The Book of Unknown Americans(47)

“Mayor?”

“He’s been good for her, I think. She’s different when he’s around. More like herself.”

“Really?” My mom sounded genuinely surprised.

“Did something happen, though?” Sra. Rivera asked. “He hasn’t come over in a while.”

“Didn’t I tell you? Rafa grounded him. Mayor got into a scuffle at school, and Rafa flew off the handle as usual. él es tan rabioso.”

“It was serious?” Sra. Rivera asked. “What he did at school?”

“No, no. It was nothing. Trust me, Mayor is a good boy.”

Sra. Rivera didn’t say anything to that, and I wondered whether she believed my mom or whether knowing that I’d been grounded had somehow ruined her image of me.

One day I came home from school to find Quisqueya sitting next to my mom on our couch with her legs crossed. She used to be a regular fixture in our house, but lately I hadn’t seen her as much. Her furry snow boots were by the door and her white fur hat was in the center of the coffee table like a cake.

“How was your day?” my mom asked, after I walked in and dropped my backpack on the floor.

“Okay.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Nope.”

My mom said to Quisqueya, “He’s a man of few words these days.”

“Like all men,” Quisqueya said. “Except for my sons, of course. They call every night from the university to talk to me.”

“Tell me again, what university are they in?” my mom asked, feigning ignorance.

“Your memory is so short, Celia. They’re at Notre Dame.”

“Oh, right! Notre Dame. I don’t know why that never seems to stick with me.”

Quisqueya twisted herself to look at me. “I notice you’ve been spending a lot of time with the Rivera girl,” she said.

My mom tsked. “Not lately. Mayor is grounded.”

Quisqueya gasped. “Grounded!”

My mom shook her head like she was sorry she’d mentioned it. “It was nothing,” she said.

“Well, before. He used to spend a lot of time with her before.”

Quisqueya twisted herself to me again. “It’s a shame about her, isn’t it? But when I see you with her, the two of you seem to be having actual conversations. Like real people.”

“You don’t know anything about her,” I said, my cheeks burning, my voice flat as a wall.

“Not as much as you, certainly,” Quisqueya said.

“They’re just friends,” my mom said.

Quisqueya replied, “Of course. That’s how it starts.”

“Mayor, go to your room and start your homework,” my mom ordered.

“I don’t have any homework.”

“It’s a good idea to do your homework,” Quisqueya said. “Hard work is what got my boys where they are.” She faced my mom again. “Did I tell you they’re both majoring in computer science? You should hear them talk about their assignments. All these technical terms! They love it. But I have to tell them, Please! I’m just your little mom!” She smiled. “I don’t understand any of it.”

“Maybe that’s because there’s something wrong with your brain,” I said.

“Mayor!” my mom snapped.

“What did he say?” Quisqueya asked my mom.

“I’m sorry,” my mom said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately.”

“I said maybe you don’t understand any of it because there’s something wrong with your brain.”

Quisqueya blanched.

“Ya, Mayor! To your room!” my mom said, leaping up from the couch and pointing. When I didn’t move, she growled, “Now.”


IT WAS ALL just bullshit. Quisqueya and Garrett and my dad and every other person on earth could say what they wanted, but Maribel and I were meant for each other. I knew it.

So the next day, instead of going straight home after school, when I got to our building, I walked to her apartment. My legs were shaking for fear that my mom, or worse, my dad, would catch me, so as soon as Sra. Rivera cracked open the door, peering over the tarnished gold chain latch, I said, “Can I come in?”

“Are you supposed to be here?” she asked.

“Is Maribel around?”

“Aren’t you grounded, Mayor?”

“I was grounded, yeah. But I’m not anymore.”

I could see the hesitation on her face.

“My dad called it off,” I added, and finally she let me in. I found Maribel in the bedroom, standing by the window. She was wearing the red scarf I’d given her at Christmas and it was everything I could do not to walk over and kiss her right on the spot.

“Hey,” I said.

She turned around and gave me a puzzled look.

“I wanted to see you,” I said.

Maribel stared at me, blinking with her long eyelashes. “You got a car,” she said at last.

“You heard about that? Yeah. It’s not, like, a nice car or anything. And it’s not mine, you know. It’s my dad’s.”

“Where is it?”

“Out in the parking lot. My dad hasn’t driven it since we brought it home.”