David scoffed. “Yeah, right. You probably begged her, huh?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Hey, wanna ride?”
“Sure.” Efrén jumped onto the handlebars and held on tight. Initially, the bike swayed back and forth, but it eventually straightened as David made it onto the side of the street.
“You sure you can handle my weight?” Efrén asked.
“Of course. I gave Concha a ride the other day. And she’s not all bony like you.”
Efrén laughed.
“Yep . . .” David continued, “she barely squeezed between the handlebars.”
Amá would have had a cow if she’d known they’d been riding together like that. As much as she liked David, she didn’t quite understand him. Said she couldn’t get why a boy would dye his hair different colors each month, or why he insisted on sagging his pants so low that she always knew the exact pattern of his boxer shorts.
Once, she even threatened to throw away all of Efrén’s underwear if he ever tried something like that. And even though she was smiling when she said it, Efrén knew better than to risk it.
Today though, Efrén felt like a real-life celebrity strutting his stuff down the red carpet. He sat upright waving at all the elementary school kids still being escorted by their overly protective mothers. That’s right, world. Eat your heart out!
For once, he knew what it was like to be independent . . . like David. In all the time Efrén had known David, he’d never seen anyone calling him inside when it got late. Never saw anyone come out to the playground to see if he needed a sweater or hassle him for not keeping his shirt tucked all the way into his pants.
When the duo reached the school, David stopped at the bike rack where the school security guard, Rabbit, was standing. At least that’s what kids called him. They thought it was a clever name for the old man who was so slow that a tortoise could outrace him.
Efrén hopped off the bike and untucked his shirt. “So what’s up with you? You usually get here right before the late bell.”
“Simple. You are looking at this year’s new ASB President.”
“A-S-B?”
“Associate something. I don’t know. Point is, I’m gonna run for school president. I know. I’m only a seventh-grader, but so is Jennifer Huerta, and she’s the only other person running. She’s such a teacher’s pet. There’s no way I’m gonna lose to her.”
“You do know that’s a bunch of extra work, right?”
“I know. But the way I figure, once I win, I can pass a new rule for the vice president to have to do all that stuff.”
Efrén crinkled his forehead. “Dude, I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“Of course not. That’s why I’m running. To fix it. You know what . . . you should run for office too!”
“But then I’d have to do all your work.”
“Or . . . you could be treasurer.” He slid his fingers over his palm as if peeling a potato. “It’s gonna rain money for sure. And you’ll be in charge of it all. Dude, we’re talking millions!”
Efrén shook his head. “I don’t know about that. Besides, I’m not really into politics.”
“Forget politics. I’m talking instant popularity. By next year, we’ll both have our pick of girls.”
“So that’s what this is about?”
David went all puppy-eyed, a look Efrén had seen plenty of times before.
“Nah. No, thanks.”
“Fine,” said David. “But will you at least go with me to the candidates’ meeting?”
Efrén knew all too well how horribly wrong most of David’s plans usually went. Still, he couldn’t say no to his best friend. “All right, but you owe me.”
“Duh, dude! That’s how politics works.”
Two
When Rabbit arrived to open the gate, the boys locked up David’s bike and headed inside to the principal’s conference room. Across the main entrance stood a huge yellow banner. ASB SCHOOL ELECTIONS ARE COMING! The message was written in rounded letters with the O’s in the shape of balloons. No doubt Ms. Salas’s handiwork. She loved to decorate her letters every chance she got. And since she ran the ASB Leadership class, she had plenty of practice making school posters.
Efrén pulled on the door and propped it open with his foot. “After you, Mr. President.”
David hiked up his pants. “I could so get used to this.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Efrén could see Ms. Salas along with Jennifer Huerta and her super quiet sidekick, Han Pham, waiting inside. “Should I announce your arrival?”
“Nah, I got this,” David said, his usual swag now replaced with an uncomfortable wobble from the wedgie he’d inadvertently given himself.
“Bienvenidos, niños,” said Ms. Salas, standing over a pink box filled with different colored conchas. The tire-like thread of brown, yellow, and pink sugar coating made the bread look like the 4x4 tires off a toy Tonka truck. “Thank you for your interest in public service. What positions are you here for?”
David tapped his chest. “Just me . . . for school president.”
She turned to Efrén. “Are you sure? We do have a few positions open if you’re interested.”
Efrén shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m just here to support David.”
Ms. Salas pressed her lips together. “Back when I was a kid, school elections were a big deal. One year, we had eleven candidates. But that was then. Well, anyway . . . would you two boys like a concha? They’re freshly baked.”
Efrén remembered what Amá had taught him about minding his manners, about accepting things from other people. “Don’t be a ‘pediche,’” she’d say.
She had this theory about how people only offer things because they feel obligated by the whole manners thing—kind of like when the family has company and Amá offers to feed them despite the fact that it would mean digging into the family’s weekly rations.
So Efrén shook his head, hoping for a second request before accepting a piece.
But not David. No way. He had already snatched up a yellow and a brown concha before Ms. Salas had even offered any. “That’s fine boys. We’ve got plenty for seconds . . .” She sighed, looking at the empty chairs around the conference table. “And thirds. And fourths. Possibly fifths.”
The turnout was low, and since only the students who attended the meeting could run for office, it meant these two girls, Jennifer and Han, were all that stood in the way of David’s presidency.
For the most part, Jennifer was a nice girl, but she had a habit of always raising her hand in class, whether the teacher asked a question or not. Not to mention automatically correcting anyone who messed up an answer—including teachers.
But Efrén didn’t mind her. He thought she usually made good points.
As for Han, she didn’t say much. In fact, kids at school simply referred to her as “that girl who sits next to Jennifer.”
During the short meeting, Ms. Salas went into great detail about each of the ASB job descriptions and expectations.
Ms. Salas explained how with only two candidates running, the loser would automatically be given the vice president position.
Efrén studied David’s competition, especially the way the girls locked onto Ms. Salas’s every word and took careful notes.
And David? Well, he just slouched back, paying attention only to the sugary bread sitting across from him. Not exactly presidential behavior.
Still, Jennifer had a way of rubbing students the wrong way. A lot of kids didn’t like that she seemed to know everything (a possible side effect of the fact that she always seemed to be reading).
David definitely stood a good chance. His cool swag and carefree attitude could go a long way against her. He might actually win.
Efrén and David raced to their first class after the ASB meeting ended. Mr. Garrett was not someone to mess with. Rumor had it that he was the only teacher at school to ever send an entire classroom to the principal’s office. All at one time!
The strange thing about Mr. Garrett was that he wasn’t always like this. Last year, during the sixth-grade Renaissance assembly, the principal, Mrs. Carey, introduced him as the district’s teacher of the year.
Mr. Garrett ran up to the stage, high-fiving kids on his way. Everyone in the gymnasium stood and cheered. Mr. Garrett was all smiles that day and seemed like a totally different person. Since Mr. Garrett taught only honors history, Efrén knew he’d be having him the following year. Efrén couldn’t wait.
Only something happened to him. It was as if a gray cloud swept down and planted itself right over Mr. Garrett’s classroom and never left. He just didn’t look happy anymore.
Efrén entered the classroom first. Unlike others around the school, this room stood bare, without any cheesy history teacher posters or bright bulletin boards highlighting student learning. Not here. Nada. Even Mr. Garrett’s desk was bare—just the usual oversized mug of Starbucks coffee.
Not waiting for the bell, Efrén began copying down the homework. ARTICLE OF THE DAY, same as yesterday.
Everyone opened their assigned Chromebooks and began logging in. Mr. Garrett took his usual seat behind his desk. “You all know the drill. Work on the typing tutorial if you finish early.” With that, he went back to the same book of sudoku puzzles from a week ago.
Just as Efrén positioned his fingers across the keyboard, a crumpled sheet of paper struck the back of his head. There was no need to look around or track the path it came from. This was just the way David preferred to communicate during class.
Efrén spread the paper across the desk, ironing it out as best he could. This particular note was an illustration—or “masterpizza,” as David liked to call them.
The artwork on the page showed Mr. Garrett slumped over his desk with his face soaking in a pool of drool. A stick figure girl stood behind him with her finger resting inside her triangle nose. The speech bubble above her said, “You forgot to assign us homework!” It could be only one girl—Jennifer Huerta, David’s new political enemy.
Efrén pressed down on his temples and buried the drawing under his Chromebook. He then turned back and shook his head at wide-grinning David.
As much he loved hanging around with David, Efrén chose to spend his morning nutrition breaks at his favorite place at school, the library. Like his bathtub at home, it was a place where he could open a book and let himself be taken anywhere he wanted.
Here, Efrén felt free.
Here, there was never anyone he needed to bathe or help with homework.
Here, he didn’t have to take on security watch and sit by his apartment window at night, waiting for Amá to make it home safely from work.
Here, it was all about his escaping into other worlds where everything usually ended in smiles.
Efrén unzipped his backpack and took out the books he’d tucked away at the bottom. He then slipped them into the weathered, empty Amazon box marked “return” seated outside the library door.
He stepped inside and greeted Ms. Ornelas, the only school librarian in the entire world with a habit of talking louder than the students. She looked up from her messy desk and waved with a smile. Of course, Efrén smiled back as he headed toward the fiction area, second row, top shelf—the same exact spot he’d left off the last time he was here.
Without missing a beat, he began running his fingers along the spine of each book until something called to him. And something always did.
This time, his fingers paused over a teal book with orange letters. The House on Mango Street? He thought about Highland Street, about the fruit trees—and for a split second—wondered if this book might somehow be about his own neighborhood. He pictured little kids in diapers chasing chickens running around freely, while slightly older kids played school on the porch or made mud pies to share with the entire neighborhood. Yeah, right. Efrén scoffed at the idea.
“That’s an amazing book,” a voice said behind him.
It was Jennifer Huerta—the only other student who checked out as many books as Efrén.
She stood beside him, her long, wavy hair held tightly in a braid. “It’s about a girl named Esperanza trying to discover who she is and where she belongs in the world. It’s my favorite book ever,” Jennifer said, clutching a Lord of the Rings book to her chest.
Efrén’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
“Yeah, the girl in it sounds a lot like me. Even uses Spanglish once in a while.”
Efrén cringed. “My fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. O’Neal, used to get mad if we spoke that way in class.”
“Why? What’s it to her?”
Efrén liked this side of Jennifer. She had a bit of attitude he hadn’t seen before.
“I don’t know. Maybe because she couldn’t understand what we were saying.”
Jennifer’s laugh surprised Efrén. They’d been in the same honors classes since last year and he’d never heard her laugh before.
“What’s your favorite book?” she asked.
“Probably Maniac Magee.”
“Maniac Magee? I haven’t read that one.”
“Yep. It’s amazing. It’s about this kid, stuck between two different worlds that don’t get along just because of the color of their skin. And at the end, he actually—sorry, don’t want to spoil it for you.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I always read the endings first.”
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah. I like to read the endings first. That way I know that there’s a happy ending. Otherwise, the books are too suspenseful for me and I bite my fingernails until the tips begin to hurt.” She laughed. “I’ll probably have to wear gloves on the school’s election day.”
Efrén’s mouth decided to betray him. “I’m sure you’ll do great,” he blurted out.
“Oh, thanks,” Jennifer answered, a look of surprise on her face. “But I don’t have my hopes up too high.”
“So why are you running?”
“I was home watching a report on how undocumented families were being separated. They had kids in cages. Like animals. And that really hurt.” She looked back at Efrén. “You ever buy eggs at the store?”
“Yeah. Sometimes, Amá sends me to the corner market whenever we’re out.”
“You ever notice the labels?”
Efrén shook his head.
“Most of the eggs say they come from cage-free chickens. Which means people in this country worry more about chickens than they do about undocumented children. It makes me feel so—”
Her eyes welled up and she stopped to look around and make sure nobody else was close enough to hear her. Then, with her head down, as if she was ashamed, she added: “Mi mamá no tiene papeles.”
“Don’t worry. My parents are here illegally too. I swear . . . I won’t tell anyone.”
Jennifer smiled ever so slightly. “I know you won’t. That’s why I told you. My mom says I’m a great judge of character. Says I’d make a great juez someday and I’ll have my own courtroom.” She reached into her backpack and held out a brown paper lunch bag. The words SOMOS SEMILLITAS were neatly written across the front.
“We are seeds? I don’t get it.”
“It’s a Mexican saying. ‘Nos quisieron enterrar, pero no sabían que éramos semillas.’”
Efrén rubbed his lower lip. “They tried to bury us . . . but they didn’t know we were seeds?”
“Yeah. That’s it. My mom likes to remind me of this every day. She’s right though. That’s why I’m running. Figured I could make a difference, even if just at school.”
Efrén’s smile widened. “I like it. I think your mom is right. You’d make a great politician.”
She laughed. “Well, I think you’d make a great school president.”
Efrén’s cheeks turned bright red. “Thanks, but I’m just campaigning for David.”
“Too bad. Losing wouldn’t hurt as much if it were against someone like you.”
Again, Efrén’s mouth continued on autopilot. “I think you�
��d make a great president.” Immediately, he covered his mouth with his hand.
Jennifer smiled and pulled her bright pink rolling backpack in close to her. “I better go,” she said. “Han is waiting for me.” But before leaving, she leaned in and gave him a quick hug before vanishing behind the next aisle.
Efrén directed his gleaming eyes back at the book in his hand. His ears perked up. “We didn’t always live on Mango Street.” He leaned up against the shelf and began reading the first page.
Jennifer was right. This book was different.
Efrén thought about all the different neighborhoods he’d lived in. There had been a lot. But Highland Street had eventually become his home, just like he imagined Mango Street had for the girl telling the story.
He read on. “But even so, it’s not the house we thought we’d get.”
He’d heard Apá say this very same thing many times. Efrén closed the book. He’d hit the jackpot today. There was no need to keep on searching.
Efrén looked at the time. Nutrition break was almost over, and he headed to the checkout desk where Ms. Ornelas sat with a big jug of coffee beside her as she repaired a torn page from a graphic novel.
“Hi, Ms. Ornelas.”
“Oh, Efrén. How’s my number one reader?”
Efrén shrugged. “Pretty good,” he answered. He held up his book. “I’d like to check out this book.”
She looked up. “Just one?”
“Yeah. Just one today.”
At lunchtime, Efrén’s friends picked at their food, tossing out anything they couldn’t coat with Tajín chili powder. After that, Efrén and Abraham jostled for a better position to watch David showing off his skills on his new Nintendo Switch, which he’d gotten a month ago for his birthday.
Both boys cringed with every strike from Charizard, as if it were them dueling it out.
If only Apá’s boss had come through with the bonus he’d promised him for finishing a recent construction job early. Then, he would have been able to keep his promise and buy Efrén his own device. That dream, however, burst along with Apá’s appendix. Not only did the bonus not happen, he also got fired from that job after taking too long to heal.
Efren Divided Page 2