Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco (13 page)

She’s trying not to laugh!

That’s when I realized power doesn’t come from your job or the color of your skin. Real power comes from inside. It’s not something that someone can give you.

And it’s not something that anyone can take away.

WE CELEBRATED CHRISTMAS
three weeks early at the Dahls’. Ethan and Cody were going to be with their dad over winter break, so Miss was flying to Florida to visit her mother. Miss had vacation time because she’d worked for 5News since “before the invention of dirt.”

I was irritated. Mamá never got vacation days. When she went to Mexico, she’d had to quit her job.

If I was being honest, I’d admit I was jealous that Miss could jump on plane to visit her mother, while I hadn’t seen Mamá in months. It wasn’t fair that some people get everything.

And maybe that’s why I picked a fight.

“Your mom owns this house. That means you’re
rich
,” I insisted.

“We’re not rich!” Cody and Ethan said together. Like they’d practiced it.

I looked to Rosa for support. She concentrated on the kernel she’d threaded onto her popcorn chain and wouldn’t join the argument. The Dahls’ household was new to her.

Ethan said, “We’re middle class.
You’re
poor. You use the food bank.”

“I am never talking to you again, Ethan Dahl!” I shouted.

Miss whisked around the corner, carrying a plate of spicy cookies shaped like little people.
“Ethan.”

“I’m just stating a fact!”

“Enough.”

He stomped out of the room. Miss sighed, then looked from Rosa to me. “It’s all relative. I’m sure your family in Mexico thinks of you girls as rich Americans.”

“We’re not Americans,” I said.

“You were born in Denver, right?”

“Yes, but —”

“Then you’re Americans.”

I blurted, “We’re
Mexicans
. We’re proud to be Mexicans!”

Miss opened her mouth to argue with me, but closed it again when Rosa nodded in agreement.

Rosa and I were both born in Colorado, but our family moved back to Mexico right after I was born. Abuelo had fallen from his horse and hit his head. He couldn’t work. Mamá and Papi had to return to help run the farm.

By the time I was six, Abuelo had died, and my
tíos
, Mamá’s two younger brothers, were old enough to help. So Mamá told Papi we needed to move back to America, that it was time Rosa and I started school. Mamá would remind us all the time that we were U.S. citizens. But in our hearts, Rosa and I knew we were Mexican.

Moving around the Dahls’ fake tree, I searched for the best place to hang the ornament shaped like a nutcracker. I hadn’t known what a nutcracker was until Miss took Rosa and me to see that ballet.

Cody had shrugged when I’d asked if he was jealous that he didn’t get to go with us. “It’s not my favorite ballet.”

It was weird that a boy would have a favorite ballet. Later, I’d wish I’d asked what his favorite was.

Backstage I’d introduced Rosa to Nadine Robert, who played the Sugar Plum Fairy.
“Madame Robert, je vous présente ma sœur.”

Nadine had kissed me on both cheeks and said my French was wonderful.

Miss thought so, too, although she wouldn’t speak French with me when other people were around. She said it was rude. But we practiced whenever we were alone.

I gave up looking for an empty spot on the front of the Christmas tree. I moved another decoration from where Cody had hung it so I could put the nutcracker smack in the middle.

Then I looked at what I held in my hand. A picture frame. The writing said
Baby’s First Christmas
. An angel peeked lovingly into a
bassinet
. The photo was of a sleeping child. A lump rose in my throat. I glanced around to see if anyone was reading my thoughts.

The baby had creamy skin. Long brown lashes lay across his round pink cheeks. I could tell by the date stamped on the ornament that it was Cody in the picture. We were born the same year. If Miss had been
my
mother, then this picture could be —

No, don’t think about that. Mamá’s coming home soon. I need to wait for Mamá
.

She had finally admitted that Abuelita was dying.

I loved Abuelita. When I was little, she’d hold me on her lap and tickle my tummy. She used to sneak cookies to us before dinner. If Mamá found out, we’d all just laugh.

Since moving to Colorado, we’d only been to visit Abuelita once. Coming back, Rosa and I had to ride
alone
on the bus for more than a day. But it took Mamá weeks to get home. When she finally did return, we saw the evidence of the crossing on her worn and beaten body. Papi forbid us to ever return to Mexico.

“It’s too dangerous,” he’d said. Abuelita had never even seen Suelita.

But when Abuelita got sick, Papi couldn’t stop Mamá from going to her.

Rosa and I still talked about living with our parents on Abuelita’s farm when we grew up. A place we could be happy, be together, without ever having to worry about our parents getting deported.

I loved Abuelita. Really.

BUT
— if she
had
to die — I hoped she’d die soon.

That’s terrible to say. Wrong to even
think
. I
hated
myself for thinking it.

But I needed Mamá to come home. Because sometimes at night, I’d lie awake imagining life in Miss’s big house, cooking and gardening with Cody, making movies with Ethan. Cody and I would ride the bus to high school together. Then I’d go to Michener University. When I graduated, I wouldn’t be cleaning houses. Someone else would clean
my
house.

The only way for that to happen was if there were no Mamá. No Papi. Mamá needed to come back so I’d stop thinking bad thoughts.

In my hand I still held the sparkling angel frame. I hung it on a branch at the very bottom of the tree. Way in the back.

After dinner I felt Rosa’s eyes on my mouth as I chewed each sticky sweet bite of the pecan pie. She couldn’t have any because Miss had taken her to get braces. Nuts weren’t allowed.

“Has anyone teased you about your braces?” Miss asked Rosa.

Rosa pulled her eyes off my mouth and focused on her. “Why would they tease me?”

“Kids used to laugh about my braces when I was a teenager. They don’t do that anymore?”

“No,” said Rosa.

“Yes,” said Ethan.

They looked at each other.

“If you have braces, it means you’re rich,” said Rosa.

Ethan looked at me. “Then your family’s rich, and we’re not.”

“Ethan,”
Miss warned.

“You’re getting braces,” Cody said to Ethan.

“When we can afford it,” said Miss.

While Ethan made a face at Cody, I asked, “Miss, why didn’t you buy Ethan’s braces first?”

The word for her look is
dumbfounded
. “
I
didn’t buy Rosa’s braces. There’s a program for families without insurance.”

“Why don’t you take Ethan there?” I asked.

“I make too much money.”

“Ha!” I said to Ethan. He made another ugly face.

“Boys, time to do the dishes,” said Miss.

They both groaned. Rosa stood. “I’ll help.”

As they cleared the table, I whispered to Miss, “Are you mad that Rosa gets her braces for free?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“It’s unfair. You’re an American and you have to pay.”

She smirked. “We only
think
we want fairness. We should be asking for
grace
.”

I didn’t understand. Teachers, parents, and grown-ups all over the world are always telling kids to “play fair.”
How can fairness be bad? And grace?
I’d heard of
grace
at church. Miss was always reminding me to be
gracious
when I’d forget to thank her for stuff. I’d thought maybe
grace
meant being polite. But that didn’t seem to fit. I asked, “What
is
grace?”

Miss thought. “When you get something wonderful that you don’t deserve — a blessing you haven’t earned.”

Usually she was good at explaining things. But not this time.

“I don’t get it.”

She patted my arm. “Think about it.”

Miss handed a red gift bag to Rosa, but before Rosa could open it, Miss said, “That’s for Carmen. For her new baby. What’d she name him?”

“Mateo,” said Rosa.

Miss nodded and smiled.

“Can we open it?” I asked.

“No!”

As Miss tore the paper off my present to her, a smile spread across my face. Then she smirked, examining the doll I’d bought at the drugstore. “How nice!”

“I got you a doll because your name is Doll!”

Ethan snickered. “Our name is
Dahl
. D-A-H-L.”

I blushed, suddenly remembering all the times I’d seen her name on TV, written underneath her face while she reported the news.
Why hadn’t I paid attention?

“Guys,”
their mother warned as Cody started giggling. They were laughing because I didn’t know something. But it was funny. I giggled, too.

Then Rosa started. And finally Miss.

Many moments later she wiped her eyes. Then she picked up two small boxes made of shiny red foil and tied with green ribbons. She checked the tags and held one out to Rosa and the other to me.

Just as my hand touched the box, I glanced at Miss. Something in her face made me hesitate.

Rosa ripped off the ribbon, opened her box, then pulled out a ring. “Miss!”

As Rosa flew past me to hug Miss, I tore open my own box. Then I paused. In the glow of the Christmas lights, the ruby sparkled. My birthstone. Pink. It meant more than just hope. A promise
fulfilled
. I stared at the ring on its bed of cotton until the image got blurry.
Miss loves me
.

I slipped the ring on. It fit. Like it was made for me.

Miss sent the boys away so we could have
the conversation
. She explained that she was giving us
purity
rings. By taking them, Rosa and I were promising not to be alone with a boy. Then her face wrinkled up. “Will your parents mind me giving these to you?”

“No, Miss!” Rosa and I answered together, clutching the rings to our chests.

Rosa’s ring had an
amethyst
in it. Purple.
For sorrow?
I was glad I got the pink one. With Mamá gone, I needed all the hope I could get.

That night in bed I left the curtain of our window pulled back so I could still admire the ring on my hand in the light from the streetlamp.

Papi had thought the rings were pretty when we showed him, but when Rosa explained that they were “purity rings,” he got upset. I didn’t understand why. He was as worried as Miss about us getting pregnant — not that he had any reason to worry. But maybe Papi thought Miss had crossed
la línea
. That the gifts were too
personal
. Maybe he thought Miss was acting too much like a
mom
.

And that made
me
angry.
Doesn’t every kid deserve a mom? Don’t
I
deserve a mom?
The word for how I was feeling about Miss is called
defensive
.

At least Papi didn’t say anything about making us give the rings back.

I turned my hand back and forth so I could watch the ruby sparkle. I didn’t need a purity ring — I didn’t know any boys I wanted to be alone with. But the ring meant something different to me than it did to Miss.
A promise that she’ll always be there for me
.

A promise my own
mamá
couldn’t keep.

I STUMBLED
through the dark, tripping over packages and almost knocking down our Christmas tree. I had to reach the phone before it stopped ringing.

Because nobody calls at two in the morning to say hello.

The sharp smell of pine burned my nose, and prickly needles scratched my face as I grabbed the handset.
“¿Bueno?”

Even while I said the word, I knew that things were not “good.” Before she spoke, before I heard Mamá crying, I knew.

Abuelita is dead
.

Mamá talked, but I wasn’t hearing her. The screaming in my head was too loud. I gave the phone to Rosa without an argument when she put out her hand for it.