Abel was walking home briskly in the dark when he saw her. “Hey Abel Ruiz,” Sarah sang out. “Now that the wicked witch of the west is gone, let’s do something!”
“Are you crazy, Sarah?” Abel yelled at the girl. “Girl, go home! It’s dark.”
Sarah came closer, almost touching him. “You liked me when you saw me in the donut shop. I could tell. You kept staring at me like I really turned you on.”
“Sarah,” Abel protested, taking a step back, “I’m a junior in high school. I’m sixteen years old. You’re a little girl. You’re in middle school. What are you doing on the street at this hour? Where’s your mom?”
“I’ve dated lots of boys who’re sixteen,” Sarah declared. “It’s no big deal.”
“You’re lying, Sarah,” Abel accused her. “You gotta go home to your mother. What’s the matter with you?”
“Mom’s not home,” Sarah told him. “She’s never home. I hang out at the twenty-four-seven store. I got a lotta friends there.”
“I bet your mom’s at the donut shop,” Abel responded. “You better go over there. It’s dangerous for a little girl to be by herself at night around here.”
“Stop calling me a little girl,” Sarah commanded. “I’m not a little girl. I’m taller than my mother. And I’m not scared of the street. I’m not scared of anything.”
“There are gangbangers out here when it gets dark,” Abel warned. He was getting a headache. He was scared. He didn’t know what to do. Finally he pulled out his cell phone and told her, “I’m calling your mom on her cell and telling her to come get you, Sarah.”
“Don’t you dare rat me out, Abel Ruiz,” Sarah ordered, her eyes on fire. “Anyway, Mom doesn’t care. She doesn’t even know I exist. Daddy was different. Me and Daddy were close, but she made his life miserable. Now he’s in Rosarito Beach at Uncle Hilario’s crab shack. He’s lucky. He doesn’t have to be around Mom anymore.”
No way Abel was going to get mixed up with this niña loca.
Abel looked desperately around the street. Even though it was dark, a lot of boys were still skateboarding. They looked like middle schoolers, twelve or thirteen years old. Abel recognized Carlos Negrete’s little brother, Estebán. He was a tough little eleven-year-old. When a speeding car almost hit him on the street, he tracked down the car to the parking lot at Cesar Chavez High School and keyed it. That wasn’t the right thing to do, but, no doubt about it, Estebán was tough.
“Hey Estebán!” Abel called out.
Estebán picked up his skateboard and came toward Abel. “Hey man, what’s goin’ down?” the boy asked.
“Estebán, you know Sarah here?” Abel asked.
Estebán made a sour face. “Yeah,” he said.
“Will you take Sarah to the donut shop where her mom is? I’m worried about a little girl being out here at night. Will you do that for me, Estebán?” Abel asked.
“I don’t need no snot-nosed little kid taking me nowhere,” Sarah snarled. “I’m going to the donut shop by my own self. As for you, Abel Ruiz, you’re a skinny old bobo, and I hate you.” She turned and began walking in the direction of the donut shop.
“Estebán,” Abel asked softly, “will you make sure she gets there okay?”
“Yeah, sure, man,” Estebán agreed. “She’s a big pain, but I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Thanks, Estebán,” Abel said. “You’re okay, dude.”
Estebán pretended he was just back riding his skateboard. But he followed Sarah until she turned on Tremayne and was at the donut shop. He watched her go in.
Meanwhile, Abel continued home. Once inside the door, the first person he saw was Penelope. “Penny, I bought you a chocolate donut,” he told her. “Eat it quick before Mom sees you.” Penelope was lying on the floor making a poster for her science fair project. Her report was on how the use of bleach affects cloth. It showed two contrasting swatches of material, one untouched by bleach, the other often bleached. The bleach was clearly taking its toll. She jumped up and grabbed the chocolate donut, saying, “Yesssss!”
“Penny, is there a girl in any of your classes named Sarah Suarez?” Abel asked.
With her mouth still full of donut, Penelope replied. “Yeah. She’s in English with me. She’s smart, but she’s crazy.”
“Yeah? Her mom runs the donut shop where I work,” Abel told her.
“I know,” Penelope responded, going back to work on her poster. “Sarah’s parents got divorced when we were in seventh grade. Sarah used to be pretty nice, and we had fun sometimes. But then she got weird. She lost all her friends. They didn’t want to be around her. She lied like crazy. She even lied about her parents being divorced. When her dad wasn’t around anymore, Sarah said he was on a secret mission for the government in the Middle East. Then we found out the truth. Sarah got to be boy crazy after her father left. She started doing weird things and hollered at boys on the street.”
Penelope paused then and looked at Abel. “I hope our parents never get divorced. They won’t, I guess. Mom yells at Dad, but he never yells back.”
“Yeah,” Abel nodded.
“Sarah’s mom is like depressed,” the little sister continued. “She takes pills. Sarah said she sometimes imagines stuff. Like she’ll be looking and looking for the new lipstick she bought, and it turns out she forgot to buy it. Sarah told me that. Sarah laughs about it, but I bet she’s sad too.”
Abel stood in the darkened hallway of his house. Maybe Elena Suarez just imagined she had a hundred dollars more than she really had.
That Saturday, Ernesto picked Abel up at ten as he promised, and they headed for the auto show. Tomás had not yet arrived at the Ruiz house, but he’d be there when Abel got back from the show.
“You know,” Ernesto said as Abel got into the car, “I can’t wait to unload this Volvo for something cooler. Everybody at school gives me a hard time about it. They want to know if I got it from a granny or grampa.”
“It’s a good car, though,” Abel replied. “It always seems to run, Ernie.”
“Yeah,” Ernesto agreed, “that’s the crazy part of it. The thing won’t quit. I haven’t spent anything on repairs for the car, just an oil change. It’s so reliable. Mom loves it. She says she’s so happy I drive a safe car. It’s me and my stupid pride. I see these Mustangs and the other cool wheels, and here I am chuggin’ along in the old Volvo. I mean I wouldn’t even need a really cool car, just ABAV.”
“Anything but a Volvo,” Ernesto laughed.
“I should be at a recycling yard looking for the cruddy used crate I’m gonna buy,” Abel commented.
At the show, they turned in their tickets and headed into the large auditorium filled with shiny new cars. “My parents never buy new cars,” Abel remarked. “Mom says it’s a sinful waste of money. We always get used cars.”
“I guess that’s smart,” Ernesto responded. “But man, look at those beauties! Look, there’s the new Ford Mustang. I’ve always liked that car, but they looked lame for a few years. I like the style of the new ones, though. Look at those muscle fenders, Abel. I’d love one of those babies. I can see me and Naomi riding around in that.”
“Look over there,” Abel pointed. “That red pickup. The Toyota Tacoma. Ernie.”
The boys peered inside the pickup. “Oh man!” Ernesto exclaimed. “It’s got a dual cab. It’s got chrome, and, oh man, look at the V6. It’s sweet.”
“Ernie,” Abel cried, “check out the blue LED lights in the cabin. Is that cool or what?”
“You think we’ll ever be able to go in a showroom and buy a car like this, Ernie?” Abel asked. “What are the chances?”
“I don’t know,” Ernesto said. “Not very good, I guess. I’m thinking of being a teacher like Dad, and teachers don’t make big money. Maybe Mom’s picture book about the pit bull and the cat will be a sensation, and then we’ll be rich. We could afford a ride like this. But I don’t think Mom would buy a car like this even if she could afford it. My folks are sorta like yours, Abel. They’re savers, not spenders.”
“Hey, check out the Hyundai Genesis, Ernie,” Abel snickered, moving to another revolving platform. A silver-colored car rotated slowly so that people could take in the entire car. “The Koreans built this.” Abel peered into the cabin. “Looks upscale, but no way!”
“You know what it’s got,” Ernesto noted, reading the specs on the advertising poster. “It’s got Bluetooth phone interface and heated seats. On a cold day you can have a warm rear end! Look at the leather. It costs a lot more than the Mustang. But a Hyundai?”
They wandered around the auditorium for another hour, admiring all the new sports cars and laughing at the old-lady cars. Then they went to the food court to buy hot dogs at inflated prices.
As they sat eating their dogs and gulping ice-cold cola, Ernesto spoke. “If we ever get to drive any of these fast cars, they’ll be old when we get them. Maybe ten years old.”
“I’m gonna be excited getting anything that has four wheels,” Abel said. “Just so it takes me around. It’s freedom, man. I’m in that house sometimes, and it’s like I can feel the walls closing in around me. I just got to get outta there. Like this weekend, my brother, Tomás, he’s coming in from LA. He’ll be driving down today. And man my parents, especially Mom, they’re gonna be making over the dude like he’s the best thing that ever lived. I’d just as soon be missing in action all weekend.”
“But you want to see your brother too, don’t you?” Ernesto asked.
“I guess so, Ernie,” Abel granted. “But we got nothing in common, you know? We got along real good when we were little. I was too young to realize he was a genius, and I’m a bobo.”
“Come on, Abel, stop putting yourself down. You’re not a bobo,” Ernesto assured him. “Remember when Dom and Carlos were tagging and talking about dropping out of Chavez? You came up with the great idea to have them do a mural to get them interested in school again.”
“Yeah,” Abel admitted. “But my brother, he’s so full of himself. He’ll be sitting there, eating Mama’s enchiladas. And he’ll be going on and on about the top grades he’s getting and about all the exciting stuff that’s happening in his life. He’ll be describing all the gorgeous chicks he’s dating and goin’ on a ski weekend. You know what, Ernie? Tomás is gonna be driving one of those big pickups or something even better. I bet anything he will be.”
“Well, money isn’t everything,” Ernesto said. “Abuela is always telling us that.”
“Ernie,” Abel retorted, “the only people who really think money isn’t important are people who have a lot of it. My dad, he’s always struggled. Mom keeps reminding him that he wouldn’t even have the lousy backbreaking job he has if not for the kindness of Mom’s rich cousin.”
Abel washed down the last of his hot dog with a big swallow of cola. “Know what, Ernie? One time I heard Mom and Tomás talking in our backyard. Was maybe when Tomás was first going off to UCLA. Mom was saying, ‘Tomás, you got a great gift from God. Agift of intelligence. You’re going to be an engineer. Only very smart people can be engineers. Your brother isn’t smart like you, Tomás, but he’s my child and I love him as much as I love you. So, Tomás, you must always remember your brother. If life does not go so well for him, you must help him, like my cousin helps your father. Promise me that, Tomás.’ And Tomás, he goes, ‘Yes, Mama, of course I will help him. You know that I would.’”
Abel reflected for a moment on what he’d just confided to Ernesto. Then he spoke again. “Ernie, when I heard that conversation, I was so mad I coulda screamed. I mean, I’m like sixteen years old, and they got me all figured out already. I’m gonna be a big loser like Dad. And my smart, bighearted brother is gonna maybe send over some bags of beans and rice so me and my family don’t starve. I felt so humiliated, Ernie. I didn’t feel like I could ever be a man.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Ernesto sympathized. “I get it. If I were in your place, I’d feel the same way. But Abel, your mom is making a big mistake underestimating you. Your father too. I think she underestimated your father so much that he kinda accepted who she thought he was. He stopped trying to be the man he coulda been. I think if your mom had honored more of your father’s gifts, then he might’ve started his own business and done well. People—even people who love you—they can pull you down bad.”
Abel was silent for a few moments. Then he said, “Yeah, years and years ago I remember Dad saying he might get a little landscaping business going. He had this dream of everybody having a rock garden, a little waterfall, you know where the water recycles. But Mom said it was a crazy idea. She told him he just better go work for her cousin, where the work was steady and he could depend on a paycheck. Mom said they weren’t gonna invest their little savings in some crazy scheme. Mom didn’t mean to cut Dad off at the legs, but she sorta did. Now he just goes through the motions. Every day, his shoulders slump a little more.”
Then Abel’s eyes brightened. “When I told him how your dad admired the work he was doing on Cardinal Street, he sorta lit up for a minute. But then his eyes narrowed and he looked sad. I think it just reminded him of his dead dreams. I’m so scared that’s gonna happen to me too. I’ll just be a nobody.”
“Abel,” Ernesto insisted, grabbing his friend’s shoulders and looking him directly in the eye. “That’s not gonna happen to you dude. You find something you’re passionate about, and you go for it. I don’t care what it is. But you find it, and then you chase that dream man, with all you got. And you catch that dream and go riding on it like on a comet’s tail.”
Abel smiled. “You sound just like your father, Ernie. He always tells us stuff like that in class. He’s a pretty calm, serious guy, quiet like, but when he starts going off preaching at us, he comes alive. Those dark eyes take fire. He leans forward, pounding his fists on the lectern, and sparks fly. Your dad, he’s pretty awesome. It’s like he thinks he can change the world, and sometimes I think maybe he can. He’s something else, Ernie.”
“Yeah,” Ernesto concurred. “So, what’s your dream gonna be, Abel?”
“Cooking,” Abel answered.
“What?” Ernesto asked. “Did you say cooking?”
“Yeah. I sneak in the kitchen sometimes and I make stuff,” Ernesto explained. “Mom laughs at me. I don’t like to cook Mexican food. I like to cook French and Italian, even Thai stuff. I watch these cooks on TV, and I try to do what they do. I even went to one of those culinary schools and asked them how you get in. You know, what’s the routine. I got literature from them. They give scholarships and stuff to high school seniors. I mean, I know it sounds loco, Ernie. But that’s something I love to do more than anything. I would like to be a chef. It’s loco but—”
“Stop it, Abel,” Ernesto interrupted. “It’s not loco. Don’t do that to yourself man. Don’t let anybody else do it to you either. There’s good money in being a chef. If you feel passionate about it, that’s a good sign it’s what you’re supposed to do. Don’t let anybody get in the way man. I don’t remember a lot about my grandfather, Abuelo Luis. But I remember one thing he would always say in that booming voice of his. He would say, ‘Take the bull by the horns and do it!’ That always stuck in my mind. Just take the bull by the horns and go for it, Abel.”
Abel grinned. “You’re all right, Ernie. You’re really all right.”