No More Us for You

by David Hernandez

  Heidi grabbed one of the cards and plucked a pen from a cup, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she wrote.

  A woman standing beside me blew into a balloon and it expanded in front of her face like bubble gum.

  Isabel leaned over Heidi’s shoulder. “What’s your wish?”

  Heidi slapped her hand over her card. “Don’t look,” she said. “It’s a secret.”

  “I bet I could guess,” Isabel teased.

  “I bet I know what yours will say,” Heidi shot back.

  “Are you going to do one?” I asked Isabel.

  She shook her head no. “I’ll do one later.”

  “I promise I won’t look,” I reassured her.

  She smiled and shook her head again.

  Heidi snatched a balloon from the crystal bowl and put it to her lips. She blew until the balloon was the size of a watermelon.

  “That’s good,” Isabel said.

  Heidi pulled the balloon from her mouth, pinching the end closed. She blinked hard. “I’m all light-headed now,” she said. “Whew.”

  I held my hand out. “Want me to tie it?”

  Heidi gave me her balloon and I pulled the end around my finger like a rubber band, then looped it under and made a knot. I handed the balloon back to Heidi. “There you go.”

  Heidi tied the card to her balloon and then we were following her through the crowd until we were in the east wing again, standing beside the Plexiglas wall. A man with dreadlocks held a balloon up high like a heart at a sacrificial ceremony. Heidi lifted her balloon and tossed it in with the others.

  I tapped Isabel’s shoulder. “Are you glad you came?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Heidi wasn’t nuts about coming, but look at her now.” Isabel flapped her hand in front of her face.

  “You want to get some air?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “It’s hot in here with all these people.”

  “I’m going to make another wish,” Heidi said. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

  The night air cooled our faces while we sat on one of the concrete benches just outside the entrance. Stars made little pinholes of light above us. Three men in suits stood on the grass, one waving a lit cigarette around as he told a story. I had grabbed an Evian from the waiter before we stepped out and we now drank from it, passing the water back and forth, the mouth of the bottle stained crimson from Isabel’s lipstick.

  We talked for an hour straight, maybe longer—about our families and childhood memories, our birthdays and zodiac signs. We talked about Millikan, Red Vines, the White Stripes, Charlie Kaufman, and frozen yogurt. Snake was on my mind, and I’m sure Vanessa was on hers, but we didn’t bring them up. Not yet.

  Isabel finished the water and handed me the empty bottle.

  “Gee, thanks,” I said, sarcastic.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Want me to run in and get another?”

  “No,” she said. “Stay here.”

  There was a long pause.

  “I wonder what Heidi’s doing,” I said.

  “She’s probably chasing some guy around.” She did that goofy chipmunk smile thing, really fast—a nervous twitch but cute nonetheless.

  There was another long pause.

  Isabel looked at the cars on Alamitos, driving through the night. I wanted to kiss her, but the confidence I’d had earlier was gone. I was shy, nervous, uncomfortable in my skin. Butterflies—no, bats—fluttered around inside my stomach.

  An older couple walked out of the museum, arm-in-arm, smiling, and the man nodded at us.

  “Good night,” Isabel said.

  I waved to the couple.

  “Good night,” the woman said.

  The couple continued on down the pathway that was outlined with strings of lights. Then we were alone again, quiet again, the moon playing peekaboo behind a tree branch.

  I told myself, I’ll kiss her the next time a couple walks out of the museum.

  A man in a brown suit stepped out, a cell phone pressed to his ear.

  I revised my promise: I’ll kiss her the next time anyone walks out of the museum.

  I looked at Isabel and smiled.

  She smiled back and lifted her eyebrows.

  “We’re all talked out,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said. “We’re done talking.”

  I watched the museum entrance, waiting for the next person to step out. Through the glass doors, above the crowd, between two walls, a red balloon had been lobbed into the air and floated down like a time-lapse video of a sunset.

  Isabel grabbed my chin and turned my head. We kissed. I let go of the empty water bottle and put my hand on her knee. Our tongues rolled around, lazily, clockwise. I opened my eyes quickly to see if she was looking, and her eyes were shut, the lashes folded down. We kissed some more and then she put her hand lightly on my chest and backed away.

  “That was nice,” she said.

  “Very nice,” I added.

  “I got tired of waiting for you to kiss me.”

  “Sorry. I was waiting for the right moment.”

  “That was five minutes ago.” She wiped my bottom lip with the side of her thumb. “Got lipstick on you.”

  “It’s not my color?”

  “Nope,” she said. “But I’ve got this bright red tube at home with your name on it.”

  We laughed. Everything was perfect.

  A man wearing a mechanic’s jump suit was coming down the pathway at a quick pace, heading toward the museum. He looked familiar. His face. The goatee. The slender nose. I stared at him, trying to piece it all together.

  “What is it?” Isabel asked.

  “That guy,” I said. “I know him.”

  She turned and looked.

  Then it hit me. It was the man who had peed on the museum floor on my first day at work.

  “What does he have on his shoes?” Isabel asked.

  There were metal points that extended out from the tips of his boots. They looked like steak knives, and they made a tsk-tsk sound as he walked.

  “Are those blades?” Isabel whispered.

  I had to do something.

  “Hey!” I shouted. “Stop.”

  He didn’t stop. The glass doors glided open and he walked in.

  “I have to tell Ms. Otto,” I said, panicked. “Come on, let’s go.”

  We rushed into the museum, into the warm air and chatter, the high squeal of drunken laughter. My eyes bounced around the crowd like a frightened parent looking for his child. I threaded my body around elbows, between couples, apologizing, Isabel trailing behind. I heard a man say the 5 was the worst freeway in Southern California. A plastic cup crumpled under my foot. A woman asked another woman if she’d tried the Brie. A balloon sailed overhead, its card spinning.

  I spotted Richard Spurgeon and made my way toward him. Ms. Otto was nowhere around.

  “Richard,” I yelled.

  “Hey,” he said. “Carlos, right?”

  “Where’s Ms. Otto?” I was on edge.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. His hair stuck out from the sides of his head as if he’d been wrestling.

  “This guy pissed on the floor and he’s here now.”

  “Again?”

  “No,” I said, flustered. “That was a long time ago, but he’s here now and he’s got these knives or something on his shoes.”

  “I think they are knives,” Isabel said.

  “I need to find Ms. Otto,” I told Richard.

  “Janet is…” He paused and turned toward the short hallway that led to her office. “Is this an emergency?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay here,” he said, his hand on my shoulder. “Let me go get her.”

  Richard headed toward Ms. Otto’s office, zigzagging through the crowd.

  I looked at Isabel.

  “Feel my heart,” she said. “It’s beating fast.”

  I did. It was.

  That’s when we heard the first balloon
pop. Then another. Then a succession of pops like Chinese firecrackers going off.

  Fear rippled through the museum as everyone turned to face the commotion, their cups frozen in their hands.

  “Somebody stop him!” a man shouted.

  I drove forward through the crowd. I was that somebody who was going to stop him. “Move, move,” I said to those around me. “I’m the museum guard.”

  More balloons burst like gunshots. People were yelling. I thought my heart was going to jump out of my mouth. Nonetheless, I pushed through, determined. My confidence was back.

  By the time I reached the wall of Plexiglas, it was too late. The man in the jumpsuit was already on the ground, in a headlock. I looked closer and realized it was Leonard, still in his maroon blazer, restraining the man. He held him tight, but the man’s legs scissored wildly, popping more balloons.

  “Watch out for his feet!” a woman hollered.

  I knew what I had to do. I took a deep breath, hopped the wall, and rushed over to help Leonard, balloons leaping around my knees.

  The man’s face was scarlet, his teeth clenched. I positioned myself and then fell on his legs, sitting on them. I looped my arm underneath the man’s legs and clamped my hands together.

  “Yo, my man Carlos,” Leonard grunted. “You’re late again.”

  I was terrified, but I couldn’t help but laugh then.

  “Get off me,” the man hissed. “Get off.”

  Balloons wobbled and bounced around the three of us like red blood cells under a microscope.

  “Somebody call the cops,” Leonard said calmly, as if he were ordering a dish from a menu.

  Then all the cell phones came out, their tiny blue screens lighting up around us.

  ISABEL

  On Sunday, the day after the opening, I took the “Risk of Death” chart from my purse and tossed it in the trash. It had been silly of me to carry it around to begin with. Who needs to be reminded of all the ways you could die? I carried another clipping now, a small story I cut out of the Press-Telegram. The headline read: “Museum Guards Stop Art Vandal.”

  It was one in the afternoon when I pulled into the museum parking lot. There was a news van parked along the curb, its satellite dish angled toward a cloudless blue sky. Carlos wasn’t even supposed to be working, but Ms. Otto wanted him to come in and be interviewed by the news media. Despite what had happened, she said it was excellent publicity for the museum.

  When I stepped into the museum, the girl behind the counter held her finger to her lips. She motioned with her head and I looked across the room. A newswoman with poofy hair was interviewing Leonard and Carlos while a man pointed a video camera over her shoulder. Leonard was dressed in his museum guard uniform, but Carlos wore a plaid button-up shirt, faded jeans, and tennis shoes. The newswoman brought the microphone to her mouth and then to Leonard’s mouth, then over to Carlos’s, like the three of them were sharing an ice-cream cone.

  “You heard what happened?” the girl behind the counter whispered.

  “I was here,” I whispered back. “I saw everything.”

  I passed the time by looking at the large photographs in the west wing of the museum, five to each wall. My favorite one was of an Asian girl in a yellow sundress and sandals. She was laughing, holding her red balloon up to her face, the air rushing out and pushing up her bangs.

  The news crew left with their cords trailing behind them. I walked up to Carlos. He was beaming. “You’re famous,” I said.

  “I didn’t do anything,” he said. “It was all Leonard.”

  Right when he said that, Leonard patted Carlos’s back on his way over to the east wing. “Ms. Otto should give us a bonus.”

  “No kidding,” Carlos said, chuckling.

  “You held that guy’s legs,” I reminded him. “You stopped him from popping more balloons.”

  “Yeah, I guess I did,” he said.

  Ms. Otto came up to us and Carlos introduced me. We shook hands. Ms. Otto thanked Carlos for coming in on his day off. “And for last night too,” she said. “You’re a brave young man.”

  Carlos blushed.

  Before Ms. Otto headed back to her office, I noticed she had a hickey above the collar of her blouse that she had tried to cover up with foundation.

  “Have you had lunch yet?” Carlos asked.

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Let’s grab something to eat.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Let me do something first.”

  I walked up to the table, plucked a balloon from the crystal bowl, and filled it with my breath. The balloon stretched in front of my face, its red skin getting tighter and tighter. When I finished blowing into it, I gave the balloon to Carlos so he could tie it. I uncapped a pen and grabbed one of the cards and started to fill it out.

  Name: Isabel

  Age: 17

  Wish: He kisses me this time.

  Carlos handed my balloon back to me and I attached the card to it.

  “What did you write?” he asked.

  “I’m not telling.” I walked up to the Plexiglas wall and tossed my balloon in with the others. It bounced on top of another balloon and settled on the hardwood floor.

  “That’s okay,” Carlos said. “I’ll find it when I come in tomorrow.”

  “Don’t you dare.” I poked his chest playfully.

  “I’m just teasing.”

  “Why don’t you do one?” I asked.

  “I already did this morning,” he said, and looked at the throng of balloons. “It’s in there somewhere.”

  “We should do one together,” I suggested.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Then we were back at the table. Carlos pulled a balloon from the bowl. I grabbed a card and pen.

  Name: Carlos and Isabel

  “Hey,” he said. “Who should blow up the balloon, me or you?”

  “We both will,” I said. “Just blow into it a little and then I’ll do the rest.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Are you seventeen too?” I asked.

  Carlos nodded as he blew into the balloon, his cheeks all puffed out.

  Age: 17

  Carlos held the balloon toward me, the navel pinched closed between his fingers. I grabbed it from his hand, careful not to let any of his air seep out, and then blew into it. I thought of my breath and Carlos’s breath in the balloon, swirling around each other like two different colors of glitter inside a shaken snow globe. I passed the balloon back to Carlos and he tied the end.

  “Okay, now what’s our wish?” I held the pen over the card.

  “Let me think,” he said, facing the entrance of the museum, eyeing the sky.

  CARLOS

  And I thought, I wish Snake wakes up soon.

  ISABEL

  And I thought, I wish there’s a heaven and Vanessa is there with Gabriel.

  CARLOS

  I wish Suji is doing all right, I wish Will doesn’t get anyone else pregnant.

  ISABEL

  I wish Heidi finds someone who’s good to her, preferably not Matt Hawkins and his billboard-size forehead.

  CARLOS

  I wish Mira doesn’t think I’m the biggest jerk at Millikan.

  ISABEL

  I wish I live to be a hundred.

  CARLOS

  I wish I have a happy life.

  ISABEL

  I wish Carlos ends up being my boyfriend.

  CARLOS

  I wish I don’t screw things up with Isabel.

  ISABEL

  “Well?” I asked him. “What’s our wish?”

  Carlos turned to me and smiled, the balloon between his hands, holding our breath.

  About the Author

  DAVID HERNANDEZ is a web designer and a poet whose collections include ALWAYS DANGER, winner of the Crab Orchard Series in Poetry, and A HOUSE WAITING FOR MUSIC. He also wrote the novel SUCKERPUNCH. He lives in Long Beach, California, with his wife, the writer Lisa Glatt. NO MORE US FOR YOU is his second novel. You can visit him online a
t www.davidahernandez.com.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  ALSO BY DAVID HERNANDEZ

  Suckerpunch

  Credits

  Jacket photo © 2009 by Howard Huang

  Jacket design by Sasha Illingworth

  Copyright

  NO MORE US FOR YOU. Copyright © 2009 by David Hernandez. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  EPub © Edition DECEMBER 2008 ISBN: 9780061973611

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