Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco (22 page)

But in all that peace, my rage came unraveled and fell from my shoulders in rags. As I moved along the maze of trails, my mind worked through the
labyrinth
of my own thoughts.

Why do I pull away from the people I love? It’s kinda stupid
.

No. It’s REALLY stupid
.

Because what I want — what I really want — is to be close
.

My hand moved out of my pocket, searching. And found Mamá’s warm, rough one. I thought we’d come to the caverns by accident. A wrong turn. But maybe there’s no such thing as coincidence. Maybe there’s a
plan
.

Is this grace?

THE DRIVE FROM
Carlsbad Caverns to Roswell took two hours. Two long, boring hours. I was glad I’d slept the first time we drove through it. But Ethan was excited. As we rolled into town, he said, “Keep your eyes peeled for aliens!”

He didn’t mean undocumented immigrants. He meant creatures from another planet. He told me that Roswell is the Unidentified Flying Object capital of the world.

When we stopped at a gas station, Ethan warned me that the town has a reputation for otherworldly phenomena. He was right, because when he asked Miss for soda, she said, “Only if it has caffeine.”

“Who are you, and what’ve you done with my mother?”

“You’ll need it. You’re driving.”

“Great.” But he meant the opposite.

Miss was beyond tired. She hadn’t slept the night before. Ethan and I had dozed during the long ride, but Miss had stopped only for gasoline, coffee, and to use the ladies’ room. Her hair was greasy and clung to her face. She looked old.
Old enough to be my
abuelita.

But I thought about the wrong turn Ethan made leaving the motel parking lot — the one that brought us to Carlsbad Caverns.
Is it a good idea to have a resentful, inexperienced teenager with ADD driving with an illegal in the car?

Then I got mad at myself for thinking that.
How can a person be “illegal”? How can Mamá be illegal?

When we opened the doors to climb back into the van, hot air pushed out at us. We didn’t want to get back into that “sauna on wheels,” as Ethan called it.

Miss ordered him into the driver’s seat. She sat in front next to him, but handed
me
the map she’d bought, since we didn’t have GPS. The sweat on my lip wasn’t only from the heat. I was nervous about being the
navigator
. But I was happy, too. Mamá would see how much I’d learned.

When the time came, I’d be the driver for our family, so Papi wouldn’t have to risk being deported again — if we could track down his truck and get it back.
I won’t be a scaredy-cat driver like Ethan
.

With a cough and a sputter, the van shook itself. Ethan cranked the air conditioner all the way up, but Miss turned it down again. “You want this thing to overheat?”

We inched across the parking lot.

“Which way?” Ethan asked.

I unfolded the map.

Miss leaned slowly forward, like it hurt. She tapped on the windshield with her left hand. She wasn’t taking any more chances that Ethan would turn the wrong way.

When there were no cars in either direction for several blocks, Ethan rolled the van forward and turned left onto the main street.

“
Duerma
, Miss,” said Mamá.

“She says you should get some sleep.”

Miss gave Mamá a tired smile. “
Gracias
, Fernanda. I need to stay awake. Ethan only has a learner’s permit.”

I translated.

As Ethan relaxed, we picked up speed. Not that he’d win any racing trophies. I was urging him on in my head, wishing he could be a bit braver.

The road left Roswell and became a highway stretching across emptiness. Within a minute, Miss’s head lolled back. Her mouth hung open, and she snored. In a ladylike way.

Ethan leaned forward and turned up the air-conditioning. I could’ve kissed him. What Miss had said about “overheating” didn’t make sense.
How can cold air make the van too hot?

Mamá and I talked quietly. She cried when I told her we’d been evicted. I reminded her that things can be replaced, that we could live with Carmen until Papi got back.

I didn’t say that Papi might not come back. But she knew. She stared out the window, her face turned away, her hand moving to wipe her eyes. I rubbed her shoulder. I didn’t feel like the daughter.

After several minutes, Mamá asked me to tell her more about Miss. So I started explaining all about my mentor.

But I ended up talking about me.

I could see in Mamá’s eyes that she was proud of me. Proud of my knowledge of French and ballet and film. Proud of my gymnastics. Mostly, she was proud of my love of books. It was more than knowing how to read. I’d become
literate
.

Hearing the story in my own voice, I finally understood. The story of Miss wasn’t about being famous or the stuff she bought me. It wasn’t even about her clumsy attempts to “save” me. It was all about the time she gave to me.

She thought that I was worth it.

And I realized that I was.

The next town on the map was Las Vegas. I was excited until Ethan explained that it wasn’t the
real
Las Vegas. The real Las Vegas is in Nevada.

Ethan told me he was going to move to the real Las Vegas someday and become a stage magician. I asked how that would work with him being a film director.

He didn’t answer.

Miss woke when we stopped to use the bathroom in the fake Las Vegas. She started scolding us for letting her fall asleep, but she stopped when Ethan opened the door to get out.

“Uh-oh,” they said together.

Then I smelled it, too.
Burning
. Mamá pointed to the wisps rising from the front of the van.

“Pop the top,” Miss ordered.

Ethan did. She used the edge of her blouse to protect her hand as she pushed open the hood, leaving an oily smudge on her clothes that would never come out. Smoke billowed.

Ethan and I got out to look.

“Don’t step in that,” said Miss. A small greenish puddle at my feet.

Miss went inside to buy drinks for us and
coolant
for the car. She showed me and Ethan where in the engine to pour the thick green liquid.

Ethan muttered, “Car trouble as an ‘educational opportunity.’”

When we got back in the van, Miss had him roll down the windows. Then she made him turn on the
heater
.

“Why? It’s hotter than hell!”

“Don’t swear. The fan will blow the hot air out of the engine.”

“Yeah, right into my face!”

“Life’s hard. Don’t let me fall asleep.”

But once we were back on the highway, she started snoring again. Her coffee was left to grow cold in the cup holder.

“Shouldn’t you wake her up?” I asked Ethan.

“I’m not that brave. Knock yourself out.”

I decided I wasn’t that brave, either.

Pretty soon Mamá slept, too. Her head rested on my shoulder, which was nice until my arm starting sweating. Then it went numb.

And I had to squint. Hot air from the heating vents and the open windows — full of grit and nasty car smells — blew into my face.

How can we still be in New Mexico?
I remembered the time I’d thought Miss had kidnapped Rosa and me and taken us across state lines.

“Ethan, where’s Phoenix?” I tried to yell
quietly
over the sounds of the wind and the road, not wanting to wake Miss or Mamá.

He shouted back over his shoulder. “It’s — east — no, west. In Arizona. The next state over.”

How ridiculous I’d been all those months ago. Thinking we’d driven through two other states when we hadn’t even left Maplewood
. Miss’s words came back to me. “Your world is too small.”

On the map, Colorado and New Mexico were on different sides of the paper. We’d been looking at rocks and weeds all afternoon and still had hours to go.

Wiping wetness from my face with my free hand, I remembered how much I hated that van. I needed a cold drink and a bathroom. I needed air that didn’t smell like a pan left on the burner too long.

Anything would be better than this
.

ALMOST TWO HOURS
after our stop in the fake Las Vegas, I saw the green sign with white letters. Another town. Ethan and I were the only ones awake.

My stomach grumbled, reminding me it’d been hours since we ate at Carlsbad Caverns.

And I had to pee.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Kinda.”

“Let’s stop.”

“I — I don’t know.”

“If we don’t eat now, we’ll have to wait until we get to Colorado.” I didn’t mention we were ten minutes from the Colorado border.

Ethan pulled off the highway onto the main street through town.

“Should we —? You want to wake Mom?” he asked.

Probably Miss would have agreed it was dinnertime. But I couldn’t be sure. I was cranky, tired, and hungry. And I had to pee. “She gave me the map, remember? I’m in charge.”

Ethan snorted. We rolled slowly past several restaurants.

“
Pick
a place,” I urged.

“I’m driving.
You
pick a place.”

“You can’t
drive
and
look
at the same time?”

“I’d like to see you try it,” he muttered.

“You drive like an old lady.”

Ethan pushed down on the pedal. My head jerked backward. “Now you’re going too fast! How am I supposed to pick a restaurant?”

“Not so easy, is it?”

Our mothers started to wake up. I didn’t want them to veto my plan. I wanted dinner, and I had to pee. “There’s a place! TURN!
TURN RIGHT HERE!
”

I really did mean turn
right
.

But I was behind him, so Ethan couldn’t see where I pointed.

And Ethan gets his right and left mixed up.

He yanked the steering wheel hard to the left.

Left
, across two sets of double yellow lines.

Left
, in front of oncoming traffic.

Left
, to blaring horns.

A hard left into a
U-turn
. On two wheels.

I was thrown right. The last thing I saw was the coffee cup flying through the air.

Then my head struck Mamá’s jaw. I winced in pain, seeing stars. Mamá moaned. Burning rubber, squealing tires. I braced myself.

A siren. I opened my eyes a crack. Colored lights, blue and red, flashed across the roof of the van and the back of Ethan’s head.

He slammed on the brakes. Mamá and I were thrown forward. The van pulled to the right and bounced to a stop against the curb. I was tossed like a cloth doll.

The siren stopped.

I pushed myself back in my seat, rubbing my head. I looked at Mamá. Her chin was red, her lip broken open and bleeding.

Ethan looked over his shoulder. Colored lights flashed on the side of his face.

Miss whipped around, her face glowing red, then blue, then red again. “Oh, God.”

I turned.

Red light, blue light
.

Waves of heat from the street blurred the edges of the car behind us. I squinted, and an apparition from my nightmares emerged. The uniformed man with the badge. In the glare of late-afternoon sun, the watery figure moved toward us.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening
.

Mamá moaned again, melting behind the seat. Miss looked at me, her mouth moving. Her words swam through the air, reaching my mind. “Sit up! Tell her to sit up!”

“Sit up,” I told Mamá in Spanish. My voice sounded far away. My ears were ringing.

I had to pee.

A shadow fell across Mamá’s face. I turned. He
passed my window. Not all of him — I couldn’t see the top of his head. His gun was below eye level.

“Afternoon, young man. I’ll need your license, registration, and proof of insurance.” Even his voice wore a badge.

“My son’s only got a learner’s permit.” Miss’s clear, familiar voice was gone. She sounded like a squeak toy.

“Then I’ll need to see your license, too, ma’am.”

Miss fumbled in the glove compartment, then her purse. Ethan struggled to get his wallet out of his back pocket.