The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  quinceañera: literally “15-year-old”; commonly refers to Sweet 15 birthday party

  raspas: short for “raspados”; shaved ice with flavored syrup

  sinvergüenza: shameless

  tapada: stopped up, constipated

  tapón: plug, stopper

  tía: aunt

  un viejo amor: an old love, lover, flame

  Melodee began to laugh, but then stopped. She stared Fabi in the eye, as if trying to drill a hole to the truth. “All right,” she said with a nod. “You think your quince will be better than mine? It’s on. You and me.” She pointed to Fabi. “We’ll have a quinceañera competition. And everyone here will vote.”

  Fabi felt the blood drain from her face. She never wanted a quinceañera in the first place. Now she had to have one — and not just any quinceañera. Fabi had to have the biggest, best quince the Valley had ever seen.

  MALÍN ALEGRÍA is the author of Sofi Mendoza’s Guide to Getting Lost in Mexico and Estrella’s Quinceañera. Malín grew up in San Francisco, California, and
lives there now, where she teaches, writes, and is hard at work playing in dirt. To learn more about her and her books, visit her online at www.malinalegria.com.

  Copyright © 2012 by Malín Alegría

  All rights reserved. Published by Point, an imprint of Scholastic Inc.

  SCHOLASTIC, POINT, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  First printing, May 2012

  Cover photo by Michael Frost

  Cover design by Yaffa Jaskoll

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-47284-5

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.