“Sixteen, then,” said Guadalupe. “Rápido, or I’ll throw a bag of frozen carrots under your blanket.”
She left the room, and Marisa lay in bed for another few minutes before finally sitting up with a groan. She blinked for her clock, remembered that her djinni was off, and swore. Just to be sure her parents had heard her, she swore again more loudly. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the light, and she saw that her mami had laid out clothes for her on the edge of the bed: a San Juanito T-shirt, a pair of khaki slacks that made her look like a cow, and the most boring set of bra and underwear she owned. She put the slacks back in her closet, grabbed some black jeans, and stomped to the bathroom with a grumble. She blinked on her nonexistent djinni three more times as she showered and dressed.
They walked to the restaurant together, Mami and Papi and Marisa; her parents chatted idly about various bits of news, and their plans for the special of the day—chiles rellenos—but Marisa ignored them. When they got to the restaurant and unlocked the back door, Marisa was tempted to ring Sahara’s doorbell in the attached apartment, begging her to come and join in her pain, but she didn’t go through with it. Why make someone else suffer? She swept the main room and wiped down the tables while her parents got started in the back, and her stomach growled in eager anticipation as the smell of roasting chiles drifted out from the kitchen. When her father brought out two steaming bowls of breakfast, she sat down with him gratefully.
“Chilaquiles,” he said. “I know it’s your favorite.”
“Gracias, Papi.” She took a bite, closing her eyes as the creaminess of the cheese and the heat of the chiles seemed to burn her mouth and cool it at the same time. “Ay, que rico.”
“I’m sorry I yelled at you last night, Marisita.”
“No, Papi, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been running out and doing crazy things, and I know Pati was watching me but I just wasn’t thinking—”
“It’s not because of Pati,” he said. “I guess part of it is, but you’re my daughter too. Te amo. You know that, right? I love you and I want you to be safe, not just because of the other kids, but because of you.”
Marisa felt a tear forming in the corner of her eye, and took a huge bite of chiles, hoping she could hide her crying as a reaction to the spicy food. “Thungz.”
“What?”
Marisa laughed, covering her mouth and trying to swallow. “I said thanks, but my mouth was full.”
“Que grosera,” said Carlo Magno, exaggerating his mock disgust. “Here I’m trying to pour my heart out to my oldest child, and she talks to me with her mouth full?”
Marisa laughed again, then looked up in surprise as someone banged loudly on their front door. It was still locked; they didn’t open for another two hours. She looked at her father, then back at the door as whoever it was knocked again. She heard a voice, distant and feminine, shouting through the wall:
“Se?ora Carneseca! Please open up, I have to talk to you!”
Marisa frowned. “That sounds like . . .”
“It’s Adriana,” said Guadalupe, walking in from the kitchen.
“She’s not welcome here,” said Carlo Magno sternly. He had disowned her along with Chuy, guilty by association. Marisa cringed, remembering just a second ago that her father had called her his oldest child, not his oldest daughter. And she’d laughed.
“She sounds terrified,” said Guadalupe, striding toward the door. “She might need our help.” Marisa followed, with Carlo Magno right behind. Guadalupe opened the front door, and Adriana looked up in shock to see all three of them standing over her. She was young, just a year older than Marisa, pretty but thin, with eyes that looked bright red from lack of sleep. She clutched their son, Chito, tightly to her chest.
“Se?ora,” said Adriana, nodding her head in deference. She looked at Carlo Magno, hesitating and scared, then did the same to him. “Se?or.”
“What do you want?” he snapped. Guadalupe pushed him backward.
“Cállate, Papi,” said Guadalupe. She backed up to make room in the doorway. “Come in, you look terrified.” Adriana stepped in, glancing nervously at the street behind her.
“Is everything okay?” asked Marisa.
“It’s Chuy,” said Adriana. “He . . .” She glanced at Carlo Magno again, then back at Guadalupe. “He’s been shot.”
“Este cabrón,” growled Carlo Magno, throwing up his hands and turning away in disgust.
Marisa felt her heart drop, remembering her call to him last night. She couldn’t find her voice, and Guadalupe spoke first.
“What happened?” she demanded. “Is he okay? Is he alive?”
“He’s alive,” said Adriana, nodding. Chito looked out at them with wide eyes, as silent as a photograph. “He’s at our house now, with one of the others trying to treat him. I don’t think it’s serious, but—”