Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco (3 page)

Mrs. E. ignored my eyes. Instead she gave Miss a pained look. “Kate, we don’t give expensive gifts to the kids. It causes problems.”

Then Mrs. Espinosa looked at me. “And you should know better.”

My heart dropped into my stomach. My puppy-dog eyes were my superpower. But they never worked on Mrs. E.

Miss’s face turned blotchy. “I — I should’ve asked. But I can’t take it back. It’s engraved.”

A pink bubble of hope grew in my chest.

Mrs. E. folded her arms. The word for her look is
resigned
. “We’ll let it go. This time. Keep it to yourself, Jacinta. No bragging.”

But we
both
knew better. Bragging is what girls
do
.

I threw my arms around Miss. “Thank you!”

She staggered, then patted me on the back with the hand that wasn’t pinned to her side.

“Are you rich?” I studied her face, but I could only see myself — as twins — reflected in her sunglasses.

Her smile crept up her cheek. As if I’d said something funny. Later she’d explain that people don’t ask each other how much money they have. It’s too
personal
. But I’d never heard of
personal
.

Mrs. Espinosa squeezed my shoulder. So I let go of Miss.

Then Mrs. E. said to her, “Thanks for your report on Teen Promise. We’re already getting calls and donations.”

Miss made what’s called a
rueful
smile. “Then it wasn’t a complete disaster. Most of the time it’s just work, but this story really got to me. These girls are too young. We need to be there for them.”

“We’re glad you — oh! Wait!” Mrs. Espinosa dug into her purse and pulled out an envelope. “I knew there was reason for seeing you. I heard you love gymnastics. Didn’t you compete when you were younger?”

“Until I got too tall.”

“Here. Two passes for the exhibition tonight at Michener. A thank-you from the youth center.”

For a moment, Miss’s eyes brightened. “Eva Chávez is going to be there!” Then she frowned. “But the station has a strict policy about gratuities, and — the past few weeks haven’t gone so well.”

Miss sighed, and I knew. She had pain in her life. I knew because — since Mamá left — I’d had pain in mine. Maybe it’s weird for a kid to feel sorry for a rich lady.

But I did.

Mrs. E. grinned. Pushing the envelope into Miss’s hands, her voice dripped with syrupy sweetness. “Please take one of our girls. As a volunteer.”

“Take me!” I didn’t know I was going to say it. The words just popped out.

Mrs. E.’s eyes twinkled. “It’s
community service
.”

Miss bit her lip. She looked at the envelope, then at me. Like I was a book she was trying to read. I showed her my puppy-dog eyes.

“I can’t be your mentor,” Miss warned.

Mrs. Espinosa’s smile was warm, persuasive. “You said that it’s important to be there for these girls.”

Miss made her sideways smile. A whiff of air blew out of her nose. Like a snort, only quiet.

Mrs. E. pressed. “Jacinta’s family lives a few blocks away. I’ll meet you there tonight to introduce you to her father.”

Miss shrugged. “A one-time thing. Why not?”

Right now, I can think of a hundred reasons
why not
.

But that’s how it started. By forgetting Mamá’s sweater, I stepped onto a roller coaster — an
emotional
roller coaster.

I did it to myself.

And that just shows that the big wounds are
self-inflicted
.

I DIDN’T SPEND
the afternoon being
apprehensive.
I didn’t know that word.

Instead, Suelita and I bounced on the sofa. With every jump, white stuffing spilled out of the rips. We couldn’t have done it if Mamá had been home.

Papi didn’t notice.

He paced over the spot in the carpet where you could see the concrete underneath. Then he’d glance out the living-room window, into the dark stairwell.

Papi hadn’t left for his night job. He wanted to meet the rich lady who was taking me somewhere. Rosa pretended to read one of my movie magazines.

When I stopped jumping to breathe, Papi asked me again, in Spanish. “What have you told this woman?”

“Nada, Papi”
— nothing.

If it’d been up to him, I wouldn’t be going with Miss at all. Papi liked everything to stay the same. That was the way to be safe. But Mamá had called that afternoon, so I’d been able to ask her if I could go with Miss. She was almost as excited as me. “Maybe this lady will be your Amiga,
mija
!”

When she said it, I’d crossed my fingers. For good luck.

Two pairs of legs came down the steps. I leaped off the sofa and threw open the door. Miss walked in first. She didn’t need to duck, but she did. She looked bright and shiny in our dark apartment. If it’d been December, we could’ve put her in the window for a Christmas tree.

Suelita ran behind Papi and hung on to his pant leg. She scowled at Miss, practically growling. At age two, she already knew to be afraid of white people.

But Mrs. Espinosa was glowing. She was always trying to get new volunteers for the youth center. Getting someone famous to volunteer was like having the prize show dog at the Durango Fair. “Miguel Juárez, this is Kath —”

Miss interrupted. “Call me Kate.”

Papi took the pale hand she offered in his grease-stained one. He had to look up to nod to her. His face turned red under his dark skin. “Hello, Miss.”

“How do you do, Miguel?” Her smile was so wide, I could’ve counted every one of her perfect teeth.

The ladies sat on our lumpy sofa. Papi’s skin went darker. I don’t know if it was because he hadn’t asked them to sit, as Mamá would have, or because the cushions were covered in bits of fluff that stuck to their clothes.

You could’ve guessed Miss was a TV reporter, the way she started asking questions. “So, Jacinta, do you like school?”

“’S okay,” I said, twisting my hair around a finger.
A lie
.

I hated school. Mamá would remind me that she’d left her own mother so that I could go to school. “You could be smart,
mija
! You could work in an office!” But office work was still work. I didn’t see the point.

“What do you do for fun?” Miss asked.

“Watch movies. It’s only three dollars on Tuesdays at the Costello.”

“What kind of food do you like?”

“Tamales are my favorite. I don’t like
gringo
food.” Miss’s lips twitched. Then I thought about cotton candy. “Maybe
some
gringo
food.”

Mrs. E.’s eyebrows traveled way up her forehead. “Jacinta, we don’t say
gringo
. It’s not a nice word.”

My face got hot. I didn’t know
gringos
don’t like to be called
gringos
. I just thought it meant somebody who’s not Mexican. Kids at school call us Mexicans sometimes. It’s not a bad word either, but they use it like an insult — something meant to hurt.

Miss didn’t look upset. Her smile hitched itself on the side of her face again. “I like Mexican food. But I’m not much of a cook. Maybe you’ll teach me.”

Happy butterflies in my stomach
. She was talking
future tense
.

Rosa butted in. “I know how to cook, Miss! I can teach you!”

My Miss turned her sparkly eyes on Rosa, so my sister began to tell about the food she makes.

Both of them showed their big white teeth.

And the green monster grew in me.

The night started pretty bad. First I couldn’t find Mamá’s sweater. Miss kept looking at her watch while I dug through the front closet. She was tapping her foot by the time I remembered I’d shoved the sweater in my backpack on my way home. But I needed Mamá’s sweater. For protection.

And I expected Miss to be driving something
cool
. Something I could brag to Angélica about at school the next day. I stood in the parking lot, looking around for a red sports car — maybe even a convertible. But when Miss pushed the button on her keychain, the lights flashed on an ugly brown minivan. What boys in our neighborhood would call a
beater
.

She wouldn’t even let me sit in the front seat next to her. “The air bag could break your neck.”

“I’ll be twelve in two months!”

“My van, my rules.”

Miss was being
annoyin
g — like Rosa — but annoying was familiar. I relaxed.

A little.

It’d started to rain, and it was already dark. And because we’d left late, Miss drove fast. Faster than Papi ever did. He needed to be careful. If
la policía
stopped him, he’d get a long bus ride and have to swim back.

The shiny black streets reflected the red glare of stoplights and taillights. Car dealerships and fast-food places flew by. My skin prickled at so much dangerous color.

Like having Christmas and a sick stomach at the same time.

I thought of Suelita and Rosa safe at home, snuggled together on the sofa, the soft light of the television bouncing off their faces in the dark.

But with Mamá gone, there’s no one at home to cuddle me
.

Everything in the van squeaked and rattled. The bare metal of the windshield wipers scraped half circles into the glass.

“You should have a red sports car.”

“I need something to haul my kids around.”

“How many kids do you have, Miss?”

“Two. Boys. A little older than you.”

“If you were my Amiga, it’d be like having a daughter,” I hinted.

The light ahead flicked from green to yellow to red. Miss’s brakes squealed like an animal being stepped on. The sound made my teeth hurt. Even wearing my seat belt — which Miss had insisted on — I pitched forward.

While waiting for the light, she picked a piece of sofa stuffing from her skirt and flicked it away. Air from the heating vent caught it. The fluff floated up and attached itself to her shoulder. “Jacinta, why do you call me ‘Miss’?”

“What else would I call you?”

“How about ‘Kate’?”

“No, Miss. That wouldn’t be polite.”

She looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Then ‘Miss’ it is.”

“How come you didn’t work today?” I asked.

“I did.”

“I watched
5News at Five
. I didn’t see you.”

“They’ve got me doing features for the early-afternoon show.”

“But you were at the youth center after school today.”

“I finished early. I don’t always have a live shot.”

“Why not?”

She sighed. “Because some days they have real news.”

That made me angry. Like maybe the stuff in my neighborhood wasn’t important enough for TV.

Rosa always said I could talk the hind leg off a donkey, although talking its ears off would make more sense. But I couldn’t think of anything else to say to Miss. I wasn’t even sure I liked her that much. I was almost glad when she started asking questions again. Until I heard the question.

“Do you know what you want to be when you grow up?”

I knew what I
wanted
to be. I wanted to be a movie star. But kids in our neighborhood didn’t get to be movie stars. So I just said, “No, Miss.”

She nodded. “As long as it’s not TV news.”

“You don’t like your job?”

“Let’s just say I don’t like the
environment
.”

Back then I didn’t understand what the
environment
had to do with Miss not liking her job. But now I know she just didn’t like her boss.

We drove, not talking. I looked at the gum wrappers on the floor. “If
I
were rich, I’d buy a red convertible.”

She made the small noise that was almost a snort. “So would I.”

From behind came a siren. Red and blue lights bounced across the roof of the van. Panic.

“Oh, hell. I’m not speeding, am I?”

I couldn’t speak. I wiped my damp hands on the seat.

The police car flew by and screamed away into the night. Relief flooded through me.

Miss said, “Thank goodness. We’re late enough as it is.”

SHE DROVE
into a
parking garage
.

I’d never been in one before. “Isn’t that a lot of money to pay to park?”