CHAPTER 33

Santiago stood with his back to his compañeros, fingers laced through the chain-link fence surrounding their outdoor area. They hadn’t been out in days due to the cold and, even now, were only outside so the main room could be cleaned.

The February wind howled, and the clouds above crackled with thunder. A second later icy rain pelted down on them. He heard the scramble of fifty-some teens rush to the door and hug the wall of the building while Castillo fumbled with his key card.

Still, Santiago didn’t move. The hammering rain had no effect. Santiago saw no point in shielding himself, no point in dancing, either. No point in anything.

“Hurry up, I’m freezing,” Llorón whined to Castillo.

By the time Castillo got the door open and everyone piled inside, Santiago was drenched to the core, his hair plastered to his face. Castillo called and waved him to hurry up. At the door Santiago turned to look at the rain one last time. The first rain he’d seen or felt since that night in the abandoned shack back in México, when he’d refused to return to la malvada’s house. The drops changed from clear to white, pelting to weightless. Snow, he realized, before Castillo almost shut the door in his face.

“Can we go back outside later?”

Castillo laughed before speaking. “Are you kidding? Without coats or shoes? You’re lucky you actually got to see snow for a second. The other guys will be jealous.”

Santiago’s wet flip-flops squeaked as he followed the hall back to their main area. His feet squished in the drenched socks. He removed his book from his waistband and held it away from his wet body. In the bathroom he used a towel to dry the hard, wet cover. The glossy sheen had protected most of the book, but the corners of the cover were no longer rigid and had swelled to double their original size. Inside, the edges of the pages warped in small waves.

Once convinced the book had suffered only minimal damage, Santiago busied himself with removing his clothes, wringing them out, and drying his body as best he could before pulling the wet clothes back on. It was Friday, and they wouldn’t receive fresh, dry clothes again until Sunday. Being the middle of the afternoon, the hot water wasn’t turned on in the showers.

The perpetual cold air in the main room felt like a punch in the gut when he emerged from the bathroom. He shuffled to his spot against the wall, his legs just barely able to hold his weight.

His teeth chattered as he draped his metallic blanket over himself, hugging it close. If anything, his body shivered more as he huddled in his corner. His book lay on the floor next to him, but for the first time, he didn’t feel like reading. Instead, he rested a shaking hand on the cover, just glad to have its presence nearby.

He didn’t move until dinnertime. Still damp and violently shivering, he dragged himself to the food line, before a guard forced him. Lunch had been sandwiches with some kind of bad-smelling meat. Because most people hadn’t eaten the sandwiches (Santiago had; he ate everything), there were plenty left over for dinner, and they didn’t receive their hot meal of the day. He didn’t eat a sandwich this time. Instead, he grabbed two cups of fruit cocktail and only got through one; the other he left behind on the table for someone else. If Consuelo was working, he didn’t stick around to help her.

Back in the main room, he settled in his corner for the night, covering his head with the metallic blanket that no longer seemed to work its magic of keeping him warm. His body shook so much, an incessant rattle came from the sheet.

At some point the overhead lights dimmed, marking bedtime. But that’s when the screaming started.

“¡Mamá! ¡Quiero a mi mamá!” someone kept screaming. Santiago recognized the screams. They came from someone he knew. He’d better shut up before la malvada came and made him stop. But he didn’t stop. Like someone being tortured.

If only Mami were here. His mami, not someone else’s. His mami who would warm him up and stop the screaming. He wanted his mami. Where was Mami? Where was anyone when he needed them?

He thrashed from one side to the other, unable to get comfortable, still unable to get warm. His body broke into a sweat while simultaneously shivering. His damp clothes clung to his body, or was it the sweat that soaked them through?

The lights came back on. To stop the screamer? No, the screamer had stopped, but several people talked. Muttering things he couldn’t understand. Why didn’t they shut up? It was supposed to be quiet time. Dim the lights again. Make them stop.

But someone was kicking him. Maybe even saying something? He opened an eye to find a uniformed person looming over him.

“Get up, you lazy bum. Time to eat,” the guard said.

Santiago pulled the blanket back over his head and got kicked again. Hard, in the back. He gathered himself up, Mami’s book in hand, but his legs gave way from under him, and the lights slowly went out, this time completely.