The Colossus of Roads

by Christina Uss

  “Is this the huge solution you were talking about?” Mila asked, her face exceptionally scrunched.

  “Yep. That’s the Colossus of Roads solution I told you I needed to do. I filled out a work order so a crew put up my signs and all our SPEED LIMIT UNICORN–type signs, plus those two big ones at the top. And it’s working perfectly.” It struck Rick that this story was getting so much news coverage, Ms. Diamond was bound to see it. He wondered what she’d do when she saw the big grizzly where it wasn’t supposed to be. Rick was sure he’d made it easier for tons of Angelenos to “see art everywhere they look,” so maybe there was a small chance she’d be pleased—or at least willing to forgive.

  “You thought you could use our signs—and my sign—for Colossus-of-Roads-ing? What if you get me in trouble? Why didn’t you ask me first?” Mila’s voice rose. “My dragon sign wasn’t even done. It wasn’t ready to be hung up anywhere!”

  “I thought it looked fine,” Rick said. “Especially how those dragons were twisted up like they were fighting over the word Freeway. I think you should call it DRAGON MAYHEM FREEWAY.

  Rick didn’t know what to make of the expression on Mila’s face. No one would be able to tell the dragon picture wasn’t finished but her. Her mythical creatures were now mattering colossally to thousands of people an hour. She probably needed a minute to process all this.

  Mila shook her head. “You think I should call it what? What is that?” The news was back on, showing the grizzly bear with the unicorn head.

  “I improved that one myself. I think his new name should be Chompy McUnicornface.”

  Mila stared at him. Her expression definitely didn’t communicate anything like Wow-Rick-look-what-you-

  accomplished.

  “Don’t you like it?” Rick asked. “Tomorrow, it’s going to save my parents’ business.”

  Mila opened and shut her mouth without saying anything.

  “You’re not going to sister-punch me again, are you?” he asked, half joking.

  She raised her hand and he flinched. Then she said, “For your information, it’s not called DRAGON MAYHEM FREEWAY, it’s called DANCE OF FLAME, and it’s got my name on the back, not yours!”

  She waited for him to say something.

  “It’s the traffic-puzzle solution of the century, and you’re a part of it. I never meant to make you mad,” Rick said.

  She narrowed her eyes. Apparently that wasn’t what she’d been waiting for him to say. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be around you right now. Abuelita? Want to go for a drive?”

  She stomped out of the room.

  Rick stared after her until the television caught his attention with another shot of her dragon sign.

  How could such a good idea make Mila so angry? his stomach said.

  “I was sure everyone would understand it once they saw it in real life,” Rick murmured. He eventually turned the news off and sat at the kitchen table to attempt his homework as Baby Daniela sang her No song to him.

  Mrs. Herrera put a plate of quesadillas next to Rick’s notebook. “I couldn’t help but overhear some raised voices earlier. Did you and Mila have a fight?” she asked.

  Rick wrinkled his nose. “Not a fight, exactly. I upset Mila, even though I didn’t mean to.”

  Mrs. Herrera said, “I knew something was up. She hasn’t stomped out of the house like that since dealing with that group of girls who pretended to be her friends last year.”

  “Why would anyone do that?” Rick asked.

  “Wish I knew,” said Mrs. Herrera. “But she always wanted to do favors for those girls—invite them over, draw them pictures. I never liked them. They bossed her around whenever they were here. They didn’t listen to Mila, talked over her. Then she found out they were handing in her drawings to the art teacher and saying they’d done them. It’s not easy for my girl to speak up when she has big feelings, but she found a way to do it and told those girls she didn’t want to see them anymore.”

  Rick could imagine how hard that must have been for Mila.

  Mrs. Herrera’s phone rang. She looked at the caller and sent it to voice mail. “It’s BLAM, the Bike-Loving Amazing Mamas. They want to discuss adding Papas to the name. But BLAMP? I don’t think so. Anyway, we’ve been so happy since you started coming over. You’re a better friend than those girls ever were. The two of you get along so well without even trying. I’m sure Mila will come around.”

  Dr. Herrera came in through the front door and greeted them both. “Who’s ready for Brazil versus England?”

  “Me!” said Mrs. Herrera.

  As the two adults got set up to watch their soccer game, Rick told Baby Daniela, “Tomorrow is supposed to be my last day here. I think I fixed things so I can keep coming after school, but now…will Mila not want me here?”

  Baby Daniela sang, “Meeee-laaaa.”

  “That’s right, Meeee-laaaa. Tell Mila Rick is sorry. Saww-reee. Do you think that will help?”

  Daniela looked him square in the eye and scrunched up her face just like Mila did. “No,” she finally declared.

  Rick sighed and picked up a cheesy triangle of quesadilla. “I’ll try to think of something.”

  Mila still hadn’t come back with Abuelita before Dad arrived to pick him up. At least telling Mom and Dad about his Snarl Solution was bound to go well.

  “Dad, did you hear more on the news about Sepulveda Pass today?”

  Dad nodded and waggled his head in disbelief. “It sounds like something out of a fantasy novel. I can’t wait to see it with my own eyes tomorrow. Why didn’t the city tell anyone this art installation was coming?” he said, unlocking the door and heading to the sink to fill a glass of water. Mom was sitting at the kitchen table.

  It was time to tell them. Rick took a deep breath and said, “I’m the one who put up those signs.”

  “What’s that?” Dad asked over the sound of the faucet. “You wish you’d put up those signs?”

  Mom seemed lost in her own thoughts and didn’t respond.

  Rick spoke louder until Dad came back into the dining area. “No, I did. Well, not me exactly. Those are some of the signs Mila and I were painting as part of Ms. Diamond’s project. I, er, suggested that a work crew put them there, and great things happened.”

  “This is something from Anna Diamond’s project?” Dad said. “Now I really can’t wait to see it. Do you think we could pull something up on the internet?”

  “I’m sure I can,” Rick said. “Want to see it, too, Mom?”

  “Mm?” she said, semi-roused from the Planet of Worries. Dad helped her to her feet and they followed Rick up the stairs to his room.

  He loaded one of the live news streaming sites. His parents stood behind him while he proudly played them a news segment from earlier in the day.

  Dad oohed and aahed. “Didn’t I tell you Anna Diamond is a street art legend? Those signs are amazing.”

  Mom stayed quiet. Rick wasn’t sure she was even looking at the screen.

  “No, Dad. The Scouts and I painted those signs,” Rick said, even though the news report hadn’t shown any of his signs. “Mila did the dragon one, and part of the unicorn-faced bear, and the other mythical creatures. I mostly touched up the letters and numbers so they’re easy to read.”

  Dad said, “How nice that you and the Girl Scouts got to be a part of something historic like this. He addressed Mom. “Sweetie, did you hear that Rick and the Girl Scouts were part of this?” He pointed to the screen as a tight shot of the galloping SPEED LIMIT UNICORN sign appeared.

  Mom came back from wherever she was. “Awwww. Look at that cute thing.”

  No, not “Awwww!” Rick thought. Why not “Holy shamolee!” Or “Wowee-zowee!” Or “Rick, I can’t believe it, you saved our family business!”

  He said, “Well, the art’s fine and all, but the best part is how great the traffic is moving, don’t you think? That was because—”

  “Caraway seeds!” Mom said. “I knew I was forg
etting something for tomorrow!”

  She headed for the door. Dad took a step back so Mom could exit the room and bumped the orange ROAD WORK sign. It fell over with a thud.

  “I’m glad you feel like you made a unique contribution to this project, Roo,” Dad said as he righted the sign.

  “Rick, Dad. It’s Rick, not Roo! Ugh! Maybe you should help Mom.”

  Dad patted Rick’s shoulder hesitantly and left.

  A lukewarm “oh, you played a kid-sized part in a historic event” was not the celebratory acclaim he’d been looking for. Rick paused the news playback and scrolled through the comments section. Hundreds of users had posted comments like “Love this!” and “Best commute ever!” He told himself it didn’t matter that the commenters didn’t know who had done it or how, as long as it was done, and that they’d probably never understand that a happy Sepulveda Pass had been brought to them by Rick Rusek, the Colossus of Roads.

  His stomach chirped, What matters is that you didn’t give up. You used your talent to do something amazing, and Smotch is going to land a big contract tomorrow.

  “Right. Right?” Rick said. “As long as things go well tomorrow, it doesn’t matter that my parents don’t get what I’ve done, Mila’s mad, and I have no idea how I’ll explain it to Ms. Diamond if she ends up mad, too.”

  It sounded better when I said it, Rick’s stomach said. Just repeat after me: things will be fine after tomorrow.

  “Things will be fine after tomorrow,” Rick repeated.

  And they’ll be even more fine if you can come up with something nice to do for Mila. Maybe bring her a peace offering, like an apple fritter.

  How am I going to get an apple fritter? Rick asked. But a peace offering’s not a bad idea. Let’s come up with something else.

  SHE COULD YELL A LOT

  THE NEXT MORNING, Rick heard his folks moving around as sunrise filtered through his window. He crawled out of bed and padded into the kitchen, where Mom kept picking up her coffee mug-bowl to take a sip and then putting it down again.

  “I don’t need more caffeine,” she told herself. “I can only control the things I can control. I am a strong woman, and I don’t need more caffeine.”

  Dad said, “We’re heading out. Your mom worries less when she’s in motion. You’re okay doing breakfast on your own this morning, right, Rick?”

  Rick was happy to shoo them out the door. He wanted to absorb as many traffic reports as he could to assure himself that no devious cyclists or unhurried grandparents or any other traffic-mangling groups had ruined Sepulveda Pass overnight. He turned on the radio. After the first report of transcendentally smooth traffic over the Pass, he poured himself a big, celebratory bowl of cornflakes. One news segment had the mayor praising the signs as “one of the Seven Wonders of Los Angeles.”

  On the way to school, Rick yelled at a dog: “I did something amazing!” The dog was unimpressed. Then he tried striking up a conversation with a teacher as they both walked in through the school’s double doors. “So, have you heard about how good traffic was on the Four-Oh-Five this morning?”

  The teacher said, “The state of the freeways has nothing to do with me. I ride my bike to work. It’s the single sane environmental choice.” He began to lecture Rick about how many pounds of greenhouse gases he didn’t emit while riding. Rick nodded a few times and then hurried off to homeroom.

  Rick caught a glimpse of Mila headed down the fourth-grade hallway. The back of her head looked like it was still angry. He called her name, but she didn’t turn around. Rick didn’t know what he was going to say to her anyway.

  At lunch, Rick almost sat next to Liz and Q.E., but they were playing some kind of lively game involving rhythmically lifting and slamming cups on the tabletop with some other girls.

  Then he spotted Tennis. Rick slid into the seat across from him with a big smile. “How’s it going?”

  Tennis made a cutting gesture across his own neck. Two boys walking by the table said, “Tennis, this your new friend, Racket?” They guffawed and kept walking.

  Tennis sighed when they were out of earshot. “Sorry about that. Those two are part of the group who make sure no nickname can ever truly die.”

  “Racket’s not so bad as far as names go,” Rick said. “I mean, Rick Racket. I could be a rock star or something.”

  Tennis sighed again. “You have a good attitude. I know I shouldn’t care so much, but I can’t help it. I hate when people call me things I don’t want to be called.”

  “I know, believe me. What is your name, anyway? I don’t want to call you anything you don’t want to be called,” Rick said.

  Tennis said, “It’s Leon.”

  “Leon—this great thing happened and I really want to tell someone about it,” Rick said, unwrapping his ham and cheese sandwich.

  “I’m up for hearing about great things,” Leon said as he dug into his own lunch.

  Rick collected his thoughts, trying to edit his words before he said them. “Well, my parents run a business that hasn’t been doing well lately, but I had an idea on how to help them out. I, um, did my idea. And I think it worked. Like, really, really well.”

  Leon chewed, waiting to hear more.

  “So I’m happy about it,” Rick finished lamely.

  “That does sound like good news,” Leon said. The boy next to Leon asked him how many points he thought the Lakers would beat the Denver Nuggets by in the first preseason game. “At least thirty. They’ll dominate,” Leon answered him. “What do you think, Rick? Planning to watch the preseason opener?” He gave Rick a rueful mini shrug, like we gotta do what we gotta do to fit in.

  “I sure am,” Rick said. He tried to think of something else to say, switching gears from traffic celebration to basketball factoid retrieval, but his brain stuttered at the change of course.

  Say “free-throw average,” his stomach suggested. Or “LeBron James.”

  “You know, free-throw average. I mean, LeBron James. I mean, hope LeBron James has a high free-throw average,” Rick managed.

  Leon nodded. Rick didn’t try to share anything else about his triumph for the rest of the day at school.

  He rang the Herreras’ doorbell, and Abuelita opened the door and welcomed him in. Mila was sitting at the table. She flicked a glance at Rick and promptly stood and went upstairs.

  “That girl’s been in a dark mood since yesterday, Ricardo,” Abuelita said. “She won’t talk about it, and she said she doesn’t want to go to the art project today. Maybe you can help?”

  Rick said, “I’m probably not the best helper for this situation.”

  Abuelita overruled him. “No, you are. You’re going to help.” The phone rang and she held up a we’re-not-done-talking finger as she answered it. “Hola? Sí, he’s right here.” She said, “It’s your mother,” and handed Rick the phone.

  Rick took it. “Mom?”

  “They loved it, Rick. They loved it!” she gushed. “One of the executives was Polish-American, and he said I cooked as well as his babcia from the old country! They offered us the contract!” She sounded like she was jumping up and down. “Deliveries to Burbank three days a week, every week.”

  He heard Dad bellow in the background, “Easy Street, here we come!”

  “Yes!” Rick said. He jumped, too. “That’s great news! The drive was no problem?”

  “That drive! It was the opposite of a problem. It was some kind of gift. You have to tell me again which of those signs you painted. I wasn’t doing the greatest job of listening yesterday.”

  Dad continued yelling in the background, “We’re un-canceling everything, and we’re going to put in an indoor pool, and buy a helicopter, and order a lifetime supply of Kit-Kats…” Mom started to laugh. Dad grabbed the phone. “We’ll be home early to celebrate, so get ready for a no-holds-barred dance party. Oh, can you hand the phone to one of the Herreras? We’re going to un-cancel your afternoons over there, if that’s still what you want.”

  “It’s defi
nitely still what I want,” Rick said, glancing at the staircase toward Mila’s room. “If it’s doable. Here’s Abuelita.”

  He handed the phone to Abuelita, who was smiling quizzically at him. As soon as Dad started explaining, she said, “Hey, that’s good news! We were going to miss Ricardo. I’ll make sure to tell the family.” She hung up and looked at Rick. “Back to Mila first, though. When she gets wrapped up in a mood like this, we’ve got to surprise her a little. Make her unwrap a tiny bit and let in some light. Any ideas for good surprises?”

  Rick’s stomach suggested, Bring on the peace offering!

  Rick said, “Well…I have something I could go home and get.” He described it to Abuelita.

  She said, “Perfecto—she won’t see that coming. You go get it and I’ll bring my girl downstairs.”

  Rick made the trip home and back. Abuelita opened the Herreras’ door before he even had a chance to ring the bell. “Oh, look, it’s Ricardo again! And he’s got something—looks like a present. How about that? Now I’ve got important things to do in the living room.” She winked at him as she headed out the door.

  Mila sat at the table, tracing a circle on a piece of paper over and over and over. Her quiet was cactuslike, with invisible needles poking out in all directions.

  Rick carefully laid his gift down with both hands across two of the table’s placemats. “This is for you. It isn’t one of Ms. Diamond’s—I found it before we started going there.”

  Mila traced more circles in silence.

  Rick pushed his gift closer to her. “Mila, I’m sorry. I used your paintings to help my parents because as far as I could tell, they were the best ones. I thought you’d be happy your mythical creatures were out there for LA to see.” Her circles got bigger and darker. “But the main thing is, I’m sorry, and I’ll never do anything like that again, and in case I forgot to mention it, I’m sorry.”

  He saw Mila’s eyes flick to his gift. She looked back at her circles. Then her eyes were drawn back to his gift again. How could they not be? It was corrosion-resistant engineering-grade heavy-gauge prismatic aluminum that had once warned drivers there’d be ROAD WORK NEXT 5 MILES. He’d used strips of orange and black duct tape to cover up and change letters, so it now read ART WORK: BEST IS MILA. On the swatch of tape covering the S in Miles, he’d sketched a rather doggish unicorn with a marker. Mila’s pencil went still.