Yaqui Delgado Wants to Kick Your Ass (23 page)

Mr. Flatwell sits down and folds his hands.

“Have a seat, Miss Delgado,” he begins.

“I don’t know her,” Yaqui says, still standing. “I don’t even know her.”

She’s right, of course. She doesn’t know me at all, but now I stare right at her, even though my hands are shaking. Yaqui’s hoop earrings graze her shoulders. She wears gold rings on her index fingers, and there’s a tiny white scar that splits her brow. There are two scabs on her elbows, and for a second I wonder proudly if I managed to do her some damage, too.

“You looking at something?” she snaps.

Mr. Flatwell holds up his hand and gives her a warning look before turning back to me.

“Miss Sanchez, can you tell me what’s been happening between you and Miss Delgado?”

I don’t say anything at first. I can feel Yaqui’s rage in the air around me. She’ll find me when no one is looking; I know she will. She’ll hit me harder, hate me more, even pound her raging story into my flesh until it’s a little part of me I can’t let go. She’s already made scars I’ll have when I’m old. I try to keep myself calm, thinking that maybe it’s like Ma says, after all:
God put your eyes in front of your head so you can see forward and not look back
.

I try to focus on what’s far ahead — after high school, after all of this has faded a bit. There is going to be an after for me, one that’s much better than hers.

I start out quietly, my voice flat as I tell Mr. Flatwell about Vanesa coming to me in the school yard. About her visit to the salon. About Yaqui stealing my elephant charm in the hall. Officer Roan is taking notes. Yaqui keeps interrupting, denying all of it.

“She’s lying,” she says.

“I’m not.” And then I reach across Mr. Flatwell’s desk and take his pen and notepad. I write the string of humiliating numbers and letters that have been branded into my brain.

“What’s this?” Mr. Flatwell asks me, when I hand it to him. “A website?”

My face is burning red.

“Yes,” I say. “A movie, actually. Yaqui and I are the stars.”

Mr. Flatwell turns to his computer and types in his access code and the YouTube link on his keyboard, and the video begins to load. The screen is reflected in his glasses, frozen on a frame of the fence outside my apartment. Mrs. Boika is in the window, a group of girls standing around with their backs to the camera.

I feel no shame as I watch the video start to play. This time I don’t even cry.

“Someone can walk you out if you like,” Miss Castenado whispers as she escorts me to the front doors of the school. “But I’m sure Mr. Flatwell will keep Yaqui in his office for a good while. We’ve alerted the school-yard monitors, too. And don’t worry — we’re getting the video offline immediately.”

I tell her I’m fine, but I realize this is my new life as a narc. I’ve seen this maneuver on plenty of court shows. The judge gives the witness a head start so the accused can’t break his knees in the parking lot. Or, in my case, the school yard.

I’m about to step out when someone walks by us toward the doors.

“Where are you going, sir?” Miss Castenado asks. “There’s fifteen minutes left until the bell.”

Rob holds up a pass but stares at his shoes.

“I have a pass for early dismissal,” he says. “Dermatologist appointment.” He steals a glance at me while Miss Castenado checks it out and nods.

He holds the door open, waiting for me to follow, and I do. We walk to the fence without a word, then he turns and hands me something.

“What’s this?” I ask. When I open it, I find a one-page application for McCleary, the science magnet school Darlene told me about.

“See the date?” he says. “Due Friday. Hurry.”

I stare at the application, my mind moving in a million directions as he walks away. When I look up, he’s halfway across the street.

“Hey!” I call, jogging after him.

He turns and waits, the cold air making his nose run a little. When I reach him, I don’t know what to say. Then I blurt it out — Rob-style.

“You told Flatwell that Yaqui Delgado was after me?” My voice sounds more accusing than I mean it to be. I take a step closer and whisper, “Somebody filed an anonymous SUSO report, and I think it was you.”

He blinks and shifts his feet.

“This is where you answer,” I tell him.

“Yes,” he finally says. “You fixed my locker?”

Now it’s me who’s momentarily tongue-tied. I don’t know if it’s a statement or a question. “Yes.”

Rob gives the briefest smile I’ve ever seen.

“See you tomorrow,” he says.

When I get to Mitzi’s house after school, no one is there. She’s probably at basketball or badminton practice or whatever sport is now in session. I have to sit on the stoop to wait. It’s a quiet street, with almost no cars driving by, so I have plenty of time to think. Mr. Flatwell and Officer Roan say I have to tell my mother what’s been happening; I have to bring her to school tomorrow. “There are options for how to handle this,” Mr. Flatwell said.
Like what?
I wonder.
The Witness Protection Program?

I pull the application for McCleary from my pack and read all the questions, wondering if I’ve slipped too far for them to take me now. Sometimes mistakes
can
mess you up forever, just like Mr. Nocera always warns: screw something up in the beginning of a problem, and your whole answer is wrong.
Is there partial credit in the world
, I wonder,
or just in math?

I don’t know how long I sit there, but finally I hear someone coming up the walkway. I stand up and find Mitzi walking toward me. Thankfully, she’s by herself.

“Piddy?”

Her bulging backpack is slung over one shoulder. She smiles and suddenly winces. That’s when I notice she has a fat lip.

“What happened to you?” I ask.

“I took a ball to the face in the game Saturday night.”

“You win at least?”

“No.” Then she juts her chin at the last of my greenish bruises. “What’s your excuse? You get run over by a truck?”

“More or less.”

There’s an awkward quiet.

“You get my message?” I ask.

She nods.

“I wanted to come, but I couldn’t,” I add.

“Why not?”

I shrug. “There’s been a lot going on.”

For a second, neither one of us says anything. Then Mitzi reaches inside her jacket for the key around her neck and unlocks the door.

“Well, then, you better fill me in.”

Just then, my phone vibrates, and I check the message. Relief floods through me.

“What?” Mitzi asks.

I hold up the screen to her. It’s a picture of Joey and the kitten in someone’s kitchen.

She looks closely, and then her eyes go wide. “No way. Is that who I think it is?”

“Yep. We’ve got a lot to catch up on,” I say as we step inside.

Maybe we only tell our scary secrets when we have no choice. It takes me hours to get the guts to call Ma, but Mitzi is right there beside me when I call Attronica.

“If you don’t do it now, you’ll lose your nerve.”

They page Ma and bring her to the phone.

“Meet us at Corazón at nine tonight,” I tell her. Mitzi nods encouragingly. She thought a public meeting place would be smarter. “Tell Lila to wait, too.”

“Why would I go there?” She’s out of breath. “I’m exhausted, Piddy. I just want to go home.”

“Just meet me and Mitzi there after work,” I say. “I have to talk to you, Ma. It’s important.” I hang up before she can argue.

By the time we get to Salón Corazón that night, they’re already waiting. Mitzi and I walk up the block and peer inside the shop. It’s past closing time, and the door is locked tight, though the grate hasn’t been dragged down. Lila and Ma are talking with Gloria like old friends. They’re sitting on the chairs with the dryer hoods flipped back, and Lila has kicked off her shoes. Still, I can tell by the way she keeps glancing at her watch that Ma is distracted.

When I knock on the glass, Gloria spots us and hurries over to unlock the bolt.

“There you are.
¡Qué frío!
” she says, shivering as Mitzi and I step inside. “We went from fall to winter like that! Come in, come in! And, oh, my goodness, is that you, Mitzi Ortega?”

There’s a flurry of fuss over Mitzi, kisses and hugs. Finally, when things fall quiet again, Fabio starts his normal growling welcome. He’s wearing a sheepskin sweater to keep him warm. Gloria scoops him up under her arm and pats my cheek.

“I was just telling your
mami
that I want her in here one Saturday. I’ll open up at eight a.m. sharp so she can get to work on time,” she tells me. “I’ll give her a nice haircut, on the house. Make sure she comes.” She smiles sweetly. “But now I’m going to do the receipts,
mijas
. Why don’t you come help me, Lila? And Mitzi, come on back. I want to hear how it’s going in Long Island. That mother of yours hasn’t called or anything! She’s forgetting us, eh?” Her voice trails off in happy chatter as they disappear into the back room.

Ma looks around uncomfortably.

“It’s weird to see you here,” I tell her.

“The place hasn’t changed a bit.” She’s quiet for a few seconds, thinking, I’m sure, of that day when she found out about my father. I can’t help thinking of him either, but now it’s different. He’s not someone I want to miss anymore; he’s just someone who didn’t want Ma and me in his life, for better or worse.

Ma’s voice shakes me from my thoughts.

“I’m not here for a tour, am I? Lila won’t tell me anything, so I know it’s serious. What is it?”

“It’s about me and school,” I say.

“Oh, Piddy. What’s happening now?” Her face is worn with worry.

I talk slowly, without looking away from her. Ma doesn’t interrupt as I tell her why I haven’t been going to school. She closes her eyes and listens when I get to the part about Yaqui jumping me. She doesn’t even make a peep when I list all the places I went when I skipped. She just presses her lips together and nods. The only thing I leave out is Joey. There’s no point in setting a match to the gunpowder — and besides, he’s making his own way now.

“Mr. Flatwell wants you to come to school tomorrow, Ma. He said I have options.”

“What does that mean?”

I shrug. “I don’t really know.” Then I feel inside my pocket and pull out the application for McCleary. “I hope this is one of them, though.”

Ma scans what I’ve written and gives me a questioning look.

“It’s a science magnet school I want to apply to, Ma,” I explain. “It gives me some college credit, free.” I take a deep breath. “Because I’m thinking I want to work with animals, like a field vet. I want to learn about elephants, actually. . . .”

“Elephants,” she repeats.

I try to read Ma’s expression, but I can’t. “Yeah. Maybe.” I dig in my pocket for my elephant charm and dangle it between us. “Remember this? Yaqui crushed it.”

She looks at the charm and then back at me, mute. When she stands up, instead of telling me my idea is crazy, Ma pulls me to her and hugs me so tight and for so long that I can feel her heart beating in her throat. It’s so pure that it takes my breath away. It’s as if she’s pressing all her strength through my skin and into the marrow of my bones.

“Ma?” My voice is muffled against her neck.

“What?”

“No tirades about
chusmas
, okay?”

She hugs me tighter still.