I’ll be mad at you if I feel like it! I want to retort. But for Mami’s sake, for the sake of her relationship with her employers, I swallow the words. “I’m not mad. It’s just that you don’t get it. You and your dad . . . you can afford to ‘speak out’ without any real consequences. So maybe your dad takes a dip in the polls, or his opponent criticizes him. Big deal. You don’t actually get hurt; you don’t see the people who are getting hurt.”
“I’m really sorry, Millie,” he says, eyes wide, voice solemn. “I don’t mean to trivialize what your family has gone through. I know I can’t begin to understand.”
I let out a long sigh. “Some of us just don’t have it in us to fight. I’m not Rosa Parks. I’m not Corrie ten Boom. I’m just Millie, and I think I choose self-preservation over being a martyr.”
“And there’s nothing wrong with that. I never meant to say you shouldn’t protect yourself and your family.”
I don’t want to continue this conversation. There’s no point. Charlie means well, just like his dad. And I’m sick of explaining why meaning well isn’t always enough. “I really need to go to bed, Charlie. Good night.”
≈
In the morning, Mami takes the kids to school. Oscar brings us all breakfast sandwiches, and we leave the house by nine. It’s about a two-and-a-half-hour drive. One of Mr. Wheeler’s campaign staffers drives, with Mr. Wheeler sitting in the front passenger seat, on his phone the entire time. Mami and I sit in the back with Mr. Zambrano, who’s also on his phone, texting and checking various websites. The campaign staffer who’s driving plays several episodes of a podcast that seems to be focused on Texas political commentary. According to the podcast hosts, Mr. Wheeler’s bold stances are paying off, as his support base is growing.
The hosts also talk about the San Antonio mayor, Diego Gutierrez, who’s running for governor. I’ve seen a few of his campaign posters in our old neighborhood. There’s a lot of debate on this podcast about whether Texas is “ready” for a Latino governor. I wish we could just listen to some music.
Mami holds my hand and rubs my arm most of the way to Potrillo.
We park several blocks from the detention center and make our way through a group of protesters. Many people are holding signs: “Families Belong Together,” “Don’t Separate Children,” “Close the Camps.”
Oscar introduces us to a few people, including Sister Magdalena, who tells Mami about the ways her church organization is helping families once they’ve been released from detention. They match families up with immigration lawyers. They’ve also opened a resource center where asylum seekers can be reunited and can get clothes and a meal.
Eventually we meet up with Congresswoman Martinez, a member of the U.S. House of Representatives who represents part of Potrillo and some of the adjacent areas. She seems to be in her mid-fifties, is barely five feet tall, and has a short gray bob. She’s surrounded by news staffers and several news crews, who follow her and Mr. Wheeler and Oscar up to the main entrance of the detention center.
At the door, they’re met by a staff member. I can’t hear what is being said from where I’m standing. Congresswoman Martinez is doing most of the talking, and she’s using her hands to emphasize her point. I can see that the staff member is not letting them go in; he’s blocking the entrance and shaking his head. The three of them stand at the door for about five minutes more before the staff member closes it.
Representative Martinez turns back to the crowd of protesters and speaks into a megaphone that one of her staffers hands to her. “We are being denied entrance to the facility. And I suspect I know why.” She points to the building behind her. “The children who are housed in this facility aren’t receiving adequate care. The conditions are horrible. There isn’t enough room for them to lie down, they don’t have enough showers for proper hygiene, and the meals they’re receiving are insufficient. There have been reports of abuse and neglect. And there’s no way to know the full extent of these horrors, because the administration won’t allow us inside. We must fight back. This separation policy is cruel and immoral. Children should be allowed to remain with their parents who are seeking asylum. It is their legal right to seek asylum, and as the process takes place, these parents should be able to have their children with them. This inhumane child separation policy must be reversed.”
The protesters cheer, clap, wave their signs. Journalists press up against Congresswoman Martinez and Mr. Wheeler, calling out questions, shoving cameras and microphones at them. Mr. Wheeler seems to be soaking it all up, talking to as many people as he can. Oscar ushers Congresswoman Martinez over to Mami and me and makes introductions, while cameras track the congresswoman’s every move.
“It is so nice to meet you, Millie,” she says, taking my hand. “I’ve been following your story, and I’m so sorry about the fire.” She takes Mami’s hand. “How is your family?”
Mami thanks her. “We are doing okay. We were all safe, and that’s what matters.”
“Thank you both so much for being here,” Congresswoman Martinez says. “We all have to stand up and speak out for these children. They have no voice right now. We are their voice.” She gives me a hug before she moves on to speak to the cluster of nuns and the priests. The cameras follow her.
I’m grateful to just be in the background and not having to say anything on camera, but I know that the cameras caught footage of me speaking to her, and that will be shown somewhere. The thought terrifies me. Who could be watching? How many people are going to be angered, maybe even spurred to violence, when they see me here?
≈
You don’t pass a Border Patrol checkpoint on the way into Potrillo, but you do on the way out. It seems so strange that there’s a checkpoint to go from one part of Texas to another part of Texas. We aren’t even crossing any borders, but because Potrillo is only about seventy miles from the U.S.-Mexico border, there are extra barriers to ensure that no undocumented person is going farther into the U.S.
Mr. Wheeler’s campaign staffer comes to a stop at the checkpoint and rolls his window down. The Border Patrol agent asks him to open the back window, and he does with the button on the front door. “Is everyone an American citizen?” the agent asks.
“Yes, we are,” Mr. Wheeler replies, leaning forward in the front passenger seat.
The agent shines his flashlight into the far back and looks inside. Another agent with a dog circles the car twice.
Uneasiness now overwhelms all my other feelings. But having Mr. Wheeler and his staffer in the car means the agents probably won’t scrutinize us very closely. And after all, we are citizens. I shouldn’t have to feel nervous.
My phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Charlie: Sorry for being insensitive yesterday. I hope things went okay in Potrillo. The kids have been terrific all afternoon.
Maybe I’m just grateful for the distraction from this tense experience, but reading these words fills me with warmth. I type, Thanks. We’re on our way back now. Don’t let Javi play your video games till his homework’s done!
He sends back a winky face, and I smile in spite of myself.
“Thank you,” the first agent says. “You can be on your way now.”
The stop has only taken a couple of minutes. But the discomfort stays with me long after we leave the checkpoint behind, until I drift off to sleep on Mami’s shoulder.
Chapter Nineteen
June 2018
Graduation day somehow takes me by surprise. Everything about it feels unreal—the fact that this is the last time I’ll be in the same building with all my classmates, the fact that Papi isn’t here to see it, the fact that I’ve agreed to go to Charlie Wheeler’s graduation party right afterward.
Back at the Wheelers’ house, I tug on the strap of my sundress, pulling it into place to cover up the neckline of the new swimsuit Mami bought me. It’s a purple-and-black one-piece that I’ve paired with short black board shorts. Mami has never let us wear bikinis, and I don’t think I’d be comfortable
wearing one anyway.
Chloe texts me, saying she’s just parked. I’m glad she’s here. I don’t want to brave the backyard full of Charlie’s friends by myself.
I slip on my flip-flops and take the steps two at a time. The hallway is full of people making their way out to Charlie’s backyard, and I squeeze past them. As I reach the front door, Chloe comes bounding up the front walk.
“Hey,” I say. “I like your wrap. Is it new?”
She spins around so I can get the full view of the flowered wraparound skirt she’s wearing over her black bathing suit. “Yes, a graduation present from my mom. She actually did well on this one.” Chloe walks past me into the foyer, and we walk through the house toward the backyard. “This place is unbelievable. So does the party have normal people food or rich people food?”
I laugh and elbow her in the side. “Stop it. You’re going to be nice today.”
“I’m always nice,” she says. She pulls open the sliding glass door, and we walk out into the scorching sun. She pulls her sunglasses down from where they’ve been resting on her head.
“You want to eat first or head over to the pool?” I ask as we walk down the wooden patio steps onto the grass.
“Pool. We have to show off our bods before we fill them with this rich-people food.”
“Chloe!” I say, laughing. “People are going to hear you.”
“I have no problem with that.”
Charlie is across the pool, playing water basketball with his friends. He catches my eye and waves. I wave back as I make my way to the diving board. I feel his eyes following me as I walk the length of the diving board and jump in.
We spend an hour or so in the pool, floating on our backs and taking turns jumping off the diving board. We play a game of pool volleyball with Jen and three of our other friends from school.
“Want to go lay out?” Chloe asks eventually.
“Yeah, I could take a break from the water.”
A minute later, we’re stretched out on the pair of wooden deck chairs where we left our clothes. I sit back, drops of water dripping from my legs and hair onto the hot concrete. There’s a game of chicken going on in the pool, and I’m so glad we got out in time. Dawson dives in, and I feel a faint spray of water tickle my feet.
Ivan and Jay emerge from the sliding glass door, and before I can tell her not to, Chloe bolts out of her lawn chair and skips over to them.
I don’t want to look in their direction, for fear that Jay will think I’m looking at him. So I stay still, frozen in place, watching a gull dive lazily into the water below. A shadow moves to my left, and I know it’s Jay before he even says, “Hi, Mil.”
“Hi, Jay,” I say, glancing over his shoulder to see Ivan pulling his T-shirt over his head as he and Chloe walk toward the diving board.
Jay slides into the chair that Chloe just vacated. “We did it. Graduated. Feels good, right?”
“Yeah. Do you feel ready to be an Islander?” He’s going to TAMU-CC next year, like most of my friends. If I decide to stay in town instead of going to Stanford, I’ll still be able to see them all the time.
“More than ready,” he says. “I can surf in between classes.”
I laugh and turn back to the gull, which has now been joined by another gull. They’re circling each other, inching their way closer to the buffet table. The thought of Jay running to class with dripping wet hair amuses me now that I don’t have to compete with his surfing obsession.
“Race me,” Jay says, sitting up suddenly from his relaxed position.
“Nah, I’m good.” I shake my head and sink deeper into the chair.
“Come on, Mil.” Jay stands up, pulls his shirt up over his head and tosses it on the cement ground next to me.
I avert my eyes from his muscular arms, toned from carrying a surfboard, from paddling against the strong waves. Those arms used to hold me, but I don’t pine for them like I used to. I catch Charlie’s eye across the pool where he and Dawson are playing pool basketball.
Jay reaches down for both my hands, and I let him pull me to my feet.
“No crying if I win,” I say, remembering the last time we raced, the last time I won. It was about a year ago at the city pool. He’d underestimated my ability, forgotten how many hours I spent swimming against the tide to pass the time while he sat in the deep, waiting for a wave.
“Whatever.” We stand at the edge of the pool, our feet inches apart. “Say when.” Jay bends forward.
“Go!” I yell and dive into the cool water. I surface for air and launch myself forward. Jay’s just ahead of me, and I urge my arms to move me faster. I see the other end of the pool and feel my hand crash against the cement just seconds after Jay surfaces, victorious and smiling.
“Almost had me,” Jay says, breathing heavily. “It was close.”
I’m panting, trying to catch my breath. I wipe my eyes and pull my hair from my face.
“Mil, I’m sorry,” he says suddenly.
“No big deal,” I say between each heavy breath. “You won fair and square.”
“No.” Jay wipes his face, shakes the water from his hair. “I don’t mean that. I’m sorry for everything. For being a jerk, for messing up, for ruining everything.”
“It’s okay,” I say, swimming toward the ladder. I climb up onto the concrete.
He climbs up behind me, and we stand there dripping in the afternoon sun.
“It’s not okay. I was a terrible boyfriend. I wish . . . I wish I had done things differently. I wish we were still together.”
Drops of water glisten on his chest, and the sun hits him directly in the face. He puts a hand up to shield his eyes and looks at me searchingly.
“Jay, it’s best this way. It’s in the past. I’m not mad anymore. I’m not hurt anymore.”
“But is there a chance?”
I shake my head slowly. “I’m sorry, Jay.”
His eyes fall to the ground; his hand shielding the sun falls too as a cloud moves over to cover it. “I deserve it.”
“I’m not trying to punish you. I just don’t feel that way about you anymore.”
“Okay. Well, it was worth a shot. But you do deserve better, Mil. You deserve the best.”
“Thanks, Jay.”
“I’ll, uh, see you around I guess,” Jay says. He takes a step toward me. “Hug goodbye?”
I nod. Our wet bodies are against each other for only a second before I pull away.
“Bye, Jay.” I look for Chloe, but she’s in the pool by Ivan, and I figure that’s where Jay is headed, so I turn around and walk in the other direction.
Mindy Stincil is at the buffet table. “Hi, Millie,” she says as I approach. “Want a plate?”
“Sure.” I reach for the plate Mindy holds out to me. “Thanks.” I pick two slices of pizza, a fruit kabob, a handful of baby carrots, and a bag of chips. A quick look back tells me that Jay has joined Ivan and Chloe.
Mindy holds the ice chest open for me, and I take out a Coke. It’s all soda. Charlie warned everyone that there would be absolutely no alcohol. A lawyer who’s running for Senate can’t risk getting caught serving to minors. That fact alone deterred half of our senior class from attending Charlie’s party. People looking for a different kind of scene headed to Tim Condie’s party down the street.
I follow Mindy over to a table on the patio, away from the pool. “You gave a great speech,” I tell her. Mindy’s our valedictorian, to nobody’s surprise.
“Thanks. I was so nervous.”
“I couldn’t tell,” I say. “And by the way, I never got a chance to thank you for the backpack, the calculator . . .”
“Oh, it was nothing.”
“It was really thoughtful. It meant a lot.” I open my Coke and take a drink.
“I wanted to do more. I felt terrible about what happened.”
I smile and wish there was a way to magically change the subject now.
Mindy pulls a pineapple chunk off its wooden skewer and puts it in her m
outh as she looks toward the pool. Dawson is on the diving board, doing a handstand. He walks on his hands off the diving board and falls headfirst into the water. The crowd around him erupts in laughter, and a smile creeps to Mindy’s face.
“He’s ridiculous, right?” she says turning to me.
“Dawson? Yeah.” I take a bite of pizza and then set it down on my plate.
“Do you remember that time he rode his bike off the pier at Cole Park?”
“I heard about it, but I wasn’t there.”
Mindy laughs. “I was there. He just didn’t stop—dove into the water, bike and all.”
I look over at the diving board where Dawson is doing a belly flop. “That is pretty nuts.”
“How nuts do you think a girl would have to be to really like him?”
I study Mindy’s expression. “You like him?”
“Maybe. Is that really dumb?”
“No, it’s not. But I always thought you and Charlie . . .”
“Oh, no. Charlie’s like my brother. He’s a great friend, has been since we were babies, but we’ve never liked each other like that. Besides, I prefer them kind of wild.”
“Does Dawson know?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “No. I was just too worried about what people might say. People kind of have this impression that he’s stupid. He’s actually pretty smart—near perfect score on his SATs. He does stupid stuff because he’s always looking for the laugh.”
I can’t help thinking that it must be nice to have that luxury. Dawson’s rich enough that he probably could’ve gotten into any Ivy League school as long as his parents made a big enough donation. His grades, his choices, won’t hold him back from being successful. If I behaved as carelessly as he did, I never would’ve had a shot at Stanford.
But other than his privilege, I don’t have anything against Dawson. “You should go for it,” I say.
Her face lights up. “Do you really think so?”
“Yeah. School’s done. Like you said in your speech today—the possibilities are endless. There’s no reason not to try, if that’s what you want.”
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