Flying Lessons & Other Stories(11)

The air conditioner in Papi’s truck is shot, so I lean my head out the window. Even with the windows open, I’m sweating in my long overalls. I’ve lived in West Palm Beach my whole life, but even I can’t stand it here in August. It’s 7 a.m. and we’re already at 85 degrees, if the frog thermometer at my bedroom window is right.

Papi looks over at me and grabs my arm. “?Ay! Don’t lean on the door. The latch is loose. Your mother will kill me if you fall.”

I scoot over.

“They sent our school schedules,” Roli says, licking his greasy fingers. “Mine is sweet. I’ve got Microbiology first thing in the morning.”

Oh, good. A whole year of listening to him talk about germs. I just survived his year in chemistry. For two solid semesters he asked for things by their chemical formula, just to annoy me. “I’d like a glass of H-two-O, please. Pass the sodium chloride for my french fries. This banana bread could use more sucrose.”

I close my eyes, listening. Blah-blah, science club, blah-blah, college application.

I wonder what it’s going to be like for me this year. Roli and I will both be at Seaward Pines, although I’ll be in the lower school with all the other seventh-grade “amoebas” (his word). Roli is five years older than I am—a senior. The last time we were in the same school, I was in kindergarten and he was one of the bossy safety patrols with a plastic badge. After that, he became a Sunshine Scholar at fancy Seaward Pines School, where everybody thinks he’s a genius.

Mami says I’m going to love Seaward Pines, but I don’t know. I’m not much for fancy, and everything about that place is shiny and stiff. Even the red blazers I’ll have to wear look hot and silly, if you ask me. Plus, no one from our neighborhood goes there, except Roli, so I’ll have to make new friends. Stuff like that doesn’t bother Roli. In fact, he’s never brought home a friend in all the years he’s gone there. I asked him about it once, but he told me to close my oral cavity.

I think what Mami really means is that she’s going to love it. Last year was tough on her. My highest grade was a C, as in “Caramba, ni?a, what are you doing? You’re shaming us!” Well, it was frustrating for me, too. To think, all my years of perfect attendance and neat penmanship did absolutely nothing to butter up my teachers at report-card time. It’s what we call a poor return on investment in the business world. Mami finally said, “?Hasta aquí!” and called Papi to “discuss my future,” so I knew I was dead meat. I fought it as best I could, but they decided that I needed “a more structured learning environment,” aka Seaward Pines.

“Why does it matter if I get an A in science or English?” I cried to Mami. “I’m going to take over Papi’s business anyway!”

She gaped at me like a fish out of water. “Business? Is that what you’re calling a dented van and the few guys who show up when they feel like it? A business?”

Mami: She has no vision. No wonder she and Papi don’t get along.

Anyway, with Roli’s help, I managed to broker a deal. I agreed not to run away. I’d go to Seaward Pines but only if I could apprentice with Papi—and get paid. So far, they’re living up to the agreement. I’m twelve, so for now, I mostly do the trim, and I’m not allowed to go on all the jobs on account of child labor laws and all that bull. I’ve been on two sites so far: Ramon’s Auto Parts (not bad since it was air-conditioned) and the marina, which left me smelling like bait for days.

“So, I have a surprise today,” Papi says.

I study him. This could be bad. Among my parents’ past surprises: “We’ve decided to get divorced.”

“You’re taking us to the science museum instead of to a job site?” Roli says hopefully. I roll my eyes. What an attitude. When I’m in charge, he’ll be the first one to go.

“No, but you’re close.” Papi sticks his arm out to make a turn signal and heads over the bridge toward Palm Beach. “It’s about the job.”

I sit up and look outside, realizing he hasn’t told us where we’re working today. “Where’s the site?” I ask.

The whole sky reflects in Papi’s paint-speckled shades as he looks over and smiles. “Guess.”

I look around for a clue. The Intracoastal twinkles beneath us as we cross the bridge into Palm Beach. The houses on this side of the canal are large, and they have bougainvillea vines trailing from their balconies. Royal palms line the street that ends at the ocean. Papi makes one turn after another on the quiet side streets where fancy cars are parked in the driveways and nannies push strollers in the shade.

Maybe we’ll be painting one of the big mansions? I could run into one of the rich tycoons who live here and run a few business ideas past him….

Roli crowds into the front seat to look at where we are, too. “Where are we going?”

“Move back,” I say. He’s breathing in my ear, and he hasn’t brushed his teeth.

“No guess yet?” Papi asks.

Then the stone archway of Seaward Pines School appears up ahead. We drive past the perfectly manicured front lawn, startling a flock of ibises as we go. A team of men in wide-brimmed hats is running weed whackers and mowers.

“What are we doing here?” I ask.

Papi maneuvers us around back to the service entrance near the fields and parks in a spot reserved for maintenance crews. When he shuts off the engine, the van shudders to silence.