by Liz Fichera
“Shouldn’t make a bit of difference,” Fred said.
“But he was suspended….” That couldn’t be good.
Fred paused and said, “Riley, are you sure you’re not sick or something? Your face just went pale.”
I shook my head, like I was trying to keep myself in one piece. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“You really care about Sam, don’t you?”
I nodded.
Fred squeezed my arm. “He’s lucky to have you as a friend.”
I choke-laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure he feels the friendship at the moment. Anytime he’s around me, there’s police intervention or a rescue operation. I’m officially cursed.”
Fred chuckled. “With Sam, you just got to be patient. It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
“No, it won’t!” I almost shouted. “Sam got suspended because of me.” He almost got killed and he was thrown in jail—all because of me.
Fred lowered her voice. “No, Riley. That wasn’t because of you. That was because…well, because that’s just Sam. It’s who he is. He’s always carried the world on his shoulders. You’ve just got to understand him.”
“I know,” I said. And I’ve been so terrible to him, making him be someone he isn’t, I wanted to add, but I couldn’t. I think Fred already knew, and that made me feel even worse. Fred was the kind of person whose respect you wanted, and now I wasn’t certain I would ever have it.
The bell rang above us. There was so much more I wanted to ask her, so many more apologies to make, but I was having trouble finding the words. Sam, Dad, my parents, the suspension. My head was spinning. I should have been the one who got suspended, not Sam.
“Riley,” Fred whispered. Her face lowered, the tip of her nose inches from mine. “Tell me. You’re not still hanging out with Jay Hawkins, are you?”
Tears clouded my eyes. I shook my head.
“Good,” Fred said. “People like Jay Hawkins can only lead to trouble. I hate to say it but he’s just not a nice person. You need to trust your brother on this.”
I couldn’t think about Jay. He could never compare to Sam. And Sam wouldn’t be back in school till Thursday.
Thursday was a lifetime away. I wasn’t sure I’d survive without seeing him till then. I wondered if he felt the same way.
48
Sam
After my parents left for work, I stuffed a half-dozen cheese sandwiches, apples and water bottles inside my backpack. I didn’t even take the time to spread mayonnaise on the bread. I had to leave the house before my head exploded.
So I did what I always did when I wanted to be alone, really alone, not-seeing-another-human-being-for-miles alone. I started walking toward the Estrella Mountains, an imperfect line of jagged teeth in the distance. The Estrellas were my drug of choice and I needed an overdose.
As expected, the car ride back home with my parents from Durango had been as quiet as a funeral—after Dad yelled the disappointment and frustration off his chest, that is. I was never certain if Dad’s frustration was directed at me or himself. Until recently, I hadn’t given him cause to be frustrated with me. I was never certain if he was frustrated because he couldn’t figure me out or frustrated that he finally had. Anyway, I had expected the lecture. In a weird way, I had wanted it. “What are you doing with that girl, anyway? She’s been nothing but trouble,” he had said. “Aren’t there enough girls for you on the Rez?” The one-sided yelling match had lasted half the car ride. I deserved his wrath. Dad was right. Mom didn’t say a word—she didn’t need to. She wore her disappointment on her face. But I knew that with her it would eventually disappear. With Dad, all bets were off.
I couldn’t have stayed at the house one more minute, watching Grandmother weave another dream basket while her eyes lectured me. We believed in you, Samuel Joseph, her eyes seemed to say. You let us down. You let the whole tribe down.
All right, already! I get it! I wanted to scream at them, even Grandmother. I screwed up! Give me a break! I wanted to scream at the whole stupid mixed-up world.
As bad as it was, my criminal record with Phoenix’s finest would have been a lot worse had it not been for Mr. Berenger. That weighed heaviest on my mind. Seriously, my jaw had hit the ground when Ryan’s dad strode back into the lock-up room. Initially I had thought that maybe Riley had returned with him and my stomach had twisted like it always did whenever she was around, but Mr. Berenger had returned alone. He marched into the room with a no-nonsense, let’s-get-this-over-with lawyer face. He was the last person I’d expected to see, one of the last people I’d wanted to see, too. And yet he was probably the one I needed the most. Just my craptastic luck.
I knew that I should have been more grateful to him for springing me from that hellhole, but a part of me resented it, too. The Berengers were always fixing things, floating in at the last minute like white knights and snagging hero status. Like father, like son.
My parents hadn’t liked accepting Mr. Berenger’s help, either, but what could they do? Mom’s brother, my uncle Silas, was a lawyer, but he lived all the way out in New Mexico. We’d needed a lawyer now.
If it hadn’t been for Mr. Berenger, I might still be in Durango with my own personal extra-large orange jumpsuit, walking in straight lines up and down colorless hallways, with all my dreams of college scholarships reduced to just that—unrealized dreams. Just the thought made me sick to my stomach. I’d worked so hard in school my whole life. Everything would have been for nothing because of one wrong decision. One wrong girl.
So I’d figured that, since I had a little forced time off from school thanks to my suspension from Principal Graser, I might as well go somewhere where the breathing was easy, where I could get my head screwed back on straight. I’d left a note for Mom and Dad, said I’d be back in a day or two when my food ran out. They wouldn’t mind too much, as long as I stayed on the Rez.
I heard Martin before I saw him. I’d been walking toward the Estrellas for twenty minutes. The air was crisp and the sky was postcard-picture blue when a truck engine chugged behind me.
I bit back a smile. As much as I had wanted to be alone, I wasn’t exactly sad to see Martin, either.
He drove alongside me, slowing the truck to a crawl. “Figured I might find you here,” he said through the open passenger window.
“You should be in school, Martin. What are you doing out here?” I didn’t stop.
“Same thing as you.” The old truck kept pace with me, so close that I could see more spots where the paint had peeled off.
“And what’s that, exactly?”
He ignored me. And then he did what I’d taught him to do to keep the upper hand whenever he didn’t want to answer a question: answer a question with a question. “And give up the opportunity to go camping with my bestest bro?” He flashed a toothy smile.
“You’ve just come from my house, haven’t you?” It wasn’t a question.
“Yup,” he said, a toothpick twirling between his teeth.
“My grandmother say anything?”
“Does she ever?”
“You’re gonna get in trouble, you know, being here when you should be in school.”
Martin waved his hand at me. “Won’t be the first, won’t be the last.” He paused. “Hey, are you gonna hop in or what? I’m pissing away gas here.”
“What’s wrong with walking?”
“Why walk when you can ride?”
I inhaled another gulp of the morning air and squinted at the horizon. With the sun behind my shoulders, the mountain range glowed a deep red. I finally stopped, letting my backpack drop to the ground. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a real pain in the ass?”
The truck’s bald tires squeaked to a stop. “Yeah?” he said, draping one arm over the steering wheel. “Well, I’m the pain in the ass who’s got a tent and two sleeping bags in his truck. What’ve you got?” His eyes peered at me above his sunglasses.
I shook my head and opened the door. Martin was the only
person I knew who kept sleeping bags in his truck on a regular basis, mostly because he usually left his trailer whenever his mom and dad started fighting. Their fights were epic, totally knock-down, drag-out. When he was really young, before he could drive, he used to walk the two miles to our house and stay with us, sometimes in the middle of the night, showing up at our door shaking and crying. Dad had comforted Martin way more than he ever did me. Sometimes I thought my dad would rather have had Martin as his son than me. “I get Martin,” Dad had joked once when we were around fourteen years old and having a barbecue. Martin had wanted to horse around in the front yard, and I’d wanted to read The Call of the Wild. “You?” Dad had said. “You’re not as easy.” It was around that time that Dad and I forgot how to talk to each other so, in true Tracy fashion, we’d simply stopped talking altogether. It seemed easier that way. For both of us.
“Nothing as good as what you got,” I said to Martin, nodding at his sleeping bags in the back.
A smug smile curled his lips. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
“You should go to law school, you know that?”
Martin turned away, mostly to hide the blush in his cheeks. “Naaawww,” he drawled. “School’s your job. I’m just eye candy for the ladies.” Then he said, “Where to?”
“Somewhere where we’ll only hear coyotes.”
Martin chuckled. “Are you saying I can’t talk to you?”
“I’m warning you, Martin. I won’t be much company.”
He smirked. “Seriously, dude. Are you ever?”
“Shut up and drive,” I said and then turned to the open window, letting the morning air wash over my face. We drove the rest of the way in silence.
Martin parked the truck at the bottom of the mountain where the dirt road ended and left the keys in the ignition. We hiked up to a ridge of smooth boulders that dotted the mountain. It was a high enough climb that we needed some water by the time we reached the first flat rock.
“This looks good,” Martin said, a little out of breath.
“You tired already?” I chided him.
“I didn’t see you breaking your hump carrying the tent.”
“I don’t know why you brought that thing, Martin. Sleeping bags are good enough.”
“You’ll be thanking me in the morning when you’re freezing your face off.”
I stood on the ridge and looked down at the Rez. Trailers and cotton fields dotted one half. A sea of brown desert as far as I could see dotted the other half. No one around for miles. I inhaled. “Perfect.”
“Good,” Martin said, letting the gear land on the rock with a thump. And a clank. Like a can clank.
My eyes narrowed. “What else did you bring?”
“Just some refreshments for later.” His eyebrows wiggled like caterpillars. “You’ll thank me, bro.”
“Doubt it,” I muttered. I wanted to clear my brain, not muddle it even more.
It took Martin about five minutes to set up the tent, mostly because he’d had years of practice. I had to admit that sitting inside the tent would probably be a relief when the sun started to blaze around noon.
I rolled out the sleeping bags and dug a hole for a fire. We’d need it come sunset. I walked higher up the mountain and found some dried saguaro stalks and a couple of mesquite trees. With my knife, I cut off a few of the thinner, deader branches. By the time I was done, we had enough, with some to spare.
Then Martin sat across from me on one of the rolled-out sleeping bags. They smelled the same as always, a fragrant mix of motor oil and campfire. I offered him one of the sandwiches. We ate in silence for a couple of minutes. I avoided Martin’s steady gaze and the questions that I knew lingered on his lips.
Finally he said, “So what’s up with you?”
I stopped in midchew. “What are you, my mother?”
“Seriously, Sam. Talk to me. Your dad said you haven’t been yourself lately.”
I laughed. “And how would he know?”
“Hey, cut the old man some slack.”
I took a swig from a water bottle, stalling. “I just wanted to get away for a while. That’s all.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve. “You know the feeling.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I know the feeling. But I also know you like a brother. There’s something else going on.”
“Well, I was almost kicked out of school and I came this close—” I indicated an inch with my fingers “—to getting thrown into juvy.” I didn’t hide my pent-up sarcasm. “My parents think I’m a lower life form. Life’s just peachy.”
His eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” he said, unconvinced. “I know all about that shit. It’s all over the Rez.” His head tilted toward me. “Your dad pretty mad?”
“Yeah. I think. Of course he’ll never really talk to me. You know how it is.”
Martin chuckled. “No, not really. You know my dad. When he’s angry, he just throws a punch.”
“Yeah. That sucks. Sorry, Martin.” I got a sour taste in my mouth.
“Nothing to be sorry for. It’s just the way it is.” Then he paused. “You know, I always wished your dad had been my dad.”
I smiled tiredly at him. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I think the feeling is mutual.”
“He’s a great guy—”
I raised my palm. “Save it, Martin.”
“Like I said, bro, you got to cut your old man some slack. He means well.”
I laughed. “Does he? He doesn’t know a single thing about me. Or care.”
“That’s not true.”
“Trust me on this, Martin. He’s never been interested in anything that I’ve been interested in. Hell, I’m not even sure he knows I’m alive sometimes.”
Martin leaned back, studying me. Then he said, “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“You don’t know that your dad can’t read, do you?”
It was as if all the oxygen had been sucked from my lungs. “What are you talking about?”
Martin leveled his gaze at me. “Your dad can’t read, Sam.”
“What?” My voice got louder as Martin’s grew softer. “How do you know?”
“One time when we were kids, maybe when we were seven or eight. I was staying the night at your place. You asked your dad to read one of your books to us.” Martin paused. “I saw how he looked at that book and then looked at you. His face turned all red. His hands even trembled a little bit. Then he said he’d rather hear you read it. Which you were only too happy to do, being the nerd that you always were.” He paused. “That’s when I knew. I just knew.”
I looked down at my water bottle without really seeing it. I turned it over in my hand. Could this be true? “Are you sure?”
“Takes one to know one, bro. I’m an expert at getting people to believe I’m something I’m not.”
“But,” I stammered, “I’m his son. I would know. He would tell me.”
“Your dad?” Martin’s lips pursed. “No way. Too proud.”
My mouth opened and closed again. I was too stunned to speak.
“That’s probably why he doesn’t ask about school. Maybe even why he avoids you, Sam. He’s embarrassed.”
“How come you never told me, Martin?” I whispered.
“Not my place. Besides, I thought you already knew. I’m sorry, Sam. Really, I am.”
My head was a little dizzy with the news. I lost my appetite for the sandwich. Across from me, Martin ate another sandwich and drained another water bottle. We didn’t talk for the longest time, long enough for the sun to change position in the sky. Then he said, “But there’s something else eating you. I know it.”
I turned away. “Don’t want to talk about it.” Especially after learning that my dad couldn’t read. It was hard for me to believe. Mom had to know. Why wouldn’t she have told me? Did Cecilia know? Had I been too absorbed in myself to notice? I didn’t know whether to feel guilty or angry.
“I know you don’t.” Martin paused ag
ain. “But you should.” Then he grinned. “And who better to tell than me?”
I almost grinned back at him, mostly because he had one of those smiles that was a combination of innocence and pure crazy. I turned away, pretending to be interested in a dove cooing at us from the end of the rock. It flew into the sky and my eyes tracked it till it was just a gray spec. “Nothing to tell, Martin. Let it be.”
But he wouldn’t. “It’s Berenger’s sister. Riley? Isn’t that the white chick’s name?”
I nodded, tasting dryness, hating to hear Martin refer to Riley that way. Jeez, I was one messed-up fool. There I went again, defending her, even in my head.
“Are you mad because she’s dating Hawkins?” he persisted.
I turned to him, feeling that all-too familiar surge of jealousy swell inside my chest. “She is not dating Hawkins.” I tossed a pebble over the ridge.
“If you ask me—”
I lifted my palm, stopping him. “I didn’t, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Martin ignored me again. He leaned back on his hands, extending his legs and crossing them at his ankles. “If you ask me,” he said again, slowly, like he was waiting for me to catch up, “you like her. A lot.” He paused. “Maybe even more than you ever liked Fred.”
I swallowed, hard. “You’re insane.”
“She’s completely different from Fred, too. I think that’s a good thing.”
“They’re not so different—well, in some ways.” Wait. Why was I rationalizing this to Martin? It would only encourage him to continue.
“And the whole Fred thing. It really did a number on you. Peter, Vernon and me, we were real worried about you. You barely talked to us for months. It was like you were alive and dead at the same time. Riley’s brand of crazy has been good for you.” When I pretended to ignore him, he added, “You hearing me?”
I shook my head. “No,” I said, but it was a lie. I had withdrawn after Fred told me she only wanted to be friends, that much was true. Watching her walk off into the sunset with Ryan Berenger was like a baseball bat to the kneecaps.
Martin grinned. “You’re such a liar. You know exactly what I mean.”
