ALEX
“So you’re on second. The score is 8–7 in the eighth inning, your team’s up. You’ve got one out and no one else on base. You gonna steal third or not?” Bryan’s shoulders rock with the train. He waits for Robi’s answer.
Robi stares at the space under the seats across from us. He’s sucked his lips into his mouth, he’s concentrating so hard. “Steal?” he answers.
“Good.” Bryan knocks him with his elbow. “Now, what if you’ve got two outs and you’re down 8–5?”
“Stay.” Robi straightens. He shows Bryan a smile. “You said if we’re behind more than two runs, stealing third isn’t smart.”
“You didn’t ask about the hitter,” I remind him. Papi would have hammered him if he’d given an answer without all the facts.
Bryan claps his cap to his head. “Ay, sí. Robi, what do you do if it’s a left-handed hitter? Same setup.”
Robi screws up his face again. He doesn’t remember. I’ve been trying to spend more time with him but there’s more homework at Haeres than there was at AHH. I’ve had more baseball practices too, even in the off-season. I told Papi he should bring Robi when he comes up to the school during the week to help train the team. But Papi never does. He almost didn’t let Robi come today to the Institute’s holiday charity drive. Gracias a Dios, Yaritza worked her magic. Papi’s been setting up since six A.M., but we’re only just leaving.
We get up to change trains at Forty-Second Street. Bryan’s arms wave as he explains how a right-handed hitter blocks the catcher’s view and stands in the way of his throw to third. He would know. Bryan’s likely going to get AHH’s MVP if he keeps upping his game like he has. Papi said it’s because Bryan’s not in my shadow no more. A star player can ruin the confidence of a solid one. I think it’s because there’s not as much drama between him and Julissa. Last time I saw them, they were like an old couple. I joked about it, but they’ve gotten pretty cute.
An express pulls away just as we reach the platform. The local’s a few minutes out. No way I’m waiting for another express and getting Robi there late so we shove onto the crowded local 1 when it pulls up. Bryan asks Robi to list the nine ways you can score a run if you’re on third. He turns to me as Robi’s thinking about it.
“Last night Kiara texted Julissa asking after you.” He nudges my shoulder. “That’s good. She still be thinking about you. See? Playing it cool just drives ’em wild.”
“’Cause that’s what you’re doing with Julissa?”
Bryan stretches back against the orange seats. His leg sways out and bumps mine. “Nah, we way beyond that. We like honeymooners now.” His grin falls. “I want to tell you something, only you got to promise you ain’t gonna tell no one.”
I hold up my hand like I’m swearing an oath.
He bends forward, elbows on his knees. “I’ve been having these dreams of when I get drafted senior year.”
I have those dreams too. Only, in some of them, I’m not going for the draft, I’m applying to college, and when I get in, Papi disowns me. “Yeah, so what’re you worried about? That you don’t get picked?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” He blows out an exhale. “In my dream, I get drafted in the second round. And then I ask Julissa to come with me. She says yes.”
“That’s great, Bry. That’s a good dream, right?” Only, he doesn’t look happy.
“When I wake, my heart’s racing and I’m all sweaty.” He checks to make sure Robi’s not listening. He leans over to me again. “You don’t think I’m missing out, do you? Staying with one girl so long?”
“Don’t know. You want something else? Something more than Julissa’s giving you?”
His mouth twists as he considers. I can’t believe he’s taking so long to answer. I never wanted anyone other than Isa. She was it for me. Problem was, it wasn’t the same for her.
“No. Don’t think so.” Bryan doesn’t look at me. “I mean, sometimes I get curious, por supuesto. But never enough to wreck the good I’ve got going with her.”
“So there’s your answer.”
Bryan nods. He doesn’t smile. “So you don’t think there’s something wrong with me? That maybe I just don’t got the confidence to try with someone different? ’Cause seriously, what would the team think of me if they knew I’d only ever been with one girl?”
I can’t believe he’s worried about those pariguayos. “Oye, you either want to be with her, or you don’t. You shouldn’t worry about what other people think. What other people expect. It’s just the two of you in the relationship.” It’s like what Robi told me. And Mami too. I wish that had been the only problem Isa and I had.
Bryan straightens. He nods a couple more times. “Thanks.” His leg hits mine again. “So. What about Kiara? You changed your mind about your white girl preference yet?”
The day after Kiara walked out, Bryan came over. He lit into me about letting down our people. He had a list of the Latinas who’d been crowned Miss Universe. He went on about Jennifer, and Eva, and Zoe, and Salma, saying if they were good enough for the big screen, they had to be good enough for me. I told him that’s not how it was. I told him that I just still wasn’t ready.
I adjust my cap. “Bry, oyeme . . .”
He holds up a hand. “I know, I know. You not ready. And you ain’t got time. Pero, what you doing about your needs? A man’s got to have a girl, ¿veldad?”
Robi’s three seats down from Bryan with two folks between them. He’s still not listening.
“No te preocupes,” I tell Bryan. “I’m good.”
Bryan’s face breaks into a slow grin. “Ay, you got yourself another jévon, ¿sí? But I don’t wanna hear it’s someone from one of those Upper East Side all-girls schools.” He taps my chest. “You gotta show our island women some love.”
I don’t answer him. He can think what he wants.
“I got your back. I won’t say nothing to Julissa. Don’t want Kiara finding out. You already hurt her plenty.”
I don’t say anything to that either. I don’t like thinking about what I did to Kiara, how I wasn’t fair to her, how I should’ve stopped what we were doing a long time ago. It’s kind of like what Papi did to Mami and me, pretending for so long that everything was good even when it wasn’t.
Two old ladies get on. Bryan and I stand so they can have our seats. Crowds mob the doors. I tell Robi to stay seated where he is, but Bryan and I move to the middle of the car. I lift my hand and smile at Robi from where we stand. He waves back, but it’s not to say hello. He wants something. Only, it’s too crowded to get to him.
“¿Qué quieres?” I call out.
He doesn’t answer. He’s still making weird bug eyes at me.
“What’s wrong?” Bryan ducks to see around the people.
“No sé,” I tell him.
I lean forward and catch Robi’s face again. He’s mouthing a word at me. He jerks his head toward the entryway. “¡Ále!” Robi’s shouting at me now. He’s pointing to the door.
A girl passes the window. She’s so close to the train, all I see is blond hair reaching down her back. I can’t see her face. But it doesn’t matter. The way she holds her head, so straight and tall, gives her away. Only, she’s moving all wrong. Her shoulder dips with each step. She’s limping.
Thundering starts up in my ears. It isn’t the train—we’re still not moving. It’s my heart, sprinting, like it’s going express.
“Stand clear of the closing doors.”
“Excuse me. Permiso.” I throw myself toward the exit. I’ve got to see if she’s all right.
“Hey, watch it!” A lady with a Jamaican bandana yells at me, gesturing toward a stroller.
The doors slam before I can even get near them. I crane my neck, trying to see Isa through the window as the train pulls away. All I glimpse is her coat and golden hair.
“It was her, right?” There’s only two people between me and Robi now. Bryan’s way back where I left him. “She was standing right over there.” Robi points to where the woman steadies the stroller, her back pressed against the door. Robi frowns. “Sorry, I should have told you sooner.”
•••
“It’s OK.” I tell him. I look away so he can’t see my face. Bryan, Robi, and I spend all afternoon at the Institute. When I’m not helping run drills or walking a kid through a better swing, I’m wrapping donated gifts for underserved communities. Robi’s sixth-grade team comes in third out of four. It’s not a real game, just points added up for different technical skills. But Papi’s angry about it anyway. Yaritza joins us after her shift at the restaurant. She takes Robi home before Bryan and I finish up.
Bryan’s no fool. He doesn’t ask me anything about Isa until we’re walking out of the building, heading toward the C train. I don’t know what to tell him other than I wish I’d gotten to speak with her. I can’t stop thinking about that limp. And how last time we talked, outside the dance school, her words and her face didn’t match up—she didn’t look fine at all. When our train pulls into Ninety-Sixth Street, I tell Bryan I’ll catch him later. There’s something I need to do.
I come out on Central Park West and jog through the park not bothering to wait for the bus. I don’t slow until I reach Fifth Ave. I know better than to sprint across swept sidewalks, past sparkling glass doors Windexed every hour by men who look more like me than the people whose buildings they guard. They would draw attention too if they were running here.
I follow Ninety-Sixth until I get to Park Ave. I start on the west side of the street and walk south. Even I know north of Ninety-Sixth isn’t the same. Isa never invited me over, so I never got her exact address. But I know she takes the M96 bus.
I pass green awnings and shiny brass poles strung with white Christmas lights. Underneath them, lamps radiate orange-gold heat. Trimmed evergreen shrubs flank entrances. Some have planters of stone or iron decorated with holly branches. I’m looking for statues, a pair of lions. Isa mentioned them once. I finally find the big cats on the corner of Ninety-Third.
I had pictured full-maned Mufasas, like the ones outside the Forty-Second Street public library. These don’t look like anything Disney would draw. They’re sitting up, not lying down, one paw on each raised in salute. A man in a pilot’s hat and a matching blue-gray uniform watches me from behind the glass. He’s morenito, like me. He doesn’t come out and hold open the entrance. When I take a step forward, he points to the revolving door.
Inside it’s almost tropical. Against the wall, a tall vase sits on a marble shelf. Orchids and lilies explode out of it. The smell reminds me of DR.
“Can I help you?” The doorman’s name tag says GERALDO.
“Me gustaría hablar con Isabelle Warren, por favor.”
Geraldo’s uninterested gaze is meant to show me he has no clue what I just said. That man has an accent thicker than Mami’s and Papi’s. If he doesn’t speak Spanish, then I don’t play ball.
“Excuse me?”
Geraldo wants to play games. I don’t have time for games.
Maybe it’s not the Spanish he doesn’t understand. Maybe he doesn’t recognize Isabelle’s name.
“I’m looking for Isabelle Warren. Do you know her?” I wish I’d brought my Haeres ID. The folks in the fancy coffee shop near my school are nicer to me when I’m wearing it.
Geraldo looks me up and down, then breaks into a smile. “Estoy bromeando. You play beisbol?” He points to my AHH hoodie. “What position?”
I tell him and he asks me my stats. I tell him that too. He claps my back with an “Ey!” like we go way back.
Geraldo pretends to hold a bat and swings it. “My son, he’s not into ball. He likes music and computers. How the team is doing this year?” He nods again to my shirt.
I tell him they’re doing well. But that I don’t play for AHH anymore. I play for Haeres.
He frowns and makes a gesture at the ceiling. Like maybe he’s angry with God for taking the good players out of the Heights.
I ask him again about Isa.
“Claro, conozco a Miss Isabelle, pero she no live here no more. She no tell you she moved?”
She moved? “When?” The word rasps from my throat.
Geraldo presses a gloved fist to his forehead. “Seven month? En mayo fue.”
In May? My hands go cold. Isa and I were together then. She never said anything about moving.
“Ay, y que triste fue todo. Miss Isabelle, I know her since chiquitica. Since she born. The brother too. Then, shwoo.” He waves his hand like a bird’s flying away. “Se fueron.”
They left?
“But why?”
Geraldo opens his hands and looks at the ceiling again.
The elevator dings. Geraldo peeks over his shoulder like a dog who’s been caught eating a steak. He tugs his white gloves as an old woman in a fur comes from behind the wall with the fountain vase.
“Good evening, Mrs. Rosenbaum.” He holds open the plain glass door for her. “Will you be needing a taxi tonight?”
“Hello there, Gerry,” she says back to him. “Yes, I will be.” She glances at me, and then stops. “Gerry? Is this that nephew you were telling me about?”
“No, Mrs. Rosenbaum. This gentleman is here asking about the Warrens.”
“Hmmm, I didn’t think so. He’s too handsome to be from your family.” She lifts her elbow and winks at Gerry. Gerry leans back and pretends to shoot her with two fingers. Mrs. Rosenbaum’s chuckles die down. “It’s so sad what happened to that family. Clifton was such a gentleman and seemed so smart. Well, that’s how those financier jobs are. Easy come, easy go.”
Isa’s father . . . He lost his job?
Mrs. Rosenbaum’s gaze travels down to the old dirt stains on my knees. “You must be a friend of the boy’s, what was his name?”
“Merrit.” Gerry and I answer at the same time.
“Actually, ma’am,” I continue, “I’m a friend of Isabelle’s.”
“Really?” The old woman’s eyes narrow. Her papery lips smile. “Well, that’s nice. But you know they don’t live here anymore.”
“Do you know where they live?” I ask the old woman. If Gerry wouldn’t tell me about Mr. Warren, I doubt he’ll tell me where the family moved.
“I’m afraid I don’t, young man. Even if I did, I don’t think I would share that with you. If you’re Isa’s friend, why didn’t she tell you herself?”
I don’t know. I let myself out the revolving door. Isa didn’t tell me a lot of things. I keep asking myself why the whole way home.