Efren Divided

by Ernesto Cisneros

  With the twins fed and the playground supervisor now watching over them, Efrén hurried to get to his school.

  The entire main school entrance was empty this early. Most kids hung out in the cafeteria area, eating breakfast. Something he’d never done before. Not with Amá’s breakfast milagros taking place every morning. Check that. With the milagros Amá used to make.

  Efrén walked over to the tables, wondering if his school was serving the same cereal breakfast as Max and Mía’s. He took a quick look at what the kids around him had on their plates. Nope. His school was serving the tiny pancakes Mía had wanted.

  He was about to get in line when a tap on his shoulder startled him. It was Abraham, the school’s very own chisme machine. Whether the gossip was true or not, he was always in the middle of it. “Dude, David won!”

  “What are you talking about? No one’s voted yet.”

  Abraham laughed. “No one has to. Jennifer dropped out of the race. Which means that David wins.” This time, he raised up his hand for a high five.

  Efrén’s mouth went wide open and froze. His mind couldn’t accept the news, even as he slapped hands with Abraham. “Wait, there’s no way Jennifer would just quit like that.”

  Abraham shook his head. “She didn’t just drop out of the election. She dropped out of school.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Who cares?” said Abraham, shrugging. “David’s gonna be our president. He said the first thing he would do is make sure the school starts serving Takis for breakfast—nitro flavored! Man, I can’t wait.”

  Efrén’s stomach tightened. And the idea of eating Takis for breakfast had nothing to do with it. He needed to get to the bottom of this now.

  He bolted up the stairway leading to the library, skipping multiple steps at a time. Winded, he entered through the double doors, hoping to find the one person who could give him the answers he needed—Jennifer’s friend, Han Pham.

  Han was seated near the back of the library, by the reference section. The book in front of her was closed and she had both hands over her face.

  “Hey, Han. Are you all right?”

  She lowered her hands and looked directly at Efrén. Something was wrong. Her eyes were glassy and tinted pink. Obviously, she’d been crying.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Efrén.

  She didn’t answer. She just looked down at her closed book.

  “Look,” said Efrén. “I know that we were on opposite sides of this election, but Jennifer is my friend too. I know she really wanted to win. Why would she just quit like this? And why are people saying she dropped out of school?”

  Han’s upper lip curled. Something he said had rubbed Han the wrong way. “For your information, she didn’t just quit. ICE did a raid.” Her faced squished together as she did her best not to cry.

  Efrén’s stomach sank. “Oh, my God. Was she”—he could barely say the word—“deported?”

  Han’s shook her head as she sobbed. Yet somehow, she found the strength to continue speaking. “There was a sweep at the Northgate Market on First and Harbor. My neighbor Diego Flores saw the whole thing. Said that men in black vests and assault rifles burst inside and cornered the adults, including her mom. He said that her mom screamed for Jennifer to run home. But Jennifer wouldn’t leave her side. She even dropped to her knees and tried pleading with the men.”

  “Oh, my God. Is Jennifer okay? Where is she? I thought she was born in the US.”

  “She had to go to Mexico, with her mom . . . or social services was going to take her.” Han buried her face on the fold of her elbow. “I didn’t even get to say good-bye to her.”

  Efrén’s stomach twisted and churned in every direction. “Poor Jennifer,” he said. He couldn’t believe what was happening. He knew things like this happened every day, but not to people he knew, people he cared for.

  Efrén cleared his throat. “Is there anything we can do for her?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.” Han wiped her nose with a tissue. “She wanted to use the ASB position to bring more attention to this problem. She wanted to start a campaign to raise awareness, maybe start a support group to help families. But now she can’t do anything. Part of me thinks that I should run in her place, keep fighting in her place.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Sure. Anyone who attended the meeting can run. But can you picture me trying to speak in front of the entire school? No way.”

  Han sniffled and wiped away her tears. “She had this Spanish line that she used to say a lot.”

  “¿Somos semillitas?” Efrén said, beating her to the words.

  “Yeah, that’s it. How did you know that?”

  Efrén’s face grew blank. “She told me.” He gave a hard swallow. Nos quisieron enterrar, pero no sabían que éramos semillas. “It’s a Mexican saying. ‘They tried to bury us . . . but they didn’t know we were seeds.’ Jennifer told me her mom used to say it to her all the time.”

  The words were as clear as day. So clear, they stayed in Efrén’s mind for the rest of the morning.

  When his first period class started, Efrén took his seat but mostly just stared at the whiteboard in front of him. He tuned out the kids around him, including everything Mr. Garrett said.

  He trusted Apá. Knew he’d never give up on getting Amá back. But what if he couldn’t? What if this problem was too big even for him to fix? The thought sent a shiver down Efrén’s spine.

  When class ended, he calmly made his way to his next classroom and waited outside. Each period went more or less the same way. Except for math, when Efrén opened a new browser tab in his Chromebook and did a search: DETAINING CENTER FOR KIDS. What he found shook him. He scrolled down page after page of photos showing little children behind chain-link fences, sleeping on tiled floors, aluminum benches, and—in some cases—each other’s arms.

  He thought back to what Jennifer had said and did a search for CHICKEN FARMS. A few of the images were alike. Many, though, showed chickens running freely in open yards.

  Efrén slammed the Chromebook shut. He could feel his chest heaving and knew it was simply a matter of seconds before he’d begin crying.

  He reached for a bathroom pass and held it up for Ms. Covey to see. She nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. Efrén hurried to the boys’ restroom and locked himself in the last stall. He sat on the toilet and pressed his fist hard against his forehead.

  It wasn’t fair. If the roles were flipped and he’d been the one deported, Jennifer would be taking a stand and fighting for him. He couldn’t sit around and do nothing.

  Jennifer deserved to be there. She also deserved to be ASB President. Not David.

  As much as he tried to forget about the idea, the more it seemed to take root in his brain.

  The rest of the school day, Efrén managed to avoid David, even ate lunch alone by the stairwell. And when the final bell rang, he hurried and made a quick stop at Ms. Salas’s room before going to pick up Max and Mía.

  After school, Efrén gathered up all the dirty laundry. Worried about using up the last of his money, he searched every kitchen drawer, gathering up all the loose change he could find. Then he loaded up a rusty Radio Flyer wagon with a trash bag full of clothes, a carton of generic laundry soap, and—of course—Max and Mía.

  Once at the laundromat, Efrén separated the family’s clothes into two carts. One for colors, one for whites, while Max and Mía watched an episode of Dora the Explorer in the kids’ area.

  That’s when David rode up to the doorway. He parked his bike against the glass door.

  “Hey, F-mon! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Hey, no worries about what happened yesterday. It’s over. I did it. I won!” He held up his fist for a dap.

  Efrén half-heartedly returned the fist bump.

  “Dude, you’re not still mad. Are you?” David asked.

  “Nah, just got a lot on my plate.”

  David surveyed the two piles of clothes. “I can see that.” Without mi
ssing a beat, he reached over and picked up a tiny pair of Superman briefs. “Are these yours?” he asked, holding up the underwear for everyone in the room to see.

  “No. Those are Maxie’s. And FYI . . . they’re still kind of wet.”

  “Gross.” David flicked the undies back onto the pile and wiped his hand on the side of his Lakers jersey.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” David pulled out his iPhone. “Check this out. Han sent me this message. It’s for you. From Jennifer. It’s in Spanish.”

  Efrén took the phone and scrolled down the screen. It was a photo of a drawing done on lined paper, a small plant blooming out from a pile of dirt. The words ERES UNA SEMILLA followed underneath.

  Efrén shut his eyes.

  “Dude, what’s wrong? Does it say something bad?”

  “No,” Efrén said, opening his eyes and handing back the phone. “It’s just something she once told me.” Only it was more than that. Efrén ran his fingers through his hair and let out a big sigh. “Dude, there’s something I really gotta tell you.”

  “All righty.” David took a seat on a washer. “What’s up?”

  “I know this position isn’t going to change the world. But I’ve got to do something.” Efrén fidgeted with one of Maxie’s tube socks. “My parents gave up everything for me. I need to do something for them. Jennifer taught me that.”

  David scrunched his forehead. “What are you talking about?”

  Efrén took a big gulp of air. “I stopped by Ms. Salas’s office. Told her I’m running for ASB President too. She okayed it.”

  “You mean vice president, don’t you?”

  Efrén looked away.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Efrén gazed down at the scratched tile floor, trying desperately not to make eye contact with David. But the hurt wasn’t just on David’s face. It was in his voice too. “Why would you do that?”

  “It’s not for me. David, you know you’re my best friend, and I’d never do something to hurt you. But I need to do this. Please try to understand.”

  “What’s there to understand? You’re stabbing me in the back.”

  “No, it’s not like that.”

  “Yes, it is. It’s exactly like that. I mean, look at you. You have absolutely everything. You’re great at school. Good at sports. Your mom and dad . . . they worship you. I’ve seen the way they look at you. My dad won’t even visit me. Just sends me money.” David’s voice shook. “Being president is my chance to prove everyone wrong. But that’s okay. I mean, you have to have everything, don’t you?”

  What about Amá? Do I have her? Efrén’s thoughts shouted back. “It’s not something you’d understand.”

  “Oh, so now I’m too dumb to understand? You know what?”—David leaned in and got in Efrén’s face—“I don’t need you on my side to win the election. In fact, I don’t need you as a friend either.”

  Efrén didn’t know how to answer and stood there, eyes blinking.

  With that, David stormed out of the laundromat, hopped back onto his bike, and pedaled away. Too late, Efrén ran after his friend.

  “David! Wait!” Efrén hollered from the sidewalk. But David never looked back.

  Amá was never very big on watching TV, not even the telenovelas that all the other mothers on the block raved about. So Efrén felt bad about plopping the twins in front of the set and letting Elmo babysit. But he didn’t have the strength to deal with Max’s high energy or Mía’s need to cuddle. Besides, Efrén told himself, PBS shows are educational.

  He sat at the kitchen table with his head plopped down, letting the cool surface soothe his aching head. What a mess! Amá was gone. Apá was killing himself to raise the money to get her back. Jennifer was gone. And now, Efrén’s friendship with David was over.

  Out of the blue, Efrén heard the hint of a whistle. He looked up. At first, he thought it came from the TV, but the screen just showed Mr. Noodle, pretending to play an ear of corn as if it were a trumpet.

  Then he heard a whistle again, only much clearer now. Max’s and Mía’s heads perked up in perfect unison, and they turned to each other. “Apá!” they both hollered. There was no mistaking Apá’s special entrance melody.

  Before Efrén could react, the twins were already out the door and running down the stairs. Why was Apá whistling? He only did that whenever he had . . . GOOD NEWS!

  Efrén rushed outside and down the stairway only to find Max and Mía latched onto each of Apá’s legs like little koalas on a eucalyptus branch.

  Apá looked up at Efrén, smiling. Somehow, Apá was full of energy again.

  Efrén couldn’t wait to hear the news. “What happened?”

  Apá laughed as he strained to climb the stairway. “I joined a cundina at work.” He held up a tiny slip of paper with the number one on it.

  “A what?”

  “It’s a group fund where everyone puts money in and then take turns borrowing the money each week but—¡No importa! I GOT THE MONEY!”

  Efrén rushed to Apá and wrapped him up with a huge hug.

  Now without the need of overtime, Apá took everyone to the playground and the four of them spent the next hour playing a game of tag. As Efrén took a break to get water, he looked back and watched Apá chase Mía up the spiral slide.

  The moment was almost perfect.

  Soon, Amá would be coming home where she belonged, and then the family would be whole again.

  Despite feeling bad about David, the idea of having Amá back gave Efrén an extra spring in his step this Friday morning. Once she was back, he’d finally find the courage to tell David the truth and patch things up with him. Until then, he needed to focus on helping Apá with everything at home and preparing for the election.

  To make sure he wouldn’t be late to school anymore, he broke one of Amá’s rules and took the twins to school on his bicycle, with Max sitting sidesaddle over the main crossbar and Mía across the foam-covered handlebars. It took a bit of getting used to the added weight—and Max’s wiggling—but eventually Efrén managed. And riding to school also gave him plenty of time to visit the ASB student center and get started on a few campaign posters.

  As he locked up his bicycle, his mind scrolled through a long list of possible campaign slogans:

  Efrén Nava, Someone You Can Trust. Nope, not after what he’d done to David.

  ¡Efrén Nava para Presidente! Nope.

  Efrén Nava: Make School Great Again! Definitely not!

  Efrén Nava for ASB President. “Efrén Nava for ASB President.” He liked the sound of that.

  He darted up to the main stairway to Ms. Salas’s ASB room. She always kept her door wide open. It wasn’t unusual for students—some she didn’t even know—to randomly stop by and reach into the cookie jar she kept by the door.

  “Good morning, Ms. Salas.”

  “Oh, hi, Efrén. Here to work on your campaign posters?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And thank you again for allowing me to run, especially on such late notice.”

  “Well, you did attend the meeting and you do meet all the academic requirements.”

  “I’m behind, but I’ve got some ideas for slogans. Hopefully, they’ll work well enough to get me elected.” Efrén eyed the cookie jar. “Mind if I take a cookie?”

  “Not at all. That’s why I bake them,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “You might want to take one to your friend.”

  “Friend?”

  Ms. Salas nodded. “Yes, David. He’s in the workroom, designing posters. I think it’s great that you two can compete against each other and still be friends.”

  “Yeah, it is.” With that, Efrén slipped a cookie into his pocket and headed for the workroom. Sure enough, David sat on a stool alone, his forehead scrunched and his tongue hanging out to the side.

  “Oh, hey,” Efrén said, plopping the cookie beside David.

  David looked up. “Hey.”

  Efrén picked up a bright green sheet of poster paper and took a seat at a table containing ju
st about every kind of art tool imaginable. He reached for a thick marker while studying the sample fonts on the wall posters.

  There were so many styles he could copy; unfortunately, all the cool ones were way too complicated for him to even try. He picked up a pencil instead and decided to try his best cursive. But the letters came out uneven and curved in different directions.

  His eyes wandered to David’s posters. His artwork was amazing. Each of his letters had a shadowy effect that made them pop out as if they were 3D. It must have taken him forever to make.

  Efrén couldn’t remember ever seeing his friend—former friend?—so focused on anything before. Being president really did mean a lot to David. Maybe Efrén was wrong. Maybe running against him was a mistake.

  Looking down at his own work, Efrén realized how difficult this campaign would be without David to help. Efrén sighed. If he were going to win, it would be the message—not the artwork—that would get him there.

  After a few failed attempts at drawing his name, he considered typing out the message, then printing and gluing the letters onto the poster. But then, out of nowhere, a pack of stencils fell on top of his supplies. He looked over and watched David retake his seat as if nothing had happened.

  Efrén eyed the stencils. All he had to do now was trace the cutouts and presto—perfect letters.

  “Thank you,” Efrén said.

  But Efrén’s thank-you went unanswered.

  Efrén and David continued working side by side, never speaking a word, until the bell rang.

  Ms. Salas sat at her desk, watching Efrén and David both stop for one more cookie before leaving for first period.

  Down the hallway, the two boys made their way to class in total silence. The self-imposed silence continued well past the fifteen-minute nutrition break, when the former best friends both returned to the workroom to complete another poster.