CHAPTER 31
It took the rest of the day to write the autobiography for Señora Bárbara. Santiago attended Señor Dante’s afternoon class but kept to a corner while working with a dictionary. The lawyer had said to make the autobiography personal, interesting, and honest. How could anyone know what to write about themselves? What did people find interesting? Señor Dante suggested pretending that “Santiago” was a character in a story and to describe him that way. That helped.
Mi nombre es Santiago, he began.
I am twelve years old. I am an orphan (he had to get help from the teacher in spelling huérfano) from México. I am learning to read and write in Spanish. I am learning some English, too. I hope to keep getting better. I like reading and telling stories. I can take care of niños y bebés. I am responsible. I do not get sick. My teacher says I am smart. I do not know if that is true.
He double-checked every word in the dictionary to make sure he’d spelled it right and was just adding the last accent mark when Castillo opened the classroom door to let them return to the main room. At the other end, the volunteer lawyers stood by the exit door as they waited for Patterson to buzz them out after a full day of meeting with the other kids.
“Wait!” Santiago called out, dashing toward them.
“Walk!” Patterson yelled in English.
“Tome.” He waved the biography at Señora Bárbara. “Is this all right? I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to give it to you.”
Señora Bárbara glanced over it before widening the smile that looked so out of place at the center. “Exactly what I wanted. I’ll be in touch soon.”
Santiago backed away from the door and waved.
For the next few days he put all of his energy into getting out of the center and into foster care. He had asked Señor Dante for a letter that reflected his academic achievements. The teacher gave it to him the next class:
Santiago is one of my star students. He always attends my classes eager to learn. I’ve never seen a student progress so quickly in my five years of teaching. He is always polite and respectful to everyone. Having Santiago in my class is a reminder of why I became a teacher. He is a true joy to teach.
Santiago liked the letter so much, he wanted to keep it for himself.
He now made sure the guards saw him assisting Consuelo with the cleanup after meals. When the guards asked for volunteers, Santiago jumped at the chance to put up the Christmas decorations. The red, green, and silver paper and foil were more depressing than joyful, but Santiago kept those thoughts to himself. Señora Bárbara hadn’t said he should be helpful, but it made sense to present himself to everyone in the best light.
A few days after another feast, this one in celebration of Noche Buena, Patterson wheeled in a dolly stacked with four heavy boxes of donations. Santiago said in his best English, “I you help.”
He lifted the boxes off the dolly, which Patterson wheeled away before the boys got any ideas of playing on it (the prospect had definitely crossed Santiago’s mind). He peeled the tape off one of the boxes and gasped.
“Oh no, they’re just books,” said the whiny Llorón, who had come eagerly at the possibility of belated Christmas presents. When he wasn’t keeping everyone awake at night with his crying, he always found something to complain about during the day, the result being that most boys learned to ignore him.
Other boys crowded around to check out the selection from the four boxes. Most of the books were in Spanish, though a few were bilingual, with the odd one in another language. One of the boxes contained fat paperbacks, which, after one of the boys dubbed them almohadas, were grabbed by several teens. With a crumpled gray sweatshirt over it, the book would become the closest thing to a pillow anyone had.
From the box in front of him, Santiago pulled out activity books with puzzles and games, Harry Potters (or Arry Potta, as the boys called him), and illustrated Bibles. The stack of Donald Duck comics was grabbed out of his hands instantly, a reminder of home, where they were sold at every other newsstand. Even Santiago, who hadn’t known how to read, had enjoyed looking through the comics whenever he came across one. He didn’t reserve one for himself this time. Under the comics, the picture books started. A familiar blue-and-gold cover winked at him.
“Ay,” he gasped, and slowly pulled the book out of the box. He gripped it tightly and brought it close to his chest. He moved away from the boxes to his favorite reading corner.
“Look at Santi,” called out Llorón. “He’s reading a girl’s book.”
Two or three turned their heads to look but then shrugged indifference as they continued to go through the boxes. Santiago could feel Patterson’s eyes on him. Be nice. For foster care, he had to be nice.
“Would you like me to read the story to you?” he asked Llorón, gesturing to the free spot next to him.
“I’m not a baby, and I’m not a girl.” Llorón walked away with a huff. Relief escaped Santiago. The first time he read this book he wanted to enjoy it alone.
The princess on the cover wasn’t one of those who needed rescuing, but wore the suit of a leader and defender. Santiago held the book for several minutes, turning it around in his hands, feeling the smooth, new-looking cover. It smelled of paper, ink, and glue, not of anyone or anything else, as if waiting to make its own new memories with him. His fingers traced over the title illustrated to look like puffs of air: La princesa y el viento.
A story about a princess standing up to the wind spirit to protect her people, the one he’d told Alegría in the holding room of this center. The same story his mami used to read to him. At the time, Santiago had thought the princess had been Mami. After all, Mami had been able to talk to the wind as well.
He pressed the book against his chest. Even with the hard cover and pointed edges, it felt soft and comforting. Like Mami. More than ever, he missed her.
He had to get into foster care. It was the only way out. The only way to dance in the rain. A couple of weeks, Señora Bárbara had promised. Just two or three weeks.
He opened the book carefully to not hurt the spine and turned to the first page. As he read it, he didn’t need to sound out any of the words. This story he knew.