Thank goodness for Papi. He wipes his hands and starts walking toward them from across the gym. He has a quick temper, so I’m expecting him to make a fuss the way he does at Roli and me when we track in dirt or argue too much. Or else he might just freeze them with his look, which is almost as bad. Papi’s a big guy, and his eyes can go narrow and dark when he’s mad.
But before Papi can reach them, the girls start shoving again, trying to get out of the heat. They don’t seem to care that he’s holding up his hand to wave them off. It’s like they don’t see him at all.
“Move!”
“Let us in, Catie!”
And just like that, they burst through, their hands and bodies sliding over the wet door as I stand there, rooted to the spot. They barrel through, shrieking with laughter as they get smeared. One or two make handprints on each other’s backs. And then somebody wipes herself clean on one of the walls Roli finished a while ago. I stare, breathless, at the long streak of red fingers along the length of it.
They’re dead—and I can’t wait to see it happen. Papi is going to yell at them for ruining my work. Any second, his voice will boom across the gym. The walls will rattle. When Papi loses his temper, it feels as if you’re trapped inside a huge storm cloud.
But as the seconds tick by, absolutely nothing happens. I finally turn to see that Papi has stopped in his tracks, his hands in his pockets as he watches the girls race past. We are ghosts as they go by—unseen. Finally, the tall girl looks at us from the top of the steps leading to the locker room.
“Perdón,” she calls out in a heavy American accent before she takes the steps, two at a time. There’s laughter, hoots. Then another voice calls out from somewhere, “Excuse-oh moi!”
A metal door slams behind them.
I feel like I’ve been slapped. An ugly coldness creeps up from my stomach as we stand there in silence. Perdón? Excuse-oh moi? Do they think we don’t speak English? And even if we didn’t, would that make their silly apology any better?
But it’s Papi’s stillness that makes me feel worse. Why didn’t he say anything? He’s Papi. He’s the boss, an adult, the guy in charge. How could he let this happen?
It’s only when a man with sweat stains around his armpits comes jogging to the door that the silence is broken. It’s Mr. Falco, the guidance counselor. He spoke last year at one of the parent college nights I was dragged to. Seaward Pines School was a special place, he said that night. A school with a history of turning out fine young men and women.
He steps carefully through the door, looks at the mess, and shakes his head.
“I told them to use the side entrance,” he says, sighing.
“They should come clean it up,” I snap.
Papi shoots me a warning look. “Quiet, Merci.” His eyes slice through me in a way I’m not expecting. But why? I’m not the one who made this mess.
“But, Papi—”
“Sio—” he hisses.
When I drop my stare down at my shoes, he turns back to Mr. Falco and pastes on a smile. “It’s no problem, sir. They’re children, and accidents happen. We’ll clean it up.”
With those words, my father shrinks before my very eyes. My arms hurt, and I’m thirsty and hot. I feel ugly. My cheeks burn as I stand there, humiliated for all of us.
I will not clean this up, I tell myself. I slide my gaze to Roli. His jaw twitches as he rolls on a new coat of paint, but he won’t look at me.
“Thank you,” Mr. Falco says. He walks away and closes the glass door of the athletics office at the far end of the gym.
—
It doesn’t take that long to touch up the walls or to repaint the door, but I’m furious just the same. I don’t speak to Papi for the rest of the day, not even when he buys me an extra large chocolate shake. That afternoon, I let Roli sit in front and brood all the way home as I pick the dried red paint from under my nails. Every bump makes the springs in the seats squeak as we make one turn after another and head over the bridge again toward home. A million thoughts bang around inside my head, but I can’t seem to turn them into a single question. All I feel is a rotting feeling inside. It’s like I’m putrefying, just like Do?a Rosa.
Finally, Emerald Isle Condominiums comes into view.
“I’ll see if one of the guys from the team can help me finish up tomorrow,” Papi says as Roli and I climb out. He doesn’t look at me as he says it, which makes me feel satisfied. At least he knows I’m not speaking to him. He taps his horn before he pulls away, and Roli turns. “Make sure Merci works on her reading.” Then he’s off.
“I don’t need your help,” I hiss at Roli as the van disappears around the corner.