Dream Things True (9 page)

“I'm guessin' he doesn't want to hear from any of us. He probably has his mind made up, but that won't stop us now, will it?”

“Us?” Alma asked.

“Oh, yes, ma'am, you can guarantee he will be hearing from Mrs. Bernice King. And it won't be the first time, either.”

She shook her head and chuckled.

“Do you think it will make a difference?”

“Probably not, but we'll go on ahead and do it anyway, won't we?”

She smiled so broadly that her teeth gleamed. Alma couldn't resist this woman.

“Yes, ma'am,” said Alma, smiling back. “We will.”

After she got out of Mrs. King's car, Alma finally gave herself permission to look at Evan's texts.

IF I GOT YOU IN TROUBLE, I'LL MAKE IT UP TO YOU. PROMISE.

And then,

SAY SOMETHING! IM DYIN OVER HERE.

Her heart thumping and her hands shaking, she stood poised to reply.

Should she tell him that she missed him, too? Should she tell him that three days ago Gilberton High School had been the last place in the world she wanted to go, but now she got butterflies—the good kind—every time she imagined walking through the doors? Or should she tell him what had happened today? How would she even begin to explain?

She groaned and shoved the phone back into her pocket. Pulling out the crumpled blue flyer, Alma entered her house and headed straight toward the computer. Maybe if she distracted herself for a few minutes, the answer would come to her.

By the time Ra
ú
l came to stand at her side, Alma's anxious mood had turned to despair.

She stared blankly at the press release posted on the senator's Web site: “Roundup of 200 illegal immigrants in Sexton Prentiss's hometown of Georgia protects 200 American jobs.” The senator's staff was praising the work of ICE, celebrating that her aunt, cousins, and friends had just been handcuffed and loaded onto an armored bus. This senator didn't have any interest in immigrant families like hers. According to his Web site, he was all about raiding factories, building bigger fences on the border, and adding a bunch of cameras, radars, and unmanned vehicles—as if crossing the border weren't dangerous enough. Feeling queasy, she closed the press release and opened another. This one described a policy that he called “catch and return.” It was, the Web site explained, supposed to be better than the “catch and release” way of dealing with “illegal aliens.”

“What are you doing, Alma? I need the computer.” Ra
ú
l asked, impatiently.

“Reading about this senator. He thinks we're fish.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. It says here, ‘No more catch-and-release.' Isn't that what people do to fish?”

“Why are you reading about a senator, Alma? I mean, besides the obvious reason that you're a total nerd.”

He tried to give her a playful shove in the arm, but she pulled away.

“Mrs. King told me I should e-mail him.” She shoved her chair away from the desk. “But there's no way I'm sending a message to this guy. He doesn't even think I'm human!”

Ra
ú
l stepped forward and looked more closely at the screen, focusing his gaze on a photograph of the senator. He wore a gray suit and ice-blue tie. He sat perched on a table, reading a storybook to a group of schoolkids.

“Hey, I know that guy,” he said, his voice rising.

“Keep dreaming, Ra
ú
l,” Alma mocked. “Where would you meet a US senator?”

“He used to come to our soccer games at GHS. I'm not kidding.”

Alma laughed. “You are so full of yourself, Ra
ú
l. Why would a US senator come to Gilberton High soccer games?”

“I'm telling you, Alma. It was him. His nephew was on our team. Skinny kid. Tall. He was a sophomore when I graduated. But, dude, he was
good
.”

“Do I know him?” Alma asked. “What's his name?”

“Evan.”

The words tore a gaping hole into Alma's chest.

“Evan Roland. This guy's his uncle.”

Ra
ú
l pointed a finger at the head shot on the computer, while Alma tried to focus her blurring vision on the glare off the senator's forehead. She examined his ruddy face and shifty eyes, his thin, pursed lips.

Ra
ú
l kept talking. “Yeah, Evan. His mom's the one with all those damn roses, over on Lakeshore Drive. Dad does her yard, remember?”

Yes, Alma remembered. She willed herself not to cry.

“Are you sure?” Alma asked, fighting back tears.

“Yeah, I'm sure. I'm telling you,” he said, pointing at the screen, “he and Evan were tight. He came to a bunch of our soccer games. He was pretty cool, actually.”

It didn't matter how “cool” he was. Alma would have nothing to do with this senator or his family. She couldn't. It was too risky, and just the thought of being near this man's life made her feel sick.

“You can have the computer now,” Alma said. “I'm done.”

But she wasn't quite done.

Alma walked onto the deck and pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans. With her hands poised on the keypad, she stared at Evan's messages one last time.

Her thumb hovered over the key for a moment and then hit delete.

SEVEN

Red Elephant

You can do this.

Alma stepped off the bus and headed across the pavement, toward the huge silver
G
suspended above the entrance to Gilberton High School. A red elephant with unfurled ears, powerful legs, and sharp tusks was seared into its center.

Welcome to Gilberton High School, home of the Fighting Red Elephants.

Alma considered making a list of all the things she knew about elephants. Making lists usually calmed her, but the first thing that popped into her mind was politics—donkeys and elephants—which made her think of Evan's uncle in his ice-blue tie. So, instead, she just repeated her mantra for the day:

You can do this.

Maybe if she repeated it enough, she would believe it—as long as she didn't run into Evan.

“Alma, over here!”

Alma turned to see three comforting faces, girls she had known since elementary school, standing near the door to the cafeteria.

“What's up,
chicas
?” Alma asked. She walked toward them and entered their circle as Monica and Magdalena opened space.

“Not much, girl,” Maritza said loudly. “Just wishing I didn't have to be here.”

“I hear that,” Alma said. Her need to escape this place was so real that she tasted it like cold metal on her tongue.

As soon as Alma came near, their bold energy vanished, and the three of them leaned in close to her.

“I heard about your
t
í
a
Dolores,” Magda whispered.

“Chino, too?” Maritza asked.

“Yeah,” said Alma, “and Javier.”

Maritza just shook her head slowly.

“What about Arturo?” Alma asked Monica.

Monica nodded slowly. “Yeah, he's gone.”

“At least Loyda quit a couple of weeks ago,” Alma said.

“And Susie wasn't working that shift,” Maritza broke in. “That's what my cousin said.”

A girl came up and joined their circle. Alma didn't recognize her.

“Y'all ready for this?” the girl asked, nudging Maritza in the rib.

“Nope,” Maritza said. “Just counting the days till I graduate.”

Maritza's tone made clear that they were finished talking about the raids. Alma knew that—even though they knew they shouldn't—they all felt ashamed. She knew they didn't want other people at school to know about their connection to the “illegals” who had been taken to jail.

Maritza's friend, a light-skinned black girl with dark hair braided into long cornrows, nodded toward Alma. “I'm Briana,” she said. “I don't think we've met.”

“I'm new,” Alma said.

“So, Alma, what happened to that fancy school in Atlanta?” Monica asked, “Did they kick you out for being too
mexicana
?”

“What, you think they'd rather have
salvadore
ñ
as
like you?” Magdalena broke in.

“Not a chance, Monica. Down there in Atlanta, they think all you Salvadorans are either in MS or the Eighteenth,” Alma said, trying hard to fit naturally into their banter. MS and the Eighteenth were Salvadoran gangs. They were mostly in LA, but everyone in Atlanta was terrified that they were migrating east.

“
¡
Ó
rale, ese!
” responded Magdalena as she folded her arms into an exaggerated gangster pose.

They all laughed. It felt good. Being here with her girls, making fun of the way other people sometimes saw them. With them, she didn't have to worry.

“No, really,” said Alma. “My
t
í
a
had to go back to work, so she needed me to take care of Selena.”

Alma tried not to think about the fact that her aunt's job at the chicken plant was probably history now.

“Why can't your other cousin do it—Isabel. Isn't she like fourteen or something?” Monica asked.

“Isa's thirteen, and she's too busy chasing boys, which means I have to take care of her, too.”

“
Ay, chicas.
Did you hear that my little cousin Flor is pregnant?” asked Magda, shaking her head slowly. “Fifteen years old. And she won't even tell anybody who the guy is.”

“I guess it's safe to say he's not planning to step up?” asked Briana, arching her eyebrows.

“
Pinche
guy,” Magda said, almost spitting out the words.

Maritza's body shifted into a defensive pose, as if the
pinche
guy were standing right in front of her. Alma felt sorry for any guy who crossed Maritza.

“My aunt and uncle shipped her off to South Carolina to live with our cousins,” said Magda. “They live on a farm, out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Where nobody can see her,” Monica said.

“Yeah,” Magda replied. “She might as well be in a convent.

“I bet she's, like, dyin' over there,” Monica said.

“Flor deserves it,” Maritza said, anger in her voice. “It's not that hard to prevent, you know.”

“You better watch your cousin, Alma,” said Magda. “Your
t
í
a
Pera would just keel over on the spot if Isa got herself knocked up. I mean, she would
die
.”

“Damn, y'all,” Maritza broke in. “It's not Alma's fault if her little cousin wants to make stupid-ass choices.”

Alma conjured an image of Isa, pregnant, wearing a tank top stretched over her swollen belly and those short-shorts Isa stuck in her purse every time she snuck out to be with her friends. The image terrified her so much that she closed her eyes and shuddered.

When Alma looked up, Briana, Monica, Magda, and Maritza were all staring past her, gawking.

She turned to see Evan jogging toward her, his face bright with anticipation.

“Alma!” Evan called out.

You can do this.

He arrived at her side and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Alma willed herself to step back.

“What's up, Evan?” she asked, trying to sound casual and distant. She wanted to feel revulsion, or anger, or anything other than this deep pain of longing.

“Not much. Just looking for you,” he said, smiling broadly. “Did you get my texts?”

Alma glanced toward Magda, who was now in full-on jaw-dropped shock, and shrugged.

Maritza broke in, “Damn, Alma. What happened to your manners, girl?”

“Yeah, who's your friend, Alma?” Monica said, thrusting a hand onto her hip. “Aren't you going to introduce us?”

“Oh, sorry. This is Evan. My dad mows his lawn,” Alma said, using every ounce of her will to gesture casually toward Evan—to make it seem like he didn't matter.

“These are my friends. We go way back,” she said in his general direction.

She couldn't look at him. One look and she would be done.

“Hey, don't you play soccer?” Monica asked.

“Yeah,” replied Evan. Alma knew he was confused, or maybe angry. She heard it in his voice.

“My cousin's on your team—Jonathan.”

“Mendez? He's a good guy.” Evan replied absently. Then he reached out to grasp Alma's arm, his soft touch overwhelming her senses. “Alma, can I talk to you?”

“Um, maybe later,” she said hesitantly. “I've gotta find my class.”

Alma pulled her arm back and turned to walk away. “Later,
chicas
,” she said, waving casually toward her friends.

But then she felt Evan's hand again, warm on her shoulder.

“I'll walk with you,” he said.

Her mind told her to find a way out of this, but her body refused to listen. She needed to be near him. So she let him walk beside her in silence, and they made their way together through the huge glass doors and into Gilberton High School.

 

 

Evan was lost—completely bewildered. When they reached Alma's locker, Evan turned and spoke.

“Alma,” Evan asked slowly, “why did you introduce me to your friends that way?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your dad cuts my lawn? What was that?”

“The truth.”

The way she said it, it was like she was trying to hurt him. What had he
done
?

“What's wrong, Alma?” he asked.

“Nothing's wrong. I'm just preoccupied. You know, first day at a new school and all that.”

He knew she was lying, but he couldn't figure out why. Was she mad at him about Friday night? Embarrassed, maybe? He stared at her intently and replied, “You don't strike me as easily intimidated, Alma.”