“That’s totally unfair. Didn’t Europeans bring over smallpox or whatever?” a guy by the door asked.
“Whatever. We’re talking about today,” the girl beside me said.
“Don’t whatever me,” Door Boy said.
All the voices started to blend in, and I couldn’t tell who was saying what. I just know that the next comment was from the kid in front of me. “I’m sorry, but this is just… wrong. You can’t deny people their human rights. They go through all that trouble to get here, and then what? We spray tear gas on them when they’re steps from the border? Or we’re just going to send them back?”
If I slouched any lower, I’d fall out of my seat.
Then Mr. Phelps did something I abhorred (vocab word). He called on me directly. “Miss Cruz, do you have anything you’d like to add?”
Oh crap. “No,” I said fast.
“You sure?” He was so aggy. I dug my nails into my thighs.
“Yup.” Now everyone was staring at me.
Mr. Phelps squatted beside my desk like he was my personal coach. Gahhh! “The class may seem hard now, but stick with it,” he said in a low voice. Then he stood up and clicked to the next screen, some pie chart with statistics. Humiliation complete. I flipped up my hood.
Hard? I was used to hard. Like two weeks’ worth of laundry in one day because Mom never left the couch anymore. Like standing over Christopher and Benjamin until they brushed their teeth and flossed. But explaining my perspective on immigration to a bunch of white kids in a richie-rich school? That wasn’t hard. Nah. That was just annoying.
11
Okay, to be totally honest, it wasn’t just annoying. And okay, maybe it was hard. But hard in the sense of, why did I have to talk? Be the one to make like, an official statement or something? God. I didn’t know everything. But—but, but, but—I did want to be there, in that room, part of that discussion. It’s just that, well, I wasn’t used to being the only brown person. At my old school I was in the majority. Besides Missie, the minority consisted of like one Irish kid named Casey, who everyone called Casper.
Was it like this for everyone in METCO? How would I even know? It wasn’t like the other METCO kids were exactly winning awards for going out of their way to be helpful. Well, except for Rayshawn. But he was always surrounded by other kids, or at basketball. And there was Genesis. She seemed to weave in and out of groups—METCO, theater club, Honor Society—like it was nothing. She fit in. I bet she didn’t get asked for her perspective. But she was always mad busy. Then again, she was my buddy.
Time to buddy up.
* * *
I asked Genesis to meet me in the library during study hall, and by “asked” I mean “begged” over text: PLEASE, GIRL. I found her at the round table by the window. She had just added a second blue streak to her hair and was taking selfies, messing with the filters on her phone, adding all sorts of graphics and whatnot. I stood there waiting for her to, well, acknowledge me. She didn’t. She was swiping away at her phone. Finally I couldn’t help it, and butt in, “Look, I need to ask you something.”
“Sure. What?” She sucked in her cheeks. Press.
“So how do you do it?”
“Do what?” Now she was pouting her lips, holding her phone at arm’s length. Press.
“Like, go back and forth? You, like, cruise around, acting like yourself, but also, at the same time, kinda white—and then what? You go home and eat arroz con gandules and plátanos fritos and call it a day?” There. I’d asked it. She was the first person I’d ever spoken to like this, could speak to like this.
Her eyes softened suddenly, went younger, despite the fact that she was wearing fake lashes.
And she put her phone down.
“Lili,” she started.
She nodded to me to sit.
“Listen, girl. And I mean, hear me. You have to get this right.” She tapped the table with a fingernail. “So… this school right here is like the world. What I mean is, you have to act a certain way. Or, more like, you have to carry yourself a certain way—in order to get what you want, and what you need.” She looked me head-on. “When I first got here, I was all ‘This place is whack. I’m going back to Boston.’ But even after a whole bunch of shit happened, I realized that I didn’t want to go back. What for? I had so many more opportunities here, and I’m not bullshitting you. I really did. You do too.”
She paused at last, but before I could even open my mouth to respond, she went right on. “What I’m saying, Liliana, is that you have to stick it out. It’s not perfect, and yeah, some kids and sometimes even some of the teachers say racist shit, but just take it all in stride or whatever. Get yours. Do you. They have this many AP classes at your old school?” She didn’t give me time to answer. “Don’t get it twisted. I love being Latina. I wouldn’t trade my identity or my situation for anyone else’s, and that’s facts, girl. Here, it’s actually an advantage to be different.”
“It is?” I wasn’t quite following.
“Yep. Think about it. There are like twenty METCO students and a thousand resident students. There are only like three other Black kids in the whole school who aren’t in METCO. And everyone thinks they are anyway. So, look. Work it. Raise your hand in class. Speak up. Do your assignments. Don’t give them an excuse to say that you’re just another lazy blah, blah, blah. You get up at what, five a.m?”
I nodded.
“How many non-METCO kids start their day that early? Lazy, my ass.”
I nodded again.
“And the other thing—you have to get involved. Join a club at least. Rayshawn said they mentioned a ton at the gym the other day. There has to be something you like. It really does look good on your college applications; they love that shit. And volunteer for something. Like, last spring I went to Guatemala to do Habitat for Humanity.”
My mouth literally fell open. “You’ve been to Guatemala?”
“Yeah. It was tight.”
I was speechless. Genesis had been there? And I hadn’t? And that’s where my dad was. I felt some kind of way. I really did.
“And I’m trying to go to Sweden this summer. Some program that Guidance told me about…,” she was saying, but I was stuck on Guatemala. You could do volunteer projects in Guatemala? What if I did something like that—but Genesis interrupted my thoughts by slapping her hand on the table.
“Oh shit. I think the deadline is coming up! Come to think of it, you wanna help me with the essay? You like writing, right?”
I nodded yet again.
“Thanks!” Then she gave me an I’m serious look. “Liliana, here’s what I’m saying. Make the system work for you. You won’t remember these fools twenty years from now when they’re calling you up trying to get internships for their kids at the TV station you’re working at, writing scripts and shit. You’ll be spinning around in your chair in your corner office, being all like, ‘Who are you?’ ”
We both laughed. Truth, I really appreciated her telling me all this. And, maybe because she’d been to Guatemala, I had the urge to tell her about Dad. But I knew I probably shouldn’t.
So instead I asked, “Hey, Genesis?”
“Yeah?”
“So, what do you tell your mom when you want to stay after school?”
She gave me a look. “That I need to stay after school.”
“Fine. Okay, but what about when people ask you, ‘Where are you from?’ I swear, like three people have asked me that since I started here.”
Now it was Genesis’s turn to nod. “No doubt. Say, ‘I’m from my mother.’ ”
I laughed. “Okay. What if they ask, ‘What are you?’ ”
“Then I say, ‘I’m Puerto Rican. What the fuck are you?’ ”
I laughed again.
“For real, though. Everyone is from somewhere,” she said.
“True.” Take Dustin, for instance. He was from Westburg. And I was from Boston. And yet, in school, it didn’t matter. When we hung out, I only wanted the time
to last longer. And so now a new thought was brewing. I’d need to join a club. Stat. Hmmmm. “Okay, listen. I’ll help you with your essay. But first, can you do me a favor?”
She was turning a photo of herself black-and-white, all artsy. “What do you need? I gotchu.”
“Do you think you could talk to my mother about after-school stuff, extracurricular stuff? She’s overprotective—like, mad extra.”
Genesis looked up and grinned. “Yeah. I can do that for you.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
A burst of giggling came from the stacks to the right. I looked over and saw Brianna, a.k.a. Dorito Girl, all close and personal with another student, a white girl. I nearly fell out of my chair. Brianna’s hand was on this girl’s waist, and the girl was stroking Brianna’s hair. “Yo,” I said. “Genesis?” She was taking another selfie.
“Yeah?”
I glanced back in a look-over-there way, but Brianna and the girl had vanished.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “It’s… nothing.”
“What?” Genesis pressed.
“I just thought… I saw a mouse.”
“WHAT!” Genesis yelped like her feet were on fire, her phone clattering onto the floor.
“Ladies!” the librarian hissed, giving us a very stern finger-to-lips, quiet-in-the-library gesture. End of conversation.
* * *
I met Dustin at my locker before lunch. This time I came prepared with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—officially eliminating the possibility of ham teeth. Nice, right? But trailing behind Dustin was Steve. Wait. Was he coming with us? As if reading my mind, Dustin tapped Steve on the shoulder and said, “See ya after lunch, dude.” I laughed. But Steve… not so much. He stiffened and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Ditching me for a girl again? K, loser.” He didn’t even look my way—just stalked off. Now he’d be the one alone at lunch instead of me. A part of me wanted to call out to him. What was the big deal if he joined us? Then I heard him mutter, “Someone’s got jungle fever.” Whaaa? But before I could say anything, Dustin took my hand and squeezed it once, pulling me toward the doors. And I let him. Lunch was officially becoming my favorite part of the day.
* * *
As I grabbed the mail after getting off the bus, I could hear music coming from Jade’s bedroom window. She was probably working on some art project. I could tell from the loud bass—always meant she was in the zone. I unlocked the apartment door. Shocker: Mom was on the couch, half-asleep.
“Mija,” she mumbled. “How was school? Don’t forget to take out the trash. And can you go pick up some dish soap? We’re out.” She yawned, pulled the blanket up to her chin, and closed her eyes again.
“Sure, Mom.” I held in a sigh. Dad would hate seeing Mom in this state.
“Oh, Liliana. Your friend called. Genesis.” Woo-hoo—Genesis had kept her promise!
“What did she say?” I asked, as if I didn’t know.
Mom yawned again. “You know what she said.”
Busted. A smile crept onto my face.
“Listen,” Mom said. “You can stay after school for activities, but only because it will help you get into college. ¿Entiendes?”
I nodded. “Thanks, Mom.” I kissed her on the cheek.
To this day, I have no clue what Genesis actually said to my mother, but it worked. It capital W Worked. And so I decided to sign up for art club with Mrs. Davila. Genesis had told me that Mrs. Davila let you work on your own individual projects, and because the club was voluntary, I could sign up and then not go, or go and do my homework, or whatever. Mrs. Davila was cool like that. Anyway, I could work on my cardboard buildings and hang out with Dustin, hello, before taking the late bus home!
Late bus = awesome. Now I just had to ask Dustin for his schedule.
Yeah, I was saying “awesome” a lot more since I’d started METCO. Whatever.
Genesis had also told me to keep up my grades because even with great extracurricular activities on my CV or whatever, I still had to have a good GPA. So I was going to double down on my homework. And you know what? I think Dad would have been proud. I mean, at that very moment he was trying to get back to us. I could sense it. Least I could do was make it worth it for him. Do my part. Get my education. And what was the big deal if I hung out with a boy named Dustin at the same time? Bonus!
I turned off the living room light, lowered the volume on the television (another reporter going on about the wall), and got the trash. I know it sounds obvious, but the trash stunk. Like, I had to hold my breath while carrying it to the bin outside. When I opened the lid, it was even worse. It reminded me of the time Dad carried home a whole pig from the market in Hyde Park. Like, the entire thing. He spent all morning making some dis-GUST-ing stew that made the entire apartment reek for like a week. My brothers and I were dying-laughing when Dad took the pig’s snout and tried to put it on his nose, then on Mom’s. I’d grabbed the disposable camera from the kitchen drawer and taken a picture. For real, it was one of the best pictures I have of him. Where was that photo, anyway? I dropped the lid on the bin, dashed back upstairs, and looked all over my room. Nada. Grrr. But I spied my purple notebook.
And all of a sudden I was writing. About the pig stew. Then about all the times we went to Castle Island in Southie, how we’d sit on a blanket and eat sandwiches Mom had packed. We were never allowed to eat out at Sully’s, even though the hamburgers and French fries smelled soooooo good. Too expensive, Dad said. But he did always let us get ice cream. In fact, that was his sure way to get us to leave him and Mom alone for a while. When we’d come back, Christopher and Benjamin all hyper and begging for more money so they could get a second ice cream, Dad would have his arm around Mom’s waist, and she’d look all girly like they were on a first date or something. It was kind of gross and kind of cool at the same time, you know, for your parents to be in love and all.
Page after page filled up as an explosion of Dad memories broke through. Like, when we showed up at a party without him, everyone would always ask, “¿Y tu papá?” Sometimes he’d arrive later, sometimes not at all. But when he did, he was that guy—the one who’d open bottles of Coronas by banging the bottle cap against the edge of a countertop, the one who held the rope for a piñata, the one who pulled Mom away from the other women and danced salsa with her on the lawn or the porch or in the driveway, wherever the party had space for a dance floor, and he’d twirl her and dip her and hold her close.
The more I wrote, the more I was smiling and the sadder I got, which, yeah, makes no sense. Plus I couldn’t get this image—this image of my dad trying to scale over this giant wall, and sliding down, and trying again—out of my mind. My dad, all by himself. Without us to help, trying to climb this wall. Stop! I switched to working on Yoli’s Pasteles y Panadería. I glued a picture of a three-tiered cake from a magazine onto the window, and boom, that building was done. Then I started on Lorenzo’s Liquor Store. In red marker I wrote ATM Lotto and Money Orders on teeny pieces of paper for the front window.
Mom called from the living room. “Liliana? The soap.”
Shoot. I’d totally spaced. “Sorry! I forgot.”
“It’s okay. I’ll get it. I need to pick up your brothers, anyway.” I heard Mom lock the apartment door.
A half hour later, she and the boys were back from the YMCA. At least Mom had done that one thing, pick up the boys. Well, actually, I think technically a parent had to pick up their kids, so that didn’t even count. No one felt like cooking, so we ate Cup O’Noodles for dinner. Again. At least I had the option of staying after school now, which meant spending less time at home. Where Dad wasn’t.
For five weeks now. Eight hundred and some odd hours. I wasn’t even going to do the math for the minutes.
* * *
A week later, I stood at the entrance to the cafeteria, scanning my options in dread. Dustin’s coach wanted the team to eat together in the gym now and go over drills or something. Steve was proba
bly happy about that. He threw total attitude when Dustin hung out with me instead of him—on Friday I overheard him say to Dustin, She’s got you whipped! but Dustin just fake-punched him in the arm and we went to the bleachers anyway. Sooooo, no more Dustin lunches; I took a deep breath and headed for the METCO table. Points for trying, right?
“Hey,” I said, remembering Genesis’s advice. “Is Rayshawn coming to lunch?” I avoided Dorito Girl’s eye.
A guy with a blue hoodie looked up. “Who wants to know?”
“Me.”
“Hey, don’t you hang with Genesis?” one girl snarked.
“I know Genesis,” another girl said. “Genesis Peña, a senior, right?”
“Yeah,” the first girl said.
Dorito Girl gave one of her eye rolls. “Pfffft. She’s a total gringa.”
“Whatever,” I mumbled.
Maybe that was why Genesis didn’t waste her time with them.
I reached for my phone. Was secretly hoping I had a text from Dustin. Jade. Even Mom! Just so I could do something with my hands. No luck.
I put my phone back in my pocket.
I was heading out of the cafeteria for my hallway loop, feeling like a total loser, thinking I’d maybe beg the secretaries to let me sit in there, when I spotted that girl Holly, the one with the gum on her sneaker from my first day. She was last in line for ice cream. I took a deep breath, grabbed an ice cream sandwich, and stood in line behind her. When it was her turn to pay, she said, “Oh, fuck. My money’s in my locker.” She stepped aside to double-check her pockets. This was my chance.
I quickly paid for my ice cream sandwich.
“You want half of mine?” I held it in the air.
Holly paused, as if I’d asked her a trick question. “Why? What’d you do to it?”
I laughed, perhaps a little too loud, a little too eager. “Nothing. I swear. It hasn’t even been opened. See?” I handed it to her.
“Thanks,” Holly said, opening it, then breaking half off. “It’s Liliana, right?”
Don't Ask Me Where I'm From Page 8