So anyway, all I could do was lug my stuff to my room. That would surely kill some time.
Done.
Now what?
Unpack.
Should I do toiletries or clothes first?
Hmm.
Maybe clothes.
I was considering dumping the entire contents of my bag straight into the hamper to avoid getting sand on the floor when I noticed a truck parking in front of the house. It was a chocolate-brown UPS truck with a chocolate-brown uniformed driver. That driver was heading toward our front door, holding a package in his hands.
A package!
He hadn’t forgotten. My father.
It was here! The shark tooth necklace was here!
I zoomed out of my room just as the doorbell rang. “I got it!” I shouted loud enough so Ms. Grace could hear.
Whoosh. The humid air from outside hit me. “Good afternoon, sir,” said the UPS man.
“Oh. Hi. That’s for me,” I said, taking the envelope from his hand.
The UPS man didn’t even seem to care that I was just a kid. He handed me a form and a pen, and pointed to where I should sign. Simple enough. I scrawled my signature. “Thanks,” I said, closing the door before he could say anything else.
I ripped the envelope open, fumbling with plastic, tape, staples, and labels.
Ugh.
Why did they have to pack it in so much stuff?
Where was the shark tooth?
There were only papers, papers, and more papers.
Nothing. Nada.
This package wasn’t even from my father.
Oh well. Maybe he was just too busy. Maybe it would come another day—tomorrow, the next day, the next week, the week after that. Yeah, that was probably it.
Sigh.
Who was I kidding?
Of course he’d forgotten.
Stupid papers.
I stared at them. What were they anyway? There were so many words. I recognized some names—Mamá’s and Miguel’s—and some other names, which sounded Filipino and maybe Swedish? Danish? German? I couldn’t tell for sure.
The papers had that official kind of look to them, with signatures and stamps and all. I squinted, studying them more carefully. There were terms that jumped out at me: Temporary Guardian, Child, Adoptee, and Adoptive Parent.
My heart was pounding. It hurt. Like there was a knife stabbing me in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I was dizzy. The room was spinning.
“Pablo. Who was that?” said Ms. Grace, poking her head out from the kitchen. She took one look at me and frowned.
I couldn’t talk. My throat was tight. I coughed. I choked. I dropped the papers and ran.
“Pablo!” she said louder.
I locked my bedroom door.
No! No! No!
I was too late. Someone was going to take Chiqui. Take her from us, from me.
Miguel. Why didn’t he tell me?
Knock-knock-knock.
“Pablo! Pablo! Are you okay? Can we talk? Please. Let me in.”
I ignored Ms. Grace.
There were tears in my eyes. I didn’t even realize they were there until I felt them dropping off my chin. My face, neck, and ears were throbbing. After a minute I was burning all over. Then my stomach began to fizz and gurgle. I felt sick. Nauseated. I wanted to puke. But I couldn’t.
All the hurt. All the pain. All the sorrow.
They were all bubbling inside me.
I felt so alone, as if the entire world had just abandoned me.
FORTY-EIGHT
I was in bed. Comatose. Not really—I mean, it was more of a self-induced numbness. That is, until I heard the front door squeak open. Mamá’s boots clomped into the hallway and then behind her the tap-tap-tapping of Chiqui’s sandals.
“Pablito! We’re home!”
I balled my hands into fists and pushed them against the mattress. How could Mamá act so normal? As if everything was just fine? As if she had no secrets? I was beginning to think I didn’t know her at all.
Maybe I never had.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Mi amor? Are you in there?”
The heat returned, spreading from my head to my toes like wildfire. I pounced off the bed and stomped to the door, opening it with so much force the doorknob hit the wall. At first I couldn’t see anything past the white flashes in my eyes. But then slowly Mamá’s green gaze appeared, and her freckles—so many of them mocking me from her smooth, pale face. “Pablo … What’s wrong?”
“What’s WRONG?” I repeated so loud my throat hurt. My hands trembled. I looked down at my feet.
Just say it, Pablo. Say it.
I swallowed, ready to spit the words out. But then Chiqui peered out from behind Mama’s legs. She smiled at the sight of me. I heaved. All of a sudden, she leaped forward and hugged me.
Ms. Grace hurried past us. “I have to go. I’m sorry. Traffic. Bye.” The front door opened and closed.
I looked up at Mamá. There was something different about her—more faded, more worn, more tired. She bent down and said, “Chiqui. Please go to the other room and look at some books … LIB-RO…” She held her hands in front of her face and made them look like an open book. “I need to talk to Kuya Pablo for a few minutes.”
I didn’t think Chiqui understood.
She held on to my waist and wouldn’t let go. Mamá tried to coax her away. But it was no use. It felt like someone was smashing my chest with a sledgehammer. My heart was fracturing. It was going to bust open at any moment. I held Chiqui’s face with my hands and stared into her big, shiny eyes. “It’s okay. Go on. You can come back to my room when we’re done talking. I’ll tell you all about my trip.”
Chiqui hesitated. Then she let go of me. It hurt knowing how much she trusted me.
She trusted me.
And I was just going to leave her.
No! You’re not going to let that happen, Pablo.
Mamá led Chiqui to their bedroom. I stood there and waited. My arms stiffened. My jaw tensed. I breathed in and out, in and out.
You can do it.
A minute later, Mamá returned. Her forehead was wrinkled with worry. I stepped back. She came into my room and closed the door.
“You saw the papers.”
“I did.”
“Pablo. She can’t stay with us. Not forever.” Mamá inched toward me. “I never lied to you, mi amor.”
I stepped back even farther. “Why? Why can’t she stay with us?”
“It’s just not possible. I have too many responsibilities. And I already have you—”
“NO! Don’t make this about me, Mamá!”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what? What exactly did you mean?”
She covered her face with her hands. When she pulled them off, there were tears in her eyes, on her cheeks, sticking to clumps of her hair. “I’m alone, Pablo. It’s hard for me to explain what it’s like, to be a single mother doing it all by myself.”
I leaned forward and stuck my chin out. “But that’s just it, Mamá. You don’t have to do it all by yourself … Just STOP running away from people, from places, from everything!”
She shook her head. “No, Pablo. I have to do what I have to do. Chiqui needs a mother, a father. She needs a stable home environment—”
“And what? I don’t need those things?”
Mamá’s face was blank, as if she hadn’t heard me. “The Martens—they’re perfect. Mr. Marten works for the Asian Development Bank. And Mrs. Marten is a therapist. Their son, Lucas, has always wanted a little sister. They’re committed to staying here for however long it takes … They’re exactly what Chiqui needs.”
I took her hand and squeezed it. “They might be perfect, Mamá. But they’re not us … Chiqui needs us.”
She closed her eyes and breathed like she’d never breathed before. For a moment I thought maybe I’d convinced her. Maybe she would open her eyes and smile and hug me and tell me Chiqui could stay. Tel
l me that we could stay too. But then I saw the tears, I saw her lip quivering, I saw her hands shaking. She opened her eyes. “I’m sorry, Pablo. I’ve made up my mind.”
I yanked my hand from hers. “If Chiqui goes, I go too. I’d rather go live with Dad, with Abuelita, with anyone other than you!”
Mamá didn’t say anything. She just stood there. Her eyes were murky green. Her cheeks were bright red.
She was wounded. I had wounded her with my words.
I blinked.
She turned her back on me.
I blinked.
She was at the door.
I blinked.
She was gone.
I locked my door and retreated to my bed. The blanket. The sheets. The pillows. I crawled under them, over them, around them until I made a nest. The world disappeared. Maybe I could stay in there forever.
Boom! Boom! Crackle. Crackle. Boom!
Was that thunder?
I peeked through a gap between the mattress and the blanket. Outside everything was gray. Even the sky looked like it was covered in smoke.
Boom! Crackle. Boom!
Rain began falling. I’d never seen so much of it coming down so hard, so fast. It was like the sea was upside down, dropping all at once.
Boom! Boom!
More thunder.
Boom!
But for some reason, all I could hear was Manang Lorna’s words: “Is better you brave. You fight. Laban.”
I had to keep on fighting.
But how? Mamá wouldn’t listen.
Boom! Boom! Crackle. Crackle. Boom!
All of a sudden, I was electrified, as if the thunder and lightning had zapped through the window into my flesh and bones. I leaped from my bed.
Think. Move. Run.
I had to do something.
That was it.
I wasn’t going to sit and take it any longer.
Boom! Crackle. Boom!
I was going to run away.
I shoved my feet in the first pair of shoes I could find. A hoodie. I grabbed a hoodie from my dresser and put it on. It was inside out, but it didn’t matter.
Boom! Boom! Crackle. Crackle. Boom!
The window. It would have to do. I opened it and shimmied outside.
Squish.
My feet landed in mud. There was no avoiding it. Almost immediately, I was sopping wet. For a moment I stared at Happy’s house across the street. Maybe I could go over there and hide while I figured out what to do. I stepped forward.
Boom! Boom! Crackle. Crackle.
I could feel my heart against my chest, the adrenaline pumping through my body.
No!
This wasn’t Happy’s problem.
It was my problem. My problem alone.
Fight, Pablo!
I ran.
Boom! Boom! Crackle. Crackle. Boom!
FORTY-NINE
Too many tricycles were out on the road. It was dark. The streetlamps were dim—even dimmer with the buckets of rain falling, and the tree branches swaying all over the place. There was practically a small river flowing down the street, flooding the gutters so they gurgled and bubbled. If there was any more rain, the cars and tricycles and scooters would be floating, and so would the people and the dogs and cats and roosters and cockroaches.
But I kept on running.
There were probably all sorts of vermin and germs and bacteria and viruses in the water, flowing in and out of the sewers. It was horrible. It was all too horrible.
But still, I kept on running.
Boom! Crackle. Boom!
It was like the thunder had banged on my skull.
I raced down the street. It was chaos. Besides the mud and water and muddy water, there were leaves, plants, and branches. There was also garbage clogging the sewers, so even more water flooded the roads and sidewalks.
But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. I kept on going—hopping, leaping, splashing, and dashing as fast as I could. There were so many people everywhere. I didn’t look one bit out of place.
I didn’t even stop. Not for a moment. Not to think about what I was doing or where I was going. Yet my feet and legs seemed to know.
Go, Pablo! Fight!
Finally, the concrete ended. I paused right where the path to the sanctuary began. It was covered with at least four inches of murky water. The trees were whipping back and forth in a way that made me nervous.
What now?
I glanced at my sneakers, which were covered in sludge. My clothes were filthy and wet. I didn’t even want to know what was on my skin and hair. The more I hesitated, the more I didn’t care.
The wind stopped.
Run!
I ran and ran and ran until I reached the entrance. But the gate was locked. There was music coming from the security guard hut.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
I slammed my hands on the chain-link wires. “Mang Wily! Mang Wily!” I screamed.
After a few seconds, a startled-looking Mang Wily appeared; his eyes popped from underneath the hood of his blue rain slicker. “Sir Pablo? Is you?” he called out.
“Let me in, Mang Wily! It’s an emergency!”
He hurried to the gate and opened it. “What happen, Sir Pablo?”
“Uh. Um…” It felt like the mud had somehow clogged up my throat. I didn’t know what I was doing, what I was saying, where I was going. Tears dropped from my eyes, but the rain washed them away.
“Sir Pablo?” Mang Wily tilted his head and reached his hand out. “You want I call your mother?”
That’s when I took off into the darkness.
“Sir Pablo! Sir Pablo!”
Mang Wily’s voice faded.
Boom! Crash! Crash!
Lightning lit up the sky. Everything around me brightened for an instant. The sanctuary was different—scarier and wilder. I had a feeling that something was going to jump out at me with every twig that snapped and every plant that rustled. To make matters worse, the pouring rain and wind made it harder for me to see. I had to backtrack several times because it was just too dark. When I stumbled across an enclosure, the animals would spook. I must have looked like a hideous monster or something. The kalabaws’ eyes practically bulged from their sockets. The spotted deer scurried behind some bushes. The monkeys howled above my head.
Run! Run! Run!
But where was I running to?
I whirled around, sprinting down one path and then another.
Hoohoo! Hoohoo!
The owls—it almost sounded like they were calling me.
Hoohoo! Hoohoo! Hoohoo!
The hooting got even louder. I cut through some hedges. Suddenly, the owl enclosure was right in front of me. I halted and caught my breath. As much as I wanted to keep on running, I couldn’t. My mind—all my thoughts were mixed up, swirling around and around. I was sopping wet and exhausted.
Hoohoo! Hoohoo!
The enclosure—it was sheltered from the rain. Sort of. I was sure the owls wouldn’t mind if I took a breather in there. At least, I hoped not. I rushed to the door and opened the latch. The owls gazed at me with round yellow eyes. I wanted to dash in there. But I knew the birds would panic. So I tiptoed through the hay, trying to avoid the twigs and crunchy debris. When I reached the other side—the side with a makeshift roof of sticks and leaves and grass—I crumpled to the floor. Even though it was warm and humid, I shivered.
I was scared. No. I was terrified.
Not of the rain and the wind and the thunder and the lightning.
I knew the storm would eventually pass.
What terrified me was the cold, harsh reality.
I was probably going to lose Chiqui.
I was probably going to lose all the people I’d grown to care about—Miguel, Happy, Ms. Grace, and Zeus.
I was probably going to lose the only place that felt like home again.
All the fighting, all the running, all the best-laid plans would fail me.
I curled up and cried.
&n
bsp; Hoohoo! Hoohoo!
Maybe the owls were crying too.
I cried and cried and kept on crying for god knows how long.
Boom! Crash! Boom!
“Pablito! Where are you?” I heard someone scream. I peeped between my knees just as a beam of a light illuminated the enclosure. “Mi amor!” Mamá ran down the path. Behind her I spotted something, no, someone—Chiqui. She was dressed in an oversize purple raincoat and boots.
The owls screeched and flapped their wings.
Mamá burst through the door. “Dios mío … Thank god … Thank god you’re okay,” she said. “Are you hurt?”
I didn’t say a word.
“Kuya Pabo…” At first it was only a whisper. But as soon as Chiqui saw me, and I saw her, she yelled, “KUYA!” and scampered toward me.
I hugged her, and even though we were both sopping wet, I stopped shivering.
Mamá froze, except her eyes, which blinked so fast, little droplets of water fell from her lashes. “Chiqui … She does talk to you…,” she said in a hushed voice.
“Yes,” I said, meeting her gaze.
She frowned. “But … but why didn’t you tell me when I asked you?”
“I didn’t need to tell you, Mamá. If you’d just paid more attention … If you’d listened. If you’d been around more … you would have known.”
Her lips flattened into a straight line. “You shouldn’t have run away, Pablo…”
I sat up and glared at her. I couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Really? You of all people, Mamá? Isn’t that what you’ve been doing all this time? Running from place to place to place?”
“That’s different—”
“Is it?”
It was silent. Except not really. The rain continued battering down and the wind howled and the owls wouldn’t stop screeching. With every second that passed I could feel myself getting braver, bolder, angrier.
I was fed up.
I wasn’t going to let Mamá’s problems become my problems.
Not anymore.
“I meant what I said. If Chiqui goes, I go too.”
All of a sudden, Chiqui’s arms loosened their grip. She gazed up at me with teary eyes. “Mee go, Kuya Pabo? Ayoko! Mee no go!”
How to Make Friends with the Sea Page 19