The Education of Margot Sanchez

by Lilliam Rivera

  “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

  I struggle to keep up. The streets are jammed with people as if everyone decided to go outside. An elderly lady with Coke-bottle bifocals and a thin housedress walks in front of us pushing a cart filled with laundry. The old lady jerks to a stop. Her cart is lodged in a crack on the sidewalk.

  “Don’t you know how to walk?” Jasmine says.

  “Ay, este carro.” The old woman mumbles to herself, her confused look magnified by the thick glasses. I try to help her but Jasmine pulls me away.

  “Jesus, Jasmine. What’s the big rush?” I say to her. “She can use a hand.”

  “Give me a break. Stop acting like a Girl Scout.”

  This is the person I’m breaking bread with? Jasmine is so out of control. I better eat my slice super fast or I’m bound to get stung by her vicious tongue.

  “Todo eso es tuyo?” says a leering man who leans against a parked car. “That juicy ass can’t all be yours.”

  “Fuck you!” Jasmine yells. She doesn’t even wait to verify if the guy is talking to her. He could be talking about my ass, although my long blouse basically covers it. I turn to look at the man. He slaps his knee. After his laughter subsides, he responds with additional X-rated declarations of booty love. We barrel through.

  Before entering the pizzeria, Jasmine stares at her profile in the window.

  “I’m getting so fat.” She has put on some weight but she doesn’t wait to hear whether or not I agree with her. She takes one last drag of her cigarette and walks in.

  The place is packed. A couple of cops are stuffed in a booth, their guns dangling by their sides. A family takes over another booth with one kid screaming for ice cream while a cute young couple shares an extra-large cup of soda.

  “What can I do for you?” the man behind the counter asks.

  “What do you think?” Jasmine says. “Give me a slice and don’t give me that oily one right there. I want it hot.”

  “All right, all right,” he says. “Take it easy. What can I get you?”

  “I’m trying to be healthy,” I say. “I got to look cute in a bikini. Pizza is not cute.” The guy behind the counter looks bothered but I honestly can’t decide. “I should order a salad.”

  “Hurry up!” Jasmine barks. “You act like you’re reading the Bible. It’s pizza.”

  “Jesus.” I can’t even with this girl. “I’ll take a slice. Thank you.”

  Jasmine plops down at a booth. She scans the restaurant. She gives the young couple the once-over and taps a straw until the cover tears off. If Jasmine would tone down the anger, she would look pretty, but everything about her is hard-core. Even her overplucked eyebrows exaggerate her pissed-off demeanor. Is she ever sweet or nice? I can’t say. I’ve never seen her that way. I’m not even sure if she likes me but here I am sitting across from her.

  “Tell me about that fancy school you go to. Is it true MC3’s kids go there?” Jasmine watches the grease stain spread across her paper plate.

  “Yes, but they’re older than me so I don’t know them.” MC3 is a rapper and his twin daughters attend Somerset. They’re super popular and way out of my league. They’re even more popular than Camille and Serena. The girls are nice, which makes it hard for anyone to hate them.

  Jasmine shrugs and eyes my charm necklace. “Who gave you that?”

  I always forget that I have it on. I never take it off.

  “My mom, for Christmas.”

  “Every time I see your mother, she acts as if I owe her money.” Jasmine speaks with her mouth full of cheese. “She’s so stuck-up. I bet she doesn’t even cook for your pops.”

  “She cooks for him but why does that even matter?” I say. “That’s so old-fashioned. Does your mom cook for your dad?”

  Jasmine huffs. “He didn’t stay long enough to find out. Mami always tells me you have to take care of the house, cook, do everything or you’ll be alone but she couldn’t even keep her man. What a dumb ass. Your mother’s dumb too. I would never leave my man alone with a bunch of girls.”

  “What are you talking about? Papi’s not like that. Besides, those cashieristas are ugly. Can you imagine him with Ana?” Ana is one of the oldest workers in the supermarket. She has wrinkles upon wrinkles and a mole that enlarges every time I locate it on her neck.

  “How do you know for sure he’s not with Ana? You’re not with him every second. Shit, maybe I’m fucking him.”

  What a horrible thing to say. What does Jasmine know? Not a damn thing about my father. If anyone’s fucking around it’s my brother. He’s screwed everyone and everything in that store, plus the staff at the other location. Jasmine told me they made out once but they never took things further. He was too much of a child is what she said.

  Wait. What if Jasmine and Junior are screwing and this is her weird way of being nice? I’ve had that happen before. Girls sidle up to me to get closer to Junior. I need to eat this pizza quick because I do not want to be a pawn in Jasmine and Junior’s tragic love story.

  Jasmine grabs the red pepper shaker and dumps some on her slice. She covers what’s left of the pizza with a blanket of red dots.

  “You ever been pregnant?”

  “No way,” I say. “I’m not that stupid.”

  “You don’t have to be stupid to get pregnant. That shit happens all the time.” She points her long red nail at me, the one with the gold hoop at the end. “You a virgin?”

  “No, ummm, not really. You know . . . I’ve done stuff.”

  “Oh? I guess that makes you an expert.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not trying to have a baby.” Then it hits me. I study her face. It’s not like she’s glowing or anything. Just the same old scowl. But what if . . . “Are you pregnant?”

  She rolls her eyes as if her predicament should have been obvious.

  “I haven’t gotten my period and I’ve been doing everything I could. I even went on that roller coaster ride Nitro in Great Adventure twice to see if it would do anything.”

  Oh my god, is it Junior’s? Is this what this whole thing is about? I can’t even form the sentences to ask because my head is about to explode. I don’t want to know.

  “Have you spoken to the, umm, guy?” I ask. “He can probably help you.”

  “It’s so freaking easy for you to say,” she says. “That’s probably the way it goes down in your world. People talk to each other. I can’t talk to him. I’m just his chilla, a dumb trick fucking him.”

  Jasmine snatches one napkin after another. She wipes her hands and tosses the crumpled paper on the table. I don’t know where to look, definitely not at her. She hasn’t said it’s Junior. It’s probably not him. It could be the music producer. Or some other guy from the block. Or Junior. It could totally be my brother. What an idiot.

  “You’re not going to keep it, are you?” I whisper.

  “Maybe I will.” She rubs her hand even harder. “He’s got money so he can take care of both of us. I won’t have to work at that place anymore.”

  Leave it to Jasmine to turn being pregnant into her golden ticket. She’s not even thinking about the baby. I can’t sit here and act as if I’m cool with her scheme.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way.” I choose my words carefully. “But I think what you’re doing is messed up. Using a guy just because he has money.”

  Jasmine stops in midrub and throws the napkin on the floor. “Like you’ve never done anything wrong, sneaking around behind your papi’s back with Moises.”

  “I’m not seeing Moises.”

  She cocks her head in disbelief. “It is so obvious something’s going down. You can’t lie for nothing. I see the way he scopes you out. And you do the same. You’re either seeing the idiota or trying to. Which one is it?”

  Her face is like a wall, impenetrable. She won’t break her resolve for anything. I’m not seeing Moises but there’s no point in explaining this to Jasmine. She’s made up her mind.

  “That shit is funny. Papi doesn�
�t want little Princesa dirtying herself up with some hood rat. Maybe I should tell him. It would wake his ass up to reality.”

  “Stop playing,” I say. “Don’t even joke about that.”

  “Everyone thinks you’re such an angel but you’re as fucked up as the rest of us. At least people see me and know where I’m coming from but you, you’re just a two-faced liar.”

  “Well, at least I’m not stupid enough to get pregnant.”

  The silence that follows kills me. I want it to be filled with a loud elevated train rumbling by, a shot, anything. The warlike stare Jasmine throws is the same one she gave right before she found out a neighborhood girl was talking about her behind her back. I hold my breath and wait. But instead of grabbing my hair and slamming my head into the table, Jasmine suddenly smiles.

  “We’re two pendejas falling for guys we can’t have. Fuck it.”

  I let out a sigh of relief.

  “Moises is not like the other guys I know.”

  I can’t believe I just admitted that. Where did that even come from? Moises is not in my plans and here I am gushing to Jasmine like a fool.

  “I’m just saying . . . He’s smart. Different.”

  The kiss. The night on the roof. It happened. Telling another person makes that night real and that’s not a bad thing. It’s not like Jasmine will tell Serena and Camille.

  “We’re just friends,” I add.

  “Yeah, friends. That’s how I started out. And now look at me.”

  I stop talking and finish my slice.

  • • •

  At work, two people accuse Jasmine of overcharging. I can tell she’s making rookie mistakes. Within minutes after that, she’s involved in a shouting match with a customer over the price of avocados. I walk over from the deli to defuse the situation but it doesn’t help. The woman wants to speak to the owner.

  Papi comes down from his office and apologizes. He sweet-talks the sour-faced lady and offers her a free gallon of milk. She happily accepts.

  “You should go home,” he tells Jasmine.

  “I didn’t want to be here anyway!” She throws her smock to the floor and storms out, leaving behind a line of impatient customers.

  To leave like that at the beginning of the evening rush, I’m sure Papi will fire her on the spot. He fired a cashierista last week for giving him attitude when she took too long of a break. But instead of yelling at Jasmine to clean out her locker, Papi picks up the smock and folds it over his arm.

  “I thought I had only two kids,” he jokes, elbowing a man waiting to pay. The small vein on his forehead throbs.

  “Do me a favor and bag these.” He hands the avocados to another cashierista and goes back upstairs. Something is definitely going on. Papi must know Jasmine is pregnant and it’s the reason why he’s being lenient. It totally makes sense.

  “It’s about time.” The lady snatches the bag. So rude. I’ve started to direct people to other registers when Junior pops up. Leave it to him to make an appearance when the coast is clear.

  “Jasmine left,” I tell him.

  “Too bad,” he says. “Have you seen Papi?”

  “Don’t you care about Jasmine?” He can’t be that heartless.

  “She can take care of herself,” he says. “I got to talk to Papi. I think I know how we can turn our problems around. Instead of bugging out over the new properties being built, we should invest in one. There’s a site for a new restaurant and bar. We can get in on it before someone else does.”

  Papi will not invest in some restaurant. Besides, what does Junior know about running one? Absolutely nothing. He’s so desperate to win Papi over, to show that he’s more than just the son who flunked out of college. Junior pursues flashy ideas that need lots of money behind them to live. I don’t see Papi being game. Not now.

  “What do you think? I already got a name: Sabor, a Sanchez Bistro.”

  Do I tell him the truth or lie? He seems so proud of himself, like he’s cracked the code on how to make Papi forget his failures. The struggle for him is real. Being the only son comes with a set of unrealistic pressures that even I can’t comprehend. He’s named after Papi, no less. His role as the only boy in the house has been set since the beginning but I don’t think Junior was ever asked whether he wanted the responsibility or not. He seeks ways to make himself out to be a big player but none of that will matter if Jasmine is pregnant with his child. Junior will have to step up to take care of that mess.

  “So?” He waits.

  “I think it’s important that you talk to Jasmine,” I say.

  “For once, can you be on my side?” he says. “Is that too much to ask? Fuck. Forget you.”

  In spite of my lack of approval, Junior still feels compelled to walk to Papi’s office. Junior doesn’t have time to be a father, not when he’s still trying to chase some empire dream. And what about Jasmine’s dream to be a singer? Is that pushed aside because of a baby?

  I hope Jasmine is mistaken.

  I’m too young to be an aunt.

  Chapter 14

  I scan the crowd. It’s as if the artsy Latino set coordinated their calendars to come out this Saturday. The DIY girls with their multidyed hair and crazy loud outfits. The emo boys in black with their skateboards. My conservative floral dress doesn’t leave any type of mark with this group. Elizabeth fits right in with her kaleidoscope jumper and black creepers.

  “What do you think?” Elizabeth asks as she looks for the perfect place to set up our picnic. “A little shade, a little sun?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Hey, what about here?” She happily lays a blanket and claims a spot under a tree.

  I’m still freaked out about Junior and Jasmine. I started to tell Elizabeth about the situation but she kind of brushed it off. She said I needed time away from family and their drama. Time just to have fun. So I dropped it.

  “Don’t be so grumpy,” Elizabeth says. “The music is going to be popping.”

  She pulls out her phone and takes a picture of me, grumpy face and all.

  “Ha. I’m so going to post this,” she says.

  That’s not happening. I won’t allow that picture to be seen by Serena and Camille. There will be no evidence of me here. I tell her to delete it.

  “I’m not doing that. Stop trying to censor me,” she says. “This is life and I’m documenting it. I’m thinking of doing a photo-collage for my next project.”

  “Do not post that because if you do I’m leaving,” I say.

  Elizabeth takes another picture.

  “Stop taking pictures!” I say. “I’m serious.”

  She finally puts her phone down and studies me. She shakes her head like a mother to a child.

  “You used to be fun. You are so worried about what others think.”

  “I’m still fun,” I protest. “This just isn’t my—”

  Someone calls out her name.

  “Elizabeth!”

  The girl has a shaved head and wears a long skirt with a cropped top. Her wrists are weighted down with jewelry—silver, gold, leather. It’s the total music festival uniform, a Latina hippie.

  “I’m so glad you came!” she says, and hugs Elizabeth.

  Without so much as a warning, she gives me a hug too.

  “Hi. So nice to finally meet you,” she says. “I’m Paloma. Elizabeth has told me so much about you.”

  Elizabeth makes room for her friend. I’m forced to meet the girl who replaced me in Elizabeth’s life. The one I’ve been jealous about. Paloma pulls a loaf of bread and green grapes out of her tote bag, her contribution to our picnic.

  “Elizabeth has been trying to connect me with you for so long,” Paloma says. “I forgot. What school do you go to?”

  “Margot goes to Somerset,” Elizabeth answers. There’s a bit of an attitude in the way she says this. Maybe I’m on edge but it sounds as if Elizabeth just threw shade.

  “Yes!” Paloma says. “I heard the guys at Somerset are hot. Is t
hat true? Because if it is I’m going to register right now.”

  I can see why Elizabeth likes Paloma. She looks like a human art project, with her missing hair and henna along her arms and legs. When she talks, she sounds like a musical instrument, with her bracelets jangling around.

  “Have you seen Boogaloo before? Whenever they’re in town, I’m front and center,” Paloma says.

  Before I can even answer, she stands up and flails her arms.

  “That’s Mimi, right? Mimi! Over here.” She screams for the mysterious Mimi until she realizes it isn’t her. “Oops. But wait, that’s Freddie. I’ll be right back.” She heads over to a large circle of guys.

  “Paloma’s kind of nuts,” Elizabeth says. “But she’s very sweet.”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” I say. “I didn’t know we were meeting your friends.”

  “It wasn’t planned. You don’t mind, do you?”

  It’s only been a few minutes and I already feel uncomfortable around Paloma. She hasn’t said anything but I can’t help but feel like the odd girl, just from appearance alone. Why couldn’t this outing be just between Elizabeth and me?

  I toss a couple of grapes in my mouth. Midchew, I see him. Moises stands in that circle right by Paloma. My stomach flips. I can’t believe it. I’m not prepared.

  “Can we go?” I get up and start packing the food.

  “We just got here,” Elizabeth says.

  “I’m not feeling well.”

  Paloma leads them over to us. It’s too late. I can’t just up and run. He’ll think I’m crazy or ashamed of what happened between us. I’ve got to chill.

  “What’s going on?” Elizabeth asks.

  Moises sees me and grins. He wears a white T-shirt and worn jeans that have slight rips in them. He is so fine. I need to shake this off.

  “No, nothing. Never mind.” I try to compose myself. He heads our way. I can handle this. It’s no big deal.

  “Hey,” Moises says.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “You guys know each other!” Paloma’s excitement grates on me. I wish she would tone down everything. Elizabeth elbows me but I keep my cool.