by Meg Medina
“But they hate each other!” I said.
“The heart is a mystery,” she said.
Ahana wore a dress with bell sleeves, and Roli rented a tuxedo at the mall. Tía made the corsage herself from flowers in our garden, and we took pictures of the whole thing in the yard. Roli and Ahana made a gorgeous couple, according to everyone who saw them, but even now I can’t imagine what they said to each other while they danced. Maybe they challenged each other to repeat long chemical formulas? Ahana moved to Merritt Island at the end of the year when her father got a big promotion at the John F. Kennedy Space Center. Roli was moody for a month.
Anyway, if somebody’s going to know about romance that makes no sense whatsoever, it will be him. We’re in our room, and he’s punching numbers into a graphing calculator with a clicking sound that’s driving me nuts. I keep my eyes on my language arts book and call to him from my bed.
“I need a definition, Roli,” I say.
“Google it.”
“It’s not in there.”
“Liar.” Click, click, click.
“I’m serious.” When he doesn’t look up, I lower my voice. “Please.”
He sighs and puts down his pencil.
“If I answer you, will you finish your homework in the kitchen? I can’t concentrate with you here.”
“Well, it’s not easy reading with all the noise you’re making on that thing either, you know.”
He crosses his arms. “What’s the word?”
“Maybe like.” I say the phrase carefully, like I’m announcing a spelling bee word. “As in, a boy says he ‘maybe likes’ you.”
He looks at me, astonished. “Somebody said that to you?”
My face flames. “Don’t be ridiculous. They said it to someone I know. Edna Santos, to be precise.” I roll my eyes.
“Ah.” He turns back to his work. “Is this why you’ve been a pain in the neck all afternoon?”
“I’m not a pain in the neck,” I shoot back.
He raises his hands in surrender. “OK, fine. You’re a pain somewhere else.”
“So answer me already. What does that mean: maybe like?”
“You realize that I’m a logophile, Merci, not a love doctor.”
I toss down my book in frustration. “So, you have no hypothesis even? I’d say that’s grade-F work as a brother.”
He blinks, and I feel sort of bad about what I’ve said.
He turns his chair to face me again and sits back, thinking.
“Look, Merci,” he says. “I’m not trying to mess with you. It’s just that absolutely nothing about liking a person — or even disliking someone — is firmly logical all the way through.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “It has a whole layer of illusion and contradictions that are placed there on purpose. It’s like encryption on a computer that scrambles things and hides the valuable data. You have to know the code to be able to read what’s really there.” He smiles hopefully. “Do you understand now?”
“Not at all,” I say.
He rubs his eyes and sighs like when he’s trying to break down a physics formula for somebody he tutors. “What I mean is, it’s a puzzle.” He tosses me his Rubik’s Cube and smiles. He can make each face a solid color in less than four minutes.
I lie back on my bed, disgusted. I’ve tried to do the Rubik’s for years, but I always give up.
This feels even harder.
THE TWINS, STILL IN THEIR Batman pj’s, are hunched over my old game of Operation on Saturday morning.
“What are you guys doing up so early, anyway?” Looking around, I can see they’ve been busy here for a while, even though it’s only six thirty a.m. The patio already looks like a toy chest detonated.
“Playing with Roli, dodo bird,” Tomás says a little too loudly. He’s inching his electronic tweezers near the clown’s leg on the game board.
“Yeah. Playing for a long time,” Axel adds, even louder. He holds up a plastic piece to prove it. “I got the wishbone.”
“What did I tell you? It’s the clavicle,” Roli corrects. “You have to use the right words or it doesn’t count. We agreed.” He’s lying on his back with his knees bent and his eyes closed. He’s stuck babysitting today while I go on the big paint job with Papi and Lolo.
“They’re five years old, you know.” I nudge him with my toe.
“Why don’t you babysit them instead of me?” he says.
“Because I always do it.”
“Well, I’m supposed to be working on scholarship applications. Plus today I have a chance to tutor a kid in chem for some good cash. He called me, desperate.”
I hold up my hand. “Not a chance. You make enough money tutoring after school. It’s my turn to earn some cash. Besides, I want to squeeze in some soccer practice afterward. Tryouts are next week, remember?”
The clown’s nose lights up with a clanging siren. “Agh!” Tomás shouts.
“Gimme,” Axel says, grabbing. “I want to get the Adam’s apple.”
“Larynx,” Roli says. “Laaaa-rinks.”
Oh, boy. Advanced Placement Biology II is going to be a killer for all of us.
Just then, the kitchen light snaps on inside, and Tía Inés steps out through the sliding door. It’s usually her day off, but there’s no one to work the lunch shift. Boy, does she look like she needs some shut-eye. I think the problem might be the head full of rolos. I don’t know how she sleeps in those hard curlers. I don’t say so, of course. In a closed mouth, no fly will enter, as Lolo always says.
“A family of insomniacs,” Tía Inés says, yawning. She surveys the mess of toys littered all over the patio, poking some game pieces with her painted toes.
“Buenos días, familia.” Lolo steps out his back door and waves to us. He’s showered and already dressed in his Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt that matches mine. We ordered the new company uniform last month. It was all my idea. “Advertising matters,” I told Papi, and I designed the whole thing. The front says SOL PAINTING with a logo of a sun rising over the ocean. On the back: REASONABLE RATES, HABLAMOS ESPAÑOL, and then our phone number. We’ve got hats to match.
Tía starts to loosen her rollers. “Oye, Lolo,” she calls to him across the yard. “I think I’m out of milk for the twins’ cereal. Do you have any?”
He peeks back inside his kitchen window for Abuela. “Your handsome grandsons need milk.” Then he turns and heads my way. “Are you ready, Merci?”
“Almost.” I hold out my hand and smile. “But are you forgetting our financial arrangement? Thirty bucks, please.”
He shakes his head and digs in his pocket. “I still say it’s robbery,” he says as hands me the crisp bills.
Abuela walks outside shaking two cans of evaporated milk like a pair of maracas. She comes over to Tía’s screened porch and hands them over.
“Canned? Is this all you have?” Tía asks.
Abuela gives her a withering look. “¡Por Dios! Yes, it’s all I have, and there’s nothing wrong with it. You were raised on leche evaporada!”
“But the twins only drink fresh milk. You know they’re picky about food.”
“The twins aren’t on social security, Inés.”
Axel pipes up. “I’m hungry. I want Coco-Chews.”
“Me, too!” Tomás springs to his feet. “¡Tengo hambre! Coco-Chews! Coco-Chews!” In a flash, they start circling their arms like wheel rods on a steam train. “Coco-choo-choo-choo-coco-choo-choo-choo!” Their train plows over the game board as they barrel inside.
“Nada de Coco-chews,” Abuela calls after them. “That’s not food! Your teeth will rot and a dentist will have to pull them all out! You’ll have to eat soup your whole life!”
“I think there are interim steps, Abuela,” Roli says. “Fillings, for example.”
She narrows her eyes at him.
Tía turns to Roli, exasperated. “Get my purse and drive to Publix for me, would you? They open at seven.”
“Me?” he
says. He’s still in his pajama pants. “I’m not dressed.”
“So find some shorts. Besides, I can’t go like this.” She motions at her head and shoos him off. Then she spots Papi across the yard. He’s loading the last of the buckets into the back of the van. “Is Simón helping today?” she asks me.
Oh, boy.
“It’s just me and Lolo this time,” I say.
Tía looks disappointed as I turn back to Lolo. “We’ve got to go. Papi doesn’t like employees to be late, you know.”
“¡Un momento!” Abuela runs her fingers down the shoulders of Lolo’s T-shirt to smooth it out before we go.
“Keep an eye on him, Merci. No standing in the sun too long.” She frowns a little and taps gently over what’s left of the bruise on his face. I stare at my shoes, in case my eye goes berserk. “His head burns, and this heat is no good for a man his age,” she adds. “And no ladders. He could break a hip and have a limp for the rest of his days.”
Wow. That’s a long list of potential damages, even for the Catastrophic Concerns Department.
“Déjame en paz,” Lolo says, kissing her cheek gently. Then he pulls out his Sol Painting cap from his back pocket and puts it on. “Mira. One problem solved.”
“Don’t worry, Abuela,” I say. “We’ll be inside most of the day.” But even as we walk away, I can still feel her doubtful eyes following me.
“Ready, crew?” Papi says when we reach him.
“Reporting for trim duty,” I say. Papi claims he can’t put me on payroll because 1) Mami wants me to think about school first and not my painting empire, and 2) all those pesky child labor laws could land him in jail. Still, I can do prep work, like taping and such. And of course, we all know that I’m management-in-training, so I use the time to soak up as much as I can. Today, for instance, I’ve decided to focus on quality control. Last time, Lolo forgot to clean the brushes, and Papi had to throw them out and get new ones. I’d hate to have to write Lolo up, but it could happen with the way he’s been forgetting things lately. Hopefully it won’t come to that.
“I can sit back here,” Lolo says as he starts to climb inside the rear doors. Papi’s van has only two seats in front. The rest is a big open space for our equipment. That means that if there are more than two people, somebody sits on a paint bucket.
“¡Qué va!” Papi says. “You come up front with me, Pops. Merci can sit there.”
“Watch out for the seat springs up there,” I tell Lolo. “They’re tough on the fondillo when they poke through.”
Sweat is already trickling down my neck as I settle in among the buckets and drop cloths. Our soccer things are still in here, too. Papi cranks the engine a bunch of times, trying to get it to turn over.
“Hurry, Papi. I need a breeze.”
“Patience.” He turns the ignition key.
I wipe the sweat from my neck as we wait for the engine to catch. Papi’s van is basically an oven on wheels. He keeps adding refrigerant for the air conditioner, but it’s busted, along with the door locks, so we always ride with the windows down no matter how hot it is outside. Nighttime driving isn’t so bad, but in the day? Yikes.
After a few tries, he finally gets the engine started and we head down the driveway, the chassis squeaking and groaning. Suddenly, Lolo shouts.
“¡Cuidado, chico!”
Papi slams on the brakes. Our ladders clatter overhead, and the bucket slides out from under me. I land on my back with a thump. When I scramble up and look out the window, I see Roli smiling at us sheepishly. His playlist is blasting in Tía’s car.
Papi hangs out the window. “Turn that music down, and pay attention like a serious guy, Roli! You’re going to hurt somebody! If I see that again, you’ll be walking everywhere. Got it?”
Roli nods.
“And see if your mother needs anything before you go,” Papi tells him.
Then, with the van creaking under us once again, we pull onto the road.
THE LAKE WORTH CASINO DOESN’T have slot machines or people playing blackjack, the way you’d think from its name. Papi says it did have gambling once, but that was in the 1930s, a long time before anybody in our family was even in this country. Now it’s just a nice building with green-and-white awnings that the mayor calls a sign of “our city’s commitment to destination tourism.” Sometimes couples get married in the ballroom that overlooks the water, but most times people just picnic on the patch of grass outside, or else they fork over forty bucks for a chair and an umbrella in the sand.
I’m glad I’m here today, even though it’s a weekend, and by rights I would be getting double time if I were on payroll. The main thing, of course, is that I’m making money for my new wheels. If we finish early, maybe we can go to the bike shop downtown and window-shop. Lolo can help me pick a good bike, plus Papi’s usually a good negotiator. He’s not afraid to ask for a discount if there’s a small scratch or if it’s a discontinued model. I’d love to see Edna’s face if I rolled in on some sweet cruiser. We live 12.1 miles away from school, according to Roli, but so what? I’ll bet that with a little training, I could make it. It might take over an hour, but it would be worth the sweat and cramped muscles just to show her my new wheels.
I spend the morning covering the edges of the baseboards with blue tape, and then I spread the drop cloths to protect the sinks, and put up signs that say WET PAINT all around the women’s bathroom. Then I get busy sanding off the chipped paint on the door — cha-cha-cha-cha — trying to smooth it down. Papi and Lolo are working on the other end of the hall in the men’s room; I can hear their voices echo over the music as I swirl circles with the sandpaper block. It’s Lolo’s old radio, the one that’s covered in paint speckles from all our jobs. Lolo loves music; in fact, he met Abuela at a dance. Now they only dance on New Year’s Eve, when we all stay up late and eat our twelve grapes, one for each month of the new year. Abuela smiles; Lolo closes his eyes and presses his head against hers. It’s like they’re somewhere else, gliding and spinning.
When the door finally feels smooth to the touch, I toss aside my sandpaper block and head off to go find Papi and Lolo. They’ll forget to take breaks if I don’t remind them.
The double doors to the ballroom are open as I pass by, so I stop for a second to look. One entire side of the room has windows facing the ocean. The huge chandeliers catch the sunshine and make twinkly patterns on the floor. There’s a dusty wedding favor made of two plastic wedding rings in one of the shadows, so I pick it up. The dirty ribbon reads Justin and Leanna in gold letters. It suddenly reminds me of Tía Inés’s wedding to Marco, even though their party was in our backyard. I was five back then, so I only remember bits and pieces. The baker at El Caribe brought in a huge sheet cake on his shoulder. It had a little plastic bride and groom. Abuela ordered champagne and bocaditos of every kind. But what I remember most is how much I wanted to hold Roli’s velvet pillow with the rings instead of tossing out flower petals. No matter how much I begged, though, he wouldn’t switch.
Anyway, Tía Inés and Marco aren’t married anymore. I once asked Tía why they got divorced, but she just said, “He stopped loving me.” I wonder if he maybe loved her and that was the trouble.
Roli might be right about love being a puzzle.
It’s all so confusing. Mami loves Papi, that’s plain and boring. I love Jake Rodrigo — secretly, but still true. And I love Lolo and everybody else in our family, of course, and that’s not complicated either. But then there’s Roli and Ahana. Tía and Marco — and her crush on Simón, too. Michael and Edna in “maybe like,” which is a mess. Is that love? Oh, gross. I don’t know.
I fish in my pocket for my phone and snap a picture of the ocean. Sometimes I take pictures of ordinary things, like the clouds that are gathered far out over the water right now. If you look carefully, you can see the long curtain of gray where it’s already raining. If we’re lucky, maybe there will be lightning later while we’re still here, and I can get some good shots of the bolts hitting th
e water. Lolo once told me it was Papá Dios getting angry about the stupid things people do, like hurting one another, but Roli says that’s not true. “It’s humid air colliding and pushing energy upward into the clouds,” he insists.
What a killjoy. Lolo’s idea is much better.
“Excuse me. Are you lost?” A woman with a brass name tag stands at the open doors.
“No, miss. I’m with the paint crew. I was just taking a picture.”
She looks at me like I’m up to no good. This happens sometimes on our jobs. Some customers watch us, as if we might take things when they’re not looking. Maybe I don’t look serious enough? I put away my phone and slide past her to find Papi.
He’s still working on the inside of the men’s room when I finally reach him. I look around. Urinals are very weird.
“Fast work,” Papi says when he sees me. His shirt is soaked all the way through in this heat. He’s keeping the windows and doors open to let out the fumes or he’ll get dizzy. But not even the ocean breeze is a match for the heat today.
“It’s ten thirty,” I say. “Officially, you’re required to give employees a break, sir.”
Papi pours the teal paint into the tray and wipes his sweaty chin on his shoulder. “It’s already taken care of.”
“What do you mean?” I look around. “Where’s Lolo?”
Papi dips his roller. “He went out to rest on the veranda a while ago. You know how he likes to look at the ocean.”
“And no one told me it was break time? That’s playing favorites. You’re not allowed to do that, you know.”
Papi rolls a few strokes, squinting as he gets up near the top. “Easy, boss.” He dips the roller again. “He needed to rest. A good boss makes adjustments when he has to. Lolo is slowing down, you know.”
I think back to how Lolo fell. “I guess he is.”
Papi glances at me like he wants to say something, but he keeps rolling instead. “Tell you what. I’ll be here for twenty more minutes, tops,” he says. “Then we can all take a break and get something to eat while it dries. Go tell Lolo.”
I step outside through the sliders he points to, but Lolo isn’t sitting in any of the chairs there. So I climb down the metal staircase to check the shady spots on the ground floor. It’s a perfect place for relaxing.