by Max Howard
Sophie’s heart races. Does Rubén like her back? She tries to keep a poker face, but she can’t help smiling.
Rubén stares at his shoes. “I make a lot of deliveries,” he says. He turns and goes into the tent. Betty follows, bringing Sophie by the hand.
“Life is too short for this silliness,” says Betty. She squeezes Sophie’s hand. “Sophie. Tell me the truth. Is there a dance coming up at school?”
“I think so,” Sophie says. “It should be homecoming pretty soon.” Her eyes dart around the tent. She doesn’t want Rubén to think she’s looking at him. She spots a table stacked with boxes of supplies: latex gloves, bandages, medicine.
“If Rubén were to ask you to this dance, you’d say yes, wouldn’t you?”
“Betty!” says Rubén.
But he’s looking at Sophie. He’s chewing his lip.
It’s Sophie’s turn to stare at her shoes. “OK,” she says.
Betty claps. “A-ha! I knew it! Now, go on out and sit by the fire. The guys are making cocoa. Cocoa by the fire is an excellent first date. Then next week, go do a water dropoff together. Take Luna with you. By the day of the dance, you’ll be good friends. You won’t be nervous on the dance floor. Now, scram!”
Chapter 9
Dear Mom,
If you were alive there would be things I wouldn’t tell you. Like how Rubén and I skipped class. How we drove out to the camp in the bakery van. Dust clouds rose up around us. We tore through the desert.
Rubén slammed on the brakes to keep from killing a rattlesnake. A dozen donuts flew from the back of the van. They thudded against the windshield. They left frosting kisses on the glass.
More things I wouldn’t tell you: how Rubén reached out to help me climb over a boulder. I took his hand. He didn’t let go after.
His hand was warm and dry. Our backpacks were full of water jugs. Hand in hand, we sloshed through the desert.
We sat on the edge of a cliff. Our legs dangled against the warm rock. The sky turned pink. The sun grew low in the sky.
I told Rubén how you smelled like lily perfume. How you made Dad sing. How you sat on the floor by my bed and painted your nails passion pink.
You knew if you waited long enough, I’d tell you secrets from my day.
Rubén told me his sixteenth birthday was the best day of his life.
“My mom crossed the desert, on foot, when I was a baby. She carried me on her back,” he told me. We gazed out into the valley. The golden light and empty land stretched forever. It was so far to walk!
“We’ve always lived in the shadows,” Rubén said. “But then when I was sixteen, I got DACA. That meant I could get a driver’s license.”
DACA is a government program. It gives rights to kids who came here illegally with their parents. DACA kids can get jobs. They can get driver’s licenses.
“I’m the only person in my family who can drive. Having a legal driver in my family was huge.”
On the day I got my license, I drove Violet to violin lessons.
On the day Rubén got his license, he started driving his family around, too. But he also stopped being scared his mom would get arrested for driving his sisters to school or the doctor.
If his mom got arrested, she could get deported.
He’s been scared all his life his mom would disappear.
I get that.
We threw pink rocks down into the canyon. The sun set. The sky turned dark blue, then black. We lay back and looked up at the stars. You could say they sparkled. But that wasn’t what it felt like. It felt like my whole body was sparkling.
When I got home, I found out Dad didn’t have any clean shirts. He stomped around, fussing. I didn’t care. I was shining too bright.
Love,
Sophie
“Sophie! You got a zero on your history quiz?” Sophie’s dad looks up from his phone.
“Let’s focus on this month’s books,” says Uncle Matt. They’re having their monthly “business meeting” in a back booth at Fresh Ranch.
“Uncle Matt, would you like a coffee refill?” Sophie offers.
“Thank you, sweetie,” Uncle Matt says.
Sophie gives Uncle Matt her best smile. She knows Uncle Matt misses his wife, Rachel, and their kids. She heard him crying in the restaurant bathroom once. He ran the water and thought no one could hear him.
Now Sophie fills his cup. Steam swirls up from the hot liquid. It looks beautiful.
Everything looks beautiful to Sophie these days. Even the hickeys on her neck. She covers them with one of her mom’s lily-scented scarves. She hums while she waits tables.
“Dad, do you need me to work a double shift on Saturday?”
“Don’t change the subject,” he says.
“Give her a break,” says Uncle Matt. “The kid’s got a lot on her plate.”
Sophie hurries off to refill a customer’s coffee. If she can keep her dad off her back until dinner rush, he’ll forget all about her history quiz.
She didn’t exactly flunk the quiz. She just hadn’t taken it. She skipped class. She spent the day with Rubén in the desert. School seemed pointless.
What if she could save someone’s life?
Amy wants to see the Human Kind camp. “It’s for research. For the play,” she says. So they all drive out into the desert—Amy, Lucas, Rubén, and Sophie. It’s like a double date.
Rubén’s curls glow in the golden afternoon light. Hawks soar overhead. They barrel down the smooth highway, blasting old country songs.
Amy sings along. Her voice has a fancy trill from choir. Rubén joins in. He sings with a loud country twang.
“You sound like a cowboy!” Sophie giggles. The three of them belt out Johnny Cash as they race down the highway.
When I was just a baby,
my mama told me, “Son,
always be a good boy.
Don’t ever play with guns.”
In the back seat, Lucas sucks a Tootsie Pop. When his tongue ring clacks against the hard candy, Rubén raises his eyebrows at Sophie. He turns up the volume on Johnny Cash. He bellows the rest of the song.
Sophie covers her mouth to keep from laughing.
At camp, Luna jumps up on Amy. “Hi there, puppy!” Amy coos. “Lucas, get a picture of me—we have to put a dog in the play.”
“It’s strange Betty hasn’t come out to say hi,” Rubén says. He peeks into her tent. “Betty? You here?”
“I am indeed,” Betty says. She knocks open the tent flap with her cane. She hobbles out.
Betty has a bandage on her head. She wears a brace on her knee.
“What happened?” says Sophie.
“I had a fall at home,” Betty says. “Tripped on the corner of the rug. But I won’t let it keep me from the work. You know all those water jugs you stashed last week? I hear they’ve all been cut up. Snipped to ribbons. Maybe the Border Patrol did it.”
“Or maybe the Desert Rangers,” Sophie says. Her throat goes dry saying the words. She hasn’t told Rubén her dad is a Desert Ranger. She doesn’t know how.
“Who knows?” Betty says. “But you brought some friends today, I see. That’s good. You can cover more ground.”
“Got to keep ahead of those jug-cutting thugs,” Rubén says. He starts filling a frame backpack with water jugs.
“You mean the murderers?” says Lucas. “The desert killers?”
Amy snaps a selfie with Betty.
“I like to think the jug-cutters are just confused,” says Betty. “They need to get their heads on straight.”
Lucas clicks his tongue ring. “Listen,” he says. His voice drips sarcasm. “Do you hear it? It’s the world’s smallest violin. It’s playing the world’s saddest song just for people who don’t like other people drinking water.”
“Oh, my God!” Sophie says.
Rubén hoists up his backpack. He balances the weight of water on his back. “What’s the matter?”
“Violin!” says Sophie. “Violin! I’m supposed t
o pick up Violet from school and take her to violin lessons. She’s probably waiting for me right now!”
“It’s still playing,” Lucas says. “The world’s saddest violin is playing for a little rich girl who’s late for her violin lesson.”
“Shut up, Lucas,” says Rubén. He puts his arm around Sophie. Water sloshes in his backpack. “Do you want to go back? We can go back.”
When Rubén speaks, everyone else disappears. It feels like Rubén and Sophie are the only two people in the desert. Betty, Amy, Lucas, Luna, the camp—it all blends into sun and wind. It’s tempting to let it all fade away. To walk away into the sunlight with Rubén.
Sophie forces herself to think of Violet. She pictures Violet waiting outside Hot Sands Elementary. Violet would stare down the street. She would count every car that passed until she saw the Jeep. “If I leave now, I’ll still be super late,” Sophie says. “I feel awful.”
“My mom will pick up Violet,” Amy says. “No problem. I’ll just text her.”
“Violet will worry,” Sophie says. “She won’t go with a stranger.”
“My mom’s not a stranger,” Amy says.
Sophie swallows. She looks at Rubén. He adjusts his backpack straps and grins. “Do what you need to do,” he says.
“I’ll come back for you guys,” Sophie says. “I’ll get Violet and pick you up later.”
Maybe it’s the worry making knots in her stomach. Maybe it’s the smooth highway. Maybe it’s the cactuses flashing by in the wild orange sunset.
Whatever it is, somehow Sophie doesn’t notice she’s driving too fast. She doesn’t notice the police cruiser, hidden behind a boulder. She doesn’t notice until she hears the siren.
Chapter 10
Dear Mom,
WWYMS: also known as, “What Would Your Mom Say?”
This is how most of my conversations with Dad go these days:
You’re flunking history.
You’re cutting class.
You’re forgetting to pick up your sister.
You’re getting speeding tickets.
WWYMS?
Oh, and don’t forget. You’re letting someone—God knows who—suck on your neck. (You think I don’t notice? I notice.)
WWYMS?
So. What would you say?
Love,
Sophie
Dear Mom,
I am officially grounded.
Still, today I have to:
• Pick up Violet.
• Run to the bank.
• Get the brakes checked on the Jeep.
• Buy light bulbs and trash bags.
• Get Dad’s pills at the pharmacy.
• Pick up table linens at the dry cleaner.
Dad can’t ground me. He needs me.
Love,
Sophie
Dear Mom,
Remember how you tried to order cherry pie from Velez Bakery, but they wouldn’t make it? Rubén told me why.
His mom crossed the desert when she was seventeen. She had cherry Chapstick in her pocket and a baby on her back.
The coyote who was guiding their group ditched them. He left them all to wander in the desert.
They kept moving. If they stopped, they’d die.
At night, they heard a group of guys out shooting guns.
Were they Border Patrol? Desert Rangers? Nobody knew.
The migrants hid. They lay flat on the bottom of a dry creek bed. Rubén’s mom covered his mouth. She prayed he would stay quiet. She got bit by a spider in the dark. Her hand puffed up.
She finally made it to a Greyhound bus station. That’s where she met Betty Fernandez. Betty is a nurse. She bandaged Rubén’s mom’s hand. She helped her find a job.
Later, Betty became one of the first investors in Velez Bakery. If it weren’t for serving Velez Bakery treats, Fresh Ranch wouldn’t do nearly so well. We’re all connected—you, me, Betty, Dad, Rubén, and his mom.
The story has a happy ending. But to this day, Rubén’s mom won’t mess with cherry flavor. She says it tastes like fear.
Love,
Sophie
Dear Mom,
Amy asked if she could put something about cherry Chapstick in her play. Rubén told her that statistics would make a stronger case. “Look at the data,” he said. “The data tells a story.”
He gets up early, mixing dough. Baking and frying. At four in the morning, he texted me statistics. Statistics and gifs.
For instance.
• 42% - number of Mexicans living in poverty
• $25 billion - Amount of money Mexicans living in the U.S. sent to help their families back home last year
(GIF of a cat pushing a grocery cart filled with cat food)
His texts give me life.
Love,
Sophie
Dear Mom,
Amy has a LOT to say about hickeys.
She ripped off my scarf in the cafeteria.
“Don’t hide your smooch smudge,” she said. “A hickey is a letter to the world. It says: ‘I was once part of an act of passion… and now I’m just in math class.’” (She got that from Teen Vogue.)
Rubén and I left over 20 gallons of water in the desert yesterday. My back, neck, and legs ache from hauling water in the backpack. Today I limped around the restaurant. I could barely carry a tray.
My whole BODY feels like a letter to the world.
It says LOVE WITHOUT BORDERS.
The customers thought it read THE SERVICE HERE STINKS.
Love,
Sophie
Dear Mom,
I’m going to the homecoming dance.
It’s not something I thought I’d be excited about. There always seemed to be more important things to worry about. Cleaning pancake syrup out of Violet’s tutu. Waiting tables.
But then I got my dress.
Violet helped me pick it out. It has green sequins. It looks like a mermaid’s tail. When I swish around in it, I feel like a laser beam.
Dad is going out with the Desert Rangers the night of the dance. Amy’s mom said she’d babysit Violet. (She doesn’t know I’m grounded.)
I’ll wait til Dad leaves.
Then I’ll get dressed.
I should care that I’m lying to Dad.
But I don’t.
He cares about me. I know that.
But if I weren’t me, he wouldn’t care whether I lived or died.
What if I had different color skin? Spoke a different language? Was born on the wrong side of the border?
He’d rather cut a water jug than leave me something to drink.
Dad can go out jug-cutting with Uncle Matt. They can shoot their guns in the air. They can pretend they’re cowboys.
Just like I can put on my green dress and pretend I’m a laser princess.
Love,
Sophie
Chapter 11
Sophie’s green dress sparkles. She spins around the kitchen with Violet like a disco ball. When she and Rubén walk into the ballroom at the Desert Sands Hotel, she feels like starlight.
Rubén is wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans, like usual, but he’s added a black sport coat and a new pair of black cowboy boots. When he smiles at Sophie, his eyes twinkle.
As they dance, Sophie’s dress shoots green flecks of light everywhere. “Little lasers,” Rubén says.
Sophie’s green beams hit Nick Sato’s white sport coat. They flicker across Mr. Orr’s thick white beard.
Sophie laughs.
Who cares about her history quiz?
Sophie’s lighting everything up.
Her sparkle dims when she finds Amy. Amy’s crying in a bathroom stall. Sophie leans against the stall door. She listens.
“Kendall Coyotl,” Amy sniffs. “How could Lucas make out with Kendall Coyotl?”
“How could Kendall Coyotl make out with Lucas?” Sophie asks. Oops, she thinks. That was rude.
Amy doesn’t seem to notice.
“I want to go home,” Amy moans. “I�
�m going to call my mom.”
“No. Don’t go home. Hang out with me and Rubén,” Sophie says. “Pretty please?”
“They were slobbering all over each other in the parking lot,” Amy sobs. “Behind a cactus. A skinny cactus. They were barely even hiding.”
Just then, Sophie hears Rubén calling from the doorway. “Girls? Excuse me? Can anyone help me find Sophie? It’s an emergency.”
“I’m coming!” says Sophie.
“Sophie, don’t go!” Amy wails.
Sophie yanks open the stall door. She drags Amy outside and into the hotel hallway. The pink fringes on Amy’s cocktail dress shake.
“Rubén, what’s going on?” asks Sophie.
They huddle around Rubén’s phone. “I just got a message from Betty. Border Patrol raided the Human Kind camp.”
“Is everyone okay?” says Sophie.
“I don’t know,” Rubén says. “Betty was recording some of it. It was chaotic. I couldn’t tell what was happening. Then the recording turned off. Now I can’t reach Betty.”
Sophie watches Betty’s video. She sees flashing lights, hears yelling. As Sophie watches the video, Rihanna’s voice floats out from the ballroom: We found love in a hopeless place.
Suddenly the screen goes black. The video ends.
We found love in a hopeless place.
Betty has disappeared.
“We have to go see if they’re okay,” Sophie says. “We have to get to camp.”
Sophie’s dad has the Jeep, so they take the bakery van. Rubén and Sophie ride up front. Amy perches in the cargo space.
Amy’s phone dings. She sobs and texts. Mascara runs down her face. She twists the pink fringes on her flapper dress.
“Amy, help yourself to anything you find back there,” Rubén offers. He turns onto the highway. “I don’t have anything to drink, but there’s some chocolate cupcakes.”
“OK. I’ll drown my sorrows in sugar,” Amy says. She pulls a bakery box onto her lap. She passes cupcakes up to Rubén and Sophie.
Sophie eats a cupcake with one hand. She uses Rubén’s phone to text Betty.
