Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco (7 page)

Then she shoved the phone at me.

My heart fluttered like bird wings while I listened to the phone ringing.

A man’s voice. “5News. Maury Carlson.”

“Can I — is Miss Kate there?” I croaked.

“Who?”

“Kathryn Dawson Dahl.”

“She’s about to do a live shot. Can you call back?”

Disappointment and relief crashed in on me. “Okay, bye.”

I handed the phone to Angélica. I kept my voice
casual
. “She’s about to do a
live shot
. On
television
.”

Enjoying the look on her face, I added, “I’m gonna watch. See you later.”

I hopped down our stairwell.

Papi had been replacing the broken window when I’d left for school. But he was gone, and the new glass looked clean and shiny. It was Rosa’s day to pick up Suelita from Tía Carmen’s. I was alone. Grabbing the remote, I clicked to channel five.

A man with a tie and a blond lady took turns telling the news. A building burned down. A
suspect
got shot in a robbery. But nothing about Miss. I worried I’d missed her or that Rosa would come home before I got a chance to see her.

Papi didn’t say we couldn’t watch Miss on TV. But I looked over my shoulder, out the window at the stairwell, feeling guilty.

“
5News First Look
continues its series on immigration.” My head swung back to the television to watch the man with the tie. “The Maplewood city council plays host this afternoon to a naturalization ceremony. Here with the story is 5News’s Kathryn Dawson Dahl.”

Her face took up the whole screen. “Steve, today marks the end of a long road for these immigrants. Naturalization is costly, tedious, and often risky. The process is shrouded in mystery, especially for those whose first language is
not
English.”

Her concerned look froze. In my mind I heard a man say,
“Take video.”
Then Miss told about a Costa Rican woman who was becoming a citizen after living in the U.S. for twelve years with her American husband.

Twelve years? As long as I’ve been alive
.

The Costa Rican lady cried, talking about how much she loved America. A lump grew in my throat.

Then Miss was back, clutching her microphone. “We’ll wrap up this series at North Middle School, where test scores remain high in the face of a large immigrant enrollment. That’s tomorrow, on
5News First Look
.”

The man with the tie came back on, but I couldn’t hear what he said.
My school! Miss is coming to my school!
Deep inside me, a tiny voice starting singing.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

I jumped. Rosa stood in the open doorway. She dropped Suelita’s hand, crossed the room to take the remote from me, and snapped off the television. “It will not work. I’ll tell Papi.”

I twisted my hair around my finger. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But I worried all night that Rosa would ruin my new secret plan.

The next morning I was lucky. Rosa and Suelita were both sick and throwing up.

Rosa’s scratchy voice
penetrated
the new windowpane as I climbed the stairs. “You better be walking home!”

I raced to school, not waiting for Angélica. I scanned the parking lot for the 5News truck.
Where is she?
I sat on the curb.

The first bell rang. I wiped my soggy hands on my shorts. Angélica ran by with her nose in the air, pretending she didn’t see me.

I decided to give up just before the second bell rang. I was late. When I got to homeroom, our teacher wrote my name on the board for detention.

I spent the rest of that morning darting down hallways between classes, craning my neck, searching for Miss.
Her series ends today!
If I don’t find her, how will I ever get another chance?

At lunch I checked the parking lot, praying for the news truck to be there.
Yes!
I charged back inside. Hesitating in the main entry, I scanned the corridors, wondering which way to go, straining to hear her TV voice.

Mr. Stroud came out of his office.

My cheeks got hot, like all my blood cells got called to an emergency meeting in my head. For once I was glad my skin was dark. Maybe the principal wouldn’t notice my guilty face.

He stopped. “Jacinta, isn’t it?”

I nodded, staring at the floor.

“You’ve got detention this afternoon?”

I nodded again.

“Where are you supposed to be now?”

Water sprang to my eyes.
My secret plan. Ruined
. “Lunch.”

“Then I suggest you head to the cafeteria.”

I hurried, my head down. So people wouldn’t see my tears.

Which is why I ran into Miss. Again.

“Jacinta?” Her voice was the sound of water trickling over rocks in a desert.

“Miss!” I forgot everything. My whole secret plan. I threw my arms around her and sobbed into her blouse.

Later that afternoon I scooted around our apartment like a jumping bean in the sun. If Rosa hadn’t been sick, she would’ve known I was up to something.

But she kept dashing to the bathroom.

Papi was in his bedroom, getting ready for his night job, and Rosa was throwing up, when Miss came down the stairwell. I waited for her knock.

Papi called out for me to get the door.

Pulling it open, I said in a loud voice, “Miss! What are you doing here?”

Papi emerged from the bedroom.

Miss said, “I’m sorry, Jacinta. I know you said not to come. But I felt
obligated
.”

That word again. I worked to keep from grinning.

She looked at Papi. “May I sit down?”

“Please.” He waved to the sofa. I sat between them.

Rosa staggered from the bathroom and collapsed into the chair, shooting me angry looks through bleary red eyes.

“Miguel, it’s my fault your girls were late after swimming. Please don’t blame them. Or the youth center. Your girls need structure. Jacinta needs the social support.”

Structure? Social support?
I just wanted an Amiga. I hoped Papi understood. Miss sounded like she’d eaten a dictionary for lunch.

Papi stiffened. “Thank you, Miss, but they have many things, here, to do.”

I said. “It’s okay, Miss. There are girls in our building. I can be friends with Isabel.”

“No, you can’t,” Rosa croaked — as though I were stupid. “She got pregnant and went back to Mexico, remember?”

She couldn’t have done it better if I’d paid her a million dollars. I looked from Papi to Miss, enjoying their faces when Rosa said “pregnant.”

Controlling my own face, I said, “Maybe Lupe?”

Papi frowned. “I do not want you with Lupe. She goes with boys in fast cars.”

I pulled my eyebrows together. “There are lots of
boys
in the building. They pay attention to me now that I’m older. Especially the high-school boys.”

Miss went even more white.
Albino
.

I added, “But I’m becoming a
woman
. Without Mamá here, I need a
woman
to talk to.”

Papi’s brown skin looked green. “You have Rosa and Carmen.”

My eyes started stinging for real. I blinked and water spilled down my face. “Rosa will be in high school next year, and you and Tía are always working.”

I had wanted Papi and Miss to
think
I was crying, but because the tears were real, I was embarrassed. I stared at the carpet, hiding my face with my hair. I felt Miss and Papi looking at each other over my head. I held my breath and crossed my fingers.

Papi coughed.

Miss cleared her throat. “Uh, Miguel, have you thought of enrolling Jacinta in the Amiga program?”

Behind my curtain of hair, a smirk crawled up the side of my face.

PAPI STARED
at the paper, clicking the button on the end of the pen. The little point poked in and out.

Click
.

Click
.

The writing was English, so Papi wouldn’t be hurried. There’s a word for being slow like that.
Cautious
.

I picked at the peeling paint on the kitchen table, waiting in case he had questions. I’d just finished sixth grade and was the best reader in our family — in English — even though I didn’t like reading.

Rosa would be going into high school, but she took ELA classes — English Language Acquisition. She was already nine when we moved back to Colorado, so she spoke English with an accent. I spoke both English and Spanish with no accent.

But Rosa could read and write in Spanish, and I could not.

I chipped the polish off my fingernails and glanced at Papi. He reminded me of
mi abuelo
— my grandfather — after his accident.

Mi abuelo
would stare at the fields, blowing smoke rings with his cigar.
Will there be enough rain? Will the crops survive?
Sometimes Abuelo would smile, and the corners of his eyes would crinkle like old paper. But mostly he was serious.

Even though my grandfather was my mother’s father, Papi reminded me of him just then. He tapped the paper with his finger.
“¿Otra vez, qué es esto?”
— What is this again?

“It’s for me to take
gymnastics
.”

I tried to say the English word
lightly
. Like it was no big deal.

“Gymnastics?” Papi repeated in English.

I imagined myself doing things Eva Chávez did, people cheering and clapping. “Cartwheels . . . doing the splits.”

Papi gave me the Spanish word. “
Gimnasia
. How much will it cost?”

“If you fill out the paper, it will be free.”

Click
went the pen.
Click
.

I wiped my wet hands on my shorts.

“Where did you get this paper?” he asked.

“Miss got it at the
recreation center
.” I said
recreation center
in English, because I didn’t have the words to explain in Spanish. “Where the swimming pool is.” Papi clicked the pen in and out.
I should’ve waited for Mamá to call. Mamá would’ve told Papi it’s good to learn new things
.

But I realized my mistake too late.

Papi said, “This paper’s from the city. They’re asking how much money we have, where we live, how many people are in our family. It’s not good to tell the government too much. That’s the way to get a long bus ride. Then you have to swim back across the river.”

I smiled. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true. Never forget that,
mija
.”

He rubbed my cheek with the back of his fingers as he said “my daughter.” Then his eyes got big.

“What have you told
Miss
about our family?” He spoke Spanish except when he said
Miss
.

“Nothing, Papi.”

He stared at me hard.

“I don’t tell family things,” I repeated.

The pen clicked again. And again.

“I need to think about this.” He stood and picked up the paper.

I leaped from my chair. It fell backward. Papi had turned away, but when my chair slammed onto the floor, he spun around to face me.

“Mamá would let me take gymnastics!” I threw at him.

His eyes pierced me. I took a step back.

Then his face softened. “Jacinta, your
mamá
isn’t here.”

He left the gymnastics paper in the stack by the phone and walked out. The picture in my mind of doing gymnastics disappeared.

Like the smoke from
mi abuelo
’s last cigar.

IT WAS COLD
in the fitting room. I felt like I was naked. I practically was.

“I don’t like this one, Miss.”

“You said you wanted a one-piece swimsuit?”

“Not this one. Look.” I turned around and motioned with my hand.

“Your back?”

“Yesssss.”

Miss sighed. “What don’t you like?”

“I’m sunburned.”

In the mirror her smirk crept across the opposite side of her face. “Dark skin doesn’t mean you’re burned.”

She was smiling again because I didn’t know things. I threw my words at her. “People will think I’m black!”

“First, there’s nothing wrong with being black. People come in all colors. Second, your skin is perfect.”