Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco (18 page)

But as Miss reached the screen door to Tía’s apartment, Rosa turned on me. “This is
your
fault!
YOU
had to take gymnastics!”

My fire sputtered as if Rosa had thrown a bucket of water.

Miss came in without knocking. “Girls, please. This is nobody’s fault.”

“It’s your fault!” I hurled at Miss.

“No,
YOU
!” Rosa threw back at me. “You
LIED
to Miss about Papi having papers! Just so YOU could take gymnastics. Everything has to be about YOU!”

My brain shut down.

By itself, my arm came around in a wide circle. All my anger, all my pain, all my
guilt
was in that arm.

The rest of me was empty.

I didn’t wait to see Rosa slump to the carpet. I bolted for the bathroom, threw myself against the door, then locked it. Miss and Tía shouted in different languages, yelling at each other to get ice for my sister’s face.

My strength seeped out of me, and I slid to the floor. The door reverberated as Miss pounded on it. “Jacinta, get out here!”

“You’re not my
mamá
!
You’re not! YOU’RE NOT!
” Sobbing, I stepped into the tub. That was as far from Miss as I could get. I cried so hard, I started hiccuping. My head pounded, and I couldn’t catch my breath. I wiped my face with my hands. Staring through the grimy, wavy glass of the bathroom window, I tried to make sense of the warped skeletons of trees outside.

Dead insects dotted the window ledge.

A tiny movement drew my eyes to a fat spider in the corner of the sill. She gloated over the dried bodies of a family of pill bugs.

Miss called through the door, her voice raspy, “Jacinta! We can’t stop the bleeding. I’m taking Rosa to the emergency room.”

The hospital?
Victor’s scarred face flashed in my mind.
No! I’m not like him! That’s not who I am!

The front door slammed. A minute later came the wheezy sound of the van pulling away.

I squashed the spider with my thumb. “This is her fault.”

When Miss returned with Rosa, I retreated again into the bathroom. Through the door, I listened as Miss spoke to Tía about having my sisters and me live with her until either Mamá or Papi came home. But Miss wasn’t going to force Suelita to go.

“I’m not sure I can handle her, Carmen. She still screams at the sight of me.”

Even through the door I heard the panic in my aunt’s voice when she said it was up to us where we wanted to live.

But I knew there was really only one choice. With Victor gone, Tía had to work. Rosa had been the one to cut school and watch my cousins a few days a week so Tía could clean houses. Tía couldn’t make it alone with so many small children and no one to help her. And we all knew it.
Rosa knew it!

But when Miss left, Rosa was with her.

Hate welled up in me. Maybe I should’ve been more understanding. With Mamá gone, Rosa had to be
responsible
for more than a year. Maybe she needed a chance to be a kid for a while.

But that’s not how I saw it.

Rosa’s a traitor and a brat! She wants to live with Miss, riding the school bus with Ethan every day, like some lazy, rich white girl? She’s going to play with Cody in the pool while I take care of four babies by myself?

I was a Juárez. I’d cling to Tía, Suelita, and my cousins. What else could I do? But our family was falling apart, and it was Miss’s fault. It had to be.

It
had
to.

Because if it wasn’t Miss’s fault — then maybe — maybe it was mine.

LATHER BUBBLED OUT
and dripped from the rim of the dishwasher. Water squeezed out of the corners of my eyes. But I wasn’t going to call anyone for help. Especially not my
erstwhile
mentor.
I can figure this out myself
.

I popped the door open, and the sound of swishing water stopped. I crossed my fingers and took a peek, praying
not
to see the entire machine filled with foam. Again.

Sighing, I used the bowl to scoop out more bubbles, then dumped the lather into the sink, my bare feet slipping on the soapy floor. I’d started the dishwasher at the Dahls’ house many times, but Tía didn’t have any of the special powder stuff. So I’d used regular dishwashing liquid. I didn’t know if it would work, so I added extra.

Miss had told me, “There are two ways to learn. The easy way and the hard way.” The easy way is learning from
other
people’s mistakes. I’d just learned a new lesson. The hard way.

The phone rang.

Why can’t Miss leave me alone?

Taking the soapy bowl with me, I went to check the caller ID. Just in case.

I didn’t recognize the number, but it was long distance, so I snatched it up, praying it was Mamá.
“¿Bueno?”

“Jacinta? Why are you at your aunt’s apartment? I’ve been calling and calling.”

“
Angélica?
Where are you?”

“In California. Living with my uncle.”

What? Why?

“Sorry I didn’t say good-bye,” she mumbled.

I realized I wasn’t the only one guilty of pulling away. I squirmed. “’S okay.”

“Why haven’t you been home? Did you get evicted?” she asked.

A knife twisted in my heart. “Papi got deported.”

“Oh.”

Taking the phone with me, I returned to the dishwasher and scooped out another bowl of foam.

Pause
.

I searched my mind for something normal to say. “So — how’s California? Do you like your new school?”

I dumped the bubbles in the sink, so I wasn’t sure if the gurgling noise came from the phone. “Angélica?”

Another sob. “Mamá and Tío are working — so I — I don’t go to school anymore. I’m taking care of my brothers and cousins.”

I heard them fighting in the background. After another pause, she added, “School’s stupid, anyway. What good does it do?”

While Angélica talked, I set the bowl on the counter and edged into the living room. Suelita and my cousins were piled on the sofa like a litter of sleepy puppies, their eyes barely open. Voices drifted from the television. I tried to listen as Angélica spoke about being bored, being lonely, but other thoughts pushed into my brain while her words mixed with the sounds of the TV.

It was all just noise. Nothing made sense.

And then it did. Angélica’s life — a life with no
papá
and no education — was about to become mine.

Shut up! SHUT UP! I don’t want to hear it!
I fought my panic.
I’m supposed to tell Angélica something. What am I supposed to tell her?

“Angélica? Your mentor? I mean — your Amiga? She tried to call you. Why didn’t you answer?”

“Mamá sold my phone. To buy our bus tickets.”

“Oh.”

“Can you tell Miss Linda I said hi?”

I didn’t want to see Miss Linda again. I wanted to tell Angélica that rich white ladies become Amigas to make themselves feel good, not because they care about
us
. I wanted to tell her that they aren’t really brave or strong. They just seem that way, because there’s nothing in their world to be afraid of.

But instead I said, “Sure.”

Pause
.

“I should go,” she said.

“Angélica? Your Amiga was better — better than mine.” I needed to give her something. To let her win.

And it was the truth.

She took a big breath. “It doesn’t matter, Jacinta.”

I held the phone away from my face as the dial tone grated against my ear.

Miss and Rosa pulled up in the van. Almost every day they’d call or come by.
How can Rosa let Miss take Mamá’s place?
I went into Tía’s bathroom and locked the door. Again.

I listened as they carried in more stuff from our family’s old apartment. Bags of toys and cans of food. Clothes for me and Suelita.

Miss’s voice pierced the bathroom wall. “We found an eviction notice on the door.”

Stunned, I sat down hard on the toilet. I realized I should’ve been expecting it.

Even though Tía’s English was pretty good, Rosa translated Miss’s words. “This is all we could fit in the van. Take Jacinta over there. Grab anything you want to keep.”

Someone pounded on the bathroom door. I jumped.

“Jacinta? You’d like it at Miss’s house. Suelita will come if we both go.”

I didn’t want to see Rosa. Tía told me I’d left a jagged cut across my sister’s eyebrow when I punched her. If I saw her stitches, my guilt would be real. I wasn’t ready to stop being the
victim
.

As Rosa shouted through the door, I crawled into the far corner of the bathtub, holding my hands over my ears. I pushed hard so the ringing in my head would drown out her voice.

When I took my hands away, the only sound I heard was cartoons. I got up and opened the door a crack. Tía swayed in the middle of the room, holding a crisp green bill.

“Miss found this money in your apartment. We can buy formula and diapers.” Tía blinked, and a tear slid down her cheek.

Miss is a liar. My family wouldn’t leave money lying around. She thinks she can buy us for fifty bucks
.

“She brought you this,” Tía said.

I wouldn’t look.

The baby made a noise in the bedroom. I heard Tía’s footsteps as she went to him.

My eyes strayed to find what Miss had brought. Abuelita’s mirror lay on the kitchen table. It drew me like a magnet. In a heartbeat, I stood next to the table, staring down at the glass, running my fingers over it. In spite of its age and the crack across the top, it was beautiful.

No. Not in spite of it. Because of it.

How can something broken be so beautiful?

I lifted the mirror. I admired the flowers etched into the foggy silver surface. Then I caught sight of the face in the glass. My hands trembled.

In slow motion the mirror began to shake. I watched it slip from my grasp. I had all the time in the world to think.
It’s going to hit the floor and shatter. Will the pieces fly up and cut me? Will it hurt?

The glass smashed into the tiles, and splinters floated up. They looked like fish in the aquarium Miss had taken me to see, the slivers of mirror swimming through the air, then falling back.

I don’t remember the sound of broken glass. Just my cousin’s startled cry. The slow motion ended.

Like in a movie.

Tía rushed into the room, the baby over her shoulder.
“¿Qué pasó?”

Staring at the pieces on the floor, I shook my head. Miss was right. My skin was perfect. But instead of flowers, my face was etched with pain.

How can someone beautiful be so broken?

TÍA AND I
kept meaning to sneak over to my family’s apartment in the dark to get some more stuff. But she’d started working nights, cleaning an office building. There never seemed to be enough time.

Her new job was good because I didn’t have to skip school while she cleaned houses. Good because Tía made more money. Good because I slept in her bed while she worked, instead of on her lumpy sofa.

But it was bad because I had to put a pack of little kids to bed by myself and get up with a hungry baby every few hours. I did my sleeping at school.

Instead of reading from my
Othello
essay on jealousy, Mr. Flores gave me detention for being late to class after I dozed off at lunch. My grades were slipping, and so were my dreams of a scholarship. Everything Miss had said about college was a lie. College was for rich kids who didn’t have to grow up until they were ready.

I stopped wishing for a car and a credit card. All I wanted was a nap.

It’s not fair
.

Then I remembered what Miss had said about fairness and grace.
What’s fair for somebody who lies and scars her sister’s face? What do I deserve?
A chill went through me.

Okay, God. Forget what’s fair. Send grace
.

But maybe God was on the other line when I called.

Every day after school, I walked by our old apartment on my way to Tía’s. I was so sleepy that sometimes I forgot we didn’t live there. I’d trudge down the stairwell, only to see the eviction notice on the door.