Illegal (10 page)

Late in the afternoon, Keisha appeared with a pair of plastic shoes that matched hers. “Hey, guess what! I made these for you; now we can be shoe twins.”

They were purple sandals with sparkles and pompoms glued to the plastic thong. Ugly and horrible, they fit perfectly. I grabbed her tightly. “Thank you, my shoe twin.”

Keisha loved to correct my accent. “Not ‘chew,' ‘sh-ewww.' These are called flip-flops, but I don't know how to say that in Mexican,” she said playfully.
“I made these in VBS. This is a prototype. That's a fancy word for the first kind of shoe you make. I'm gonna practice making more with a hot-glue gun and stuff I got from the craft store with these coupons. But we can't wear these to school, because I don't want anyone to steal my idea before I can get on one of those TV design shows.”

“School?” I asked. My mind ran fast to catch up with her words.

“I can't believe that we have to go back to school so soon. This year we have to have a uniform. We get vouchers.”

“Voucher.” It came out sounding like “boucher.”

“Yeah, most of us around here get vouchers 'cause none of us can afford that kind of stuff. Now that I think about it, I bet you gonna get a voucher. You gotta get some kicks for gym class. You can't go around barefoot, and no flip-flops at school.”

Keisha had a way of pointing out the painfully obvious. “I wouldn't even be going to schools in this neighborhood except for my mom works here. She prefers we stay—you know, in other places.”

“Where live?” I asked.

“We live over on the other side of I-10. Houston freeways are a big belt, keeping us all cinched up in
different parts of its body. Nobody wants their belly touching their butt.”

I didn't exactly understand, but I let Keisha talk. “I'll be at the high school in two years. Do you think we'll still be friends then? I bet they figure out your English ain't the best and take you to ESL.”

“School is where?”

“Aren't you registered? Now, which grade are you in?”

The conversation grew more intense. How was I to explain that I didn't know what grade I should be in? She asked that question a lot. Usually I pretended I didn't understand.

“ESL?” How long would it take for her to figure out my game? I felt like I could trust her, but Mama told me never to tell about our status.

“You know, so that you can learn English. English as a Second Language. I bet you were in that class last year but you didn't know it. That's why it's so important that I do this design stuff. I can't spend my life being a dummy. You neither.”

If Keisha had confidence about getting ahead in the world, I could too.

Keisha jumped off the side of the pool and kicked her legs up in the air to make a big splash. Just then,
a girl in short shorts with a massive tattoo on her leg got soaked from the wave.

“¡Eres majadero! ¡Idiota!”
Water drenched her tight white shirt. She made such a scene, everyone turned their head.
“¡Moreno!”

“Sorry, I didn't see you.” Keisha's brave behavior shrank in the shadow of the shrieking girl.

“You shouldn't even be at this pool!”

“I said I'm sorry.” Hurt spread across Keisha's face.

“Stop,” I called to the shrieking girl. I felt myself pulling up to the ledge so I could look her in the eye. Her heavy makeup stained her eyes. Was this the girl who pushed me on the first day? She had a star tattoo—the kind that wasn't finished on Flora's hand.

“What did you say to me?” She took a step closer to me with her fists clenched.

I was not a victim.

I climbed out of the water and straightened my shoulders and stood toe-to-toe with her. “Stop it. Stop!” I took another step, and she stumbled backward into the grass. Anger pushed me forward.

Keisha yelled at me from the water. “No! Not one of the Chulo girls!”

My insides felt like exploding. Someone had to
stand up. Someone had to do something. Keisha had protected me before, and now it was my turn to stand up for her.

I felt the words hissing out of my mouth. “I want better!
¡No mas!
” Anger welled inside my fists until I couldn't control them any longer. As she lunged at me, I pulled back and punched her hard in the mouth.

Lauren blew her whistle from the chair. Jorge came barging toward the pool.

Blood smeared across my hand. The Chulo girl pounced like a cat, but I moved and she hit the concrete. I kicked with my bare feet and grabbed at her gelled hair. Her neck pulled taut, but she was no match for my fury.

I heard Flora scream from the fence. “Leave Nora alone. She's with me!”

I pulled at the girl's hair while she screamed. I dragged her to the edge and pushed her into the pool.

“No, Tessa! No!” Jorge screamed, jerking me back by my arm.

The wet girl stared at Keisha, and then took a long look at me. I crossed my arms and cocked my head.

I glared back at Jorge. “I'm not Tessa!” Grandma always said to choose your fights. I had chosen mine.

The girl climbed out of the pool with her hand
pressed up against her lip. She flipped a middle finger at me and jerked her body at mine, a threat to continue to fight.

Flora rushed to my side. “Are you okay? I'll get this taken care of.”

Jorge pulled harder on my arm. “Get back to the stand!”

“Where have you been?” I asked Flora harshly.

Keisha stood wide-eyed. “You have got to be careful with those people.”

Jorge yelled at Flora, “And stay away from us! You are nothing but trouble.”

I called out to all of them, “She didn't do anything!” Flora slunk away from the pool.

But Jorge continued to pull at my arm, blind with rage.

Keisha trotted after us. “You said it all in English. Where'd you learn how to do that? Have you been holding out on me?”

I shrugged my shoulders because I didn't know how the words came out. Something boiled in my stomach and the words wanted to flow like lava.

Keisha pulled me into a hug and her braids fell into my hands as I squeezed her back. The last person who had squeezed me that tight was Grandma.
“Not a whole lotta Mexican folk would stand up for a black girl.”

Jorge barked, “Keisha, call your mother and go home. Don't come back for a while. It's not safe.”

Keisha interrupted, “But Flora said—”

“Go. Now.” He turned to me. “Don't pick fights with gangs!”

The afternoon dragged on like the minutes before Christmas. Jorge slammed his paperwork around and glared at me. There was no conversation, not even the droll of the radio. Just his fury.

His anger was about Tessa, and I was just her replacement.

It seemed everyone here was mad about something.

At five, Jorge told me to take the rest of the day off. I worried he would fire me in the morning.

I wandered the streets until I found a church; at least, that's what I thought it was. It was a metal building with a cross on the sign. I wore my new purple shoes, which seemed completely wrong in a church.

“Hello?” I called out as I stepped through the door. The nuns told me the church was always open, but no one said anything about knocking.

“¿Hola?”
I called out again. My voice echoed against the cold metal walls.

In Cedula, we had wooden pews made by people in our town. Women brought candles; men cut down trees to make an altar. The merchants pooled money to buy a few beautiful statues of Mary, Jesus, and Guadalupe. All in an abandoned store.

I didn't see any of that here. There was a piano and metal chairs. There was a stand at the front. No candles burning. An empty wooden cross. No Jesus. Maybe they had taken him off the cross to wash him? Maybe that's why no one was there.

I took a seat in the back and looked at the altar. Why did it seem so long since I had prayed? I couldn't even remember how long we had been in Houston.

I whispered, “Dear God. I hope You're here somewhere. Please help me find Papa. Please don't let me be fired.” I paused, thinking about the multitude of all my other sins. “Please forgive me for the fight.”

But maybe I could find a better job. Or maybe, this was a sign that instead of working, I should be going to school.

The church told us to pray about what we were
thankful for. We were supposed to say thankful things too.

“Please bless Mama and Grandma. Thank you for Keisha and Flora. And these horrible shoes.” For good measure, in case He wasn't listening before, I said it again: “Please help us find Papa.”

I worried I was supposed to be praying in English. Did God speak different languages in different places? I used the most important English words I knew. “Papa. Mama. School. Job. Please.”

I felt like I was a pleading child, begging for candy. Like the beggar in Matamoras. Where was my mercy? No voice whispered in my head. I was here alone.

After I left the church, I walked toward the school Keisha described. It had a high fence around the yard, but I found a gate and could peek into the windows.

Books lined every shelf. There were more than twenty desks in each room. Chalkboards stretched behind the front desk. Three computers. Pencils, pens, art supplies. There was more in this room than what had been bought in three years by the nuns. I felt like I was staring into an oasis of education.

The fight had been a sign. I was supposed to be
going to school. Perhaps this was my birthday present from God. An opportunity. But where was the voice to guide me?

A woman in jeans opened the door and walked into the room. She had long brown hair, a pencil woven through it to keep it away from her eyes. She carried a plastic bin. I ducked out of view and continued down the street.

I silently wished Flora would appear so I could get answers to all of my questions. We never had any time to really talk. And I wanted to ask her how she was doing in school. And did she get to have a
quinceañera
? And had a boy ever kissed her? And what happened to her father?

And, and, and.

I just wanted a friend I could really talk to—like sisters doing hair, doing nails, and sharing secrets. Like my unborn sister, who disappeared from my mother's belly and floated away with the rain.

But the sun dipped lower in the sky, and I knew it was time.

At home, Mama sat at the table with her arms crossed and a fiery look on her face. “I can't believe you almost cost us our jobs! You're lucky Jorge wants you back in the morning.”

I sat out on the stoop weaving until a few stars strained to sparkle in the city sky. I was waiting for Papa like a lost dog that didn't even know her owner's name anymore. I was just someone else who couldn't go home. Not yet. Maybe not even ever, because home didn't exist for me without him.

Jorge made me pay for the fight in sweat even though the pool was almost completely deserted. I'm sure if Jorge could have told me to pick up every grain of dirt in the park, he would have. It was like he couldn't put enough space between us.

No one talked to me for three days. Manuela wouldn't even take the small basket I had painted with green polish. The more hurt I felt, the angrier I became. It was like the world had turned its back on me.

On day three, Keisha came around. “Can she talk to me now?”

Jorge shook his head. “No. Go back to the pool.”

Keisha stood straighter than I had ever seen before. “She was just doing the right thing and y'all shouldn't punish her for that.”

Jorge barked back, “She doesn't need to be involved with any of those Chulo girls. You know what kind of problems we had with Tessa.”

Keisha pulled herself up tall. “Nora was just defending me.”

Jorge barked, “Is that true, Nora?”

I leaned against the broom.
“Sí
.”

“Why didn't you say so?” Jorge's eyes softened. “It looked like you were picking the fight, especially with Flora hanging around.”

I shrugged my shoulders. He never gave me the chance to explain. I chose the fight because it was the right thing to do.

Keisha held her hand over her heart. “She wasn't. I promise. I'll even look out for her when we go to school, and Flora ain't hanging around those people. She's at the library; I saw her. She looks real upset.”

Jorge pursed his lips. “Nora, go on your break.” He
scratched at his head and used his fingers to trace the lines of his jaws.

Keisha peeked over the counter. “Where are the shoes I gave you?”

Jorge laughed. “Those are the ugliest shoes I have ever seen.”

I put them on with pride. “Chew twins.”

I sat in the shade with Keisha, but she was too quiet. “I try go church,” I said.

“Girl, there's lots of church around. What kinda flavor are you?”

I pointed to both of us. “Church. School. Go.”

“Huh? You and me? Vacation Bible School is all finished, and we're mostly black at my church. I mean, you could come if you want—but don't get all scared when people whoop and holler to praise the Lord in my church. We know how to call on Jesus.”

I nodded like I understood her words, like this was all normal. “I go school. You help.
Mañana
. Chew twin.”

Tomorrow would be my fifteenth birthday. Even though she was younger, I wanted Keisha to help me get into school.

Keisha started backing up. “Nope, sorry. I once ran around the neighborhood and my momma switched me so bad. I learned my lesson. I stay at
the pool or the library.” She paused. “And now that you've pissed
them
off, ain't no way we going running around. Don't be on the streets by yourself, 'cause it just makes you an easy target. We can still be shoe twins—here at the pool.”

Jorge pointed at his watch and called me back to the stand. “I gotta get to the bank.” My break was over. From the look on his face and the tone of his voice, it seemed the punishment was over too. There was no apology. I didn't need it.

Lauren waved from her stand for a drink. An idea popped into my head. As I entered the pool, Lauren stuck out her hand for the drink like I was doing her a favor. She didn't care about anything except her cold free drink. As I came closer to her chair, I felt a new feeling. I opened the lid and waited for her to look at me.

As her blue eyes peered down, I poured the lemonade into the grass.

“No mas
,” I said.

Lauren's mouth gaped open.

“No more free for you. Learn manners.”

Keisha gave me a thumbs-up. I believed in my own courage.

 

At home, Mama grinned from ear to ear. “Guess what!”

I hadn't seen her smile like that in a long time.

“Jorge just brought this over. He also told me how he made a terrible mistake about your argument at the pool. I did too. I'm very proud of you for defending your friend, but next time, let's not make it into a brawl. Okay?”

I leaned in to her. Her approval meant more than any apology.

“And you are so smart to have someone mail a letter! Concrete Guy also gave me the name of a place to call to find Papa,” she said proudly. “You read it for us, my lucky star.”

I grabbed at the letter from Grandma. Apparently, even God understood my Spanglish. This was an early birthday present.

Inside, I swear I could smell Grandma's hands, and maybe the slightest scent of grapefruit.

The few simple words broke my heart. The tax man was on his third trip, which is very bad news. Then what? We wouldn't have anything to return to. Grandma was too old to be smuggled up in a truck like Mama and me.

I wiped away my sweat and sadness. “At least we have a phone number. Did Concrete Guy say anything else? Maybe we can figure something out.”

“No. We'll call tonight,” said Mama. Her eyes were wrinkled with concern.

But my mind thought about the telephone and how it never gave the answers I wanted.

And neither one of us mentioned my birthday tomorrow.