“Me neither,” I said. “It hurts, to want something you can’t have.”
“Yeah,” said Jake. He parked in front of our house, and I looked at his face, his ruddy skin. He smelled of barbecue and soap. I had always thought we’d be a family by now, but here we were, and it wasn’t nothing, what we had. It was a lot. I leaned into him, my sweet one.
45
Carla
I WENT TO THE American high school for three months. The teachers were kind to me, although I did not understand most of what they said. Before school, in between classes, and after school as I waited for the bus, I was nervous—not in the harrowing way I had been scared on The Beast, but in a more aching way. I was frightened of being singled out or ridiculed. I wanted so much to be noticed, and I also wanted to disappear.
Even in Room Sixteen, I was lonely. My mother stopped paying special attention to me. I began to feel angry at all the other children (including my new sister and Carlos), who had not been left behind in Tegu. I hated being sent to the Laundromat. I hated feeling sick all the time, and I hated the used clothes my mother brought me from Savers. I missed Humberto and wrote him endless letters in my school notebook. I would make something of myself, I decided, and then I would go back to Tegu with enough money to save us both. In the middle of the night, I prayed to God that Humberto would never know what had happened to me on the train. I prayed for God to make me a virgin again.
One night I heard my mother and Mario arguing in English, which meant they were talking about me. My mother was saying, “No, no, it can’t be true.”
Mario said, “Look at her, amor! Are you blind?”
Their words escalated in intensity and everyone else in Room Sixteen pretended to be asleep. I pressed my eyes shut and prayed. In the morning, my mother took me on the bus to a medical clinic. When the test results came back, she said, “Carla, who did this to you?”
I bowed my head in shame and told her what had happened at night on The Beast.
She looked very sad and shook her head. “I will speak to my boss at the Texas Chicken,” she said. “You can work until the baby comes, and then I just don’t know.”
46
Alice
A HUSH FELL OVER our restaurant as Marion walked in front of the crowd. Since the Chávez gymnasium had been closed down due to the discovery of asbestos beneath the floorboards, Marion had had to use any place she could find to convene school meetings. And this was an important one. Marion, wearing a yellow pantsuit with her gold jaguar pin, cleared her throat. “Hello, everyone,” she said in English and then in Spanish. “Good evening.”
We had no sound system, so Marion had to raise her voice to be heard. The crowd had a few white members, but most Chávez parents were Latino and black. “Are you closing Johnson down?” yelled a heavyset man in the back.
Marion raised her hand. The group fell silent. “As most of you know, I am fighting my hardest to keep Chávez Memorial open. If some of you have heard rumors about a van coming to get your student if they’re marked absent, I can confirm that those rumors are true. I’ve got a van and a GPS unit, and I have your addresses. So get your kids to school.” This announcement was met with laughter and encouraging shouts.
She took a breath. “We have a big fight ahead of us. We have the TAKS tests coming up this spring, and I believe that we will raise our scores enough to keep this school open. Chávez has the smartest kids in town, and I also want you to know I believe we have the best-looking kids in town.” At this, Sam, who was sitting by the kitchen with Evian, yelled, “You know it!”
“That’s enough from the peanut gallery,” said Marion, adjusting her glasses. “I have called you all here tonight to talk about the Homecoming football game and dance.” The room became silent. Jake put his hand on my knee and squeezed.
“Now, this isn’t an easy thing to say,” said Marion. “I was a teenager myself, and I know how …” Her voice broke, but she regained control and continued, “I know how very much this night means to our kids.” She took a deep inhale. “The Austin Police Department has offered me extra security at the football field. We are taking a risk—a big risk—but I trust your children,” she said. “We have to trust them. We have to believe in them. And I’ll be honest, I’m scared someone’s going to do something stupid. I’m afraid. But I choose trust over fear. The Homecoming football game will go on as scheduled this Friday night.”
Cheers erupted, and the parents—some of whom had played for the Jaguars themselves—began to sing the Johnson Jaguars fight song. Marion bowed her head and let the applause roll over her. Jake whispered, “Wait till you see Evian’s dress!” I smiled and shook my head.
“I’m not finished,” continued Marion. The crowd settled down, and Marion spoke. “I’m very sorry to say what I have to say next. But I haven’t been able to find a solution, I haven’t, and so I just …” She put her shoulders back, lifted her head, and spoke. “There will be no Homecoming dance after the game. The gymnasium is unfit, and we don’t have anything left in the budget for the rental of an event space, much less money for food, music.…” Her voice trailed off. “We will have the game,” she said, “and I hate to send the kids out into the street afterward, but I don’t know what else to do.” She nodded firmly, and though the crestfallen group was utterly quiet, she said no more.
I felt the sadness around us—it was a real thing, like toxic gas. People’s shoulders fell forward, and sighs were audible. “It’s not Homecoming without a dance,” whispered one mother.
“It’ll have to be,” said another. “It’ll just have to be.”
People began to gather their things. I saw Evian’s mom at her side, consoling her. Out of habit, I tried to think of how I could fix things, what I could do, but it seemed there was no damn solution—this disappointment just was the way it was.
Someone pushed open the front door, and I felt a breeze on my face. I turned to my husband, but he wasn’t sitting next to me. Scanning the room, I saw him climbing on a chair. I frowned.
“Stop!” cried Jake “Wait! Don’t go!” The most famous man in Austin (this week) yelled at the top of his lungs, “Listen to me!” People turned toward Jake and listened.
“I’m Jake Conroe,” he said. “This is my restaurant, mine and my wife’s. That’s her, my wife, that’s Alice.” I lifted my arm, confused.
“We care about your school,” said Jake. He wasn’t a man who liked public speaking, so I worried a bit for him, standing up there. None of these people needed our sympathy. “We care about Marion, and also we care about kids who deserve a party. And your kids deserve a party!”