Falling Out of Place

by M. G. Higgins

  He gives me a beaming smile. “Hey, Talks-a-lot. I wasn’t sure you’d be back. Thought maybe we scared you Saturday night.”

  I shrug. “I can handle a party.”

  “That’s what I told Jo. She was worried. Especially letting you ride home with Lance. He was pretty loaded.”

  He was? I don’t remember.

  “Well, since you survived, I need to tell you Kevin is interested.”

  Kevin? Oh right. Mr. Happy Hands. I shake my head. “No. I don’t think so.”

  Evan nods, like it’s the right answer. “Good. He’s a jerk. And a lousy kisser. That’s what I hear, anyway.” The flirty smile Evan gives me could register on that earthquake scale.

  Uh. Wow. I can’t take my eyes off his mouth.

  Glancing around the warehouse, he reaches into his pocket. Pulls out a small, flat container. Unscrews the lid and takes a sip. “Want a swig? Helps the time pass.”

  He’s drinking at work? I hesitate a second. Then take the bottle and sip. It burns my throat. I cough and laugh as I hand it back to him. “That’s strong.”

  “Vodka. No odor.” Then he says, “Can you help stock soup in the store? Aisle twelve?”

  “Sure.”

  I don’t see much of Evan or Jo for the rest of my shift. It’s pretty much the same routine Tuesday. I walk to school. Do school. Take the bus to work. Do work. Get a nice buzz off Evan’s vodka. Ride home with Mom. Do home stuff. Go to bed. Sleep. Worry about Uncle Mike. But since he hasn’t called, I figure he’s okay.

  Wednesday’s the same thing up to the doing-home-stuff part. I’m sitting in my room. After I worry about Uncle Mike, I try not to think about basketball. Tonight the Crusaders are playing the Solano Academy Chiefs. I memorized the game schedule at the beginning of the season. I can’t suddenly unmemorize it. I always love playing the Chiefs. Our schools are big rivals, especially in basketball. We get really hyped up. I can picture Coach Matthews’s red face as she gives us a last-minute pep talk. Me, bouncing on my toes, my nerves all jittery. Randi laughing, telling me to calm down.

  All that adrenalin. The yelling. Screaming. It’s crazy. Acting out without getting into trouble. When you’ve got six arms all slapping at you. Not wanting you to make that basket. And that feeling when the ball obeys you anyway. Swooshes through the net. It’s … amazing. Such a rush.

  I’m good at basketball. I am good at it. Like I’ve never been good at anything. I miss it so much. And I can’t believe I’m not playing tonight.

  When I sneak out of the house, I’m not sure what’s going through my head. I mean, I know I can’t play. I think I just want to be there.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Istand in the locker room, just outside the gym. Listen to players yelling. Shouts from the crowd. The echoey boing-boing-boing of the ball dribbling down the wooden floor.

  Coach Matthews cries, “Shoot, Johnson!”

  A groan from the fans. Shawnie Johnson must have missed her shot. Or lost the ball. It’s sounds like there’s a pretty big crowd tonight. That’s cool. Crowds always help us play better.

  I want to be inside. But I’ll feel lame if anyone sees me. Like I don’t have a life. Like I wish I was playing. I do wish I was playing. I just don’t want them to think I do. Like I’m desperate.

  Slipping through the door, I hide next to the bleachers. I’m on the Crusader’s side of the court. No one from our bench can see me. The guys on the court can, but they’ve got other stuff to watch. Randi’s under the basket. She grabs a rebound. Lays it up, but the ball hits the rim. A Chief grabs the ball, takes it down the court. They score. Crap.

  I glance at the scoreboard. The Crusaders are down 35 to 42. They’re in the second half. Not so good.

  “C’mon, guys,” I say under my breath.

  Alicia passes to Tiana. She passes to Celeste. Celeste tosses from the three-point line. It hangs in the air, hits the rim, and goes through.

  “Yes!” I punch my fist.

  Every play, every block, every run down the court, my muscles twitch. I’m out there with my team, dribbling, making those shots. The Crusaders fight back. Tie the score. Randi is under the basket again. She misses a layup. Grabs the ball.

  “C’mon, Randi!” I scream.

  Her rebound goes in this time. Nice. She looks over. Sees me. I can’t read her expression. Surprise, maybe? She panting, sweating. Runs back down the court.

  It’s a tight game. A great game. Two minutes left. I should slip out. Randi saw me, but no one else has. It would be like I was never here. But I can’t leave. A good player doesn’t desert her team.

  The score shifts back and forth. Ten seconds. Five seconds. The crowd gets on their feet. Coach Matthews is screaming. Bench players are standing, screaming. Tiana gets the ball. She shoots. The buzzer blares. The ball rises, arcs, sinks.

  Score!

  The Crusaders win by a point. I’m crying. I can’t help it. I sprint through the locker room. I run outside, still crying. At first it’s a happy cry. I’m happy we won. I’m surprised how happy I am. But as I run home, the cry turns into something else. More like a wail. Like someone is reaching into my chest and ripping out my heart.

  Instead of climbing quietly through my bedroom window, I barge through the front door. The TV is on. Marta and Rosie look up from the couch. Their eyes are wide. I must look crazy. I’m panting, sweating, still crying.

  My parents are standing in the kitchen, talking. Arms crossed. Serious expressions. They look at me when I walk in. Mom’s jaw drops a little.

  I don’t slow down. I walk right up to Dad. Pull my hand back. Slap him. It’s a hard slap. My fingers sting. I reach back to hit him again but he grabs my wrist. Holds tight.

  I’m glaring at him. He glares back, his face red. He’s hurting my wrist, but I don’t want to show it. I roll my hand into a fist.

  “Gabriella,” Mom gasps.

  I could just as easily have hit her. But she wasn’t the one who said, y no mas baloncesto a week ago. This was his idea.

  “Cabrón!” I hiss into Dad’s face. Bastard.

  He slaps my cheek with his free hand. My head reels. The blow forces my eyes away for a second. Then I’m snapping my head back, glaring at him.

  He’s breathing hard. Studying my face like he’s trying to figure out what just walked into his kitchen and attacked him.

  “Basketball was everything to me,” I explain. “And you took it away.”

  He closes his eyes. Shakes his head in disgust, like, Friggin’ basketball again? He lets go of my wrist. Yells, “When will you learn to take responsibility, Gabriella! You sneak out of the house. Refuse to study. Break up with Antonio.” He shakes his head again. He is so, so disappointed in me.

  “Don’t even talk about Tony. Who I date is my business.”

  He points. “Go to your room!”

  He doesn’t get it. He just. Does not. Get it. I’m not a real person to him. I’m a broken person. A broken Herrera. Like the nurses dropped me on my head when I was born. I take a deep breath, my anger spent. I turn and walk away.

  Halfway through the living room, Dad calls, “You’re not allowed to talk to your uncle.”

  I twist around. “What?”

  “You are not to call or see Uncle Mike.”

  “Why? Is this my punishment for hitting you?”

  Dad doesn’t answer. His mouth is twisted, grim. There’s something else going on. Dad’s eyes are steady, but Mom’s are downcast. Sad. And it hits me. They were doing some serious talking when I walked in. Did Uncle Mike come out to Grandma? And now Dad is, what … shunning him?

  I think so. I think Dad means no one in our family is allowed to talk to Uncle Mike. Not just me.

  Dad doesn’t know I know. I could get into with him. Ask him a bunch of questions. Make him scramble for answers. Since no answer he comes up with will ever make sense. But I’m done with my father. Just … done. I walk to my room and close the door. I need to talk to Uncle Mike.

&
nbsp; CHAPTER

  14

  Rosie is twelve. She’s also a parental suck-up. After watching me and Celia, she’s figured out how to work the system. Act like an angel, then do what you want behind their backs. Six months before she turned twelve, she started doing extra chores around the house. Finished all her homework. Got As and Bs. Never talked back. Two months before her birthday she started asking for a cell phone. No way that was going to happen. Mom and Dad had this rule about no cell phones until quinceañera.

  The little suck-up got her way. They gave her a phone for being such a good girl. But Rosie is not the mini Celia they think she is. I’ve smelled dope on her clothes. I’ve seen her hanging out with boys at the mall, hands all over each other. It pisses me off that she gets away with crap. But in a way I don’t care. I’ve got my life. She’s got hers. We all have our methods for getting by.

  Tonight, I’m glad Rosie is a suck-up. I need to borrow her phone.

  She and Marta are still watching TV in the living room. I slip into their bedroom. Search Rosie’s backpack. Not there. Look around. It’s on her desk. I carry it back to my bedroom. She doesn’t have Uncle Mike’s cell number coded in like I do. It takes me a few seconds to remember it. He answers after one ring.

  “Rosie?” he asks.

  “No, Uncle Mike. It’s Gabby. Did you tell Grandma?”

  He sighs. “Yeah.” He doesn’t say anything else.

  “So, what happened?”

  More silence. Then, “It’s not good. She’s kicking me out of the house.”

  “You’re kidding me! Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can you move in with Alex?”

  “No. I confronted him about naming me in the article. He said he did it on purpose. To force me to come out. I broke up with him.”

  “Oh crap.” Then I quietly say, “Dad knows. He says I can’t talk to you.”

  “Yeah. Looks like the whole family has pretty much disowned me. I’m a walking sin.”

  I feel sick to my stomach. This is partly my fault. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you to do it.”

  “Hey, you didn’t know this would happen. It was my decision anyway.”

  I grip the phone. Maybe I didn’t know it would happen. But I knew it could. “So, where will you go?”

  “I’m thinking the army.”

  “Seriously? But you’re almost done with your nursing program.”

  “It’ll be hard to finish college figuring out a place to live.”

  We’re both quiet a few seconds. Then he says, “Look, you’d better hang up. You don’t want to get in trouble with your dad.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You should care, Gabby. You don’t want to end up on the street.”

  “I’m going to come and see you,” I say.

  “Don’t risk it. I’m like kryptonite.”

  “Not to me.”

  After a moment of silence, he says, “Thanks, Gabs. I love you. Bye.” He ends the call.

  I’m standing in the middle of my room, holding Rosie’s phone, feeling like the floor is falling away. Then I notice the absence of sound. No TV. Water starts running in the bathroom. I need to return Rosie’s phone. I sneak back to my sisters’ bedroom. Rosie is sitting on her bed, alone.

  I hand her the phone and whisper, “You tell Dad I used this and you’re dead.”

  I can see her brain working. She just saw me slap Dad. She knows I’m serious. She nods quickly and takes the phone. She looks up. “So Uncle Mike is gay? I heard Dad and Mom talking.”

  “Yeah, he is. Do you even know what that means?”

  “Of course. I’m not a dummy.” Then she says, “I’m sorry about what’s happening. I don’t believe all that stuff they say in church. I don’t think gay people are bad. You can use my phone if you want to call him again.”

  I hesitate. “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry about basketball too. I know you really liked it.”

  I can tell Rosie means what she says. I also know she’s counting on me not to rat her out the next time I see her with a boy or smoking dope. She doesn’t have to worry. I won’t. I nod and go back to my room.

  I don’t sleep very well that night. Mom and Dad open my door at all hours to make sure I haven’t snuck out. My dreams are a mess. At one point I’m at the gym watching Uncle Mike make a basket. Then I borrow Dad’s phone to tell Randi. Suddenly, Tony is using Dad’s cell to text me. He drops it next to the swings. Evan drives over it with the forklift. I hear the phone crunch and snap apart. The crunching sound wakes me. I sit up, look around. But it was just a dream.

  All day, I try to figure out a way to get to Uncle Mike’s. I could take the bus after school. But I’m feeling weirdly attached to my job and don’t want to lose it. I think of asking Mom to drive us to Abuelita’s before we go home. But there’s no way she’ll go for that, not with Dad so pissy about me seeing his brother.

  The best I can do is borrow Rosie’s phone again and call Uncle Mike. Which I do after dinner. He doesn’t pick up. I call for the next few hours, each time leaving the same message: “Hey. It’s Gabby. Call me.”

  I even text him, although he’s old school and doesn’t text much. I hide the phone under my pillow, on vibrate so it doesn’t wake anyone. When he doesn’t call, I tell myself he’s busy finding a new place to live. Or he’s at the army recruiter’s office. But I’m worried that he hasn’t called.

  The next day, Friday, I go through the same routine. I borrow Rosie’s phone and call Uncle Mike after dinner. This time, he picks up right away.

  “Gabby?” he asks.

  “Yes!” I let out a breath. “Are you okay?”

  “Um, yeah. I feel pretty good, actually.” His voice is light. I don’t think he’s faking it. He sounds happier than I’ve heard him in a long time. A really long time.

  “Wow. That’s great.”

  “Yeah. Things are kind of falling into place.” Then he says, “Hey, I’m sorting through some stuff in my bedroom. I’ve got a cardboard box with your name on it. Just a few things I can’t take with me. I want you to have them.”

  “Um … okay—”

  “Listen, I have to run, Gabby. Lots to do. Take care of yourself, okay? I love you. I love you a lot.”

  “I love you too, but—”

  He’s already hung up.

  CHAPTER

  15

  Friday night I sleep like crap again. I’m feeling a little better about Uncle Mike. I mean, I’m glad he has someplace to go. Is the army taking him already? He seems happy about it. But I still find myself tossing and turning, thinking about him. Why didn’t he give me his new address? I’d like to go see him.

  Mom and Dad keep checking my room during the night again. I think they’re on a pee schedule. Every time one of them goes to the bathroom, they open my door. I hate feeling like a prisoner.

  Saturday snowballs with lateness. I wake up late. Miss the bus. Have to wait twenty minutes for the next one. I’m not even sure why I’m running across the parking lot. It won’t make the time clock move back to eight.

  Thinking I’m the last person here, I kick the brick out of the doorway. Slide my timecard into the clock—ka-chunk—just as the door slams shut.

  “Uh-oh,” says a deep voice. “Slippery slope.”

  I look over. Evan is leaning against the wall, eyes closed. Holding a McDonald’s coffee.

  I slip my card back in its slot. “What?”

  “One late morning leads to two. Pretty soon, you’re late more often than you’re on time. Before you know it, you’re a late-a-holic.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “It’s true. Ask Jo.”

  I look around. “Where is she?”

  “Late.”

  He stretches his arms out and crumples his coffee cup. I don’t know how he makes something that ordinary look so graceful. He’s like the lions I’ve seen on videos, stretching before they chase dinner. Or don’t chase dinner. If I r
emember right, female lions do all the work.

  There’s a pounding and a muffled, “Hey, open the damn door!”

  I open the door. Jo bounds in. Fumbles with her card. Slams it in the clock. “Sh—”

  “See? Late addict.” Evan raises an eyebrow at me.

  Jo frowns. “Yeah, three hours of sleep will do that.”

  “Good party?” I ask. They invited me. If it wasn’t for my prison-guard parents and worrying about Uncle Mike, I would have gone.

  “Of course,” Jo says.

  “You should have come.” Evan gives me a leering, lopsided grin. “I missed you.”

  “Right.”

  “I did. Tell her, Jo. Wasn’t I crying all night?”

  “Yep,” says Jo. “His tears watered everyone’s beers. It was horrible.”

  He steps over and stands inches from me. “You’re coming tonight, aren’t you?”

  I can feel the heat from his skin. Smell the coffee and tobacco on his breath. The crazy thing is, I want him to step closer. Smash our bodies together. Press our lips together.

  “Please tell me you’re coming tonight,” he says.

  “Hey. Guys,” Jo hisses.

  Evan steps back. So do I. Jake is marching toward us from his office.

  “It’s eight fifteen!” Jake yells. “Socialize on your own time.” He shoves a printout into Jo’s hand. Glares at Evan. Then he looks at me. I can tell he’s disappointed. It bothers me a little.

  Jo and I walk silently into the store. The morning is taken up with stocking nonalcoholic beverages. Big bottles and six-packs. Then bags of chips and boxes of crackers.

  “Must be a big game on TV today,” Jo says. “We’re not usually this short.”

  Unlike last Saturday, the morning drags. After working here a week and a half, I’ve pretty much gotten the hang of things. It was never all that exciting to begin with, but any sparkly newness had worn off.

  “I think I get why you’re late all the time,” I tell Jo as I push more Ritz boxes onto a shelf. “I can’t imagine doing this same job forever.”