Salvation

“I knew,” he said. “I knew, and I didn’t—”

  Her forehead rested on his shoulder.

  “I didn’t speak,” Salva said. Didn’t she get it? “I could have stopped her. Char was afraid of losing face. Pepe was trying to impress her. He would have listened to me. Char wouldn’t have fought. If I’d just…”

  Beth pulled Salva even closer.

  “I was supposed to teach her. It was my responsibility, but I quit. I knew”—his voice broke—“I knew she couldn’t drive.”

  A shudder rushed from Beth’s body to his. She whispered, “You weren’t driving?”

  “I should have been!” he shouted. “I should have”—he choked on the words—“I should have”—the tears were falling—“said something.”

  He cried in her arms, the tears turning to sobs. His whole body shook until he could not think anymore. Could only feel the huge hole that had been his friends’ place in his heart—the girl who had needed him, whom he had let down, and the guy who had always, always been there when Salva needed support. He would never recall his past the same way. His childhood. His life.

  It seemed impossible that there was anything left.

  But Beth was still holding him. Which made no sense. She must hate him. She, of all people, had to have expected more, but she wasn’t asking or denying anything. Or trying to absolve him of the guilt. He wouldn’t have wanted her to. Because no matter what happened, he had to live with the choice he had made—to pay the price for saying nothing.

  He didn’t know how long she held him, her heart beating regularly beneath the soaked cotton of her shirt. How could she be so calm? He clung to her for his very soul. Until at last his pulse slowed to match hers.

  “I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard about the scholarship,” she whispered, the fingers of her left hand winding through the fingers of his own. “I should have listened.”

  No, he wasn’t about to shift any of that guilt to her. “I had no right to yell at you,” he blurted. “I was wrong. I didn’t mean any of what I said that night. I was just afraid…of losing you.” And of the imminent deadline that had seemed to threaten them both.

  Her lips brushed his once, twice, then his forehead, his cheek, his mouth again, each kiss a suture, a thin strand stitching the torn threads of his soul together. “We can’t go back,” she whispered. “All we can do is speak now.” Her voice went soft, so soft for a moment he thought he hadn’t heard it, that he had only been reading her actions. But the kisses stopped and those brown eyes held his, this time the words unmistakable. “I love you, Salva.”

  And he knew she meant it. Because Beth always meant what she said.

  He had been terrified of that. Of her demands that he tell the truth, that he live up to her incredible standards. And his. Terrified of how deeply he had fallen, how fast things moved when he was with her, how impossible it had seemed to be without her.

  Because she was…

  So much like him in every way.

  She was right, of course. He couldn’t remain silent. Silence cost too much. His hands went into her mostly brown, sometimes auburn hair, and he kissed her. Slow. There was no race. No rush. No deadline he had to outrun. “I love you, Beth.” He spoke.

  TRANSCRIPT OF SCHOLARSHIP INTERVIEW

  YALE UNIVERSITY

  APPLICANT: SALVADOR RESENDEZ

  DR. EISMAN: Is the speakerphone working?

  PROF. SCHNITZ: Doesn’t seem to be. Call someone in.

  TECHNICAL SUPPORT: I’m already here. Let’s see. No, the plugs are all set. It should be working.

  PROF. SCHNITZ: Well, obviously it’s not.

  TECHNICAL SUPPORT: Let’s see. Um…did you remember to type in the ID code?

  DR. EISMAN: The what?

  TECHNICAL SUPPORT: There. Try again.

  DR. EISMAN: Testing speakerphone. Can you hear us, Salvador?

  APPLICANT: Salva.

  PROF. SCHNITZ: That’s better. What did you say?

  APPLICANT: People call me Salva. Not Salvador.

  DR. EISMAN: Very well, Salva. Can you hear our voices clearly enough?

  APPLICANT: Yes, sir. They’re faint, but I can understand them.

  DR. EISMAN: Good. We shall start by introducing you to everyone on the committee. I am Dr. Eisman. I head up the Financial Aid Department. This is Professor Schnitz. He is the head of Admissions.

  PROF. SCHNITZ: Hello, Salva.

  DR. EISMAN: And Professor Lang. She is in charge of the Foundation for Minority Students.

  PROF. LANG: I am glad we could connect with you, Salva. Could you begin by telling us a little about yourself for the record?

  APPLICANT: My name is Salva Resendez. I’m a senior at Liberty High School. I’m not sure what you would like to know.

  DR. EISMAN: Well, Salva, we’ve looked through your application, and it is very impressive, but to be frank, we have a lot of strong applicants. And we can’t afford to provide all those students with a full scholarship here. We’d like to know what’s not on the application that explains why we should select you. What makes you want to come to Yale?

  APPLICANT: Um…sir, to be honest, it isn’t Yale. It’s—vaya, Papá, you aren’t supposed to be here. No, she’s not supposed to be here either—sorry about that. It isn’t any particular school. It’s…I need to go somewhere that will help me make the most difference.

  PROF. LANG: Make a difference how, Mr. Resendez?

  APPLICANT: Can’t that wait? No. Argh! Could you come back in twenty minutes and flush the IV then?

  PROF. LANG: Excuse me? We don’t seem to have your full attention. Are you not interested in this interview?

  APPLICANT: Yes, yes, I’m interested! It’s just—I guess nobody told the nurse. She’s not the one who usually comes in.

  DR. EISMAN: Salva, I think my companions and I are a little confused about your situation. I understand from speaking with your sister that there was some kind of emergency in your family this week.

  APPLICANT: Yeah, I’m the emergency.

  PROF. LANG: Pardon?

  APPLICANT: I was in a car accident.

  PROF. LANG: Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope it wasn’t serious.

  APPLICANT: It was. Listen, could I maybe talk about that? I mean, if you want to know something about me that isn’t on my application.

  DR. EISMAN: Does this have some impact on your choice to go to Yale?

  APPLICANT: Yes. That is—I could explain that, I think. You see, people listen to me. It’s strange because I’ve never been the type of person who wanted to stand out from the crowd. Not like my best friend. He was always saying something, doing something, to get people to notice him. I just wanted to fit in. But I don’t.

  PROF. SCHNITZ: And why is that?

  APPLICANT: I’m not sure. My girlfriend calls it a gift. She says I shouldn’t throw it away.

  PROF. LANG: Which means—

  APPLICANT: And I didn’t get it. Not until the crash. I always knew I had to do well in school. It’s a big deal to my father. He and Mamá—they brought our whole familia here to this country, and he’s worked really hard to see that my brother, sisters, and I could get an education. Not just a diploma, but college, a good one. I never wanted to disappoint Papá. It’s just…I didn’t figure out what it was I wanted to do. Until this week.

  PROF. SCHNITZ: And what is it you want to do?

  APPLICANT: To speak. For all the people who need it. I used to get so angry at my father because he wouldn’t defend himself. He and most of his friends—they don’t want to risk questioning people with authority, which leads to some pretty lousy communication. Around here it’s usually los mexicanos who wind up at the bottom. But it’s that way for someone everywhere. And this week I realized it isn’t my father’s job to speak up; it’s mine.

  DR. EISMAN: And you came to this realization because of an accident?

  APPLICANT: My best friend had this car—sweet—a real operator, kind of like him. He asked me to drive it, but we picked up his
girlfriend on our way out of town, and then he offered her the keys. Anything for a little more credit, that was Pepe. But she couldn’t drive well. She never took driver’s ed because she couldn’t apply for a license. With the law now, you have to prove you’re a citizen to get one.

  DR. EISMAN: We understand.

  APPLICANT: But I knew she wasn’t a good driver. And I didn’t say anything.

  PROF. SCHNITZ: About what?

  APPLICANT: I didn’t tell her not to drive. I didn’t tell Pepe not to let her. And they both died. The cops wanted me to make a statement saying the accident wasn’t my fault. They said they could tell from forensics. But this isn’t about forensics.

  I could have stopped the crash. If there was anyone anywhere who could have, it was me. And I didn’t do it. I took the easy way out. Only it wasn’t easy. My friends, Pepe and Char, they didn’t die easy.

  You know what I realized is that leadership isn’t some kind of trial to be avoided…or endured. It’s a responsibility. Like Beth says, a gift.

  I want to go into law, maybe politics. I’m smart enough. I can do it. I can tell the truth, and people will listen. So…it’s not Yale, in particular. Though I think maybe it’s the best school on the planet. But what I want—no, what I need—is to go somewhere that’s a challenge. Somewhere that forces me to work as hard as I can and learn as much as I can so that, one day, I can maybe make up for saying nothing. I can make that difference for someone else, even if I can’t go back and save my friends. You see?

  PROF. LANG: Yes, Salva, I believe we see. Thank you for speaking with us today.

  APPLICANT: You don’t have any other questions?

  PROF. SCHNITZ: I think we heard what we needed to hear. We appreciate your being so honest with us.

  APPLICANT: Honesty means a lot en mi familia.

  PROF. SCHNITZ: Yes, I hope we have the honor of meeting them one day.

  APPLICANT: I do, too, sir.

  DR. EISMAN: Thank you very much.

  Epilogue

  THE MARCH

  “That is the ugliest paint job I have ever seen,” Salva couldn’t help saying as Beth lifted her plywood sign from the dented-up green pickup bed. WE FEED YOUR FAMILIES, the sign said in red, gold, and purple colors, paint splattered between each word and the next. The reverse side: OUR FAMILIES HAVE RIGHTS TOO had dried drips running from the bottoms of all the letters.

  “Yes, well, I guess that’s the difference between Yale and Stanford.” She pointed at his own sign, resting on top of the high pile still stacked in the back of the pickup. His neat black print spelled out the words IMMIGRANT RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS. “Some of us prefer creativity over tradition,” she added.

  He dropped his crutch against the tailgate, fish-hooked her in his grasp, and pulled her in for a quick kiss, then reached awkwardly to retrieve his own sign from the high pile.

  For once he was grateful for the ancient pickup. Papá might not be willing to forgo his commitment to his job, but with the provision that Miguel do all the driving, their father had loaned his younger son the transportation for the trip to the city. A good thing, since there had turned out to be a lot more students than Salva had expected, taking up his idea of using Senior Skip Day to attend the regional immigrant rights march. There must have been fifty signs in the pickup bed.

  Nalani pulled her parents’ Blazer into the next space in the supermarket parking lot. Soon Luka, Tosa, and Linette all bailed out, then rushed over to help unload the plywood signs and canvas banners.

  Within minutes the lot was swarming with students from Liberty High, even a few juniors and sophomores, which was sure to drive Markham around the bend. He’d informed Salva that the valedictorian slot could be reassigned if a student was found breaking the law. And Senior Skip Day was against the law.

  But Salva really didn’t care. Pre-law, he had pointed out, was going to be his focus of study, and he thought he should witness the glory of the First Amendment in action, before he accepted his full ride to Yale University. Valedictorian or not.

  Not that Markham was likely to carry out the threat, seeing as how graduation was next week. And the salutatorian was here, too. And almost every senior on the high-school honor roll.

  “¿Dónde vamos, Señor Presidente?” Tosa draped a banner over the side of the pickup, then took Salva’s crutch and slid it inside the emptied bed. “Or are you just taking us to the parking lot? Which way are we headed?”

  Salva didn’t have a clue. He looked at Beth.

  “They start off along Twenty-first Street,” she said, propelling herself onto the back of the pickup. “It’s just a couple blocks that way.” She pointed with her sign.

  He grinned. “You see, Tosa, she mocks my organizational skills, but they’re already rubbing off on her.”

  “Yeah, man, and you’re losing ’em.” Tosa lifted his injured friend up beside Beth. “I don’t know what you two are gonna do an entire country apart from each other.”

  Beth’s free hand swept around Salva’s waist. “I’d rather be a five-second phone call away anytime,” she whispered in his ear, “than lose you.” Her gaze was earnest, even in the middle of the chaos around them.

  What were a hundred or a thousand or three thousand miles in comparison to the distance between life and death? Salva planted a serious kiss on her.

  Whistles followed, along with a dozen mocking comments his best friend would have enjoyed. Salva could picture Pepe, shouting and jumping, pumping up the crowd, thrilled at the prospect of sticking it to the whole frigging establishment.

  He was the reason they were here. And Char. Because her life and his were worth something. People should know that.

  This wasn’t about Salva. He was just the leader.

  “Let’s go,” he said, signaling his peers. “Make a little history for Charla and Pepe! Show people that Liberty is about a heck of a lot more than a football team! What do you say?”

  The cheers came in two different languages. Students spread out, some hopping into banner-draped vehicles, motors starting again, and mismatched signs lifting around the parking lot.

  Beth’s arm tightened on Salva’s waist.

  He knew there were questions about the future. He might not survive the academic rigors he had chosen. Loss would always underline anything he did achieve. And dreams changed.

  But change could be beautiful. His gaze met Beth’s, then rose to the flawed sign above her head. Eight months ago he had etched neat perfect outlines to restrain the damage she had done with her painted golden chaos.

  When ultimately he had been the one who was damaged.

  It was her chaos—the glorious unrestrained emotion that was Beth—which had saved him. Her amazing capacity to challenge and love and forgive.

  He swept her closer, swapping his own sign with hers. “Vamos, mi amor,” he told her.

  There was something to be said for paint spattered all outside the lines.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you. To my editor, Kristin Gilson, for her insight into this project. To my agent, Kelly Sonnack, for laughing and crying when she read it. To Angelle Pilkington for believing in it first. To Eileen Kreit, Linda McCarthy, Vanessa Han, Pat Shuldiner, Nora Reichard, and the rest of the team from Penguin for helping bring the dream to life. To Tracey, who answered all the obligatory my-sister-is-the-medical-expert-in-the-family questions. To my dad, who walked Tosa through the steps of changing the oil in a car. To Juana Santillan and Yvonne De Los Santos for pinch-hitting my random preguntas de español. To Maria Patla and Dawn Sheirbon for their amazing artistry and expertise with my website, school visit brochure, and myriad graphic challenges. To the educators, librarians, fellow writers, bookstore workers, volunteers, and literary supporters who helped make this ultimate dream of being a full-time author come true. And to my readers! Salva would never have learned to speak without all of you.

 

 

  Anne Osterlund, Salvation

 


 

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