Jumped In (13 page)

“That's fucking cool.”

“Yeah.”

“You're holding a piece of history.”

“Yeah.”

As we practice the next few nights, I hold the knob tighter with each step I take from the wall.

When I head off for home after practices, Luis is like, “Read and reread that third stanza” or “Practice those lines so you can
say 'em like you mean 'em
.”

It seems so important to Luis. So when I get home, I charge through the front door, ignore Gilbert's “greeting,” head into my room and work my butt off … farther and farther away from the wall.

When I need a break or I can't sleep, I go to work on Gilbert.

I put my face right up to his and try my hardest to sound pleasant.
Hello, Sam. Hello, Sam. Hello, Sam.

Then I go back to my room and Gilbert screeches, “GOOD-BYE, SAM!”

I don't care.

It feels good to try.

 

ON A TEAM

I
T'S
M
ONDAY,
M
ARCH
4
TH
.
I open Puget's front door. I get nervous thinking that in a few days when I open this door, it'll mean I'm headed to Cassidy's to perform with Luis.

I start working my way through all those rich Briar Park kids and I see this popular kid—Derek Hendrickson—putting on a show, walking like he's got a stick up his ass. He grabs his friend's glasses and puts them on his face. He raises his hand in the air. Waves it like he's drowning. “Ooh-oo-oo!” he shouts. “I know the answer! I know the answer!” It's obvious who he's making fun of. The kids all crack up. Derek stops walking and takes a big bow. The whole group gives him a round of applause.

I catch a glimpse of someone running away from the crowd. It's Julisa Mendez. She looks back as she runs down the hall. Tears are rolling down her face.

I feel myself burning up. I got my fists in a ball. My head's on fire. I swear to God, I'm gonna take Derek apart. I wanna destroy him. I wanna put on a show for all his friends so they can see what a weak-ass prick their buddy is.

But before I can get to Derek, I hesitate. The bell rings and he's swallowed by the crowd.

The moment is gone.

I stand there in the empty hall, playing the scene over in my mind.

And I realize that Go To and I … we're on the same team.

 

REALITY SUCKS

L
UIS AND
I
GET TO WORK AFTER SCHOOL
. We improve stuff where we need to—usually just making it sound smoother or less wordy, more bouncy.

We start reading some changes and there's a knock at the door. Luis goes to answer it.

This big cholo dude blasts into the room, freakin' agitated. He's my grandpa's height, like six two, and buff with this gnarly, black gothic-lettered tattoo that creeps up his neck out from under his white T-shirt.

“Wussup, cuz?”

“Not much, Frankie.” Luis is real serious with him.

The guy bounces around the apartment, bug-eyed, looking for something. He opens up cupboards and drawers and messes up the place.

“Flaco here?”

“No, I don't know where he is.”

The dude is breathing hard. He's got this sick vein pulsing red just below his eye. “Where's he at? It's real important.”

“I dunno. You want his number?”

“I GOT his number, dumbass!”

Spit sprays when he talks. His chest heaves up and down with each angry breath. He opens a drawer and slams it closed with a
BANG!

“He don't answer his fucking phone and I need to talk to him yesterday!” Frankie throws a book across the room. It knocks a painting off the wall.

“All right. I'll tell him when I see him, but I don't see him much anymore, Frankie.”

“That's right; you don't see
nobody
much anymore. What's up with that?”

Frankie doesn't wait for an answer. He spots me and points a fat, trembling finger my way. “This your new buddy? You guys playing with your Pokémon cards?” He spots the typed pages. “What the hell is
this
?” His face is a huge, crazy smile with popping wide eyes.

He jumps at me.

I know I'm gonna die.

But Frankie doesn't kill me. He just snatches the poem from my hands and starts reading it out loud—mocking it—bouncing around the apartment again, spewing lines and howling. He drops onto his belly and pounds the floor with his fists and feet, laughing so hard he's got tears in his eyes.

“That's great, fellas,” he says in his corniest voice. “Thanks for the entertainment.”

Then he cuts the laughter and springs to his feet.

He hikes right up to Luis, chest to chest. He stares Luis directly in the eye. Luis holds his ground and looks Frankie in the eye right back.

“We all been wondering where you been,” Frankie says.

All I can think about is Carlos and how he said people were gonna be coming after Luis. He said I should warn him.

“Now I know where you been. You been here writing poetry with your girlfriend. You planting daisies, too? Learning to sew? You hemming this dude's skirts? What the hell, Luis?”

Frankie bumps Luis with his chest. Luis bumps right back. “We need to know if you're with us,
Callado
. 'Cuz if you ain't with us, you're against.”

“That's enough, Frankie. I get it. I'll let my brother know you stopped by.”

Frankie explodes. “I'm talkin' about YOU now,
pendejo
! I'm pissed off at your brother but at least I know he's a part of the family. Don't forget who took care of you back then, Luis, who looked after you. We don't forget shit! So I gotta know—you with us? Or you against?”

Luis doesn't back away. He stares laser beams of anger up at him, looking like he's ready to throw down. All I can hear is breathing, then Frankie slams Luis in the chest, “Let's go!” Luis falls back on his ass. “Get up, pussy!”

Luis bounces up and charges Frankie, shouting, “I'm with you!” as he rams Frankie in the chest, knocking him backward onto the floor. “I'M WITH YOU,
CABRÓN
!”

I've never heard Luis even
talk
loud. Now he's yelling, barking at Frankie at the top of his lungs.

Standing over him.

Looking down on him.

Face red. Neck veins pulsing, his scar on fire.

Fists balled. Looking like he's about to kill Frankie.

Shouting him down. Saying all kinds of stuff about how bad he is, how tough he is. How he could kill Frankie right now and how he should.

I'm frozen. I can't move an inch, but there's an earthquake going on inside my stomach. What the hell is Luis gonna do?

He finally stops shouting. Everything's quiet.

Everything but the sound of breathing.

Frankie forces out a chuckle. “That's better,” he says from the ground. “I was thinking you went soft on us,
Callado
.” He reaches out a hand. Luis grabs ahold and pulls Frankie onto his feet. “You're getting strong,
guëy
.” Frankie says it like he's proud of him. He hands the poem back to Luis.

Luis starts folding it.

But Frankie says, “Nah, nah. No you don't.”

“What?”

“You gotta rip that shit up.”

Luis freezes. “Come on, man.”

“You choose,
hermano
.” Luis just stands there holding the poem, looking as scary as Frankie. “You choose,” Frankie repeats.

Don't do it, Luis.

DO NOT DO IT!

Luis slowly rips the poem. Shreds of paper drift to the floor.

“That's right,” Frankie says.

Luis looks him in the eye the whole time, showing Frankie that, yeah, he's
with him.
And he's
made his choice.

“That's more like it,
hermano.
Tell your brother I stopped by. We'll see you at Cristián's place next week?”

“Uh-huh.”

“All right then.” Frankie flings the door open and struts into the darkness.

Luis doesn't move.

A wet wind blows into the apartment. He watches the tiny shreds of our poem fly all over the room. He closes the door. The wind stops. Luis watches the papers float back down to earth. He closes his eyes tight. Rubs his head, acting like it's aching again.

“I don't think I can do this anymore,” he says.

“Okay,” I say.

Okay?

Luis grabs a broom. I watch him slowly sweep the floor. He dumps our work in the trash and walks into his room.

I wait for him to come out.

He doesn't.

“Bye, Luis.”

I wait for a response.

Something.

Anything.

Nothing.

He doesn't show his face. He doesn't say a word.

He's made his choice.

 

AWAY

I
WALKED THIS NEIGHBORHOOD—FROM
L
UIS'S APARTMENT
all the way to my house—the last few nights, and all I thought about was how good this made me feel. How cool Luis was. How he was the opposite of what people at school thought. How Carlos clearly had no idea what he was talking about.

Well, tonight Luis proved Carlos right.

Tonight Luis is exactly the person everyone thinks he is.

And tonight this place is scary as hell. Headlights glaring in my face. The shriek of screeching tires. Voices in the dark. Each sound is a threat that Frankie or some crazy gangster is gonna jump out and kill me.

I walk faster for a few steps, then break into a full run. I do all I can to get farther from Luis, farther from the stupid fucking poem, farther from trying, farther from caring. Because when you
try
and when you
care …
that's when you get your ass kicked.

I imagine a big scar on
my
neck getting bigger and bigger. I run faster, all the way across Pac Highway and down the hill to my world.

To safety.

I burst into the house breathing hard.

“Samuel?”

I ignore Ginny.

“GOOD-BYE, SAM!”

I try to ignore Gilbert.

I slam my bedroom door. Bury myself in the covers.

I don't even look at the boom box. There's no escaping the truth tonight. Of all the millions of people in the world who could possibly be my friend, that thug was the best I could do.

It was never gonna work.

I knew that.

I saw the bloody train wreck coming from a mile away.

And I hopped on for the ride.

Who does that?

Lonely fucking losers. That's who.

 

WHAT DO YOU SAY?

A
FTER A SLEEPLESS NIGHT
, I
WALK INTO
M
R
. O
LSEN
'
S SCIENCE LAB
.

Luis is nowhere.

It's a relief. I don't wanna see him again.

I put on my lab goggles and yawn a huge one. I figure it'll be okay to close my eyes for a second.

One thousand and one.

I open my eyes.

I can't fall asleep in class.

But one more long, slow blink won't hurt anybody.

One thousand and …

The bell rings. My eyelids spring open. My cheek rests in a puddle of spit on my desk. I wipe my face and look around. I can't see because everything is a greasy blur. A brown blob flies at my face. I realize it's a hand. But I'm still half asleep and don't know what's going on. So I slap the hand away.

“Your goggles, dude.”

It's Luis. He takes my safety goggles off and the blur goes away.

“You sleep-slobber like a hound dog, Sam.”

I wipe my mouth with my shirtsleeve as Luis helps me up and hands me a stack of papers. “Here.”

What the hell?