I twisted my hair around my finger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But I worried all night that Rosa would ruin my new secret plan.
The next morning I was lucky. Rosa and Suelita were both sick and throwing up.
Rosa’s scratchy voice penetrated the new windowpane as I climbed the stairs. “You better be walking home!”
I raced to school, not waiting for Angélica. I scanned the parking lot for the 5News truck. Where is she? I sat on the curb.
The first bell rang. I wiped my soggy hands on my shorts. Angélica ran by with her nose in the air, pretending she didn’t see me.
I decided to give up just before the second bell rang. I was late. When I got to homeroom, our teacher wrote my name on the board for detention.
I spent the rest of that morning darting down hallways between classes, craning my neck, searching for Miss. Her series ends today! If I don’t find her, how will I ever get another chance?
At lunch I checked the parking lot, praying for the news truck to be there. Yes! I charged back inside. Hesitating in the main entry, I scanned the corridors, wondering which way to go, straining to hear her TV voice.
Mr. Stroud came out of his office.
My cheeks got hot, like all my blood cells got called to an emergency meeting in my head. For once I was glad my skin was dark. Maybe the principal wouldn’t notice my guilty face.
He stopped. “Jacinta, isn’t it?”
I nodded, staring at the floor.
“You’ve got detention this afternoon?”
I nodded again.
“Where are you supposed to be now?”
Water sprang to my eyes. My secret plan. Ruined. “Lunch.”
“Then I suggest you head to the cafeteria.”
I hurried, my head down. So people wouldn’t see my tears.
Which is why I ran into Miss. Again.
“Jacinta?” Her voice was the sound of water trickling over rocks in a desert.
“Miss!” I forgot everything. My whole secret plan. I threw my arms around her and sobbed into her blouse.
Later that afternoon I scooted around our apartment like a jumping bean in the sun. If Rosa hadn’t been sick, she would’ve known I was up to something.
But she kept dashing to the bathroom.
Papi was in his bedroom, getting ready for his night job, and Rosa was throwing up, when Miss came down the stairwell. I waited for her knock.
Papi called out for me to get the door.
Pulling it open, I said in a loud voice, “Miss! What are you doing here?”
Papi emerged from the bedroom.
Miss said, “I’m sorry, Jacinta. I know you said not to come. But I felt obligated.”
That word again. I worked to keep from grinning.
She looked at Papi. “May I sit down?”
“Please.” He waved to the sofa. I sat between them.
Rosa staggered from the bathroom and collapsed into the chair, shooting me angry looks through bleary red eyes.
“Miguel, it’s my fault your girls were late after swimming. Please don’t blame them. Or the youth center. Your girls need structure. Jacinta needs the social support.”
Structure? Social support? I just wanted an Amiga. I hoped Papi understood. Miss sounded like she’d eaten a dictionary for lunch.
Papi stiffened. “Thank you, Miss, but they have many things, here, to do.”
I said. “It’s okay, Miss. There are girls in our building. I can be friends with Isabel.”
“No, you can’t,” Rosa croaked — as though I were stupid. “She got pregnant and went back to Mexico, remember?”
She couldn’t have done it better if I’d paid her a million dollars. I looked from Papi to Miss, enjoying their faces when Rosa said “pregnant.”
Controlling my own face, I said, “Maybe Lupe?”
Papi frowned. “I do not want you with Lupe. She goes with boys in fast cars.”
I pulled my eyebrows together. “There are lots of boys in the building. They pay attention to me now that I’m older. Especially the high-school boys.”
Miss went even more white. Albino.
I added, “But I’m becoming a woman. Without Mamá here, I need a woman to talk to.”
Papi’s brown skin looked green. “You have Rosa and Carmen.”
My eyes started stinging for real. I blinked and water spilled down my face. “Rosa will be in high school next year, and you and Tía are always working.”
I had wanted Papi and Miss to think I was crying, but because the tears were real, I was embarrassed. I stared at the carpet, hiding my face with my hair. I felt Miss and Papi looking at each other over my head. I held my breath and crossed my fingers.
Papi coughed.
Miss cleared her throat. “Uh, Miguel, have you thought of enrolling Jacinta in the Amiga program?”
Behind my curtain of hair, a smirk crawled up the side of my face.
PAPI STARED at the paper, clicking the button on the end of the pen. The little point poked in and out.
Click.
Click.
The writing was English, so Papi wouldn’t be hurried. There’s a word for being slow like that. Cautious.
I picked at the peeling paint on the kitchen table, waiting in case he had questions. I’d just finished sixth grade and was the best reader in our family — in English — even though I didn’t like reading.
Rosa would be going into high school, but she took ELA classes — English Language Acquisition. She was already nine when we moved back to Colorado, so she spoke English with an accent. I spoke both English and Spanish with no accent.
But Rosa could read and write in Spanish, and I could not.
I chipped the polish off my fingernails and glanced at Papi. He reminded me of mi abuelo — my grandfather — after his accident.
Mi abuelo would stare at the fields, blowing smoke rings with his cigar. Will there be enough rain? Will the crops survive? Sometimes Abuelo would smile, and the corners of his eyes would crinkle like old paper. But mostly he was serious.
Even though my grandfather was my mother’s father, Papi reminded me of him just then. He tapped the paper with his finger. “¿Otra vez, qué es esto?”— What is this again?
“It’s for me to take gymnastics.”
I tried to say the English word lightly. Like it was no big deal.
“Gymnastics?” Papi repeated in English.
I imagined myself doing things Eva Chávez did, people cheering and clapping. “Cartwheels . . . doing the splits.”
Papi gave me the Spanish word. “Gimnasia. How much will it cost?”
“If you fill out the paper, it will be free.”
Click went the pen. Click.
I wiped my wet hands on my shorts.
“Where did you get this paper?” he asked.
“Miss got it at the recreation center.” I said recreation center in English, because I didn’t have the words to explain in Spanish. “Where the swimming pool is.” Papi clicked the pen in and out. I should’ve waited for Mamá to call. Mamá would’ve told Papi it’s good to learn new things.
But I realized my mistake too late.
Papi said, “This paper’s from the city. They’re asking how much money we have, where we live, how many people are in our family. It’s not good to tell the government too much. That’s the way to get a long bus ride. Then you have to swim back across the river.”
I smiled. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true. Never forget that, mija.”
He rubbed my cheek with the back of his fingers as he said “my daughter.” Then his eyes got big.
“What have you told Miss about our family?” He spoke Spanish except when he said Miss.
“Nothing, Papi.”
He stared at me hard.
“I don’t tell family things,” I repeated.
The pen clicked again. And again.
“I need to think about this.” He
stood and picked up the paper.
I leaped from my chair. It fell backward. Papi had turned away, but when my chair slammed onto the floor, he spun around to face me.
“Mamá would let me take gymnastics!” I threw at him.
His eyes pierced me. I took a step back.
Then his face softened. “Jacinta, your mamá isn’t here.”
He left the gymnastics paper in the stack by the phone and walked out. The picture in my mind of doing gymnastics disappeared.
Like the smoke from mi abuelo’s last cigar.
IT WAS COLD in the fitting room. I felt like I was naked. I practically was.
“I don’t like this one, Miss.”
“You said you wanted a one-piece swimsuit?”
“Not this one. Look.” I turned around and motioned with my hand.
“Your back?”
“Yesssss.”
Miss sighed. “What don’t you like?”
“I’m sunburned.”
In the mirror her smirk crept across the opposite side of her face. “Dark skin doesn’t mean you’re burned.”
She was smiling again because I didn’t know things. I threw my words at her. “People will think I’m black!”
“First, there’s nothing wrong with being black. People come in all colors. Second, your skin is perfect.”
Miss was smart, but some things she couldn’t understand. She didn’t know that her creamy skin opened doors — doors that would slam in my face. I chose a two-piece suit that came with a swim shirt to go over it, so people wouldn’t see my back.
We stood in line to buy it.
“Jacinta, keep this to yourself. About the swimsuit. Don’t lie. Just — don’t mention it. Promise?”
“I can’t tell Mamá when she calls?”
Miss blushed. “I wouldn’t ask you to keep a secret from your parents. I’d just rather this didn’t get back to Liz Espinosa. But if you’re coming to the rec center with us, you need a swimsuit. So please don’t brag to your friends.”
I coiled my hair around a finger. “Okay, Miss.”
But it was too late.
Angélica had called that morning, inviting me to join her and Miss Linda, going to the movies. I’d told Angélica I’d be shopping for a new swimsuit with my own Amiga. The famous one. Kathryn Dawson Dahl.
Sorry.
But I wasn’t sorry. I’d used all three of Miss’s names. As a weapon. I’d wanted to hurt Angélica, like she’d hurt me all those times, telling me about her wonderful Amiga. I didn’t mention that Miss had agreed to be my Amiga only until her lawyer could force 5News to give her back her old job — reading the news on the anchor desk. Then Miss would be working nights, so she wouldn’t be able to take me places after school.
I stood at her elbow while she paid for the suit. Then I remembered to be gracious. “Thank you, Miss. You’re awesome.”
She smirked. “The Grand Canyon is awesome, Jacinta. Save that word for when you need it.”
Maybe gracious is something only kids have to be.
We were about to leave the store when Miss stopped. She stared at me. At my clothes. “Would you like a new sweater?”
I clutched Mamá’s sweater. “No, Miss. No, thank you.”
“Fine. But you’ll need a new sweater for school this fall.”
My stomach swooped. Like when you think an elevator is going up but it goes down instead. Will Mamá be back before school starts? Every week when she’d call, I’d ask her when she was coming home. She’d say, “I need to stay as long as Abuelita needs me.”
I still wouldn’t wash the sweater, even though it smelled like dirty socks instead of Mamá. I’d had to dig it out of the laundry hamper. Then I hid it under my mattress so Rosa wouldn’t find it. It was wrinkled as well as grubby and smelly. But I needed to wear it until Mamá came home, no matter how long it took.
But it wasn’t easy to say no to Miss. She didn’t act like an amiga — a friend. She called herself my mentor. I wasn’t even sure what it meant.
I wanted reassurance.
So as we walked through the mall, I took her hand and asked, “When can I go to your house?”
“My house?”
“I want to see it.”
I listened to Miss’s heels click across the tiles. “Jacinta, please don’t take this the wrong way, but — I don’t enjoy having guests. After working all week, I’m just not up to it.”
I let go of her hand. But I don’t think she noticed.
Her heels continued clicking on the hard tiles. “Will Rosa be back by the time we reach your place? I’d like to get her a swimsuit, too.”
I’d said Rosa was with friends when Miss wanted to take us both shopping. Miss wasn’t supposed to know we traded off babysitting Suelita while Papi worked.
Two years ago a white lady in our building called la policía because our neighbor left her kids alone while she was at work. The kids got taken to foster care, and our neighbor sees them only on weekends.
Mamá and Papi had taught us to say they were in the shower or napping if anyone asked where they were — so no one would know how much they were gone. I could see trouble ahead. Miss would probably think Papi was the cleanest, most well-rested man in Maplewood.
I folded my arms. “Why does Rosa need a swimsuit? You aren’t her Amiga.”
“She could still come with us.”
The green beast poked me with one thick claw. I imagined Rosa with my Miss at the mall, laughing and talking. Miss holding Rosa’s hand the way she held mine — with Rosa’s pinkie wrapped around Miss’s pointer finger.
I reached for my hair and started twisting. “Sorry, Miss. Rosa will be gone all day.”
MISS PROBABLY THOUGHT I’d pick going to the movies for my birthday. But when she asked how I wanted to celebrate, I said, “Can we go to your house?”
Her eyes went wide in surprise. Then she sighed. “Fine.”
On the day of my birthday, I got to sit in the front seat of the van because I’d turned twelve. My heart danced in my chest, all the way up a hill, past huge houses. Then my jaw dropped.
I knew her house would be nice, but I didn’t expect it to look like a stone castle. I imagined Tinker Bell flying out of the sky and fireworks going off.
Like in the beginning of kids’ movies.
She pushed a button on her car’s sun visor, and the garage door opened.
Magic.
“Miss, can I push the button next time?”
“Next time?”
I didn’t exactly feel welcome. Miss had allowed me to cross la línea — the line into the private part of her life. But she wasn’t planning to let me stay.
Inside, light came from windows in the ceiling. What would it be like to live with so much light? More windows looked onto the backyard. I never knew a family with a backyard to themselves.
Our “garden-level apartment” was just a basement.
Miss glanced around, her face growing red. In three steps she reached a window and slid it open sideways. A door to the backyard!
“Guys, get in here.”
I heard her boys laughing. Ethan bounded in, like a big shaggy dog. “Hi, J.J.”
He meant me — Jacinta Juárez! I’d never had a nickname before.
“You wanna play in the hammock?” he asked.
I didn’t know what he meant. I’d never heard of a hammock, but I didn’t want him to laugh at me again. Fortunately Miss interrupted.
“Ethan, what are you supposed to be doing?” Nag-O-Matic.
He rolled his eyes. Cody followed him into the kitchen, where they started loading the dishwasher.
Miss nodded. “Your psychic powers are truly remarkable.”
Our family never used the dishwashers in our apartments, even though Rosa and I begged Mamá to try it. She said people who wouldn’t wash a dish were lazy.
I went to join the boys in the kitchen.
I stopped.
A cake with colored sprinkles. Curly letters spelled H
appy Birthday Jacinta in pink icing. “You made this for me?”
She snorted. “If I’d made it, it’d be inedible. Cody’s the chef.”
I stared at him. Cooking and cleaning? I’d never thought of marrying a white boy. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea.
But if Cody was in love with me, it didn’t show on his pale little face. He shrugged. “It’s from a mix.”
“Let the guys work, Jacinta.” Miss led me through the glass door to the backyard. “Explain again why Rosa didn’t come.”
I was irritated that Miss kept asking. It was my birthday. Miss was my Amiga. So the truth slipped out. I kinda let it slip. “Papi saw her making out.”
Miss stopped halfway across the covered patio. “With a boy?”
“He touched her”— I stopped, but it was too late —“T-shirt.”
Miss’s lips pressed together. I got mad at myself for telling on Rosa, but I was also glad, because Miss would know that I was the good one.
Then I forgot about Rosa. I was too busy staring. Miss’s yard looked like someone had dumped a truckload of flower seeds, then left them where they fell.
“I love the pink ones! How did you plant so many?”
“I didn’t. We can’t afford a gardener anymore, so the Mexican primroses are taking over.”
“You don’t like them?”
She studied my face, then smiled. “Actually, I do. They can survive anything. The others are too much trouble.”
“Why don’t you pull them out?”
She shrugged. “Once you take on something, you feel obligated.”
A thought came to me. If I’d known the word, I’d have said it was a premonition. A hint of a time when I might be too much trouble, and Miss would still feel obligated.
Then she said, “The only flowers worth the time are roses.”
Roses? I thought of my sister Rosa. The green beast hissed. “I’m named after a flower, too.”
“I know. I love hyacinths. I have tons of them.”
I stopped again. Mamá always said her girls were a flower garden. Suelita’s name meant “little lily.” I’d seen lilies in church at Easter. But I’d never seen a hyacinth. “Where are they?”
“They’re not in bloom right now.”
Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco Page 5