The Education of Margot Sanchez

by Lilliam Rivera

  “What are you talking about?” I say. “He’s not doing anything bad.”

  Moises has every right to set up on the sidewalk. It’s not like he’s selling something illegal, just a bunch of books. Talking to people as they walk in and out of our store isn’t a crime as far as I know.

  “He’s disturbing customers,” Junior says. “That’s what he’s doing.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  People find this exchange amusing. Even Jasmine chuckles. But not Junior. He walks away but I refuse to let this go. He needs to listen to me. Who made him King of the Bronx?

  He points to José and Ray, two of the stockiest roughnecks on the Sanchez team, and says, “Come with me.” I follow Junior and his henchmen outside. They stand in front of Moises’s table. Moises welcomes the new audience by raising his voice and continuing his talk.

  “They create insulting campaigns like SoBro or Piano District and try columbusing our neighborhood. But this is the South Bronx and we take care of our people,” he says. “Together, we can stop Carrillo Estates from continuing their assault on hardworking families.”

  Junior grabs a couple of the brochures, acts as if he’s reading them, and then throws them back on the table. The move is so very dramatic and stupid, like some bad reality TV reunion episode.

  “You need to take this out of here,” he says. “You’re blocking the entrance to the store.”

  “Sorry, I can’t do that.” Moises rearranges the pamphlets. “This is a public sidewalk.”

  The henchmen wait, itching for the green light to make their move. A crowd of about ten starts to circle around us, mostly guys from the nearby car repair shop and customers from the supermarket. This isn’t good. El Show del Mediodía is about to start, starring my jerk-off brother versus the innocent yet somewhat arrogant Moises.

  “I don’t think you heard me,” Junior says. “I’m giving you five minutes to take this down.”

  Moises puffs his chest out in defiance. He turns to a man who’s wearing a green T-shirt with PUERTORIKAN written in a poorly drawn imitation of a Heineken beer bottle and begins his speech.

  “Have you heard what’s going on on Eagle Avenue?” He hands the man a brochure. “Families are being harassed on a constant basis. You remember how it went down in the seventies, when corrupt landlords started burning down buildings to get rid of their tenants. It’s about to go down again.”

  “Ha!” I can’t help it. To see someone ignore Junior’s self-proclaimed rule is a rare treat. This is pure comedy. I love every second of it.

  “Can you believe this guy?” Junior asks the henchmen. The henchmen don’t answer. They keep their mean face on.

  There’s a sudden change in the atmosphere, an intense sensation of incoming violence. I can’t keep quiet and wait for the impending destruction to arrive. Someone has to take a stand.

  “He’s right,” I say. “This is a public spot. You can’t legally stop him.”

  Moises sneaks me a playful grin. My stomach does a flip but I stay in control. There’s no need for him to think I’m on his side. I’m just stating the truth.

  “This has nothing to do with you,” Junior says. “Go back inside.”

  This is the first time I’ve ever seen my brother rage in public. I should show Junior respect. He’s older. It’s what I’ve been taught to do. But he’s out of order.

  “No,” I say. “This affects the supermarket and I’m part of the company. You need to listen to me.”

  “Roughly seventy-five percent of the tenants live under Section Eight. The other twenty-five percent are elderly living on a fixed income. They are your loyal customers and you are turning your backs on them,” Moises says. Someone in the crowd eggs him on with a “Preach.”

  “Get your facts straight. We know who lives in that run-down building. Addicts and pros,” Junior says. “Why aren’t you telling them about how Carrillo plans to relocate the good-paying tenants while the condo is being built? They can move right back when it’s finished.”

  “They say they want to show good faith but as soon as that building goes up,” Moises says, “only ten apartments will be allocated for low-income families out of eighty-three units.”

  Moises’s hands lie flat against the table as if he commands a group of soldiers about to head out on combat. He’s captured the attention of the crowd. No one can deny those numbers. Even I can see that it’s unfair. Junior looks desperate.

  “He’s playing you, son,” one of the henchmen tells Junior. “There’s no respect.”

  Enraged, Junior walks right up to Moises. Inches away from his face. He mutters under his breath, loud enough for only Moises to hear. Moises meets my brother’s glare.

  “You’re being a jerk!” I cry. “Stop!”

  The henchmen block my way. They create a huge protective wall of muscle and funky body odor.

  “Vete adentro, Princesa.” One of them implores me to go back inside.

  “This isn’t right!” I yell. “Stop acting like you’re in charge.”

  It’s no use. I’m a tiny speck of nothing in a sea of masculine crap. There is one person who can stop this power move. I run in, past Jasmine gossiping with a customer and an old lady asking a stock boy to help her carry her bags out to her car.

  My father sits hunched over some accounting books. He’s conversing with Oscar in a serious voice.

  “I can’t talk right now. I’m in the middle of—”

  “Papi, you gotta stop Junior. He’s beating up on that guy outside with the table.” The words clumsily stumble out of my mouth. “I mean, he’s about to beat that boy outside. C’mon!”

  I expect no less than a running brigade to the rescue, of Papi storming out, with me by his side, ready to put Junior back in his place.

  Papi looks wearily at Oscar and then back at me. He rises from his chair and stares across to the commotion. Junior pushes Moises and there’s a scuffle between them. The henchmen pull Junior away but in the process they kick the table over. Moises’s books and pamphlets scatter across the sidewalk. The henchmen’s construction boots tear into pages.

  “They’re going to kill him!” I yell, tugging at Papi’s arm.

  “No,” he says. “This doesn’t concern you. Esto es asunto de hombres.”

  This is men’s business? He can’t be serious.

  “I can’t believe you’re saying that.” I try hard to control my shaky voice.

  “Let your brother do his job,” he says.

  “I didn’t know his job included harassing innocent people.”

  “This is what I mentioned on the ride to work this morning. Life is not as neat as you’re used to, especially here. Let us do what’s best and don’t worry about it.”

  And just like that, Papi goes back to his numbers.

  I stand there with the hope that he’ll change his mind but even Oscar looks away. I can’t believe it. This is how things are done here. What a joke. I hate everything about this place. I slam the door behind me.

  Junior and his goons stroll back in. The henchmen console Junior as if he were the victim. Moises kneels on the sidewalk. His books destroyed. He slowly picks up the remainder of his belongings and leaves.

  For the rest of the day, I unload boxes and send distress messages to Serena. She finally texts me from the beach. I’m so jealous I eat two packets of M&M’s.

  Don’t be down, Serena writes. Do whatever you can to get over here. I heard Nick comes next week. Remember your goal.

  Nick throws a blowout bash in the Hamptons right before Labor Day. After feeling sorry for me, Mami said she would let me have one summer reprieve. But August seems so far away.

  The only good thing that’s come out of this is that I now have the perfect excuse to never return. My parents thought I could learn about responsibility. Guess what? My innocent, delicate mind has been scarred for life with street violence.

  I pull out my notebook and start a list:

  THINGS/PEOPLE I HATE

 
Mami, for destroying my social life

  Papi, for allowing Junior to become a Neanderthal

  Junior, for becoming a Neanderthal

  This supermarket

  Everyone else

  Papi wants me to be a silent partner in Sanchez & Sons Supermarket, so be it. But as soon as we get home I will open my mouth and let Mami know that their glorious summer idea has backfired big-time.

  Chapter 4

  Although Riverdale is technically in the Bronx I don’t like to think of it that way. The Bronx is the Bronx. Riverdale is different. There are more houses and parks. It’s not as crowded and it’s clean.

  Our simple Colonial-wannabe home gets a rating of five out of ten, ten being a megamansion. It’s not a run-down shack or anything like that. There’s just nothing particularly extravagant or exciting about it. Farther down our street real houses exist—large mansions with many rooms and long front yards. But at least we live next to the rich. We live Rich Adjacent.

  Papi pulls into our Rich Adjacent driveway. I continue the silent treatment.

  Instead of going to my room, I head straight to the bathroom located off the side of the living room. Mami keeps this room filled with white flowers. She read somewhere that white has a calming effect on people. She also likes to keep self-help books on display for easy access and rotates them with what’s currently popular. This month, the book Getting To It sits nestled next to Rita Moreno’s memoir. Decorations are done via the latest issue of Interior Design but it’s always at a lower price. I know this because I’ve been to Camille and Serena’s homes and they do not have white flowers or cheap prints of Monet hanging on the walls of their bathrooms or living rooms. They have real art by real people I’ve never heard of.

  I still wear the same face I kept the whole time Papi drove us home. Rage Face. I wipe off the remainder of my lipstick and switch up my look with the sad image I want to present to Mami: a girl who’s been traumatized. I’ve seen way too much. A girl who should spend the summer recouping on the beach.

  “Dinner’s ready!” Mami yells. She wears a bright pink blouse, designer jeans, and teetering-high heels. We look nothing alike except for the almond shape of our eyes.

  Papi carries spreadsheets with him. He arranges the pile on the dining room table. While Mami serves baked ziti, extra crispy on the sides, Papi smiles feebly at me as if showing teeth will make me forget what happened only a few hours ago. I take my seat across from him. The seat next to mine is meant for Junior but he almost never shows up for dinner. Junior is supposed to stay at the store until closing time but I bet he just uses that as an excuse to avoid family hour.

  I sit and wait for my cue.

  “How was your first day?” Mami asks.

  Hello cue.

  “It was fine until Junior almost killed a boy,” I blurt out before I dig into the food.

  No need to explain more. Mami lives for this. When she found out that Junior got kicked off the wrestling team, she clutched her chest as if she were about to have a heart attack. It wasn’t the fact that my brother lost out on a major opportunity or that he was injured. She freaked out over what the neighbors would think once they found out. “What will we say to them?” she asked. There’s a constant fear that our family embarrassments will leak out to the masses. Thankfully, I was accepted to Somerset Prep so my good news offset Junior’s downfall.

  “Por Dios, what is going on over there?” She taps the edge of her plate with her polished nails. Her latest diamond ring glistens.

  “Carmen, you’re working yourself up for nothing,” Papi says. “It was just a bum out causing problems.”

  Unbelievable. Papi’s rewritten history, but has he forgotten that I was a witness to the whole thing?

  “He wasn’t a bum! Why are you lying?” I say. “He was just a boy. He wasn’t doing anything wrong and Junior went all lethal on him and you did nothing to—”

  Papi slams his fist on the table. I jump. He closes his eyes for a few seconds and inhales deeply.

  “I already went over this with you. You’re old enough to understand and since your mami wants you to learn some life lessons this summer, here’s lesson number one: Let us handle the trash outside. You should be thanking your brother for protecting the store.”

  Mami shakes her head. Her blond highlights emphasize her brown skin. Something I hadn’t noticed before: Mami is a silent partner just like me. When I was young she would dress me up in the cutest getups and bring me to work with her. This was when she helped Papi manage the supermarket. I had my own little shopping cart and although the shelves were too high, most of the customers would lift me up so I could reach for a bag of cookies or some candy. They proclaimed my adorableness and my parents beamed at me like I was the winning toddler in a child pageant.

  But that was long ago. Now Mami prefers to stay home and take useless courses at the local I’ve-Got-Too-Much-Time-on-My-Hands School. She folds and unfolds her napkin.

  “Look.” I thrust my trembling hands at her. “I was so freaked out. I tried to stop the madness but no one listened to me. I’m too scared to go back there. I can’t. I just can’t.”

  There’s no doubt, the drama I’m laying on is thick. Junior isn’t here to correct my version of the events. This is my only chance.

  “I don’t know, Victor. Maybe we should reconsider,” Mami says. “Margot could stay home and help me around the house.”

  Pump your brakes. It’s my turn to shake my head vigorously. This is not what I want. There’s still time for me to go to the Hamptons. I don’t get her. Has she forgotten how we bonded over Somerset? She caught me in my room in complete misery over how I wasn’t connecting with my classmates. Unlike Papi, who thinks everyone will instantly fall in love with me, Mami understood that feeling of being an outcast. She told me about those rough first months in New York, recently arrived from the island. She sat beside me on my bed and gently caressed my forehead. Time finds its way of working things out, she said. Later, when I told them about Camille’s invitation to stay with her at her parents’ beach house, it was Mami who convinced Papi to let me go. Soon after, she began searching for beach houses to rent herself. The Hamptons is our baby unicorn and it’s slowly galloping away.

  “No. I want her to learn that there is a price to pay for her actions. It’s what we should have done with Junior,” Papi says. Papi blames Mami for my brother’s academic failure. Somehow his flunking out of school was her fault. I’m not sure how that works, something about how she always babies him.

  “Can’t I at least look for another job?” I say. “I don’t like the way the stock boys stare at me.”

  “This is your first job. You will have to learn how to navigate different types of personalities. It’s the same as in school,” Papi says. “Not everyone is going to understand you. Have patience. You will figure it out.”

  Mami clucks her tongue like a chicken. “If she’s going to work at that supermarket, you need to pay attention to her instead of running around doing who knows what.” Her lips curl a bit.

  “You mean working,” he says. “It’s been a while since you’ve had a job. Perhaps you need to come back to the supermarket to be reminded of that.”

  “Be honest, Victor, you don’t want me there.”

  Oh my god. They’re turning my serious social problem into an excuse for marital argument number 500.

  “Can you please focus? I want to vote on working somewhere else, somewhere safe, like the mall. Let me work at Traffic.”

  Traffic is an ultracool boutique with expensive designer clothes and, I’m sure, a hefty employee discount. The store is located at the Cross Country mall in Yonkers so I would never run into anyone from Somerset. And if that were to even happen at least I would look fashionably fly.

  “I guess you didn’t read what happened in the mall,” Papi says. “Bunch of kids fighting in the Game Spot.”

  This battle is being lost but I still go forward.

  “I don’t understand why J
unior didn’t talk to the guy,” I say. “He wasn’t doing anything, just collecting signatures. We are living in America, or does the South Bronx have separate laws?”

  “This boy may have good intentions but he’s a little misguided.”

  Papi explains how the building Moises was talking about is a known drug house. Many people have overdosed there. Prostitutes frequent it.

  “The owners have been trying to clean the place up for years. Putting condos in that area helps us,” he adds. “There’ll be better-paying customers and that’s good for business.”

  “Sure, but . . .” My tactic fizzles fast. There’s got to be some angle I can take. I offer up the only thing I have left.

  “Using force shouldn’t be the only alternative. What Junior did was terrible.”

  “The neighborhood is a little rough. It’s not a life you’re used to but you’ll learn to love it,” Papi says. “Also, this is nonnegotiable. You have to pay back the six hundred dollars you stole plus an additional two thousand dollars to help with back-to-school expenses. You’ve got ten weeks.”

  “What? I thought I was just working off the six hundred dollars. You didn’t say anything about back-to-school stuff,” I say. “You’re not even paying me a living wage! I’m only getting seven dollars an hour. I don’t even think that’s legal.”

  “You are going to pay the twenty-six hundred dollars, no matter what, even if that means having to work weekends. Start doing the calculations.” He taps his fork on the side of the plate.

  I feel like crying. I give Mami a pleading look but she sits there and says nothing.

  “I’ll talk to Junior,” Papi says. “Your brother is a bit of a hothead but he has the store’s safety in mind. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Papi reaches across the table. His large hand, rough but warm, engulfs mine. There are tiny wrinkles around his eyes. He has the weathered face of a man who spent his childhood under the strong Puerto Rican sun. He tugs at my hand again to make sure I caught everything he says. I read him loud and clear.

  “You’re good with the Facebook, Insta–yo no se,” he says. “Maybe you can figure out how to place the supermarket on there. What do you think?”