“You sure? Must be pretty important for you to be here so early.”
“Um, it was time sensitive.”
“Well, lucky for you, I’m perfectly sensitive to time. Have a seat.”
I sit, swallowing nervously. My agenda gone. My mind suddenly blank.
“Go on,” he encourages.
Go on. Hmm . . . Okay. “Um, I wanted to talk to Brenda about this summer, and beyond . . .”
His smile falls a little. “I suppose it’s that time of the year, almost graduation . . .”
“Yeah, a few weeks away, but—”
“When do you leave for Wayne?”
“August . . .”
“So this is about your exit strategy?”
“Not exactly.” I take a deep breath. “It’s more about my summer strategy. I’m hoping to be full-time, officially, over the summer.” I clear my throat, letting the next words formulate. “I’d like to be guaranteed the hours instead of having to pick them up. If . . .” My voice falters. “If you think that would be . . . helpful.”
Mr. Grendel tilts his head, like he’s considering. “Well, I’d have to look at everyone else’s hours. We’ll want to give preference to those staying on. You understand, right?”
“Um, yeah.”
“But if it’s possible, I’m happy to accommodate.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate that.”
“Sure.” He waits a few seconds. “Is there more?”
“Um . . .” I clear my throat again. “Um, yes, I am . . . um . . . hoping . . . that . . .”
“Yes?”
“That, um, I could have my review early this year. I’m due for one in September, but I’ll be gone by then. So, I’m hoping that . . .”
“Hmm . . .” Mr. Grendel leans forward, his elbows pressed against the desk. “What’s this really about?”
I look at the floor. The next words are hard. “My father, he, um, he’s sick . . . again, and . . .”
“Oh,” Mr. Grendel says, his voice softening. “I didn’t know that. Does Brenda know?”
“Um, no.”
“You didn’t take any days off, did you?”
I slide my chin left, then right.
“Why not?”
“Money,” I mumble, feeling embarrassed. When you’re barely scraping by your whole life, money is a hard topic to discuss.
Mr. Grendel’s quiet, his eyes sympathetic. Somehow that makes me feel worse. Because I don’t want his pity. I want my review. “That’s why I want the review . . .”
“For the raise? Yes, I see.” His finger taps along the desk as he mulls this new request. “When I was your age, I needed money, too. I didn’t have a father—at least not one that I knew—and my mother worked hard, but three of us depended on her. A maid’s salary can stretch only so far.” He pauses, that finger tapping again. “When I got old enough, just like you, I started working to take the pressure off her. To buy things that I needed—razors, school supplies.” He pauses again. “What I’m saying is, I understand. It’s one of the reasons why, when Brenda mentioned you for the position, the MIT position, I felt strongly about bringing you in here. I understand how hard it is to provide for your family at your age but to still find your own way.”
I nod, realizing that wasn’t pity on his face before; it was empathy.
“So how is your dad now?”
“Better.” I don’t explain that better is a relative term. “But . . .” I decide to be totally transparent, because what’s left to lose? “There’s the hospital bill, and things were already tight.”
Mr. Grendel’s eyes wander up to the ceiling. “So, you need more time this summer and an increase in your hourly rate? And that will be enough?”
“It’ll help. If you think it’s possible . . .”
“But will it be enough?” Mr. Grendel pushes. “Will it cover the debt?”
“Um . . .” I shake my head. “Not exactly, but . . . um . . .”
“Okay . . .” He places a jelly doughnut on a napkin and slides it toward me. “Settle back in that seat. Let’s take a few minutes to figure something out.”
• • •
At lunch, the tribe grills me about being late.
“And FYI,” Sookie says. “Erika was looking for you. She did not seem happy. Are you guys still on a break?”
I glance around the lunchroom, looking for Erika and Sally, but neither are here. Thank God.
Diego raises an eyebrow. “Bro, your girl Erika might seriously have ESP.”
“What does that mean?” Sookie asks, looking from Diego to me.
“Nothing,” I say, because I haven’t exactly told the whole tribe about that night with Sally—the hanging out, the holding, the “I miss you.” That stuff I’d like to keep between Diego and me.
“So, where were you?” Jade asks.
“I was taking care of some things,” I say, digging into my sub to avoid talking and also because I’m starving. I haven’t eaten anything but that jelly doughnut since my Southern feast with Diego, and my hands are shaking. I’m either experiencing a sugar low or a freak-out over the deconstruction of my carefully constructed life.
After Grendel’s, I headed to the hospital to empty out my savings—my family’s medical debt, paid in full. But I felt confident that I could earn back the money. Maybe not all of it but enough to get me started at Wayne. I just had to follow through on Mr. Grendel’s conditions:
Condition 1: Stick around until the very start of school.
Condition 2: Interview for the management-trainee job.
According to Mr. Grendel, I wasn’t “obligated” to take the MIT job, but he wanted me to have “options” in case things changed or something else “developed.”
That word “developed” hung between us like a cleanup on aisle nine, neither of us wanting to touch it.
Because what he was saying, really, was this: If your father gets worse, if there are more money problems, if your brothers don’t stop punching other kids in the nuts, if your house of cards falls apart, Grendel’s is always here for you.
And now I have to relay my choices to the tribe—more specifically, I have to relay my choices to Diego.
I look up, and Diego is watching me suspiciously.
“What?” I ask, a sautéed onion flopping out of my mouth.
“You don’t want to know what Erika was here for?”
I shrug. “I’ll text her.”
“When?”
“D, mind your business.”
“Okay,” Jade says, frustrated. “What happened?”
Diego leans back. “That’s for your boy to say.”
“Say it already,” Sookie demands, setting down her fork.
“It’s nothing.”
Diego snorts until he’s laughing.
I cram a handful of fries into my mouth, chew noisily.
“You’re doing that thing,” Diego says.
Sookie studies my face. “Oh yeah. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that.”
“Seen what?” Jade asks.
“That.” Sookie swirls a finger into the air, indicating my greasy lips and fingers. “He’s stress eating.”
Diego gives me the once-over. “That’s a nice shirt for taking care of things.”
“I had stuff,” I mumble, reaching for my napkin.
“What stuff? If this isn’t about Erika, it’s about Sally.”
Jade sucks in her breath. “Wait. Is something going on with you and Sally?”
“No,” I say, glancing around the lunchroom. Still no sign of her.
“Then what?” Diego pushes.
“I went to the hospital.” I take a deep breath. “I paid off the bill—the entire bill.”
“Why?” Diego asks. “We were coming up with a plan.”
“I had to do something. I had to . . .” I sigh. “I had to make sure we were free.”
“Of what?” Diego asks.
“Of . . .” I try to find the words to explain how that bill wasn�
��t just a piece of paper. It was a thousand-pound weight leaning against the walls of our house until we’d be forced to stand sideways and eventually—because gravity pulls things down—crawl. “I had to, but I talked to Mr. Grendel this morning. I got a raise and more hours. If I work full-time over the summer, I can make up some of the money, and it’ll be okay.”
Sookie scrutinizes my face. “So why don’t you look happy?”
Jade rests her head on Diego’s shoulder, giving me her own once-over. “You don’t.”
“I . . . There are conditions—” I begin. But there’s a tap on my shoulder. I twist around to see Erika, eyes rimmed in red. “Can we talk?”
“You okay?” I ask.
“Not here.” She looks at the tribe. “Outside,” she says, and walks away.
• • •
We sit at the picnic tables beyond the school—Erika on the table, me on the bench. This “break” has been a handful of days, but with everything that’s happened in the gap, it feels more like months.
Around us is a thinning crowd of students, the end-of-the-year gap in faculty expectation has led to a lot of kids leaving early.
“Are you okay?” I ask again.
“Are we okay?” She looks at me.
“No.” That much is obvious, given the break and all.
“But can we be? I need to know.” Her voice is shaking. “I need to know, because I can’t stop thinking about it, and I feel like I’m becoming my aunt, you know, making excuses for you at every turn. I feel that pathetic.”
“Hey.” I wipe at her wet cheeks with the tips of my fingers. “You’re not pathetic. It’s just . . .”
“What?” She stares at me with those brown eyes. “What is it?”
I stand, pull her to the spot on my chest, the one she’s been occupying for the last six months as my girl. The same one she began occupying four years ago as my friend.
“Because being away from you is hard. Too hard,” she whispers.
I pull her in tighter, trying to erase away the distance between us. Trying to forget the last few nights with Sally. To forget what might have been. To embrace what is.
“I want it to be over, okay?” She rises up to kiss me softly. And I let her.
But in that moment before I will myself into being the good boyfriend again, I come to a painful realization: The hardest part of the break wasn’t being away from Erika. The hardest part was the feeling that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make our relationship right.
Middle School
24. JADE
WHEN WE GOT INSIDE, I went to the kitchen and made us both a snack. It might seem like I was waiting to “talk” out of sensitivity for her feelings or something. But truthfully, I waited because I didn’t know how to begin. So I made us two bologna and cheese sandwiches, covering each slice of bread with a thick layer of mayonnaise, adding in a spoonful of mustard for Jade, because she liked it that way.
We ate quietly, sandwiches on paper towels, hands colliding as we pulled chips from a bag of Doritos. At one point Jade asked, “Have you ever had a mayo and Doritos sandwich?”
I coughed a bit, the idea catching me off guard. “That sounds disgusting.”
“No,” Jade said, eyes wide. “It’s delicious, especially on white, especially with extra mayo.”
“Why would you do that?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Sometimes you run out of meat.”
“Then why not just put cheese?”
She shrugged again. “Sometimes you want more than cheese.”
After we ate, we went to my bedroom. The house was still quiet. Pop and Mom were at work. The boys, at school. Jade stared out the window at her house, her foot tapping nervously against the floor.
I took a few deep breaths while I ran through my opening lines. Finally, I asked, “Did something happen last night?” The question felt big. And we left it there, between us, for a while. Jade sighed and sat on the bed. I sat too.
Finally, she nodded.
And I felt my heart catch against my ribs. I wanted to change the subject, to reach for the TV remote and flip the channels until I found something distracting to watch. But then I heard Sally’s voice in my ear, You have to look harder. So I asked, “What happened?”
Jade started to shake, her eyes mournful. She took little gasps of breath and closed her eyes.
“Jade?”
Eyes still closed, she said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But you can tell me.”
“But I don’t want to talk about it,” she repeated, and only when I said, “Okay,” did she open her eyes. The shaking stopped.
“Jade?”
“What?” she snapped, moving to the window.
“If you don’t want to be here, why don’t you go home?”
Because if everything were fine, she could go home. She could sit at her desk and do her homework, instead of standing at my window, watching her house from a safe distance.
She took several deep breaths. “I didn’t hear the noise last night. I have these headphones that are pretty good, and so I put them on and blast some music and I . . . um . . . I put my covers over my head, and I just . . . I disappear.”
“Why do you need to disappear?”
“No reason,” she said quietly.
“Are you okay?”
She shook her head. A second later she said, “Your dad’s home.”
I glanced outside. He was coming up the walkway, his stride brisk. He opened the front door, calling my name before heading straight to the fridge to grab a snack.
“Hey, kid,” Pop said when I entered the kitchen. He was in his work uniform, a navy shirt with matching pants. His name was sewn on the shirt, above the left pocket, the stitching redone every year by my mother.
He moved to the sink to wash his hands, scrubbing the skin beneath his nails with a stiff brush. “I was thinking ropa vieja for dinner. I’ve been marinating the beef since last night, and . . .” He turned off the water, drying his hands on a towel before holding up a fancy bottle of olives. “Don’t tell your mom, but I splurged at Grendel’s. It’s worth the extra dollar, I think. Lito’s coming by tonight, bringing Josefina.” Pop laughed. “Wasn’t last week Yesenia? Your Lito is a baller, I guess.”
“I guess.”
“You okay?” Pop turned to look at me. “Have another rough day at school?”
“Just didn’t sleep well.”
“You heard that too?”
I nodded. “Jade’s here.”
“Ah . . .”
“Is it okay if she stays for dinner?”
“She could stay forever as far as I’m concerned.” Pop studied my face. “You sure everything’s okay?”
I managed to push out a “Yep.”
“Okay, well . . .” He handed me two apples. “Brain food for planning.”
When I returned, I found Jade standing at the window again. I put the apples on my dresser and moved beside her. “He’s gone,” she said, nodding to her empty front yard.
“Jade, we could tell my pop. He’d fix it.”
She stared at the wall, her eyes barely moving. “It can’t be fixed.”
“Maybe it could.”
She shook her head.
“We should try. Okay?” I pushed.
Her eyes slid to the ground. “After . . .”
“After what? Dinner?”
“After the dance. We’ll tell then.” She looked at me pleadingly. “He’ll be gone for a week. He explodes, and then he’s gone. That’s his pattern. And I just want this last thing. I want this last moment. I don’t know what will happen after that. Because . . .”
Because sometimes kids got taken away.
Because there was still time to hold on to the now before things irreversibly changed.
I got that. I felt that way about the time I had left with Sally.
And Jade was right—there had been a pattern, and patterns were everything.
“Okay?” she said.
“Okay,” I agreed. “But the very next day.”
She nodded.
On the night of the dance, Jade wore a strapless purple dress. My mom had made the dress seven months earlier, when Jade had served as one of the damas in the corte de honor for her cousin’s quinceañera—kinda like a dressed-up sidekick at another person’s killer party. I wore a suit that my mom borrowed from a neighbor who had a son a year older than me. This was the same suit he’d worn to last year’s dance, only Mom hooked it up with a mustard bow tie and a royal-blue vest made from fabric that she had lying around.
“You look different,” Jade said when she came over to take pictures at Mom’s insistence. “Taller. Have you grown?”
I shrugged, like it wasn’t the miracle that it was, but in the last month I had been growing slowly. This week alone I had sprouted an extra quarter of inch, meaning that now I had to tilt my chin downward to see eye to eye with Jade.
“Wow, Sammy,” said Jade when Pop walked through the door, dressed to the nines in a black suit and cap. He had gone all out and borrowed a black Cadillac for our trip. “Legit or what?” he asked, doing a Diego-like twirl.
“Super legit, Pop!”
“Very handsome,” said Mom, coming up from behind to wrap her arms around his waist.
“Can we come?” begged Lil’ Jay. He marched around the kitchen table like a robot. Domingo followed, arms outstretched like Frankenstein. I wondered what TV show they had been watching.
“Yeah, we can wear our suits and ties,” said Domingo.
“No, Pop. No,” I said.
“Tell you what?” Pop said to the twins. “I’ll drop off big bro, and then I’ll take you guys out for ice cream. You can ride in the back and pretend I’m your driver!”
“That sounds like a perfect compromise,” said Mom.
“With waffle cones?” Domingo said, holding out.
“Yep.” Pop leaned down to give him a noogie.
“Then okay,” agreed Lil’ Jay, and off they went, to march in the backyard.
“Okay, let’s take some pictures,” Pop said.
“Wait. Let me fix Jade’s dress,” Mom said, and fussed with her waistline. “What’s that?” Mom asked, touching a spot on her shoulder that was darker than Jade’s brown skin.
“Cheerleading bruise,” Jade said, quickly.
The Universal Laws of Marco Page 20
