We walked out of the church into bright sunshine.
“Rill! I thought that was you!” Joyce wore a yellow dress. Her hair was out of its high ponytail and brushed into a neat curl around her shoulders. She stood next to a wrinkly man in a brown suit who was just as tall. Leo stood beside him in a pale blue suit.
“Papá,” she said, “this is Rill. And her friend, Perla.”
The man smiled at us and nodded, sorta shy.
“Hi, Th-rill.” Leo winked at Perla.
This was Joyce’s dad? And she looked…pretty? Seeing her this way felt weird, but I said, “Pleased to meet you.”
Past Joyce, through the crowd, I spotted Tate Willisden. He wore nice pants and a collared shirt. His dad stood beside him, shaking someone’s hand. Tate had a fading black eye, but his nose was still one big bruise. His gaze stabbed the sidewalk. Like he sensed me looking at him, it lifted and flicked to Perla, then back to me.
“Someone sure dragged you through a rapid!” Joyce said. “Are you all right?!”
“Perla! Ay, amigita!” a lady called.
Perla turned, cried out, and darted for the voice.
I couldn’t see through the tall crowd, but Joyce’s eyes followed her. Watching, her lips pressed to a line. Through the gaps in the bodies, I spied Perla hugging a lady, her award and my note on the little envelope smushed against the lady’s back. The lady was not Maria or Norma. They stood to the side, smiling and wiping their wet eyes. Joyce’s eyes slid back to me.
“Rill,” she said, “where are Perla’s parents?”
“Joyce, I’ll tell you everything in a bit. Okay? I just need to do some stuff for a minute.”
I’d planned to rush to Perla, but my legs carried me Tate’s direction, and before I could stop myself, I stood right in front of him. He took a step back and glanced at his dad. Sheriff Willisden was turned away, talking to two men.
“I’m not gonna to hit you,” I whispered. “I just wanna say sorry. Perla’s my friend, you know? Wouldn’t you fight for your friend?”
He studied me.
“Wouldn’t you?” I repeated.
His dad turned to us. “Well, Tate, who’s your friend?”
Tate and I stared at each other with wide eyes. But then a miracle happened: We both smiled. Not big smiles, but smiles just the same.
“I’m Rill.” I held out my hand.
“Hello, Rill.” Tate’s dad shook it. “I’m Sheriff Willisden.”
“Pleased to meet you. I gotta go.” I took off for Perla, searching the people still there.
But Perla was gone.
I looked down at my ratty shorts and wrinkly T-shirt. All my hurry this morning to find her, to tell her the truth, to finally set things right, had been for nothing.