“Fito.”
“Apologize to Fito here for using that word. I suppose you were trying to humiliate him in front of the entire student body.”
Enrique Infante, he was doing that sullen thing again.
Mr. Cisneros was starting to get annoyed. “I said, a-pol-o-gize.”
“I’m sorry,” Enrique said.
“I’m not sure Mr. Fito over here heard that.”
“I’m sorry, Fito.” Enrique Infante was not happy. Not happy. I thought I could see his ears burning. Not that he was oozing sorrow. Nope.
“Now apologize to Ms. Diaz for referring to her in that manner.”
“I’m sorry, Samantha.”
“I didn’t quite hear that,” she said. I tell you, that Sam, she had some stuff in her.
“I said I was sorry.”
Then Mr. Cisneros looked straight into Sam’s eyes. “Now you apologize for slapping him.”
“Enrique Infante, I’m sorry I slapped you.” She almost, almost hid the sarcasm. But not quite.
Then Mr. Cisneros did something that nearly made me want to forgive him for being such a pompous asshole. He ripped up the misspelled piece of paper with the word fagot on it.
We met at my locker after the last bell. “God,” I said, “what a day.”
Sam was grinning. That girl could do some serious grinning. “I had kind of a great day.”
“Yeah, you got to slap Enrique Infante.”
“I’ve been dying to do that since last year. He’s a rat. Still, you know that thing about jumping in the sewer to catch a rat?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m a work in progress, Sally.”
“Yup. But you know, Sam, things could have turned out really bad. That guy could have seriously hurt you. Good thing I was right around the corner. Lucky you.”
“I know, Sally. And what would you have done—?if he had hurt me?”
“Sam, I don’t even want to think about that.”
“I know what I would have done,” Fito said. “I would have killed that pinche rata.”
“Killing someone. No bueno. When’s your next session with your therapist?”
Fito smiled. “Good one, Sally.” Now two people were calling me Sally.
The truth was, I would have really hurt Enrique Infante. If he’d laid just one finger on Sam, I would have really hurt him. But what if I had hurt him? What if I had? I heard my dad’s voice in my head: Figure it out, son.
Mima. Me.
I PHONED MIMA every day. She always called me hijito de me vida. Little son of my life. It didn’t have the same ring to it in English. Sometimes things just don’t translate. Maybe that’s why there were so many misunderstandings in the world. On the other hand, if everybody spoke only one language, the world would be a pretty sad place. Not that I spoke French or Italian or Hebrew.
But Spanish was holy because it was Mima’s language. And my dad’s language—?even though you couldn’t tell. He didn’t speak English with an accent like Mima. But when he spoke Spanish, it came out perfectly. That language belonged to him the way it would never belong to me or to Sam. Well, at least I didn’t speak Spanish like a gringo. Yeah, I had issues about that. The only thing that mattered was that my uncles and aunts always treated me as if I were theirs. As if I belonged to them. No one in my family ever made me feel adopted. Whatever that feeling was.
I called Mima. I heard her fading voice say, “Hello.”
“Hi, Mima.”
“Hi, hijito de mi vida.”
I recorded a part of the phone call, and Mima didn’t know it. So her voice would never be extinct.
Part Six
In the distance, I can see a storm coming in, the dark clouds and the lightning on the horizon moving toward me. I wait and I wait and I wait for the storm. And then it comes, and the rains wash away the nightmares and the memories. And I’m not afraid.
Sam. Fierce. Yup.
CHRISTMAS BREAK. And I felt I needed one. We went out to a movie, Fito and Sam and I. We ate lots of popcorn and afterward dropped by some guy’s house. Fito scored us beer. One each. Well, it was Christmas break. We went to Sam’s place and made sandwiches and hung out.
As we were eating our sandwiches and having our beers, Sam said, “I really hate that Enrique Infante. Where do rats like that come from?”
I shrugged. “Families.”
Fito nodded. “Fucked-up families.”
“Right.” Sam said. “Exactly.” And then she looked at me and said, “You and me and Dad and Maggie, we are the normalest family on the planet.”
“Well,” I said, “I don’t know if we’re normal.”
“Guess not,” Sam said. “And you know what really pisses me off? People’s attitudes. Enrique Infante going around calling people faggots. And then Charlotte Bustamante comes up to me last week and goes, ‘Isn’t it kind of creepy to live, like, with this gay guy? I mean, I’m sorry about your mom and everything, but isn’t it kind of—’ I stopped her dead in her tracks. I went off on her like You. Would. Not. Believe.”
I pictured the whole scene.
Sam, she was all about telling the story. “I looked right at her and said, ‘I know you get this a lot, but it bears repeating. You’re an imbecile. And that thing about being sorry about my mom. Don’t go around telling people you’re sorry when you don’t mean it. The next time I hear you do that, I’m. Going. To. Slap. You. Silly.’”
I gave her one of my grins. “Really? You’d slap her silly?”
“Well, no. But can’t I just enjoy the fleeting thought?”
“No bueno,” I said.
“No bueno,” she said.
But I think we were both laughing to ourselves.
Fito. Sam. Me. Texting.
FITO CAME OVER while I was making breakfast. “How come I’m not in on the word-for-the-day thing?”
I shrugged. “I never thought about it. You’re not in on the running thing either.”
“Screw that,” he said. “I’m too skinny for running. And besides, I’ve been running all my life.”
“That makes no sense,” Sam said.
“I got my own logic goin’ on here,” Fito said.
“You sure as hell do,” I said. “Want some breakfast?”
“You have to ask?”
I fried him up a couple of eggs as Sam made him some toast. He stared at the plate in front of him. “No bacon?”
“Take it up with Sam. She ate it all.”
I sat down with a cup of coffee. “Word for the day,” I said. “’K, Fito. Your call.”
He took out his iPhone and texted me and Sam: Wftd = mothers.
Sam and I read his text. Sam texted back: Mothers. Yeah.
Me: Yeah
Fito: My mother’s name was Elena. Actually Maria Elena Sam: Sweet
Me: Yeah, sweet
Sam: Sylvia. Sylvia Anne Me: Sylvia Anne? Nice Sam: Sally? Urs?
Me: Alexandra. They called her Sandy Sam: Never knew that! Wow Fito: Wow. Alexandra. I like Sam: They had names
Me: Yeah, they had names
We put down our phones. It was as if we’d learned something but didn’t quite know how to put it into words. “Let’s play catch,” I said.
“Without Dad?” Sam said.
“Yeah, without Dad.”
Ashes
I WAS IN BED, actually thinking about opening my mom’s letter. I got a text from Sam: Tomorrow. Sylvia’s ashes.
Me: ?
Sam: Talked to Aunt Lina. Talked to Dad. Done deal Me: I’m the last to know? Really?