Rawly’s face sank. He could handle being cussed out by Miyoko, but Iris’s gentle reprimand burned deeper in his gut than Miyoko’s ugly words.
“What about you?” he asked. “Aren’t you mad at me for not taking you?”
Iris said, “I wasn’t all that excited about going. I didn’t even know who Nikki Demetrius was until Miyoko told me. Modeling’s her thing, not mine.”
When Rawly arrived at his first period class, he was met with cold stares left over from the day before. Luckily, he didn’t stay in class long. The school was holding a pep rally to cheer the Bisons on as they prepared to play the Dallas North Bobcats, and all the classes were invited to attend.
The auditorium was packed. Rawly sat with some guys he didn’t know. He hoped they wouldn’t hassle him about the photos. He glanced across the room. Nevin was sitting next to Miyoko with a comforting arm around her. Rawly figured she was telling Nevin about the scrawny, horse-face loser who had lied to her. Nevin probably shared his story about how the loser had punched him in the nose because he wouldn’t buy one of his photographs.
The band was seated onstage. They played the usual standards—theme songs from Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark and Queen’s Another One Bites the Dust. Rawly noticed Iris sitting in front of Mr. Gersch, the band director, playing her heart out on her clarinet.
What a contrast from her cousin. It was strange how two people from the same family could be so different. Iris had volunteered to help him with his algebra and hadn’t asked for anything in return. Rawly realized that it wasn’t just his confidence that had helped him improve his algebra grades. The strategies Iris had shown him worked. He had never even thanked her. He had pushed her away out of fear that the guys might think she was his girlfriend. So what was wrong with having Iris as a girlfriend? There were worse girls he could go out with. Rawly looked across at Miyoko and shuddered.
Cruz Vega and his teammates took the stage. After his usual bragging, Cruz spat out his annoying catchphrase: “We’re on Cru-u-u-z control, baby! Woo!”
The cheerleaders jumped up and down ecstatically, as if the Bisons were playing the Dallas Cowboys instead of the 0 and 7 Dallas North Bobcats.
After the rally, Cruz and his friends caught up with Rawly. “Don’t forget about my party tonight,” Cruz said.
Rawly nodded but didn’t say anything.
“You’re still going, aren’t you?” Cruz asked.
Rawly looked around the hallway. “I . . . I don’t think I’m going to be able to go, after all,” he said.
“Why not?” Cruz asked, sounding irritated.
“I’ve got to work tonight,” Rawly said. “It’s Friday and we’re usually pretty busy on Fridays.”
“Don’t give me that,” Cruz said. “The last time we ate at your restaurant was on a Friday night, and it was empty.” His eyes bore down on Rawly. “You’re not planning on backing out of our deal, are you?”
Rawly didn’t answer.
“I’ll bet you don’t even know Jackhammer Jones, do you?” Cruz growled.
Rawly shrank back.
“You’ve been lying to me, haven’t you, you little punk.”
“Leave me alone!” Rawly watched in fear as Cruz and his friends circled around him.
“I don’t like liars,” Cruz said. “Especially punk, freshmen liars.”
“You’re the one who’s gonna need a hero now,” Big Feo threatened.
At that moment, Mr. Hair came around the corner. Cruz and his friends separated immediately, leaving Rawly quaking in near tears.
“What are you doing here?” Mr. Hair demanded.
“We were just talking, sir,” Cruz answered right away.
“Not you. Him.” Mr. Hair pointed at Rawly. “I told you, you weren’t allowed back in school without your mother.”
Cruz and his friends laughed.
“Poor baby,” Eddie mocked. “Can’t come to school without his mommy.”
“Stay out of this, Eddie,” Mr. Hair ordered. “Don’t you boys need to be somewhere right now?”
“Yes, sir,” Cruz said. He and his friends started off. Cruz turned around and told Mr. Hair, “Watch out for him, sir. That kid’s a liar. He can’t be trusted.” The guys walked off laughing.
Mr. Hair crossed his arms and gave Rawly a smoldering look. “Did you give your mother my note?”
Rawly wiped his eyes with the end of his palm. “I didn’t get a chance, sir. We were real busy last night and . . . ”
“Let’s go to the office,” Mr. Hair ordered. “You can call your mother to come pick you up. You’re being suspended for three days.”
If there was a spark left in Rawly to urge him to speak up for himself, to try to convince Mr. Hair that he hadn’t done anything wrong, it died out. So far, Rawly had been cussed out by Miyoko. He continued to be ignored by the kids, who just days ago had called him a hero. He had been threatened by Cruz, chewed out by Mr. Hair and now he was going to have to call his mother to tell her he had been suspended. And it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
The office clerk, Mrs. Miculka, pushed the counter phone toward Rawly. “Don’t spend all day on it,” she said. “This is a business phone, you know.”
Rawly reached in his pocket. “I can call my mom on my cell phone.”
“You use this one!” Mrs. Miculka barked. She returned to her computer and muttered something about kids and cell phones.
Rawly picked up the handset and punched in the numbers. “She’s not answering,” he said after a few seconds.
Mrs. Miculka looked up from her computer and rolled her eyes. “Well, try another number!”
Rawly punched the numbers again. “She’s still not picking up.” He was telling the clerk the truth. As long as he punched the phone number for time and temperature, his mother was not going to answer.
Mrs. Miculka threw her hands up in frustration. “What do you want me to do about it? Call her at work!”
Rawly tried again. The answer he got was similar to the last two: The time now is ten-fourteen. Temperature, seventy-nine degrees.
“She’s not answering, ma’am,” Rawly said. Then with a final plea he asked, “Can’t I just stay in school for today? I promise I’ll bring my mom on Monday.”
Mrs. Miculka stared at him with disgusted resignation. “You wait here.” She went into Mr. Hair’s office. A moment later she came back out. She walked around the counter and motioned with a wagging finger for Rawly to follow her.
“Where are we going?” Rawly asked. For a moment, he thought Mrs. Miculka was going to throw him out of the building.
“In-house suspension. Mr. Hair doesn’t want you in your classes until he hears from your mother.”
Mrs. Miculka took Rawly outside to a decaying, portable building. Twelve boys and nine girls sat in the room working quietly. Mr. Geesler, a stout, elderly man with thick jowls and a strict face, better known by the kids as Mr. Geezer, was in charge of in-house suspension. He sat at his desk with his hands folded and eyed the trouble-makers.
This was Rawly’s first trip to in-house suspension, so he wasn’t familiar with the routine. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked.
“Sit down and be quiet,” Mr. Geesler growled. “That’s what you’re supposed to do.”
Rawly gazed around the room. A couple of the kids looked up at him with little interest, then returned to their work. “I mean, am I supposed to do some work or something?”
“Did you bring any?” Mr. Geesler asked.
“No.”
“Then why in blazes are you asking me? Sit down and be quiet!”
Rawly picked the last seat in the row nearest the window and sat down. He had come empty-handed, so he had nothing to do. Rawly looked over at a boy in the next row and thought about asking him if he could borrow a pen and some paper. He could spend the time doodling. He decided against it when he saw Mr. Geesler’s milky-blue eyes bearing down on him.
How long was he supposed to stay in here? Till the e
nd of the day? Was he going to get to eat? Rawly looked around at his fellow inmates. He wondered what they had done to deserve being brought in here.
“I was caught skipping school.”
“I was caught smoking in the bathroom.”
“I was caught spraying graffiti on the walls.”
“I’m innocent,” Rawly would say. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yeah, right.”
Rawly thought about Jaime. This was what it must be like sitting in a cell all day with nothing to do.
He wanted to see his brother, to talk to him. His mother was going to visit Jaime tomorrow. Rawly wondered if his suspension included Saturday school. Probably. If it did, then he would be free to see Jaime. On the other hand, if he told his mom he had been suspended, she might get so upset about it that she wouldn’t take him with her.
Rawly looked at the bookcase across the room. It was mostly bare, but a few books were sitting on the shelves. He raised his hand. “Mr. Geesler, is it all right if I get a book?”
Mr. Geesler had his head bowed. He looked like he was either praying or sleeping.
“Sir?”
Mr. Geesler lifted his head and blinked several times. “Next time you come in here, you bring something to do,” he said. “It’s not my job to provide you with materials.” With a flicker of his hand, he granted Rawly permission. Then he returned to his prayer or nap.
Three old dictionaries lay on the middle shelf. Rawly decided he would grab one if he didn’t find anything else to read. There was a novel about the American Revolution on the upper shelf. That one might be interesting. Another book further down caught his eye. It was called The Greatest Heroes of the Twentieth Century.
Rawly pulled it off the shelf and took it back to his desk, along with a dictionary and the novel. He thumbed through The Greatest Heroes of the Twentieth Century. It was filled with short biographies of famous people, which included Mahatma Gandhi, Charles Lindbergh, Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Teresa, César Chávez and a host of other great men and women.
Compared to them, Rawly was nothing. Those people had dedicated their lives to helping others. They had accomplished great things. Rawly had been lucky. He had been at the right place at the right time. Was he a hero? No way, no how. He would have to perform far greater deeds to earn that title.
That afternoon, when Rawly got home from school, he went to his bedroom. He tore the newspaper article off the cork bulletin board, wadded it up and tossed it into his waste basket.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
On Saturday, Rawly still hadn’t told his mother about his suspension. He did, however, manage to talk her into letting him go see Jaime. When she brought up the algebra failing notice, he reminded her that the notice didn’t mean he was going to fail, and that his grades had gotten much better.
She didn’t put up much of an argument because Rawly was right. His grades had improved. Besides, she was too elated at the possibility of her son being in an ad with Nikki Demetrius to criticize him for his school work. First he was a hero. Now he was going to be a star. His mother talked about it during the entire trip to Midway.
When they arrived at the Ferguson State Prison Farm, they went through the usual search routine before entering the contact room.
Rawly and his mother were shocked when they saw Jaime. He had a huge, purple knot on his right cheek. His left eye was blackened, and he had cut on his lip.
“Dios mío, what happened to you?” Mrs. Sánchez asked.
“Nothing, just a little accident,” Jaime said. “It’s okay, Ma.”
“Who did this to you?” she demanded to know.
“Nobody. I, um, slipped on a wet floor.”
“Did you report it to the guards?” his mother asked, not believing for a moment that her son had gotten that badly hurt from a wet floor.
Jaime looked around the room nervously. “Ma, it’s okay. Really. I’m fine.” To change the subject, he asked Rawly, “How are you ’manito? Long time no see.”
“It was a last-minute decision,” Rawly said. “Mom let me come because my algebra grades have gotten better.”
“That’s good to hear,” Jaime said. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have brought the surprise I’ve been working on for you.”
“You mean the Torbellino comic book?” Rawly asked.
“I’m not going to say. If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” Jaime said with a smile. “As soon as I finish it, I’ll mail it to you.”
“Did you get my letter?” Rawly asked.
“Yeah. I really enjoyed reading the article,” Jaime said. “We were watching the news in the television room the day it happened. All of a sudden, they showed you pulling Nikki Demetrius out of the water. I jumped out of my chair and yelled, ‘Hey, that’s my little brother!’ One of the guards told me to keep it down, but I said, ‘That’s Rawly. He’s my kid brother. He saved that girl’s life.’ I don’t think the guard believed me. None of the guys did. For a second, I almost didn’t believe it myself. But it was you, ’manito.”
“Did you see me on Good Morning America?” Rawly asked. “I was also on the Today Show and on Telemundo.”
“Nah, we don’t get to watch a lot of TV in here,” Jaime said.
For a second, Rawly had forgotten where Jaime was. He looked around the contact room. This was probably the nicest part of the prison. Rawly couldn’t imagine his brother living at the Ferguson State Prison Farm for the next fifteen to twenty years. Even if the lawyers did help get him out in seven, Jaime would never be the same. Not after having spent all that time in here.
Their mother told Jaime about their visit with the Demetrius family, about Rawly’s scholarship, the television campaign Nikki and her publicist were planning, and of Rawly’s chance to appear in a Christian Dior ad with Nikki.
“He’s even going to be honored by the mayor for his bravery,” she added.
Rawly sat in silence. He didn’t know how he was going to tell his mother that he wasn’t going to do any of those things. He wanted this whole hero business to be over with. At least it was making his brother happy. Jaime’s eyes lit up as he listened to their mother.
“You’ve got a great future ahead of you, ’manito,” Jaime said, his voice cracking. “Not like me. I sit here day after day, thinking about what my life could’ve been like if it hadn’t been for . . . ”
Mrs. Sánchez bumped Rawly’s knee under the table. “Uh, let’s not talk about that.” Changing the subject she said, “The restaurant’s been doing a lot better lately. Hasn’t it, Rawly?”
This time Rawly didn’t have to lie. Ever since he rescued Nikki Demetrius, people had been streaming into the restaurant. Some customers had come for a chance to meet him, but many others were returning a second and third time.
Jaime nodded. Then he said, “Ma, can I talk to Rawly alone for a minute?”
She eyed him curiously.
“Just brother-to-brother talk.”
“Okay. I need to use the bathroom, anyway.”
When she left, Jaime said, “’Manito, about what you wrote in your letter. You know, about how what you did was God’s way of evening things out.”
Rawly smiled. “Oh, yeah. Did you like that?”
Jaime’s eyes narrowed with contempt. “Don’t you ever think that, you hear me?” He spoke in a low voice so the guards wouldn’t hear. “Nothing will ever make up for what I did. What am I supposed to tell that nurse’s husband and their little girl? It’s okay that I killed your wife, that I killed your mother, because my brother saved a woman’s life, so we’re even?”
That’s not what Rawly had meant at all. He had written that part in his letter because he thought it would make Jaime happy.
“I killed a woman, Rawly!” Jaime’s eyes watered up. “Don’t you understand? I killed her! Nothing anybody says or does will ever change that. I’m already paying for what I did, so don’t you dare talk to me about how God evened things out!”
Rawly had never seen his brother cry. Jaime had always been strong, tough. Nothing seemed to bother him. Even at the trial, Jaime had shown little emotion when the judged sentenced him to prison.
Now here he was, a Texas inmate, dressed in white, wrinkled, baggy scrubs. His hair looked like it had been clipped with hedge trimmers. His face was purple and black with bruises. And tears were running down his cheeks. Jaime didn’t look tough any more. He looked sad. Pathetic.
Rawly came around the table and hugged him.
An inmate and his lawyer, who were sitting at the next table, stared at them briefly, then returned to their conversation. Rawly didn’t care. He figured countless tears had been shed in the contact room over the years.
Jaime wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve. “Don’t be like me, ’manito. Keep making good grades. Work hard. Live a clean life. All that stuff Ma was talking about? Do it. And when you become famous, when I see you on TV, when I read about you in the newspapers, I’ll be able to tell the guys in here, ‘That’s my brother.’”
When their visit was over and they were driving home, Rawly’s mother asked, “What did you and Jaime talk about while I was gone?”
“Oh, guy stuff,” Rawly said without elaborating.
“Guy stuff?” his mother asked, probing for more information.
When Jaime lived at home, he and Rawly used to share secrets they never told their mother. No need to change that now. There was one thing, though, that Rawly could tell his mother without feeling that he was betraying his brother’s trust.
He looked at her and said proudly, “Jaime told me I was his hero.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
That evening, while Rawly was bussing a table, Teresita called him to the phone.
He wiped his hands on a towel and headed to the counter, wondering who might be calling.
“Hello?”
“Hi, dude. You busy?”
Rawly hung up.
The phone rang again. He ignored it, but his mother rushed to the counter, frowning. “What’s the matter with you, Rawly? Don’t you hear the phone ringing?” Her voice changed to a sweet tone as soon as she picked up the receiver. “La Chichen-Itza Mexican Restaurant. How may I help you?” She listened for a few seconds. Then she said, “Yes, of course. He’s right here. I hope everything is all right.” She covered the mouthpiece and said, “It’s Nevin. I think he’s crying. You’d better take the call in the office.”
Don't Call Me Hero Page 15
