Dream Things True (16 page)

Alma knew that
Abuela
Lupe had not yet been to the consulate. She laughed heartily and asked, “And how is it that you know this,
Abuelita
?”

“The signs are all there,
mi vida
! I talked to the consulate and my appointment is set.”

Alma didn't want to disappoint her grandmother, but for Mexicans, getting a tourist visa was a lot harder than just getting through to the consulate to make an appointment.

“December ninth at midday—twelve o'clock.”

“That's great,
Abuela
Lupe, but—”

“Which means,
por supuesto
, that Juan Dieguito and
la Virgencita
are praying for me.”

“I don't follow—”

“December ninth?
Ay, mi vida.
The feast day of Juan Dieguito. Aren't you going to
misa
anymore?”

“Yes,
Abuela
, I still go to church, but—”

“He's a saint now, you know? It's official. And since
la Virgencita
's feast day is December twelfth and my appointment is at twelve, the signs are all there.”

Alma felt a smile curl the edges of her mouth, or maybe it had just been plastered there since last night.

“
¡Imag
í
nate!
We all will be celebrating
Las Posadas
together in Georgia this December,
mu
ñ
eca
.”

If this miracle actually did happen, and they all were eating
posole
, drinking warm fruit punch, and processing through the streets together for the nine days leading up to Christmas, Alma knew it was likely to be the first and last time. If
Abuela
Lupe was right about
la Virgencita
, she would be granted the visa in December, which would give her six months.
T
í
a
Pera and
T
í
o
Rigo would return to Mexico and set up their new lives there, while
Abuela
Lupe would stay with Alma and her family. But in June, right after graduation,
Abuela
Lupe, Isa, and Selena would have to return to Mexico for good.

Alma couldn't help but catch the wave of excitement. After last night with Evan, Alma was feeling so optimistic that she was almost tempted to share in her
abuelita
's certainty that a future of good fortune lay ahead.

 

 

Evan never exactly enjoyed sitting through church with his family. None of it seemed real. It was just a show that everyone dressed up on Sunday mornings to put on.

Look at us. We are a happy family. The family that prays together stays together.

All Evan wanted was to get it over with—to see Alma again. Plus, Uncle Sexton and Aunt Maggie were in town with all of their kids, which spelled family drama. When Whit excused himself before the sermon to go to the restroom, Evan knew what was coming. Ten minutes later, his aunt gently nudged him.

“Evan, sweetheart,” she whispered, “can you please do me a little favor and check on your cousin? He's been gone for quite a while.”

Ugh.

Evan knew where to find him. He went to the balcony and edged into the space between the organ pipes and the stained glass window. Whit was there, taking a long swig from his flask.

“What's up, Evan?” Whit asked casually, as if it were perfectly normal for him to be hiding out behind the organ getting drunk.

“You shouldn't be drinking in here,” Evan said. If that wasn't stating the obvious, Evan didn't know what was.

Whit took another swig and shrugged.

“In case you haven't noticed, it's before noon on a Sunday,” Evan said, “and we're in church.”

“I've noticed,” Whit replied. “But I need to prepare myself for this afternoon's public display of filial piety.” He pulled a container of prescription pills from his pocket and examined the label.

“I have no idea what you're talking about, Whit,” Evan said.

“Of course you don't, Evan. You and your mother live in a state of domestic tranquility, and—as far as I can tell—your dad basically no longer exists to either of you.”

As always, Whit was wrong. It was Evan's dad who seemed to have forgotten about them.

“Let's go, Whit,” Evan said, reaching out to pull Whit to his feet. “I've been sent to retrieve you.”

Whit stood and followed Evan, and they both slid back into the pew just before the benediction.

When church ended, Evan felt elated to be leaving alone rather than following his family to the club—that is until Whit rushed over to join him.

“So, Evan,” Whit announced, “as you know, my parents and I can't be alone together for more than five minutes, and it's a ten-minute drive to the club.”

“What's your point, Whit?” Evan asked, getting into his car.

“I need to ride with you.”

“I'm not going,” Evan said.

He started to close the door, but Whit grabbed it and held it open.

“Not fair!” Whit exclaimed, thrusting the car door open. “What's your excuse?”

“A soccer game.”

“Granted, I don't know much about high school sporting events,” Whit said as he pulled the flask from his pocket, “but I know you're not in season yet.”

“It's a city league,” Evan replied, grabbing the flask from Whit's hand and shoving it under the seat of his car. “A friend and her brother invited me. And,
Christ
, can you please not drink in the parking lot of our church?”

“What friend?” Whit asked.

“You don't know them.”

“Try me.”

“Alma and Ra
ú
l.” Evan knew there was no way Whit had crossed paths with Alma's family.

“Wait, you're not going to watch the Liga Latina are you?” Whit asked.

Evan's jaw dropped. How would Whit know about this league?

“You
are
!” Whit exclaimed. “Can I come, too? Please? Please, please?”

“You've got to be kidding me.” Evan said as he started to slam the door shut.

“OK, then.” Whit announced, wedging himself into the car and reaching down for the flask. “I'll just hang out at the club and finish this bottle before this afternoon's televised interview.”

Evan rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh.

“Hand over the bottle. And the pills,” Evan said. “Let's go.”

Whit released a squeal and thrust the flask into Evan's hand. “I
love
cultural experiences.”

This had the potential to be bad.

 

 

Standing at the edge of the field, Alma saw Evan walking toward her with another boy she didn't know. They both had on khakis and white button-down shirts. Evan also wore a strange look on his face. Maybe embarrassment.

“Hey, Alma,” Evan said as he approached. “This is my cousin Whit. He's visiting from out of town. I'm on babysitting duty.”

So this was the delinquent cousin. In his preppy clothes, he sure didn't look like any delinquent Alma had ever met. And he was way too old to need babysitting.

Whit threw out his arms and lifted her off of her feet, in apparent defiance of his beanpole frame.

“Look at you!” he commented, holding her at arm's length. “You're ravishingly beautiful.”

Evan stood beside her awkwardly.

Alma laughed heartily. “You're not so shabby yourself,” she replied.

It was true. Whit had a beautiful, broad jawbone and a long, angular nose. His dark hair and dark eyebrows set off creamy skin. The only blemishes on his near-perfect face were the puffy, dark bags under his eyes.

“She thinks I'm sexy,” Whit announced triumphantly to Evan.

Just then a whistle blew and they turned to watch the game.

Evan stood with his body inclined slightly forward, leaning into the field. His eyes focused with laser-sharp precision on the ball, occasionally darting across the field to take in the position of the goalie or an open player. He seemed completely oblivious to everything and everyone around him, including Alma and her little cousin Selena, who, to Alma's surprise, had sort of nuzzled up against him like a stray puppy looking for someone to feed it.

Alma was actually glad Evan had brought his cousin along. Whit didn't seem to care a bit about soccer. He knelt down beside Selena and engaged her in intense conversation.

“Man, your brother is good,” Evan said, not even looking at Alma. “Who's that small kid—the striker? Number twenty-three?”

“You mean the guy with long hair? That's Ramiro.”

“He's pretty good, too. Where does he play?”

“Right here. He's not a kid. He's, like, twenty-five. He's a framer.”

“A what?”

“A framer. You know, he frames houses. That's his job.” Then, trying to make conversation, or maybe just to pull Evan out of the trance he seemed to have gone into, Alma continued, “He's got twelve brothers and sisters back in Oaxaca.”

“Oaxaca?” Whit asked, standing up. “Does he speak an indigenous language? I read that there are sixteen surviving indigenous languages in Oaxaca.”

“Actually, I think he does,” Alma said. “Mixtec.” Alma was impressed. Evan hadn't told her the delinquent cousin was smart.

“Pass. Pass the ball,” Evan cried out. He turned to look at Alma. “Who's the midfielder? Number ten?”

“I don't know his name. He's new.” The new guy had stepped in a few weeks back to replace Rafael—one of the casualties of the Silver Ribbon raid.

“He has no idea what he's doing,” Evan replied. “How do you say ‘pass' in Spanish?”

The whistle interrupted and the referee called halftime. The score was 3-0. The Diablos de Daxthi were in the lead, and there was no chance that the Santos de San Juan would pull it out.

Number ten jogged over toward Alma's dad on the sidelines. They watched as he said something to Alma's dad, who then buried his head in his hands. Number ten walked toward the parking lot. Alma's dad called his team over to consult. The players shifted on their feet and flailed their arms. They were not happy. Ra
ú
l said something that seemed to calm them, and then he jogged toward Evan and Alma.

The whole team watched as he approached.

“Hey, man. Rough match.” Evan said.

“Yeah, we lost some players, so we've got a bunch of novices out there.”

“This is my cousin,” Evan said, nodding toward Whit.

Whit thrust out his hand toward Ra
ú
l. “
Encantado de conocerte,
” he said.

Whoa.
He spoke Spanish with a perfect Castilian accent. That was the Spanish of the elites. Until now, Alma had only heard it on television.

“Good to meet you, too, man,” Ra
ú
l said, taking his hand. “Thanks for coming out.”

Ra
ú
l turned to Evan. “So, Diego—one of our midfielders—he just got called in to work. We're short a player. We probably should forfeit since we're getting crushed out there. But I thought you might, uh…”

Evan's face lit up. “You want me to step in?”

“If you're up for it,” Ra
ú
l said, shrugging.

“Hell, yeah!” Evan replied. “Just give me a sec.”

He jogged over to his car and rummaged around in the trunk. Then he slid into the backseat.

“Where'd you learn the Spanish, man?” Ra
ú
l asked Whit.

“Salamanca,” Whit said. “
Estudi
é
un semestre en la Universidad de Salamanca—en Espa
ñ
a.
”

“No way,” Alma said. “How did you pull off a semester at the best university in Spain?”

“My parents find ways,” Whit said. “They prefer for me to be as far from Georgia as possible.”

Alma laughed nervously, not sure how to respond.

“Damn,” Ra
ú
l said. “I wish I could get myself in that kind of trouble.”

“Let me know if you need some help,” Whit said. “It's my special talent. Evan scores goals; I score DUIs.”

Ra
ú
l laughed and glanced toward Evan's car. “Looks like he's ready.”

Evan emerged wearing cleats and soccer shorts. Alma had never seen him look so good. It wasn't just his body. It wasn't even the way he pulled his long bangs off his forehead and secured them back so that she could see his entire face, with that beautiful smile that spread across it. He just looked so confident, like everything in this moment was
right
.

“Let's go,” Ra
ú
l said.

“Wish us luck,” Evan yelled over his shoulder.

Seeing Evan and Ra
ú
l jog toward the team, she had a feeling they weren't going to need it.

Evan pulled his white undershirt over his head and let it fall to the ground.

Swoon.

Alma's dad handed him a neon-green team jersey. He shrugged it on too quickly and stepped into the huddle.

“Oh, my God,” Whit said, pulling Alma out of her Evan-induced trance. “Your brother just made Evan's day.”

Alma decided not to tell Whit that he had made her day, too.

Watching Evan play soccer was disconcerting. He left his easygoing, friendly self crumpled on the sidelines with his discarded undershirt. He stripped himself down to something else, something more elemental. Evan was a very aggressive player. He taunted the player whose unfortunate job it was to defend him. He threw his elbows and body in ways that Alma was sure would earn him a yellow card, but he seemed to know just where the limits were.

“People are starting to gather,” Whit said, nudging Alma and pointing across the field. “I think they're baffled by the gringo boy.”