Carlos looks out the window. Those same clouds are just sitting there. Doing nothing. Just sitting there, dark and gloomy, but producing nothing.
“Mami,” he ventures.
“What, mi hijo?”
“You think it’s going to rain?”
She looks out the window. “Mmm . . . Maybe.”
“And if it rains, the game will be canceled. Right?”
“I guess.” She smiles at him. “Don’t worry. I don’t smell rain in the air. It’ll probably just pass us by.”
Mami must be right. First thing Carlos does when he gets up the next morning is run to the window. No rain. There’s a little wind and it’s still overcast, but nada—nothing. He listens for the sounds of his mother in the kitchen preparing breakfast. He only hears the shower running. It’s Mami. He knows his father is still sleeping because Mami always gets up before Papi. Then she has to shake him and shake him, go brush her teeth, and come back and shake him some more. He glances at the top bunk. Bernardo is still asleep too, on his back with his mouth open.
Carlos slips on his soccer uniform and tiptoes downstairs and out the kitchen door. He stands in the middle of the backyard and looks up at the sky. Those same stupid, useless clouds. He takes in a big breath. Does he smell rain? He can’t tell. It just smells like regular air with nothing special about it.
He goes back inside and into the kitchen. What he needs is a Toaster Tart to make him feel better. He knows he’s not supposed to eat Toaster Tarts for breakfast, but he’s only going to eat it this one time, just to give him strength, or comfort . . . or both.
He opens the cabinet where they’re kept and reaches for the box. It feels kind of light. He peers inside. Empty! He can’t believe it. That dumb Bernardo ate the last Toaster Tart and put the empty box back. Who does that? Who eats the last of something and puts the container back on the shelf? How would Mami even know she needed to buy more with the box sitting up there in the cabinet?
Later, it’s all he can do to keep from glaring at Bernardo while he’s eating his oatmeal. Bernardo and Papi are strategizing about the upcoming game. “Remember,” Papi tells him, “it’s okay to retreat a little if it means getting in a better position to make the goal. Take your time. Look for openings.”
Bernardo just nods as he slathers grape jelly on his toast. It’s a wonder he leaves some for the rest of them. Mami chatters on and on about what she’s putting in the cooler to take to the game; Issy, in her tiara, is talking about one day being old enough to play soccer herself. Papi’s teasing Issy and laughing. Everyone is in a good mood. Carlos feels sick to his stomach.
It’s just his luck that the twelfth team member, a kid named Ellis Warrington, is sick with the flu. Carlos hears Coach Willis tell Barton Holmby’s mother that no one will be on the bench today and he’s really counting on Barton to do his part.
Carlos knows that Coach Willis is just saying that to Barton’s mother so she won’t start nagging him about putting Barton in the game. Carlos may be bad, but he’s not as bad as Barton. Nobody is as bad as Barton. In Carlos’s opinion.
The game starts off okay. The referee places the ball in the center of the field and blows her whistle. Everyone but Carlos is off and running. Well, he’s running, but he’s doing his running up the field and down the field in his usual staying-away-from-the-ball fashion, unless it comes and practically stops at his feet. He knows he’s disappointing Papi by not playing more aggressively, but he’s gotten kicked in the shin a few too many times. The players don’t wear shin guards, because Coach Willis says the team is not at that level yet. Carlos doesn’t know what “at that level yet” means.
Suddenly Bernardo breaks away with the ball, kicking it toward the goal, far ahead of the other players. Carlos can hear Papi cheering him on. Feeling safe, Carlos follows with his teammates. Bernardo kicks a nice low shot into the goal, and though the goalie makes a dive for it, he misses. Parents cheer and Papi thrusts his fist in the air. The score is now one to zero, thanks to Bernardo.
The other team gets the ball, and Carlos runs up and down the field again. Then the ball is kicked right to him! Out of nowhere, a player from the other team—a girl!—steals it away and charges toward the goal. But not for long. Brian Weaver from his team gets the ball back, but he kicks too soon and it goes out of bounds behind the goal. The girl, Charlotte something (Carlos can’t remember her name), gets to do a corner kick, and sends it sailing right to her team’s best player, who kicks it smoothly into the goal. Cheers go up from the parents on the other side of the field. The score is one to one.
It’s still one to one right up until the last seven minutes of the second half of the game. Carlos continues to let his teammates make most of the effort. Once, he gets to take a corner kick; he puts up his hand to signal he’s about to kick the ball toward his teammates. In this way he’s able to appear important—like a real participant.
He glances over at Mami. She’s sipping coffee from her thermos. Papi is eating chips out of a bag, and Issy is drinking from a juice box.
Carlos likes the time after the game is over the best. Then they have a picnic on a blanket, with sandwiches and cold drinks. Papi uses that time to give Carlos pointers like planning his free kicks or throw-ins better, or searching out and passing to the player who’s in a good position. Papi must not know how hard that is to do with everyone moving around. Then he’ll complain about some stuff the referee missed. Then he’ll muse about taking over the task of refereeing himself. “I know I could do a better job,” he always says.
Carlos is thinking about the picnic lunch and how the game is almost over when he discovers himself near the goal. Somehow the ball is suddenly skittering right at him—a straight shot, only an inch or two above the ground. He’s the only one on his team in a position to stop it.
He finds himself helplessly mesmerized by its speed and accuracy. He just needs to stick out his foot or kick it away or do something. He decides to try for a kick.
Wrong choice.
If he had just stuck his foot out, it would have deflected the ball and sent it off in another direction. But no. He wanted some of Bernardo’s glory. He decided to kick the ball away from the goal instead. But his foot slips over the top of the ball and does nothing to stop it. It makes its way right into the side of the net before the goalie can get to it.
A wild cheer goes up from the parents and family members on the visitors’ side of the field. It sounds as if it’s coming from underwater—slow and wobbly. Carlos looks over at Papi. Papi has his head in his hands. Then Papi is raking his fingers through his hair. Carlos feels nauseated again. Mami has this awful look of sadness mixed with pity on her face, and Issy is without expression. She doesn’t know what’s going on, anyway. She doesn’t even count when it comes to opinions, Carlos thinks as the referee blows the whistle signaling the end of the game.
The other team runs cheering toward the player who scored the goal. Several grab him in a bear hug. Carlos’s teammates just walk glumly off the field. A few look over at him with stony expressions of disappointment and accusation. Has he ever felt so low?
Instead of their picnic being festive, it’s just something to get over with. Bernardo’s face is fixed in a scowl that he seems determined to keep up. The loss doesn’t affect his appetite, however. He eats two of Mami’s chicken salad sandwiches, a bag of chips, and eight (Carlos counted them) medium-size chocolate chip cookies, and drinks two bottles of fruit punch.
The ride home is silent. Carlos knows Papi wants to talk about the game but Mami probably gave him instructions not to. Especially while he’s angry. He might say something that he’ll want to take back later. Mami doesn’t believe that saying “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” She thinks that’s ridiculous. You can heal from broken bones. But words can break a heart that won’t ever fully heal.
So Papi says nothing. But the silence is worse. Bernardo, probably taking a cue from Papi, also says nothing. But
he keeps sighing loudly, making his feelings known. Issy points her juice box toward Carlos and with sad eyes says, “You can have my juice box, Carlos. I saved you some.” She must sense that he feels bad. He wants to give her a hug for being the one person he has not disappointed.
Eleven
What’s That Noise?
Carlos has been in the doghouse before, so he recognizes the signs. For the next few days, it’s as if the game never happened. It’s like a taboo subject that everyone is determined not to mention. Mami is back to gossiping with Tía Lupe. Issy is now casting her stuffed animals as subjects to her throne. He can hear her in her room, bossing them around and making them wait on her. Which is ridiculous, because she actually winds up waiting on herself.
But even though the game is not mentioned, Carlos can’t shake the guilt of disappointing Papi. He knows Mami’s not really all that concerned, nor is Issy. And who cares what Bernardo is thinking? But Papi . . . that’s another story.
Carlos decides to put the game out of his mind. But on Monday morning, just as Carlos is getting ready to feed his geckos, Bernardo decides to give him some “advice.”
“Sorry, Carlos, but you’re just not that good of a player. Next time, just stop the ball, okay?”
Luckily, Mami calls up the stairs just then to tell Carlos he forgot to drag the cans to the curb and she thinks she hears the trash truck on the next block. Soon he’ll have to hear Mami’s usual lecture about responsibilities and how it’s important to develop a work ethic when you’re young and how everybody in a family should be willing to pitch in and . . . It can go on and on.
He hurries downstairs and out the kitchen door, grabs hold of the recycling bin, and drags it to the curb just as the blue truck for recyclables is pulling up in front of the house next door.
He breathes a sigh of relief. The green truck and the trash truck come later on in the morning.
He pulls the remaining bins to the curb, brushes his palms together, and strolls back to the house. But a funny feeling comes over him just as he reaches the bottom of the staircase.
“Did you make it in time?” Mami calls out.
“Yes, Mami,” Carlos says as he dashes up the stairs to his room.
Bernardo is standing next to the terrarium with the container of crickets in his hand. “I already fed them,” he says, indicating the geckos. For some reason, he only briefly looks Carlos in the eye.
“What’s wrong?” Carlos asks.
“Nothing.” Bernardo shifts from one foot to the other.
Carlos looks in the terrarium. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. Darla is in her cave. Peaches is next to it, and Gizmo is up on top, asleep. All appears fine. Carlos breathes a sigh of relief. Almost. He still feels that there’s something not quite right.
The school day is uneventful. On Mondays, they get their spelling tests from the week before and the new words for the upcoming test. Ms. Shelby-Ortiz has Deja pass them out. Carlos doesn’t like it when Deja passes back the tests. She doesn’t maintain a blank look on her face. If someone gets a low score, she raises her eyebrows and chuckles to herself. If someone gets one hundred, she purses her lips and raises one eyebrow. And she doesn’t always remember to put the tests face-down on the desks the way Ms. Shelby-Ortiz tells them to. Ms. Shelby-Ortiz is always talking about respecting your fellow classmates and putting yourself in their shoes and keeping their privacy when passing back things like tests and reports.
Deja is making her way over to Carlos. He holds his breath. He needs a hundred. He needs to make Papi proud of him after Saturday’s soccer match. He needs to make Papi see that he’s going to be successful in life even if he isn’t the best soccer player in the world.
Deja stands over him, sighs, and purses her lips. She raises one eyebrow as she places the paper face-down on his desk. He waits until she continues on to the next table before lifting one corner of the paper. He sees a one. He lifts a little more. He sees the two zeros and a happy face. Tears nearly come to his eyes. He did it! One more hundred, and he gets his butterfly habitat. Well, something is going right.
He doesn’t even need to look at Bernardo’s test to know what he got. Just the fact that he quickly shoved it into his desk, barely looking at it, tells Carlos he didn’t do well. Carlos needs to teach Bernardo how to get himself out of the Knucklehead Club.
That afternoon, Bernardo and Papi go out in the backyard to do drills. Bernardo hurried through his homework just so he could get outside to practice. Papi is trying to show him a scissor movement used to juke a player from the other team. What? Is Bernardo Papi’s new son? Just because he’s a quick learner with sports? From up in his room, Carlos can hear Papi marveling over how he had to show Bernardo scissors only once and he’s already doing it perfectly.
During dinner he raves over Bernardo’s technique while Bernardo smiles sheepishly and Mami tries to signal to Papi with a quick shake of her head. Carlos knows what that’s all about. Mami doesn’t think Papi should be praising Bernardo so much after Carlos’s performance at Saturday’s game.
Then Issy pipes up with, “I think Carlos is good too.”
Carlos has to watch Papi smile sadly and look down at his corn soup.
“Papi, I got a hundred on my spelling test today. After dinner I’ll show it to you,” he offers.
Papi looks up and brightens. Or pretends to. “Good, Carlos. Good job.”
“You said I could get the butterfly habitat if I made five one hundreds in a row.”
“Yeah, I did. And you’ll get it, I promise.”
Papi doesn’t seem nearly as thrilled as when Bernardo did those perfect scissors.
It isn’t snoring that wakes up Carlos in the middle of the night this time. It’s chirping! Somewhere, a cricket is chirping. Carlos sits straight up. Of course, Bernardo is sound asleep above him, snoring softly. What else is new?
Carlos throws off the covers, gets up, and moves to the center of his room. He listens. Soon he hears it again. Where is it coming from?
Bernardo stirs. Carlos makes his way out into the hall. A light goes on in his parents’ room. Oh, no. Mami comes out into the hallway while slipping on her robe.
“What on earth?” She glares at Carlos. “Is that one of your crickets?”
“I didn’t do it, Mami.”
“Well, how did it get out?” She looks back toward her room and slowly shakes her head. “Your papi can sleep through anything.”
Next Issy is coming out of her room, rubbing her eyes. “What’s that noise, Mami?”
“One of Carlos’s crickets. Go back to bed.”
Issy’s eyes widen. “Is it going to get me?”
“No,” Mami says. “Don’t worry. We’re going to find it. Go back to bed.”
Issy looks unsure, but she goes back to her room and closes the door behind her.
Now it’s Mami and Carlos standing in the middle of the upstairs hallway listening and listening. Carlos barely breathes. He hears it again. Is it coming from the bathroom? He eases in there with Mami behind him. It does sound louder. They check the floor. Nothing. Where is it? It sounds so close.
“Go check in your room again, Carlos.” Mami starts down the stairs.
Carlos steps into his room and turns on the light. He bangs the door against the wall. Bernardo sits straight up. “What? What?” he says, sounding disoriented. He rubs his eyes.
“Good,” Carlos says. “You’re awake!”
“What’s going on?”
“You let out one of the crickets! And now it’s chirping somewhere and we don’t know where it is!”
“I didn’t do it,” Bernardo says, his eyes wide as if he’s trying to make himself look as innocent as possible.
“You knew one got away. I know you did!” Carlos says in a loud whisper.
Bernardo frowns, but he doesn’t say anything.
“All you can do is play soccer real good. But you snore, you don’t follow the rules about feeding geckos, and you ate the last Toaster Tart
and then put the box back in the cabinet. Empty! Plus you leave your pajamas on the bathroom floor. You spit toothpaste into the sink and don’t even rinse it out!”
Bernardo just looks at Carlos. But Carlos isn’t finished! “And you don’t even do your best at school!” Carlos stops to think. “I about fall asleep when we do pair-reading. ’Cause I have to tell you almost every word!”
Bernardo’s mouth drops open. He doesn’t look mad. He looks sad. He closes his mouth and just sits there, staring down at Carlos.
“And you gave me a punch in the arm when I first met you, for no reason! I can’t wait for your mother to come and take you somewhere else!”
Bernardo hangs his head. After a moment he says, “It was supposed to be like what you see athletes do. You know. They’re always punching each other, but not to hurt each other. It’s just something they do to be friendly.”
Carlos frowns. How could Bernardo think punching someone in the arm is being friendly? Especially someone you haven’t seen in ages. But Carlos believes him. It would be just like Bernardo to think that punching someone in the arm is a friendly thing to do.
“Plus you stole the last three pieces of our class’s thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle! And you knew we were looking forward to hanging it on our wall so other kids could see it and wish they had done a thousand-piece puzzle.”
“I did not,” Bernardo insists.
“Bernardo—I found the pieces in your backpack!”
Bernardo doesn’t say anything.
“Why, Bernardo? Why?”
Don't Feed the Geckos! Page 6
