“But we can talk about all that later,” Ni was saying. “I know I’ve been a little distracted this winter.”
Distracted? Beth’s head was beginning to ache, and panic was climbing from the lining of her stomach to infect the rest of her body. How am I going to endure this? The mocking catcalls that were sure to arise from the students who could manage to remember ten days into the past, the disdain Salva would have to show for her in order to maintain his standing among his friends, the rejection she would have to endure…
Ni was still talking. “I thought maybe you had wanted to tell me something and that I was too—”
Beth was trying to listen, but terror had muffled her ears. The parking lot stretched before her now, an enormous pond of sunken asphalt.
“So are you going to tell me or not?” Ni suddenly blocked her path.
“What?” Beth had lost track of the conversation.
“Fine!” Ni snapped. “Don’t tell me. Don’t explain how you and Salva Resendez—whom you’ve had a crush on forever—wound up kissing in front of the entire school!” She whirled and marched across the parking lot.
Ouch. Beth knew she should chase after her best friend. But it was too difficult to move. To breathe. Because he was there on the front steps.
And at his side was Char Mendoza. And Pepe Real, Ricardo Tosa, Linette Kasing. They merged in a tight pack, energy passing from one to the next in the form of high fives, slaps on the back, and arms wrapped around the girls’ waists. You knew these were his friends. That they meant the world to him. That you could never mean as much to him as they do. You knew. You knew. You knew.
The first bell rang, and the elite crowd rose up the stairs to claim their domain, the ominous gray building before Beth.
Who still couldn’t move. She had known. But she had shunned the knowledge, cramming it into the narrow pragmatic part of her brain and refusing to let the truth ride through her blood to her chest. Until now.
This was going to be hell.
She sneaked in late for cit/gov, which meant the only desk available was clear across the room from Salva. They were watching a film, so it was not too hard to hurry out at the end without feeling ignored. In English there were some whistles and sexual comments about the scene from Romeo and Juliet, but between the Mercenary’s glare and Salva’s cool, the ribbing quickly died. He even backed up a comment Beth made during class discussion. But then AP English was their world—a world apart from all the friends he had told her he was afraid of upsetting.
The cafeteria, though, was ground zero. She hovered outside the lunchroom door, the noise and shouts from the interior blasting her in the face. Inside belonged to Pepe and Tosa and the girls who had made Beth’s entire middle-school experience a misery. Because who could compete with Linette, of the blond hair and the snappy comebacks? And Char Mendoza, who made Beth feel like a crushed swallowtail under a spiked high heel?
Salva had always been with Char, long before the two of them had dated. He had walked her to school, picked her up, escorted her to events. No matter how long Beth had known him, Char had known him longer. And she would be sitting at his table.
I’m prepared, Beth told herself. Prepared to walk right by that table without his even acknowledging my existence.
And then it would be done.
The line would be drawn. And she would know exactly where she belonged in his world—somewhere outside it.
A dark ponytail brushed past her. A high head. Nalani. The need to repair things finally towed Beth across the threshold. “Listen, Ni.” She followed her friend up to the main counter. “I’m sorry. I’m extremely sorry.”
No response.
They each obtained a tray. “It’s just,” Beth added, “he asked me to help him, and I—you know I’m not very good at turning people down when they need my help.”
Both girls picked out a spoon and fork.
“I wanted to tell you,” Beth continued, “but I knew you would say I was being stupid, and I knew I was being stupid, but…”
The height of Nalani’s shoulders lowered, which meant Ni was listening. Though the noise in the cafeteria seemed to have increased, if that was possible. At least no one other than Nalani was paying heed to this confession, proof that no matter what had happened last week, Beth was just as invisible as she had always—
Warmth draped across her shoulders.
And the room went silent. Absolutely. Totally. Silent.
“Don’t worry,” Salva said softly, grinning down at her. “Markham can’t flip out. He’s stuck in the library with a parent. I just came from there.”
Her voice didn’t work.
Or her mind. Salva couldn’t be there with his arm around her shoulders, announcing to the entire room in this one gesture that he was with her. Could he? The arm remained around her while their trays collected food. Then his hand ran smooth and flat across her back as he lowered his mouth to her ear. “So you ready for this?” he asked.
The silence in the cafeteria turned to whispers.
“R-ready for what?” she asked. Dear God, is this really happening? Did I just become Salva Resendez’s girlfriend?
“Sitting with my friends.”
Oh my God. She had. Her eyes flew to Ni, who looked just as stunned as everyone else in the cafeteria.
“I know you’d rather sit with Nalani,” he said, “but we can do that tomorrow. There’s no avoiding Pepe. If I ignore him, he’ll make my life a living hell. So we’re going to have to do this today. All right?”
Was he truly asking? Because if he was, Beth had a sudden desire to beg for a reprieve. Then she saw Salva’s chest rise in a halting stagger, and she realized he hadn’t been asking if she would do this, but if she would do this for him. He was afraid.
She glanced at her best friend.
Ni responded at last, mouthing the word Go!
Beth went, the hand on her back steering her toward the most exclusive spot at Liberty High. The table was only half full. With Pepe beside Char. And Tosa with Linette.
Of course Salva was afraid, Beth thought. Ultimately, he was the one with something to lose. What difference would it make in her life if his friends rejected her? Since when hadn’t they rejected her? He had already made a statement, with that one fluid motion of his arm—had said he was with her. And the people at that table could either accept her or push him out.
She didn’t want that—didn’t want to come between him and his friends.
Beth lifted her head, then swept around the table’s end and sat down. Right beside Pepe.
Salva’s throat almost closed. He wanted to rush over, pick her up, and relocate her next to the far more adaptable Tosa. Pepe might eat her for lunch. But she was god-awful brave. Salva sat down across from her, the only seat left on that end of the table. Vaguely, he was aware that the noise in the rest of the cafeteria had risen again, but it didn’t matter. Because his best friend was looking at him. Eyebrows arched, mouth quirked, as if to say, Are you serious, man?
Salva met the look head-on. I’m serious. You rip her up; I’ll flatten you. He’d wasted three-quarters of the year realizing what Beth meant to him, and now that he knew, he wasn’t going to deny it. What he didn’t know was how his friends would react. Would they hurt her? Would they betray the half a lifetime of friendship he had built with them? He wasn’t sure. After all the time he’d spent protecting this friendship, maybe it wasn’t as strong as he had always tried to believe. It couldn’t be if the guys would throw him out because he wanted to spend time with a girl who didn’t fit into their world.
Into anyone’s world.
Except she did. Not like a puzzle piece attached to his side, but like a part of his soul that had always been within him.
There was no way he could expect the guys to realize that. Or to understand that one slam, one rude comment was going tear something Salva couldn’t count on being repaired.
“Sssssso,” Tosa broke the barrier, “I guess you all had an eventf
ul break. Thought you were grounded, man.” He elbowed Salva.
“I was,” Salva replied, “since last Sunday afternoon.” Papá had not been too keen on his son’s disappearance from the barbecue.
Beth’s eyes flew up, then down, her face turning red as she opened her chocolate milk.
“D’ja tell him your news yet, Pep?” Tosa asked.
News?
“He got the scholarship,” Tosa said. “For football. At Regional.”
Salva couldn’t hold back the grin. “Of course he did. Their defense sucks.”
Pepe tossed an orange at his best friend’s head.
Salva dodged.
And Pepe grinned back. “Man, you oughta be careful. That’s our future alma mater you’re talkin’ about.”
“Whoop!” Salva gave him a high five. He wasn’t messing with his best friend’s illusions today. Plus, Salva didn’t know that he himself wasn’t going to Regional. He hadn’t heard yet from any place better.
“Congratulations, Pepe,” Beth said softly.
Char broke into the conversation, sarcasm ripping through her voice. “Yes, Pepe. Congratulations.” Her stare traveled coolly from Beth to Salva.
What was up with that? He’d overlooked the threat from Char. Been too worried about his friends’ reactions to worry about hers. But he should have thought—should have remembered that slam on homecoming.
Suddenly, there came a movement in the periphery of his vision, followed by a clatter. And then Luka and Nalani were sitting at the far end of the table. Beth’s gaze, a look of pure gratitude, went straight to her best friend.
Pepe rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Which meant what? That he and his iced-over girlfriend weren’t hanging out here while Table Numero Uno was consumed by a bunch of nerds? Pepe lowered his fork, balancing the plastic tines on the central arch of his tray, then aimed a loaded comment at Beth: “That was a hell of a scene the two of you put on last week, sticking it to Markham.”
She answered the linebacker without blinking. “Markham is an idiot. He’s afraid of anything that makes him sweat.”
Pepe arched an eyebrow, then concurred. “True.” He turned toward Salva. “Man, Resendez, I bet Markham was wettin’ his pants at the thought you might defy him in public. You know, if you’d refused to follow him down to his little office, we’d have had a revolt rrreal.”
“He said he could yank my spot as president,” said Salva.
“BS.” Pepe pounded the table with the flat of his hand. “Everybody here knows you’re the head of this school. We’d tear this place apart if he tried to pull that garbage. Wouldn’t we?”
Tosa popped a bag of chips between his palms. “No doubt, man. Shoot, we’d show up with signs and protest songs, a couple hundred kids sittin’ outside Markham’s office. He’d cave in less than twenty minutes.”
“Less than five if he had to hear you sing, Tos.” Pepe smirked.
“I’ll second that,” Luka added.
Linette was nodding, and even Nalani was grinning. Which didn’t make any sense.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Salva dismissed the claim. “Nobody’s gonna put their future on the line for me.”
“Shut that.” Pepe held up a hand. “I’m tellin’ you, Resendez, the kids at this school would do whatever you asked. Even Markham knows that, doesn’t he, Juliet?”
Beth was looking straight at Salva. “Yes,” she said without hesitation.
The hand of the linebacker clapped down on her shoulder. “That’s my girl.”
Salva didn’t even bother to argue.
16
THE TRAP
PRINCETON UNIVERSITY. Salva’s heart beat hard as he stared at the professional black font inscribed in the corner of the envelope. The package was heavy, almost as thick as his thumb. He dropped the rest of the mail on the post office counter, then turned and shredded the seal.
Congratulations.
God. He’d gotten in.
Now his hands were trembling. Which wasn’t okay. It had been a dare. It hadn’t meant anything. The cover letter fell to the floor as he tried to flip the page. He scanned the next sheet.
Eligible for work study.
Well, duh.
Another page. Five thousand. A five-thousand-dollar scholarship per year. It would have paid his way at Regional. At a place like Princeton, it was nothing.
He flipped through the rest of the packet. Housing data. A catalogue. Worthless.
At least he’d been accepted.
Doesn’t matter.
He retrieved the fallen page and crammed it along with the others back into the envelope, then gathered the mail and headed for Char’s. The puddles from the morning had dried, but he wasn’t grateful. He should still have been at school, waiting for Beth and their study session, but apparently Markham had instilled his paranoia into the rest of the staff. The drama teacher had pulled the plug on Beth’s access to the multipurpose room.
“We can study in the library tomorrow after school,” Beth had suggested, and Salva had shrugged his agreement. It would mean dealing with an audience, but well—he’d pretty much taken care of the shock factor at lunch today.
Announcement made; bulletin posted; moving on.
The guys had been cool.
Everyone had been cool—except Char.
Salva swung through her back door. The sibs were in the living room. He could hear Talia and Casandra, over the TV, engaged in one of their endless battles with Renaldo about whether girls were smarter than boys. If Char had any desire to preserve her mental health, she’d be as far away as possible.
He found her in the kitchen, crouched down, her head buried in the cupboard beneath the sink. For the first time he’d seen all year, she was out of display mode, wearing a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt. At her side was a row of cleaning supplies, an empty garbage can, and a tub of peanut butter.
“Hola,” he said.
Her head thudded against the top of the cupboard, then slowly she withdrew, aiming the same steely glare at him as the one she had sent at lunch. “You’re early,” she accused, stripping off a pair of rubber gloves.
He set the mail down on the kitchen table, then nodded at the stuff on the floor. “This looks ambitious.”
“Mice,” she replied.
Right. “Look, we need to talk,” he said.
“Since when do we talk?”
She had a point. The year they’d dated, after Mamá’s death, he had wanted someone to distract him from what he’d been feeling. But Char’s silences hadn’t worked, and he was still paying the price for asking her out. No one else should have to pay it. “Beth doesn’t need any crap from you.”
“Excuse me.” Charla plucked a package from the counter, then ripped apart the plastic and removed a mousetrap. “If you want to mess around with the walking disaster area, that’s your problem.”
He cringed at the moniker. His fault. He must have referred to Beth that way at some point in front of Char.
She added, “I’m with Pepe.”
“So I thought.” Which made her sarcasm at lunch totally uncalled for. “Though if you can’t even tell your mom who you’re dating, you might want to slow things down.”
“Oh, that is rich.” She stuck a knife in the peanut butter and smeared the brown substance on the catch of the trap, then pulled up the wire bar, her hand vibrating from the effort.
“Look, I don’t know what you think,” he said, “but Pepe’s going to college next year. And he’s not the type to stick around if he makes a mistake.”
The bar sprang loose with a nasty snap. “You’re just an awesome friend, aren’t you?” she mocked.
“Claro.” Salva removed the trap from her grasp and set it. She had no idea how hard it was risking his copacetic relationship with his best friend in order to give her a reality check. Why? Why did he feel compelled to warn her? He supposed it had something to do with la familia. With all those years of being her protective shield.
“You think
I want to hold him back?” Her voice wavered. “You think I wouldn’t love to get out of this town. To be free of these stupid remedial courses! Go to art school or study fashion. But you and I both know I’ll be lucky if I even find a job as a beautician.”
Salva stared at her. It had never occurred to him that the reason she never mentioned her dreams was because they were impossible—that for her, with a learning disability and illegal status, even Community was like Princeton.
“You think I don’t know he’s leaving?” She shoved the trap under the cupboard. “You’re all leaving. I know the score, Salva.” She closed the cupboard door, her hand holding it tight. “It’s Pepe who doesn’t have the full picture.”
Her next words knifed through his chest. “You know he’s under the impression the two of you are going to spend the next four years together.”
Salva froze.
Slowly, Char removed the trap from his hand. “You think it’s easy?” she murmured. “Knowing someone else has more choices?”
No. It wasn’t easy. None of it was easy. For an instant he considered telling her about the Princeton letter and his failure to earn an adequate scholarship. Char, of all people, knew what it was like to fail.
He remembered the day he’d first met her, sitting in the dirt for hours on end in the shade under a pickup while their parents worked harvest. He’d creamed her in tic-tac-toe about fifty times. She hadn’t complained. Hadn’t sneaked away or thrown dirt in his face or griped about being stuck there with him.
She had not complained this year either. Not once.
He owed her, Salva realized, for taking care of his sisters. Yeah, their parents had made the arrangements, but it was Char who was stuck two days a week scrubbing cupboards and cooking real food and putting up with the same squabbling as he did. She knew what it was like to sacrifice for la familia.
They both knew.
But she didn’t have an out.
She didn’t have the promise of next fall to rescue her.
He could not tell her his problems. It wouldn’t be fair. “Look, thanks for watching over Talia and Casandra,” he said.
“You should tell Pepe,” she insisted.