This Train Is Being Held

by Ismée Williams

  “Dad? Why are you calling from Mom’s cell?”

  “Isabelle.” His voice breaks.

  “Dad? What’s wrong?” My stomach tightens, like a giant fist is closing around my middle.

  “Can you meet us at the hospital?”

  I know the words he’s going to say before he says them.

  “It’s Merrit.”

  FRIDAY, JUNE 9

  ALEX

  The train rattles. My pen slips over the word I was writing. Conductors who tap the brakes are weak. They can’t make a decision. Stop? Or go? ¿Cuál es? And the result is passengers twitch like fish on the end of a line.

  I press my back against the seat, bracing myself with my legs. Unless the train gets held, I’ll be early to Sixty-Sixth for Isa. I tap the yellow page, impatient. I’ve had six games and seven practices since I last saw her. I’ve thrown three-hundred and twelve pitches. I’ve hit four home runs, seven triples, eight doubles, and five singles. I can’t touch another baseball or bat or glove until I see her. I post updates for her throughout the day. We talk or message every night. She’s been herself, all upbeat and smiles, asking about my games and practices, telling me rehearsals are going fine. Except last Friday she was supposed to come out to Citi Field to watch me pitch in the division championship finals. At the last minute she canceled. After the game, after I had been doused in Gatorade, I called to ask how she was. Isa was screaming about my win. She apologized again about missing the game, but never told me why she couldn’t come.

  The door at the far end of the subway opens. The sound of churning wheels and wind enters the car. I look up from my crossed-out and rewritten word. My concentration’s already broken.

  I shut the notebook and sit up tall. Blue-and-yellow high-tops walk toward me. A Yankee jersey hangs over ripped jeans. The red bandana that’s usually on his arm is in his fist. He’s lost his hat.

  Last time I saw Danny he was Pinchón’s shadow. They were hanging under a street lamp outside a bodega. I was coming back from a game. I crossed the street so I wouldn’t have to talk to them. Couldn’t have said what I wanted to anyway with Pinchón there.

  Danny looks over his shoulder. He hasn’t seen me yet. His high-tops move fast. I lift my chin when Danny turns. He looks behind him again. He sits next to me.

  “¿Qué lo que, montro?” His arm claps my back. He holds out his hand for me to bump. He’s tucked the bandana under his leg.

  The high-tops do a dance under him. Red soles hit the black floor. Red laces bounce.

  “¿Cómo tu ’ta?” I ask him. It’s been over a month since we talked. Since he helped me figure things out about Isa.

  Drops of sweat ring his face. Danny wipes his upper lip. “Wha? Yo, I’m fine. Hey—” Danny leans in, dropping his voice. “You got an extra cap with you? A jersey or anything?” He’s watching the door. His gaze skims to my bag.

  I unzip the backpack. I give him my cap. And my clean jersey for tomorrow.

  “Hey, can I hold that glove too?”

  I hand it over.

  Danny pulls my shirt over his. It’s big enough you can’t even tell he’s wearing two of them. Danny hasn’t been lifting enough. Bryan warned him that was going to happen.

  Danny jumps when the end door opens. A dude comes in. His El Presidente T-shirt’s torn. He’s wearing real pants. He’s older than us. By a lot.

  I open my notebook. I don’t meet his gaze. It looks too much like a cop’s.

  The guy who might be a detective walks by, slow and steady. I don’t look up until the door at the other end closes.

  Danny’s hunched over, pretending to sleep. The glove is tipped against his face. His mouth and nose are covered. He lifts the brim of the cap and peers out.

  “I owe you.” Danny taps my shoulder with the mitt. He takes off my hat. He blows out a breath and leans over his knees. He watches the door the guy went through. “Felicidades on last week’s win.”

  I nod my thanks. “You shoulda been there with us.”

  Danny doesn’t say anything for a bit. He stares at his joined hands. “Heard you may be switching schools next year?”

  I pretend that Pinchón knowing my business doesn’t bother me. Though, man, that news traveled fast. I only got Papi to agree to it five days ago. I haven’t even told Isa. I’ve been waiting to tell her in person. “Yeah. Haeres. Know it?”

  “Nah. But I looked it up. After Bryan told me.”

  Bryan and Danny were talking? I slide my notebook into the bag. I look at the door too.

  “He’s not happy with you,” Danny says.

  “Lo sé. He feels we all abandoning him.”

  Danny sighs. “Least you be moving up. That school ’ta bacana.” He touches a finger to his forehead. A straight, pink line runs down his arm. It’s thinner than the scar on his lip. Dots track along it, from stitches that just came out.

  Danny sees me looking. He moves the glove to cover it. He clears his throat. “How’d you get El Jefe to let you switch? He always said AHH was the best feeder for the draft.”

  “The coach at Haeres said they could do better. And they’re going to use Papi’s help for weekend practices.” I don’t tell him that the coach knew all Papi’s stats. And that he’d recited Papi’s best game, play by play.

  Danny nods. “Sounds like you got a smart coach.”

  The coach is smart. He came to a few of my games. He’s got a different approach than Papi and the AHH coach.

  “He goes by Big Red,” I tell Danny. “His real name is Tony O’Neil.”

  “Related to Peter O’Neil? The pitcher from Boston?”

  I grin. “It’s his brother.” Another reason Papi agreed.

  “Nice.” Danny bumps my hand. We haven’t talked like this for a while. But sitting next to him on the subway? It feels just like old times, heading into Brooklyn for a practice.

  Danny hands back my cap, almost like he knows what I was thinking. “Bryan’s saying now he might get a better chance in the draft, seeing as you might be heading to college.”

  I hook my hands behind my head. “Ain’t nothing been decided yet. Still waiting to hear if Haeres will take me for sure.” I don’t like to think of me and Bryan fighting each other for the same thing. We’re on the same team. Doesn’t matter what colors we wear.

  Danny’s leg is bouncing. A small corner of red from the bandana sticks out.

  “How about you?” I ask him. “Any chance you gonna play ball again? The jersey looks good on you.”

  That gets Danny to smile. He sits up. He punches the mitt. “I was never as good as you two. Not even close. Oyéme, I do not miss being yelled at by Coach. Or El Jefe.” He digs his fist into the leather. “You know what I do miss? Hanging on the field with you and Bryan. Just having fun. No scorekeeping.”

  I miss that too.

  “Oh, and Yaritza’s cooking.” Danny puts a hand on his stomach. “Her tacos son los mejores que nada.”

  “Yeah, I’m one lucky guy.” I face him. “Hey, why don’t you come by tomorrow? Papi’s going to warm me up before practice. Yaritza will make lunch. And you can see Isa. She asks about you.”

  He grins like he doesn’t care about his scar. “Isa’s gonna be in Brooklyn? ¡Guay!” Danny blows air past his lips. “Is Bryan going? You know he’s quillao about that too, right?”

  “Yeah, I know.” Whenever I see him in school, Bryan rides me, asking when he’s going to get to hang out with Isa. It’s just, we’re so busy. I hardly have time to see her.

  Danny chuckles. “La Princesa, ¿eh?”

  I don’t say anything. Bryan called her that the other day. Not to Isa’s face. But still. I came close to punching him.

  “You know Bryan’s just jealous, right? He’s always jealous of you,” Danny says.

  I look away. That’s no secret.

  “So, thing’s are going well? ¿Eh? With Isa?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” I tell Danny about how Yaritza’s friend who works at Barclays spoke to her boss who was able to
get these seats right next to the stage for tonight. They call them partial view, because you can also see part of the backstage area. When Isa realizes where we’re sitting, she’s going to climb onto one of the seats, wrap her legs around my waist, and kiss me until folks yell at us to calm down.

  “I’m looking forward to cheering her up,” I say. I tell Danny what I haven’t told anyone. “I think something’s going on with Isa’s brother.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “Her face changes when I ask about him. Her smile gets bigger. But it’s forced, you know? Kind of plasticky? And she never answers. She doesn’t say she doesn’t want to talk about him, but we never do. And another thing . . . She doesn’t like to talk about anything sad.”

  “But that’s good, right? Wouldn’t want a whiny girlfriend. Pinchón’s always complaining about girls who don’t stop complaining.”

  I look down at my notebook, safe in my bag. “I’d rather know what she’s feeling. Instead of feeling like she’s hiding from me.”

  “El Jefe must love her, if he’s letting her spend the night.”

  I smile instead of telling him that Isa’s only met Mami. I don’t tell him what Papi said when I first brought up Haeres. That the fancy school must have been her idea. That college must have been her idea too. How he asked if I’d met her parents, if I’d shared a meal with them. He patted my cheek when I said, “Not really,” and said I wouldn’t until I passed her rich-white-people tests and I showed her my college acceptance.

  It’s harder for some people to see past what’s on the outside. But that’s not Isa. I told Papi so. He laughed and said I was a fool.

  “Mami loves her,” is what I say now.

  The express doors open. We’re already at Seventy-Second.

  “Hey, lo siento pero I’m getting off at the next stop. I’m meeting Isa. You could come. She’d love to see you.”

  “Nah, it’s OK.” Danny gives back the glove. “Maybe I’ll come by tomorrow.” He takes off my jersey. He doesn’t look me in the face as he hands it over. I don’t think I’ll be seeing him tomorrow.

  I stand to get ready. “Hey, I never asked how you’re doing?”

  Danny smiles. But it’s stiff and plasticky. “I’m doing great.”

  The doors open. I have to get off.

  •••

  Isa doesn’t come to the Sixty-Sixth Street station. I wait a full half hour later than the time we agreed on. She doesn’t answer her phone. Or respond to my DMs.

  It’s getting hot down here. I have my big bag with me and I can’t bring it in the stadium. I leave Isa another message, telling her my plan. I get on the train. I run from the station to the house and back. I make it to the Barclays Center, sweat coming through all my clothes. The show starts at seven. But the main act probably won’t come on until nine.

  I text Isa again. And again. I wish I had Chrissy’s number. I’d call her too. Something must have happened. Isa wouldn’t leave me hanging like this. She knows how hard it was to get these tickets. I didn’t tell her I spent three weeks of my BI paycheck on them, but she must know they’re expensive. I flip through my old texts, all the way back to the end of December. Isa used my phone to contact her mom. I find the number. I press call. It goes to a voice mail that hasn’t been set up.

  By eight thirty the sun is almost gone. It’s cooler at least. The crowds are gone too. Almost everyone’s inside catching the opening act. I’m trying to stay calm. I’m telling myself nothing bad happened to Isa. I haven’t moved from the top of the steps, where she’ll see me. I take out my phone and try Isa again.

  “¿Ále?”

  I turn around. Kiara lifts and taps the heel of her sandal. She’s got a hand on her hip.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks.

  I show her my two tickets. My eyes feel full. I blink to clear them.

  Kiara looks me up and down. “Well you’re not here because you want to see Leo.” She takes off the small purse draped across one shoulder. “Me and that blondie must have the same taste in music, huh?” She smacks her gum. She looks me over again, slower this time. “Don’t know why I’m surprised. We have the same taste in men.” She steps closer. “And you don’t care you’re missing the first band?”

  “I don’t know who’s playing.”

  “Lena Adeyemi? Leo’s former classmate who became famous after she starred in his music video? Yeah, she’s cool. But I got stuck on a train. So that’s why I’m late.” She does a little bow.

  I look to the doors of the station.

  “Yeah, maybe she got stuck on my train too. What time were you and blondie supposed to meet?”

  I don’t want to tell her we were supposed to meet at five. “Seven.”

  Kiara’s gaze shifts to the large digital clock above the entrance. “Damn. She late. You sure she’s coming?”

  I look at the clock. Mostly so I don’t have to look at her anymore.

  “Was this a big night or something?” She blows a bubble with her gum and pops it. “Were you gonna bring her back to your place? Have her meet your papi and Yaritza?”

  I look away as another pink bubble forms.

  “For real?” Kiara taps her foot. “You think she stood you up because of that? Because she didn’t want to meet ’em?”

  I look at her quick. I mean it to be a warning. My coño eyes well up.

  I show her my back.

  “You called her, right? You left her messages?” Kiara’s voice is quieter. I nod. I don’t turn around.

  “So there’s nothing more you can do.” Her high heels click against the sidewalk. I smell her spicy perfume. Like rum and gingerbread. “Come on, let’s go in together.”

  I don’t say anything. What if Isa’s sick? What if something really bad happened?

  Kiara sighs. “Fine. But don’t stay out here by yourself all night. Because you know what? If she ghosted you, you shouldn’t let her ruin your night and waste the money you spent on those tickets. And if she didn’t? If she just can’t make it? She wouldn’t want you to miss the concert. She’d want you to at least go.”

  Kiara walks around me. I think she’s going to stop and give me that look of hers. But she keeps walking, up toward the propped glass doors of the main entrance.

  My phone buzzes. It’s Isa. My heart rams into my throat.

  So sorry. Can’t make it. Something came up.

  That’s it? That’s all she writes? No details? No explanation?

  I text back.

  Are you OK?

  I need to know. I can’t breathe not knowing.

  Yes. I’m fine. So sorry again.

  My heart jerks, like I’m still on that brake-tapping train. Like I’m the fish with a hook jammed through my mouth.

  Kiara’s on the top step when I call out to her to wait.

  SATURDAY, JUNE 10

  9:03 AM @ARos0133: Aren’t you going to ask me about the concert?

  9:26 AM @ARos0133: Hello?

  9:40 AM @ARos0133: You OK?

  10:08 AM @ARos0133: You’re making me worried.

  11:10 AM @ARos0133: Papi’s yelling at me. I’m not pitching right. Because I’m thinking about you. I’m UPSET. Please tell me what’s going on with you.

  11:24 AM @ARos0133: Isa?

  •••

  1:45 PM @BalletBelleIsa: Sorry. Didn’t have my phone. Sorry again about last night. How was the concert?

  1:46 PM @ARos0133: The concert sucked. Because you weren’t there. Because I spent the whole time imagining what could have happened to make you miss it. Are you gonna tell me???

  1:50 PM @ARos0133: Can you please pick up the phone?

  2:10PM @ARos0133: Why won’t you talk to me?

  2:23PM @ARos0133: Did I do something?

  2:27 PM @ARos0133: Are you angry with me?

  2:38 PM @ARos0133: Are you sure you’re OK?

  3:14 PM @ARos0133: You didn’t miss your period or anything, did you?

  3:15 PM @ARos0133: If you did, I’ll come find you ri
ght now. We’ll figure it out. Just tell me where you are.

  •••

  4:48 PM @BalletBelleIsa: Sorry. I’m not allowed to use my phone where I am. I’m fine. Really. (And just finished my period 2 days ago, so no worries there.) You don’t need to come.

  4:49 PM @ARos0133: Where are you?

  5:03 PM @ARos0133: You’re not at the Academy because I know you can use your phone there.

  5:10 PM @ARos0133: Seriously. Where the hell are you?

  5:35 PM @ARos0133: Please. Just tell me where you are. I’m dying here.

  6:14 PM @ARos0133: I’m staring at a plate of Yaritza’s tacos I can’t eat because I feel sick. You’re making me feel sick. Just tell me what’s going on. Please.

  •••

  9:06 PM @BalletBelleIsa: Sorry. Just got home. Please don’t be worried. Everything’s fine. I hate that I’m making you feel sick. It’s just there’s a lot going on right now with my family.

  9:08 PM @ARos0133: Is everyone OK? Would you please pick up the phone? Why don’t you answer when I call?

  9:15 PM @BalletBelleIsa: Sorry. My mom’s home. I can’t talk.

  9:16 PM @ARos0133: You mean you don’t want her to know you’re talking to me.

  9:19 PM @ARos0133: Why don’t you go into the bathroom like you usually do when we talk?

  9:21 PM @ARos0133: I didn’t mean what I wrote about you and your mom. Just please let me talk to you.

  9:46 PM @BalletBelleIsa: I’m sorry. I’m really tired.

  9:47 PM @ARos0133: I’m really tired too. Of you not telling me what’s really going on.

  9:48 PM @ARos0133: I didn’t mean that either. Just get some sleep. We can talk tomorrow. I love you.

  SUNDAY, JUNE 11

  1:43 AM @BalletBelleIsa: I love you too.

  1:58 AM @BalletBelleIsa: But I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should take a break? Things are just going really fast. And you have your travel ball coming up. And I’m starting full time at the Academy.

  1:59 AM @BalletBelleIsa: And I hate that I’m making you worry.

  •••

  6:49 AM @ARos0133: WHAT??? Are you serious? You can’t be serious.

  6:50 AM @ARos0133: Call me when you wake up so we can talk.

  8:32 AM @BalletBelleIsa: I’m heading out and I’m leaving my phone at home. Please don’t call. I just need some space right now. It’s nothing you did. It has nothing to do with you. It’s me. I need to slow down. I need a break. I’m sorry. I hope you can understand.