“And what do you like to do? What do you like?”
Jaime understood about sixty percent of what she asked and hoped he was answering correctly.
“I like arte.”
“Art?” Art, of course. He had to remember that some words in English were similar to Spanish, just without the last letter, like música/music. So would that mean the other subjects were historia/histori, ciencia/cienci, and matemática/matematic?
“Yes, I like art.” His hand inched to his bag. Should he show her his sketchbook? Or was she asking for something else?
“Do you like drawing, painting, sculpture, pottery?”
“Yes.”
A few kids snickered.
Meesus frowned, maybe thinking that he was just saying yes without understanding the question. Well, that was pretty much true. He didn’t know the specific words she used, but guessed she asked him about different kinds of art, and he did like all the ones he’d tried.
Instead of asking him another question he didn’t know, she pointed to the girl in front of Jaime. The girl turned to look at Jaime, introduced herself (Kaili?) and said something she liked that Jaime didn’t understand. After Kaili, the rest of the class continued with the introductions. With twenty-three kids in the class, it was hard to keep track of who was who, especially when some names were strange, like Wyatt and Autumn. Other kids mumbled and didn’t look at Jaime when they talked. Jaime didn’t know where the mumbled name stopped and what they liked started. But his ears pricked when Diego, who had a cool design shaved on the side of his black hair, said his name and said he liked Star Wars. With a name like Diego, he had to speak Spanish!
And then there was Carla, who sat one row over and two desks up, with long, black hair and copper-brown skin. She reminded him a bit of the Guatemalan natives. Jaime himself was part Mayan, but her cheekbones were much more defined than his. When she pushed up her purple-framed glasses and smiled at him, he almost caught his breath. “I know Spanish. Yo gusto gatos.”
He bit his lip to stop an unexpected chuckle. Her Spanish was so incorrect it was funny. He wanted to correct her but then remembered how he didn’t like it when people laughed at his English. The next girl started talking before he got a chance to tell Carla that he liked cats too.
Once everyone had introduced themselves, Meesus said something that made everyone groan. They put away their books and stood up to sharpen pencils. Jaime pulled one out of his new pencil case and waited to see what would happen.
Meesus handed out papers to each row to pass down. None were left when they got to Jaime. He raised his hand. Meesus looked from the extra copy in her hand to Jaime and then nodded and handed him the last one.
It was a test. And not just any test. A math test. He should have just kept his arm down and drawn more invisible desk insects with his finger.
He glanced at the numbers, expecting to be totally baffled. He didn’t understand what the instructions said, but the example showed converting mixed number fractions to decimals and percentages. Was that it? It seemed a bit rudimentary; he’d done this last year with Miguel and two of Abuela’s tortillas while trying to figure out six-fifths. Miguel, the engineer wannabe, had used his compass to determine that the tortillas were not perfectly round, not perfectly equal to one another, and therefore impossible to divide exactly into fractions or determine percentages. So he’d nibbled the edges to balance them out. What turned out to be impossible was nibbling two tortillas into perfect circles.
Jaime worked through the problems quickly, imagining Miguel in the quest for the perfectly round tortillas. When he got to the word problems, he stopped. He couldn’t do it. None of the words made sense, except “eight” and “six.” He knew those and figured they were part of the problem. Eight-sixths was consistent with the other problems. He reduced the fraction to four-thirds and didn’t have to do the math to know that was 133 percent or 1.33. He picked out the numbers in the others, made them into fractions and percentages, and finished.
He walked over to Meesus’s desk with the test in hand. She had a look as if she was about to say that she couldn’t help him during a test, but then replaced it with surprise when she saw he had finished.
“Three minutes,” she called to the class before grabbing her red pen. She ran down the problems and then turned the page to the next set. She frowned before returning to double-check the first page. Jaime held his breath. Maybe he remembered these wrong. After all, Miguel was the one who was good at math and Jaime’s brain had been on tortillas during the test.
Meesus finished going through the test and put a check mark and then a plus sign at the top of the page before handing it back to Jaime. He had no idea what that meant.
“Deez, good?” he hesitated, pointing to the mark.
Meesus shushed him, warned the others they had thirty seconds left, and then whispered, “The best.”
He walked back to his desk, his eyes fixed on the check plus as Meesus called time. Who would have ever thought he’d be good at math? If only he could tell his parents and Abuela. And Miguel.
• • •
At lunchtime, Jaime looked around the cafeteria for the freckled face boy from the bus, but he wasn’t anywhere. A rustle of candy wrappers and the strong smell of chocolate made him recognize Choco-chico from the bathroom—round face, round body, round legs, and a perpetual lingering scent of chocolate—but since they had never actually met and their only connection was the fact that they both liked to hide out in the bathroom, Jaime didn’t even wave.
Diego and two more boys from his class, Freddie and he forgot the other one, were playing with their Pokémon cards. Back home Jaime had two Pokémon cards that he had found on the ground, but he had never played the game. The few times his parents had money to spare, he preferred getting art supplies or comic books.
The boys said hi when Jaime sat down and then continued with their discussion. As far as Jaime could tell, they weren’t playing any game, but rather were admiring one another’s cards and bargaining to get the ones they wanted. When Diego noticed Boy Whose Name Jaime Couldn’t Remember had the card he wanted, Jaime saw his chance.
“I have that card at home, Diego. I can get my parents to send it if you want,” Jaime said in Spanish.
The boys looked up at him as if their bartering opportunities were now ruined. Diego’s cheeks reddened.
“I don’t speak Spanish!” he said as if that would be the worst thing imaginable.
“Sorree,” Jaime said in English, though he didn’t know why he was apologizing; he wasn’t the one who had just lied. If Diego really hadn’t understood, wouldn’t he have said so?
They continued talking about their cards—Diego trying to negotiate for the card he wanted, the other boy saying he wanted two cards for his one.
“Mira,” Jaime tried again to help Diego in Spanish, pointing to one of the cards the other kid wanted. “You have two of this one.”
“Dude! What’s your problem?” Diego gathered his cards and lunch to move to the other side of his friend. “Can you believe it? Now I’ve got grease marks on my cards.”
Jaime didn’t understand what Diego said but got the general idea as he watched Diego make a fuss about wiping his cards clean on his shirt, even though Jaime hadn’t touched any of them. This time, he didn’t even bother apologizing.
He pulled out his sandwich from his Ninja Turtles bag, secretly hoping Diego would be jealous of his coolness when his lunch bag was a boring blue.
Freddie looked from Diego and his other friend to Jaime, hesitating before he spoke. “Do you, um, have Pokémon cards, Jaime?”
“No.” Jaime shook his head. They were at home after all. Here he had nothing.
• • •
During library time, the librarian showed him the e-mail address that had been set up for him when he enrolled in school. He’d never had his own e-mail address; before coming here he’d never had anyone to e-mail other than Tomás, and Mamá had always taken care of that
. And the best thing was the librarian spoke enough Spanish to let him know that he could spend fifteen minutes of the library time on the computer—for free!
Queridos mamá y papá, he started the note to his parents. He knew it could be weeks, maybe even months before there was enough money to splurge on a few minutes at the village’s Internet café. Still, he wasn’t going to leave any form of communication untried.
How is Abuela? Is she all right? I can’t believe what happened to her. He kept on writing, but without accent marks and correct punctuation because he didn’t know how to do them on this English keyboard. It makes me sick. I wish I could make them pay for what they’ve done. I feel trapped. I don’t know why Tomas likes it here. There are no neighbors except for the cows and horses. The people who live on the ranch with us are pretty nice though. And it snowed yesterday which was amazing. But it’s not Guatemala and the people are not you guys, not family. Please pray that the Alphas all get struck by lightning and it’s safe once more to go home. I don’t belong here. Love you, Jaime.
The day dragged on with many things Jaime didn’t understand and many kids he didn’t know. At one point Meesus paired him up with Samuel, who spoke Spanish fine, except Samuel had never spoken Spanish in school and didn’t know the names for a lot of the stuff they were doing and got frustrated when Jaime didn’t understand his English words for things like “stapler.”
Once the final bell rang, Jaime dashed out to the bus. He sat in the same seat as this morning, except next to the window, and closed his eyes. He opened one when he felt the seat indent next to him, but the freckle-faced boy from the morning already had his book open and his nose in it. Jaime leaned against the window and went back to closed eyes.
A hand tapped his shoulder. His eyes regained focus as Jaime’s bus buddy pointed out the window. What? It wasn’t as if there was anything to see out there. Not even a raven pecking at the roadkill. Then he realized the bus had stopped. And why. His stop.
“Tank you,” he said to the boy as he gathered his things and stumbled out of the bus. The white iron gate that marked the entry to Meester George’s property stood wide open, with a barbed wire fence on either side. Jaime stepped carefully on the cattle guard to cross onto the property and then shuffled his feet down the dirt road. Judging by how long it took to drive it, Jaime guessed walking to the trailer would take a good hour. He dragged his feet more. Maybe an hour and a half.
“Coo-coo!” A strange birdcall came from the west.
Jaime shaded his eyes to stare at the horizon. A figure too far away to discern stood on the far ridge. One of those striped-face antelopes that liked to frolic with the cattle? Or a mountain lion looking over Pride Rock?
Except antelopes and lions didn’t make birdcalls. And he didn’t see any birds.
The figure sped down the ridge as if it were floating. Jaime waved, and within minutes Don Vicente pulled his gray-spotted Appaloosa to a stop in front of him. Jaime’s eyes landed on the elaborate beadwork on the horse’s bridle, which matched perfectly the beaded pattern on Don Vicente’s leather belt.
“I figured you wouldn’t want to walk back to the house on your own,” Don Vicente said from under the brim of his battered straw cowboy hat. Jaime let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. What a relief to hear some normal Spanish!
“Company would be great,” Jaime said.
“Hop on.” The old cowboy removed his left foot from the stirrup and moved his leg forward of the saddle.
“I’ve never ridden a horse before,” Jaime admitted. Just the idea caused his heart to race.
“Better get started then.” Holding the reins in his right hand, Don Vicente reached out with his left.
Jaime licked his lips. He could do this. If he could get on a moving train with the first ladder rung higher than his head, then a horse with a chest-high stirrup and an arm reaching out to help should be nothing. Don Vicente held the gelding steady and pulled Jaime up. The act felt clumsy and it didn’t help that Pimiento stepped to the side when he was half on. At last he sat on the horse’s back behind the saddle.
“Sorry, Pimiento,” he apologized to the horse for kicking him accidentally. He shifted a bit farther back so the edge of the saddle didn’t dig into his privates. “Is it okay to sit here? Will it hurt Pimiento?”
Don Vicente leaned over to pat the horse’s neck. “This old boy’s used to saddlebags weighing much more than you. Just make sure you don’t slide off the back end.”
Jaime scooted a bit closer and adjusted his backpack straps. Don Vicente might have been teasing but that didn’t make it any less possible.
“Hold on.” Don Vicente nudged the horse before Jaime could ask to what. Within a couple of seconds, the gelding went from standing still to a gait much smoother than the coin-operated horse Jaime once rode when he was little. The idea that they had floated down the ridge wasn’t so far-fetched now. At first Jaime clung to Don Vicente’s belt loops, until one tore off, leaving Jaime with a piece of worn denim in his hand. Better hold on to the old man’s waist, though he didn’t want to ruin the beaded belt either. Maybe one day he wouldn’t need to hold on at all. One day when he could ride as well as Don Vicente.
Instead of riding along the road, Don Vicente took to the open land. The ground under Pimiento’s hooves was both rocky and sandy, but the gelding didn’t stumble once. On a small hill, the cowboy pulled Pimiento to a stop and pointed with his sunbaked hand. Down in the valley, two tiny coyote pups were half chewing, half playing tug-of-war with a stick while their mamá kept surveillance nearby. With their young round faces and furry gray coats, the pups had to be the cutest things Jaime had ever seen. He itched to pull out his sketchbook from his backpack, but he wasn’t entirely sure how to do that on horseback.
Whether through sight or scent, the mamá coyote became alerted of their presence. She gave a faint yip, and the two pups dropped their stick game and stared at their mamá with wide eyes. She gave them another signal and before Jaime could see where they’d gone, the family had turned tail and disappeared.
“The Navajo Indians here have a lot of stories about the coyotes and how they’re tricksters,” Don Vicente said. “You’ll never see an Indian cross a coyote’s path. They think it’s bad luck. They’d rather turn the car around and go several miles out of their way than drive over the place they saw the coyote cross.”
And with that, Don Vicente turned Pimiento around and let him walk down a different direction.
“Are the coyotes dangerous?” Jaime turned back to the coyote. He couldn’t see her, but he felt the mamá’s eyes watching them.
“Anything is dangerous if you aggravate it, especially when it comes to protecting its family. But in all my time working on this ranch, I’ve only had to kill one and that was because it went after a weak calf I had spent all night trying to save.”
Jaime understood that. Family was everything. The one thing he’d die protecting. That was why it was so hard not to go after the Alphas for what they had done to Abuela and Miguel.
“What about other animals? Tomás says there are bears and mountain lions. You’re not afraid they’ll hurt or kill you?”
The old rancher didn’t take a second to think about it. “When it’s my time to go, it won’t be by bear or mountain lion. I’ll just leave. Ride off into the sunset and disappear. No mess, no fuss. Just my time.”
“Like Luke Skywalker.”
“Who?”
“He’s a . . . never mind.” Jaime knew Don Vicente didn’t watch TV or movies. Not when he said that being out in nature was more entertaining. Jaime supposed when you were older than Jesús, you’d lived most of your life before the invention of television anyway.
“Pero . . .” Jaime paused to think of a tactful way of asking what he wanted to know. “You’re not planning on riding into the sunset any time soon, are you?”
A grunt came out of Don Vicente. “Don’t get me wrong, I love your brother like my own, but he doesn’t un
derstand the cattle like I do. Not many do.”
Don Vicente’s meaning couldn’t have been clearer. Tomás worked hard, but at the end of the day, cattle ranching was just a job. It wasn’t his passion. Not like it was for Don Vicente, not like arte was for him.
“Do you have kids, Don Vicente?”
“Yeah, thousands.”
Jaime stared at the lean back in front of him and then grinned. “I meant kids that don’t have four legs.”
“Not officially.” The cowboy shifted his hat to reveal a couple of wispy silver hairs on the nape of his neck. “Cici and I tried but it wasn’t meant to be. Instead, I had Mr. George riding with me before he could walk; I remember his two sisters being born. When he grew up and brought home a wife, he made me godfather of their first daughter. His whole family are my kids, and quite a lot of people in the community as well. Mexicans, gringos, Indians. Family knows no race and they’re all my kids, a part of me. Tomás too.”
“And me and Ángela?” The words escaped before Jaime could stop them. He shouldn’t have said that; they’d only known the man for a week and a half. Don Vicente would think he was disrespectful.
The old rancher twisted in the saddle with more flexibility than Jaime thought possible for anyone of any age. His dark eyes deeply set in his leathery face and half hidden by the hat brim, he stared long and hard at Jaime.
“I only take my kids out on rides.”
CHAPTER SIX
Just as he had the day before, the freckle-faced boy met Jaime’s eye and removed his backpack from the seat next to him as soon as Jaime and Ángela got on the bus.
“Let’s sit up here.” Jaime pointed to the free seat across from his bus buddy. But Ángela didn’t hear him, or chose not to. She passed their seat with a flip of her long, dark hair and with a singsong voice that dragged out the three-letter word to five syllables, she greeted the older kids on the back of the bus.
“Heyyyy!”
“Angela, baby!” The same boy from yesterday who pronounced her name all gag-like pretended to swoon at the sight of her, dropping to his knees and reaching out with his hand to kiss the top of hers like some stupid sign of chivalry. Any minute Ángela would tell him off for embarrassing her. Instead she giggled. A giggle that echoed across the bus and made the driver look in the rearview mirror to check out the situation. Jaime turned away from Ángela in disgust and disappointment. The freckle-faced boy rolled his eyes and Jaime couldn’t have agreed more. Xavi (Jaime couldn’t bring himself to think of him as Ángela’s ex-boyfriend) never acted like that. And as a result, Ángela had never acted so stupid.
The Crossroads Page 4