Emako Blue (7 page)

“Yeah, Eddie,
Feliz Navidad,
” Monterey added.

“Feliz Navidad,”
I repeated as they made their way toward the exit doors. I watched them until they vanished, swallowed by the crowd.

A woman ran into me with a stroller without apologizing, but I didn’t get upset, because it was Christmas and her baby was crying.

I opened my wallet and stared at Monterey’s phone number.

My phone was ringing. I rubbed my eyes and looked at the clock. It was 6:30 in the morning, Saturday, January 11, my birthday. “Hello?”

“You asleep?” Emako asked.

“What you think? It’s Saturday.”

“Happy birthday,” she said, and laughed.

I groaned. “Later, Emako. You ain’t funny.”

“But I got a present for you. I’ll be over there after work. You gonna be home?”

“Yeah, my mama is making me a birthday cake with sixteen candles and my nana’s comin’ over and some of my little cousins and my auntie and uncle.”

“Princess Monterey.”

“Good-bye, Emako.”

“Later.”

I hung up the phone and stared at the ceiling. I was sixteen, but I didn’t feel any different. I turned over, closed my eyes, and went back to sleep.

When the phone rang again at 8:30, I thought it was Emako. “I’m still tryin’ to sleep, Emako.”

“Hey, Monterey. It’s Eddie.”

I sat up in bed. It was the third time he’d called since I’d seen him in the mall. “Hey, Eddie. I thought you were Emako.”

“It’s kind of early. I could call you back later.”

“No. It’s okay.”

“Happy birthday,” he said.

“Who told you it was my birthday? Emako, huh?”

“Yeah. . . . Are you, like, havin’ a party or anything?” he asked.

“Just my mama and daddy and some cousins and stuff . . . nuthin’ special. I could ask if you could come over if you want to.”

“I can’t. I have to work today in my father’s market . . . but maybe next week I could meet you at the mall.”

“They might be cool with that.”

“I’ll see you at school on Monday.”

“Okay,” I replied.

“Later, Monterey. Happy birthday.”

“Later, Eddie,” I said, and hung up the phone. I was too happy. I put my head back on my pillow and tried to close my eyes. Sixteen was already feeling pretty good.

Most of the day was boring. All my little cousins wanted to do was play video games on my computer. My nana forgot to put batteries in her hearing aids, so everyone was talking too loud. I was glad they went home early.

It was 5:30 in the afternoon when Emako rang the doorbell and handed me a small box.

“Happy birthday.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” I said as she walked through the door.

“But I did,” she replied.

My daddy looked up from the TV. “Hi, Emako.”

“Hey, Mr. Hamilton,” she said.

My mama peeked her head out of the kitchen. “Hi, Emako.”

“Hey, Miz Hamilton.”

“I keep telling you, call me DeeDee. Everybody does,” my mother said.

“DeeDee,” Emako repeated.

We went into my room and closed the door.

“I forgot a card,” she apologized.

“Don’t matter.” I tore off the wrapping paper and opened the box. It was the silver bracelet I had wanted the time we had gone to Melrose. “I can’t believe this! You remembered!”

“I remembered.”

I put on the bracelet. “You my bestest girl.” I looked at the bracelet on my arm. “I cannot believe you did this! This is too sweet! You want some birthday cake?”

“Maybe later.”

“You could have gumbo if you want, but my daddy ate most of the shrimp.”

“Not right now.” She got up and went over to my CD rack. “Could I borrow your Jay-Z CD?”

“It’s there. Daddy said he’s gonna get me a CD burner. Then I’ll be able to make my own CDs.”

She put the CD in and began to sing along. Then she stopped singing and sat down. She looked sad.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Some knucklehead came into my line at work today, lookin’ for my brother. You remember the little gangsta you said was fine? Who was drivin’ that Regal outside my house when you first came over?”

“Who was in CYA?”

“Yeah, him.”

“And . . . ?”

“And I told him that he knew where Dante was and he needed to get out my face unless he wanted to order somethin’ to eat.”

“And . . . ?”

“So he looks in my eyes real hard like he’s tryin’ to scare the black off me and orders a Whopper with cheese and a large drink, pays for it, makin’ sure that I see all the ice on his fingers, and the Rolex on his wrist, you know, like blingbling, goes outside, and gets in his ride.”

“Were you scared?”

“I ain’t scared of nuthin’. Just sometimes I wish Dante would disappear and never come back.”

“You love him?” I asked.

“He’s my brother. I just hope Marcel don’t get caught up in any mess, cuz he’s a cool little dude.”

“He is,” I said.

“He ain’t nuthin’ like Dante. I think Dante was just born mean. But I love Marcel with his goofy little self. Always clownin’.” Emako had a little smile on her face.

I couldn’t wait any longer. “Eddie called me,” I blurted.

“Again?”

“Yeah, this morning, to say happy birthday, and then he said maybe we could meet at the mall on Saturday.”

“Eddie’s kinda cool,” Emako said.

“He is,” I replied.

One day at the beginning of January, I went to the school office to have my transcripts sent to the U of New Mexico, and there she was. Emako.

“So what’s up, superstar?” I said.

“Superstar?” she asked.

“You know, what’s up with Aurora Records?” I asked, forgetting my vow of secrecy. “Oops. I promised Monterey I wouldn’t say anything.”

“It’s okay. Everybody knows anyway. Can you believe it? But my mama says I can’t even go near a recording studio till I graduate.”

“Maybe she’ll change her mind.”

“No, she won’t, becuz she said someone is gonna graduate from high school and that someone is gonna be me. Plus, I wanna be a good example for my little brother and sister. It’s a responsibility thing, you know?”

“Ain’t nuthin’, just two more years,” I said.

“Can I help you?” the office lady said from behind the counter.

“I need to have my transcripts sent,” I replied.

“Again? And where to this time, Mr. Ortiz?”

“New Mexico. They want to see my mid-semester progress reports.”

“Didn’t you apply for early admission to Arizona State?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’ll know by January fifteenth, but just in case.”

“It’s your life, Mr. Ortiz. Here’s the form. And you, miss?” she said to Emako.

“I was absent yesterday, but I forgot to come to the office and get my slip, and Miz Warren said I could come and get it after school becuz I was almost late this morning and we had a history quiz and she didn’t want me to miss the quiz so—”

“Enough . . . too much information. Reason for absence?”

“I was sick.”

She filled the out the absence slip and signed it. “Bring this to homeroom tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Emako said, and turned to leave. “Later, Eddie.”

“I’ll bring this back tomorrow,” I said, holding up the transcript form.

“Like I said, it’s your life, Mr. Ortiz. Just don’t come in here blaming me like you did last week because your grades didn’t get there in time and now your life is ruined forever because you have to go to the junior college down the street.”

Her words made me think again. “Okay, I’ll do it now,” I said, watching Emako walk out the door into the hallway.

The office lady sat back at her desk. “Like I said, Mr. Ortiz, it’s your life.”

I scribbled in my info as fast as I could and she took it from my hand like she had won a victory.

When I got outside, Emako was standing there with Jamal. “It’s your life, Mr. Ortiz,” she mimicked.

Jamal nodded. “Hey, Eddie.”

“Hey, Jamal,” I replied.

“I hear you gonna hook up with sweet Monterey this weekend,” Jamal said.

“She’s not sure yet.”

“Her moms and pops?” Jamal asked.

“Yeah.” I felt a little embarrassed. “I gotta go before I miss my bus.”

“Bye, Eddie,” Emako said.

“Later,” I said, and left them by the lockers.

I stopped at the 7-Eleven and bought a Mountain Dew and some pork rinds for my ride home, then headed back to the bus stop. I was early, so I sat on the bench and started to eat.

I heard them first. The music was loud enough to wake up a corpse.

They were driving a Chevy with tinted windows.

They slowed down and I felt the fear. I whispered a prayer, asking God to protect me. I didn’t want a bullet in my spine or head. I wanted to see my future. I was innocent. Innocence had to count for something.

The Chevy came to a stop in front of me.

The window rolled down and I took a deep breath.

This is a mistake. I’m not Tomas.

The passenger flashed a gang sign and I shrugged my shoulders.

He looked at me and laughed as he rolled up the window.

The Chevy roared away and I breathed.

It felt like I sat there forever. Finally, I could see my bus in the distance coming toward me. I climbed aboard and sat down next to a little old lady, who nodded at me. She reminded me of my mother and I felt safe.

I got off the bus at the stop two blocks from my house. I hurried home, staring straight ahead.

I went around to the side of the house and came in through the open back door and locked it. My sister was in her room, watching TV. I headed for the kitchen, past the little altar with the statue of Jesus and the candle that my mother kept lit twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Behind them sat a picture of my brother, Tomas, when he was twelve years old.

My mother was in the kitchen cooking.
“Mijo,”
she sighed.

“You should keep the doors locked, even in the daytime! Something could happen!” I was almost yelling.

“Twenty-five years, nothing has happened. You worry too much,
Mijo.
” She put the lid on the pot and wiped her hands on her apron.

I wanted her to put her arms around me the way she used to when I was a little boy.

“Sit down,” she said. “I made some soup.”

I sat down.

But the Chevy was still on my mind.

Even if Gina didn’t blame Emako, I did, and so I was on her back when school started up again.

Emako was in my public speaking class, and every time she got up to talk, I disrespected her from the back of the room, calling her the ghetto superstar and Emako the ho.

I guess Emako got tired of it, because one day after class she followed me out into the hall.

“Savannah!” she called.

There was something about the way she said my name, and I thought twice before I turned around. I decided to play innocent and smiled at her. “Hey, Emako.”

“Why you gotta be like that?”

“Like what?” I replied.

“Like every time I get up to talk, you gotta make fun of me like you still back in the seventh grade.”

“I’m just playin’ with you. Don’t be so sensitive.”

She got all up in my face and said softly, “I’m not bein’ sensitive. If you don’t like me, I’m cool with that. I mean, it’s not gonna keep me from sleepin’ at night, you hear what I’m sayin’?”

“I got ears.”

The bell rang and she walked away.