by Shay Bravo
“Well, Mom is furious, says she’ll give me some chanclazos whenever she sees me next. Dad laughed.” I’m not too surprised. His dad is very lenient. Carlos says it’s because he’s an American and more laid back than his mother. “I know she’s worried sick but . . .”
The waitress arrives at our table to deliver our meal. The chicken tenders and mozzarella sticks are steaming hot and still have a few dabs of oil clinging to them. We take a moment to delight in the food, dipping a bit into our orders of pancakes before he continues.
“But I know I fucked up too. I don’t even think I want to pursue a history minor; I think mathematics would help way more with my major.” Carlos rubs his cheek to get a dab of strawberry syrup off his face.
“That’s great, I’m happy that you’ve figured out what you want to fix with your career.” Just like me in the lake, I think we all need to make decisions about what we want to do with our lives, otherwise life will choose for us.
“We won’t get to hang out as often, though.”
“Carlos, I’ve known you for, like, seven years of my life. I think no matter whether we see each other once a week or once a month, we’ll be okay. Besides, we live in a small town—there’s only so much area you can cover without bumping into me.” I steal the mozzarella stick he was about to grab and take a bite in triumph. “After all this legal stuff blows over we’ll be okay.”
“Shit.” He sits back. “You’re right.”
With a wink, I let him know I am aware of this. So we continue to eat and make jokes about the unforeseen, but welcome, future. Knowing that no matter what happens we’ll make it through to the other side.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Chiles rellenos are possibly one of my favorite dishes. They’re also a pain to make. You have to roast the peppers and put them in a bag, pull the skin off, beat the egg whites, prepare the stuffing, fill the peppers, coat them in flour, coat them in egg, and then finally hope the egg fluff stays stuck to the pepper as it sizzles in a pan full of oil.
Usually my mom would make stuff like this while she made me cook yellow rice and refried beans. She’d make two types of filling, cheese and this ground beef guisado, with pieces of carrot, potato, onions, and spices, that was so good I’d scoop it out by itself on my plate.
While Mom is a fantastic cook, I’m content with not setting the kitchen on fire.
“Pues, they look really good.” Mom smiles, serving herself cooked rice across the table. She looks better on my new laptop. Diane was right, graphics sometimes do make a difference.
“You’re saying that to make me feel better.” I scrunch up my nose and pass my dad a plate.
“En serio.” She pauses. “From here I can’t even tell they’re burnt.”
“Because they aren’t Mom.”
Dad laughs. “I’m not sure about that.”
“You guys are rude.”
“How’s school?” Dad cuts up a piece of his chiles rellenos and runs it across his beans.
“Good. I’m going to study at Diane’s tomorrow, and they scheduled me for a shift at the library on Sunday. I didn’t lose my job—Miranda knew all about the history club and she said that college kids should be free to make mistakes and be forgiven. I’m lucky. They’re also opening up the classes for next semester next week, so I’ll have to come up with a rough list for what I want to take. Seniors get first pick, so my turn won’t be until Thursday.”
“No breaking into houses?” Mom takes a sip of her water.
“Nah, that’s for next week.”
We laugh. While I can’t change the past, my parents have moved on . . . a bit. Mexican parents never let you live down your mistakes. They’ll tease you about it until the end of time. At least they’re past the we’re-very-serious-during-calls-because-you-need-to-think-about-what-you’ve-done phase.
I scoop some rice onto my spoon. “I’m switching my major next semester.”
Dad waits until he’s done chewing before responding. “Really? Why?”
“History is not for me. It’s not too late to change it, I need to meet with my advisor, which I’m planning on doing before I choose my fall classes.” After I talked with Carlos at IHOP what he said resonated with me. It’s not that I don’t like history; in fact, I love learning about what happened in the past to understand how we can shape the future for the better.
I want to understand the system more, be able to help families like mine, who have been held up by a system that punishes you for wanting to be close to your family. A legal net that catches hardworking people with the same indiscrimination that catches criminals. I don’t want kids fearing that their parents will be ripped out of their arms at any moment.
“What would you change it to?” Mom asks.
“Political science.” I look at her. Perhaps there’s nothing I can do now, or in many years, but there’s a lot that I can learn in those years I will be waiting. “Switching my minor and major won’t affect me, and I want to see if I can make a change, maybe even get into law school.”
Mom and Dad look at each other from across the glass screen, eyebrows raised. Dad never finished high school and Mom was only allowed to get her associate degree due to her status where she lived at the time. The thought of their daughter striving for a law degree must be more than a little surprising, but that’s okay with me. For the past year I’ve debated what to do with my life over and over, and now I think I’m finally starting to see a path I can follow.
Me: Hey Anna, I’m not reaching out through the group chat because I wanted to pick up on the last conversation we had
Me: You were right, I joined the club and did my dare of my own volition. I even helped Ethan with his. I think I was looking for acceptance as you said. I don’t think you were a bad president, in fact with this legal ordeal and you taking the fall it shows that you truly do care for the members
Me: In a way the club getting disbanded has lifted the weight off my shoulders, I wonder if it’s the same for you
Me: I hope things work out, and maybe one day in the future (if everything is still okay between us) we can go for coffee and talk about it. Carlos would probably be down too
Me: Also, I have no idea when you’ll be reading this if at all, but thank you for the gift. I do know exactly what to do with it
After exam season is over, fewer students gather at the coffee shops on campus, aside from the hipsters and art kids typing their novels. Calm saxophone and piano music drifting in the background is a nice change from the quiet of the library, where I had been for the past four hours.
One of the bells placed on top of the two entrances to the café jingle, and I immediately meerkat to see who’s come in.
I might have been doing that for the last fifteen minutes, but this time Ethan stands at the threshold. We lock eyes for a second. Thank God he responded positively to my message about meeting here.
“Hey,” I say as he sits across from me. “You’re not going to get anything?”
“I’m okay.” Ethan carefully places his hands on top of mine. “How are you?”
“Better.” He seems well. It’s been over a week and a half since we’ve seen each other. I thought about reaching out to him multiple times, but as I was thinking up what to do with my classes next semester, and receiving updates via Carlos on how the club case was going, I didn’t have the time to focus on fixing something I really should have.
“What about your parents?”
“They’re still somewhat walking on eggshells, constantly asking me questions, but I think they’re settling back to their usual selves.” Last night we had had a normal Skype family dinner and no one said the police word even once. “How are your grandparents? You must have had cops visit you.”
“They laughed it off and said that’s what teenagers do. Said nothing of value was taken so they were fine.” He rubs his thumbs over the
back of my hands. “I assured the police I changed the locks and—”
“That you didn’t want to press charges. I know.”
“Sol, I can’t begin to say how bad I feel for not having told you. I should have—”
“Ethan, you’re fine. You did what you felt was right.” I grab the envelope from my backpack. “This won’t make things right, but you should have this.”
His forehead wrinkles as he takes the envelope, carefully unfolds the top flap, and extracts a fork.
“Now you have everything back—the fork, the keys, and your life.” With one hand I zip close my backpack.
“Do I get you back too?” he whispers.
I shake my head. “Look, what happened doesn’t change how I feel about you, but give me some time to heal, to figure out my life.” Pausing, I reach over and interlace my fingers with his. “I’m really sorry about the night after the lake house. I shouldn’t have screamed at you, I should have listened.”
“You’re okay, I shou—”
“Don’t apologize. Once everything blows over, when legal things have been set aside and we’ve both had some time to breathe, I’d like to see you again.”
I want to make sure I like him not only because we were forced to spend time together because of the club. Emotionally, I want to get my feelings together and assure myself that I’m not using the people around me to make me feel like I belong to something. I want to take the lead in my own way.
“Take all the time you need, sunshine.” He leans down to kiss the top of my hand, something that makes my stomach flutter. “I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.”
I get up and round the table to give him a hug, and the feel of his strong arms wrapping around my waist is comforting. When he pulls back his eyes linger on me before we pull away from each other and prepare to go our separate ways. The concrete floor of the café is sturdy under my feet as I walk away from him and into the hot March afternoon, ready to continue on my own way.
EPILOGUE
“You want to hear a fun fact about the history club?” I ask, lying down in the back of Diane’s car, camera in hand, ready to take some random shots.
“Sure,” Diane says, turning left. Natalie is riding shotgun.
“It was never a history club to begin with. When it was formed three decades ago, some guys decided to make up this prank society, but they got threatened with suspension so they covered it up by creating a different club. The main dude was some history major who took advantage of the fact that no one had made a history club for the school.” I flip through the images I’ve taken of Diane and her girlfriend, as well as the ones they took of me at the ice-cream parlor we went to.
“That actually makes a bit of sense,” Natalie says. “How come no one put two and two together?”
“The main guy was the son of the mayor. Then he became disgustingly rich after graduating and getting into politics.” I scrutinize a photo in which I like the pose I was doing while holding a double-scoop ice-cream cone. I’m smiling, too, and the ice cream is dripping down the sides of my fingers. “He pulled a lot of strings for his name not to be mentioned at the trial, and was the one who hired the lawyers to ensure everything went smoothly.”
I’m still adjusting to my new shoulder-length haircut. Cutting it felt liberating. I liked who I saw in the mirror when the stylist turned my chair around. After doing a lot of research online, I figured how to get it to not poof and the style suited me.
“At least you don’t have to worry about those things anymore.” If there was anyone aside from my parents who had nothing to do with my crazy shenanigans and was with me through it all, it was Diane. She believes in complete freedom of choice when it comes to screwing up your own life, and I wouldn’t change that about her.
Today is the first day of summer break. Not being in the club gave me the time to focus more on my studies and the other clubs I had joined at the beginning of my freshman year. The club was dismantled by the school. Anna was called into court, Carlos testified, as well as Scott, who had been the driver for each dare.
“You should have seen the judge, he seemed so done with all of it.” Carlos told me as we were hanging out in his apartment the day after he appeared in court. “They all thought we were stupid kids. At least, that’s what the defense ran with. The school wanted to expel Anna at the very least, but even she managed to get off without a scratch as long as all club activities and ties were cut. I’m sure she’s had enough of a hard time herself, I’m just glad she’s out as well.”
“Do you think the founder had anything to do with it?” I had asked. After all, every time the club was involved in something it felt like there was something more to it than met the eye.
“What, like the founder had some things to do with the legal department or the school? He’d shrugged. I mean, maybe, Sol. Be happy that our lives will go back to normal now—the world is run by shady businesses every day.”
After the trial, the club members became like long distance family members that you saw every now and then or got a message from time to time. From what Carlos had filled me in on, Scott and Alan were dating now. Occasionally, I’d see Ophelia and Melina at the library, and more than once I saw Angela and Xiu on my way to the science building. I don’t hold them any ill will. Carlos was right, maybe we should just be happy that our normal lives have been given back to us.
Carlos and I see each other every other day or so. As we say, trash that becomes friends together stays trash forever.
Dad and I call Mom almost every single day for dinner, and I am finally feeling at ease with them again. I’ll never be a perfect daughter, but they’re okay with that as long as I am honest with them.
I put on my sunglasses and sit up and rest my elbows between Diane’s and Natalie’s seats.
Diane takes the next right turn onto the Magnolia Street I know too well, from having grown up in it. As we pass the Winstons’ house, I see Mrs. Winston watering plants in her front garden.
“Can you drop me off here?” I say, unbuckling my seat belt in a single motion.
“We’re still a couple of blocks from your place.”
“Ethan lives here.”
Diane seems surprised but still brings her car to a slow stop. “You be good, and text me when you get home.”
“I will. Bye, Diane, bye, Nat.” I push the door open and step onto the road.
The day is hot but the street is lined with trees, and the shade they give makes the area cooler. It’s a gorgeous neighborhood, and memories of me driving my bike down the sidewalk on summer days like today are ever present as I make my way to the Winstons’ house.
“Looks like a lovely day to garden,” I say to Mrs. Winston, turning over my shoulder to wave at Diane as she drives away.
“It sure is, baby girl. How are you?” Mrs. Winston responds.
She extends her arms for a hug. I wonder how forthcoming Ethan has been with his grandparents as I wrap my arms around her. As she pulls away, I realize she has a necklace with a pendant on it, and for a fraction of a second I pause.
“Is Ethan home?”
“Yes, he went to get me a bag of fertilizer from the garage. My joints can’t handle that weight anymore.”
There’s a loud thud, and we both turn to where Ethan is standing, arms extended, a bag of fertilizer on the ground.
“Sol.”
“Hey.” I smile. “I think you dropped something.”
“Let me get you a glass of iced water, or would you prefer iced tea?” says Mrs. Winston, moving away from me and heading toward the porch. There’s a voice telling me I must be hallucinating, but the charm on her necklace looks almost identical to the history club’s logo.
“Water would be fine, thank you.” It’s almost like I can hear Anna’s voice in my head, telling me not to worry about it, and at this point, I won’t. I finally ha
ve time to enjoy my life, and that’s exactly what I am going to do.
She takes her time going up the stairs, but that’s fine because Ethan and I slowly walk to each other as she closes the door.
“How’ve you been?” he asks.
“I’ve been good, great even. I’m glad finals are over.”
“I feel the same way.”
“I always loved your grandmother’s garden.” Marigolds and daffodils adorn her plot, along with some sunflowers that nearly reach my knee. “Especially the sunflowers.”
“They’re my favorite, because just like them, I’m always looking at the sun.”
We laugh.
“Even you’ve got to admit that was a bit corny,” I say, bumping his arm with mine.
“I don’t regret saying it. I was struck the moment I saw you.”
“Careful, Winston, you might make me fall in love.”
He raises his hand and touches the side of my neck where my hair now stops.
“Good, because that would make two of us.”
I take both sides of his face and bring him down to where I can kiss him. His fingers curl on the back of my neck as I move back a little.
“This is not exactly the slow start I was shooting for again, but I wanted to see if you’d be okay with trying again. From the beginning, middle, or end, I’d want to, you know . . .” I trail off, focusing on his eyes.
“Soledad, you don’t even have to ask.” He places a kiss on the top of my head. “Of course we can.”
“You kids out here having fun?” Mrs. Winston carries a tray of water and a bowl of fruit. “Come to the porch, it’s getting hot out there.”
Ethan holds my hand as we walk up the steps of their little porch. There are three chairs surrounding a wrought-iron table where Mrs. Winston has placed the food and drinks. We sit next to each other and she scoops some fruit into a bowl before placing a fork on top of it and passing it to me.
