The Same Sky(21)

Enough of that sentimentality.

I sat up to find I was being watched by a boy I had never seen before. He had a shaved head and a thick black number tattooed on his face, one eye framed. If you know anything about the gangs, you will know what the number was, and you will know why I’m not going to write it down. When that journalist was shot through his eye, it sent a message to us all, and don’t think you are safe just because you are in America! This gang had just begun to come to Tegucigalpa at this time. A boy my age with the tattoo was something I had never seen before. I had heard of the gang, though—whispers around the dump.

I knew enough to be afraid. I sat up quickly, reaching under the pallet for the crowbar, ready to fight. “What do you want?” I said.

“What do you want?” he said, leaning back against the door frame of my house, looking insouciant. He pulled his shirt away from his stomach, as if hiding something.

My skin went hot with fear. I had no idea what this boy was doing so far from the city. I wrapped my fingers around my metal weapon.

“I want you to go away,” I said, sounding braver than I felt. He pursed his lips, nodded. He stepped inside the house and shut the door behind him. “I said to go away,” I repeated, my voice weakening. Was he hiding a gun underneath his shirt?

“Do you have any food?” he said, his eyes scanning the room.

“No,” I said.

“I don’t feel very well,” said the boy, and then he slumped to the floor. I jumped up, holding the crowbar high. The boy’s shirt fell against his stomach, where it was quickly soaked with blood. “Don’t hit me,” said the boy.

My mind reeled. “I could kill you right now with this weapon,” I said, “or you could take me to Austin, Texas.”

“Austin, Texas?” he said, barely able to manage the words.

“Me and my brother. He is sniffing Resistol. I need …” My voice broke.

He met my eyes, nodded slowly. “I can take you,” he said.

Something let go inside me, a bound coil springing loose. This was it—God’s plan for us. I nearly fainted with relief. I had almost stopped believing, to be truthful, and yet here he was: the one God had sent to bring me to my destiny.

“Let me stay here for the night,” he said, his voice delicate but sure. “In the morning, yes, I will take you to El Norte.”

“Okay,” I said. I filled a cup with water from the jug and knelt next to him.

“No one can know I am here,” he said.

I lifted his shirt. There was a deep cut about two inches long and the boy winced, showing big teeth, as I cleaned it. He made a sound in the back of his throat when I took my grandmother’s sewing needle, held it to a match, then punctured the boy’s skin and stitched the tear shut. When I was done, his eyelids fell. His skin was ashen. I had no medicine to give him. I hoped he would not die.

I was already on my knees. I prayed, thanking my grandmother, thanking God. I knew if I told Humberto, he would not allow me to go. Was it a stupid idea? Maybe it was. But if we stayed, Junior would be lost forever. And I imagined what it would feel like to reach my mother, to rest against her, to feel someone holding me up.

My brother eventually came home. He jumped when he saw the boy, his face registering something other than dull bliss for the first time in weeks. “What is this?” he said, terrified.

“We are going to America tomorrow,” I told him. “This boy will help us.”

Junior’s eyes were wide. The number on the boy’s face told us that he had done evil things. “We should run,” said Junior.

“Pack your things,” I said.

“I am not leaving.”

I blinked back tears. “Mom said she wants us with her, and with Carlos,” I lied. “She hired this boy to take us to America.”

“Really?” said Junior.

“Yes, really,” I said, nodding.

“I don’t believe you,” said Junior, turning from me and reaching inside his pocket for his glue.

“It’s true,” said a weak voice. Junior and I whirled around. The boy was sitting up. “Put down the f*cking glue, man,” he said. “Your mother told me to bring you to America. She paid me well. We leave tomorrow.”

“My mother?” said Junior, not sure if he should trust his hopes.

“Yes, your mother. In Austin, Texas.”

Junior’s face lit up as if a bulb had been placed beneath his skin. “She really sent you?” he said.

“I told you so, and I don’t want to repeat myself,” said the boy. “I’m Ernesto, by the way,” he said.

I asked Ernesto how his stomach felt, and he said to close my f*cking mouth about his stomach. “You—you’re going to like it in Texas,” he told my brother.

When Junior grinned, he looked like a child.





16




Alice


FROM THE MOVIE theater bathroom, I furtively dialed Principal Markson, but she did not answer. I listened to her icy voice mail (so this was what she sounded like to itinerant teens, yikes) but did not leave a message. Surely she had bigger problems than my mess of a movie date.

Next I called Jake. “Where are you, hon?” he asked sleepily.

“I’m at the mall,” I hissed. “This has gone all wrong, completely wrong.”