Ernesto and Naomi didn’t say much to each other as they walked to Ms. Hunt’s classroom. Naomi put her outline on the teacher’s desk. Before Ms. Hunt looked it over, she commented on the mudslinging campaign. “The news media,” she told the two students, “has gotten on the story of those nasty flyers. All the local TV stations will be reporting on them in the six o’clock news. It’s quite a firestorm. Whoever dreamed this up didn’t do Councilman Esposito any favors.” She then offered Naomi some feedback on her outline.
When they were back in Ernesto’s Volvo, Ernesto said, “Naomi, I’m worried sick about you. What’re you going to do? I’ve never seen your father so angry.”
“I’m going home, Ernie,” Naomi asserted. “It’s quarter to six, and I said I’d be home within the hour.”
“Naomi, I’m worried,” Ernesto persisted.
Naomi reached over and put her hand on Ernesto’s arm. “Don’t be worried about me, babe. I’m fine. I really am.”
Ernesto started the car and drove slowly toward Bluebird Street. “I wish I didn’t have to drop you off there, Naomi. Maybe I should go in the house with you to make sure everything is okay,” he suggested.
Ernesto didn’t want to spell it all out. He didn’t want to give voice to what was on his mind. Felix Martinez was in a dark rage. His daughter had defied him in front of all her friends. Everybody would know now that her father had lost control of his own family. He was a man who was capable of violence. He had struck his wife in the past. Ernesto didn’t want to let the girl he loved go into that house alone and face who knew what.
“Don’t worry, Ernie,” Naomi insisted as they turned on Bluebird Street and the house came into view. “He’s my father. I’ve lived with him for sixteen years. It’ll be fine.”
Ernesto pulled into the driveway. “I could just sorta go in with you and maybe apologize or something,” he said.
Naomi leaned over and put a quick kiss on Ernesto’s lips.
“Call me later, okay? Please?” Ernesto begged.
“I will,” Naomi assured him. She got out of the car when Ernesto opened the door for her.
“I could wait here just in case,” Ernesto offered.
“See you at school tomorrow, Ernie,” Naomi said. She walked briskly to the door and went inside. Brutus barked a greeting. Ernesto didn’t want to pull out of the driveway, but he did. He had to. It was what she wanted. To do otherwise would have been to say he didn’t trust her judgment.
Ernesto drove the short distance home, sick with worry. His imagination was working overtime. He thought Felix Martinez might lose it and hurt her. The thought of that was like a scalding pain in Ernesto’s heart. He wanted desperately to back out of the driveway and speed over to Bluebird Street. He wanted to bang on the door and demand to see Naomi. He needed to know that she was safe. But he didn’t do any such thing.
Ernesto was going into his house when his cell phone rang. “Ernie?” Naomi said.
“Babe, you okay?” Ernesto asked breathlessly.
“Yeah,” she affirmed. “He called me Benedict Arnold. Remember Benedict Arnold who betrayed the colonies in the American Revolution? He glared at me and said I was a traitor too.”
“Then he got another beer,” Naomi answered. “He’s waiting for the evening news. He told Mom it’s going to be all over the news that Emilio Ibarra has been exposed as a liar and a criminal. It’s going to be the end of Ibarra’s campaign. Uncle Monte’s going to cruise to victory because there’ll be so much contempt for Ibarra. Dad’s really excited about seeing that on TV.”
Ernesto breathed a long sigh of relief. “I love you, Naomi,” he whispered into the phone.
“Love you too, Ernie,” she responded.
Naomi sounded all right. Ernesto’s conflicting emotions were overwhelming him. He had thought of Naomi as a sweet, lovely, but weak girl. He’d had no idea she could show so much courage. He had to get used to this different image of someone he loved. He was shocked at her courage and stunned with pride.
After dinner, the Sandoval family gathered in the living room to watch the evening news. The news anchor was a pretty young blonde, Gloria Hadley. Most local news anchorwomen were long on beauty and charm but short on real reportorial experience, Hadley, however, had been a real reporter; so her work had depth. She was competent, and she could be hard-hitting.
“The city council race,” she began, “in which newcomer Emilio Ibarra is running to unseat veteran Councilman Monte Esposito, was thrown into turmoil today by the appearance of hundreds of campaign flyers making dramatic charges against Ibarra. The flyers were all over Cesar Chavez High School. Handing them out violated the school’s policy against distributing political campaign material on campus. They were also on the streets and in stores.”
Ms. Sanchez, the principal at Chavez High then appeared in a sound bite. She indignantly denounced the flyers. “To have our school used to spread anonymous and apparently unfounded charges angers and saddens all of us,” she stated. Hadley was then back on screen and resumed her report.
“The accusations against Ibarra included the charges that he was a gang member as a youth and involved in criminal activities. No evidence was offered for these anonymous assertions. Reporters who talked with friends of Emilio Ibarra say that the charges “unbelievable” and “laughable.” The firestorm over what seem to be false charges comes as part of a mudslinging effort late in the campaign. We spoke earlier with Councilman Esposito about this matter.”
A split screen appeared, showing a video shot earlier in the day. Hadley was at a desk at the left, and Councilman Esposito was at the right.
“Councilman,” Ms. Hadley began, “what is your response to this flyer that accuses your opponent of serious crimes as a youth?”
Councilman Esposito looked as though he had gained about twenty pounds since Ernesto last saw him on TV. He looked puffy and tired. “My people are not responsible for this,” the councilman asserted. “We’re running a clean campaign on the issues. We do not condone this sort of thing at all. I don’t want to be associated with this stuff in any way. I am running for reelection because, with my experience, I can better serve the people than Mr. Ibarra.”
“Councilman,” Ms. Hadley asked, “have you any idea where this flyer came from or who might have produced it?”
“No, no, no idea.” Mr. Esposito waved his hands in front of him, palms up. He seemed to be perspiring. “It was not from my camp. Never. I don’t agree with anything they say in that flyer.”
“Mr. Esposito,” Ms. Hadley followed up, “like Mr. Ibarra, you’ve lived here all your life. Have you ever seen or heard anything that would lead you to believe these charges might be true?”
The councilman seemed to squirm in his seat. “I never got to know Mr. Ibarra that well,” was all he could say.
In the Sandoval living room, Luis smiled and made an observation. “The guy looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Maybe he didn’t put out the smear. But you can be sure he knew about it and hoped it would fly.”
Hadley, again reporting live, went on. “I also spoke with the candidate, Emilio Ibarra, who had this to say.”
Mr. Ibarra, also in a video shot earlier in the day, came on the screen. He looked cheerful with his longish black hair and big mustache. “I take all this in stride,” he declared. “I’m not perfect. Who is? But my life is an open book. I have lived here in the barrio since I was born, and I have only one secret. A few years ago my old second-grade teacher told me if I ever run for office she is going to tell it to everybody. So here is my secret. I stole the class hamster. And I kept it at home for two days before returning it. So there it is.”
When the screen went back to the anchor desk, Gloria Hadley was grinning slightly as she switched to other news.
When Ernesto went to his room to work on his report for Ms. Hunt, his phone rang.
“Ernie?” Naomi asked. “I watched Gloria Hadley. Did you? I’m hiding in my room pretending to be working on my paper. Was that a blast on the news?”
“Yeah,” Ernesto chuckled. “She blew that story right out of the water. Esposito looked really guilty. I think he knows it backfired. How’s your father taking it all? He’s gotta be disappointed about how it’s turning out.”
“Oh, it’s rich, Ernie,” Naomi giggled. “Dad was all ready for this big exposé of Mr. Ibarra.” Naomi switched to her voice imitation of her dad. “‘You just watch what happens now. Those newspeople are gonna say he’s all washed up now that this stuff came out.’”
Naomi chuckled, then continued in her own voice. “Then he saw his cousin up there, denouncing the flyers. He was just trying to put as much distance as he could between them and him. Dad just crumbled. Deep in his heart, I think Dad knew right along that everything in that flyer was a lie. But he was hoping against hope. Maybe some of it was true, and it would get Monte reelected.”
Then Naomi’s tone became serious. “You know what, Ernie? When the news program ended, Dad came to the door of my room. He was hemming and hawing. Well, real sheepish-like, he asked me if my report on ‘that woman’ was going okay. I think he was trying to make peace. So, you know those peanut butter cookies I make sometimes, the ones Dad likes? Well, I had some left, and I was going to take them to school for my lunch. But I gave them to Dad. He smiled. He actually smiled, Ernie.”
“Naomi, that’s great!” Ernesto responded. “That’s really great. I was so worried.”
“I told you not to be, Ernie,” Naomi reminded him. “Dad’s a lot like Brutus. His bark is worse than his bite.”
Ernesto put down the phone and started working on his F. Scott Fitzgerald report. But his thoughts were on the council race. He was determined to be active in the campaign from now on. There was no backing away from it. Ernesto was too young to vote, but he wasn’t too young to campaign for Mr. Ibarra any way he could.
Monte Esposito wanted to win, and he wanted to win badly. Ernesto not only thought that he was behind the smear campaign but that maybe he had other tricks up his sleeve. That was why the Zapatistas had to keep the pressure on right up to election day.
At Chavez High the next day, Ernesto saw Clay Aguirre arriving. Aguirre walked over to Ernesto and said, “Don’t count my man out yet, Sandoval. Remember, when you throw a little mud, some of it sticks. Lotta people read those flyers. Now they’re not so sure about Ibarra.”
“You’re blowin’ smoke man.” Ernesto replied. “Whoever put that garbage out just stunk it up for Esposito.”
Naomi came up to her bike, and Clay called out to her. “Hey Naomi, you still living at home?”
Naomi laughed. “Why shouldn’t I be living at home, Clay? I’m only sixteen years old.”
“Dom Reynosa was telling everybody that your dad didn’t want you passing out flyers for Ibarra yesterday,” Clay told her. “He wanted you to come home but you refused. You made a fool of your father in front of everybody. I thought maybe he kicked you out like he did with your brothers.”
“I didn’t make a fool of my dad,” Naomi said cooly. “I’m never disrespectful toward him. I never would be. But he wanted me to come home right away, and I needed to see Ms. Hunt.”
“Dom said your old man was fightin’ mad, Naomi,” Clay persisted. “You better be careful. You know what happened to Orlando and Manny.”
Naomi looked directly at Clay Aguirre. “Clay, everything is fine at my house. Okay? So don’t you worry about it. I even gave my dad some of my super peanut butter cookies last night, and he was real happy. We all watched television then, and we saw that stupid smear campaign against Mr. Ibarra come down like a house of cards. So all in all, it was a nice evening.”
For a moment, Naomi seemed as if she was done talking, but she had more to say. “And pretty soon we’ll all be watching TV again on election night. And the whole barrio will rock like on the Fourth of July ’cause Councilman Esposito will be packing his bags and making room for a good man in that office.”
Clay looked at Naomi with a half smile on his face. “Babe, admit it. Don’t you sometimes wish things were different between us? Don’t you remember the good old days when we had so much fun? Remember that broiling hot day in July? We went to the water park and splashed around for half the afternoon. I mean, you remember stuff like that sometimes, don’t you? I sure do. You can’t just wipe all those good times away.”
“I haven’t wiped it all away, Clay,” Naomi assured him. “I’ll always remember you and the times we had. It was good for most of the time. But, when it wasn’t good, it was bad in a way I never want again in my life.”
Clay stood there for another few seconds. Then he walked slowly away.
“He gives me the creeps,” Naomi commented, as she locked up her bike. “Why can’t he just move on? Mira really likes him. If he’d give her half a chance, she’d hang with him all the time. She’s a pretty girl and she’s nice. I wish he’d just forget about me.”
“Naomi, have you ever met Clay’s father?” Ernesto asked.
“Why sure, lots of times,” she said. “Clay and I would go over there, and I got to know both his parents. Clay’s parents are both real estate agents. They made a lot of money when houses were selling like hot cakes, but not so much lately.”
“A long time ago, when me and Clay were on speaking terms,” Ernesto explained, “Clay told me about his father. He said his dad is always offering advice, and Clay said he doesn’t take much of it. But one thing his father told him, he said, really means something to him. He said he’s taken that piece of advice to heart. ‘Don’t ever lose,’ his father told him. ‘It doesn’t matter if it’s sports or business. Just never lose.’ I think he can’t take losing you, Naomi. It’s a terrible blow to his pride.”
“That’s pretty stupid, huh Ernie?” Naomi asked. “We’re losing all the time. Sometimes it seems that’s what life is all about—losing. We lose games. We lose the jobs we like. And we lose the people we love. We gotta learn to accept it. We gotta learn to cherish what’s left and to make it as good as it can be. We gotta treasure what we have with all our heart and not let the losses make us bitter.”
At lunchtime that day, Ernesto ate with his friends in the usual place. Abel Ruiz and Julio came first, and then Jorge and Eddie showed up. Julio seemed to have something serious on his mind, and he sat down quickly with his burrito.
“Listen up, you guys,” Julio began. “My dad told me something last night that really rattled my cage. Dad’s a street guy, you know. He hangs out with his buddies, and some of them who live down in the ravine. They talk about the wars they’ve been in and other stuff.”
Julio looked around to make sure everyone was paying attention. “Well, there’s this one dude, they call him Rezzi. Anyway, he used to work for Monte Esposito. He worked in his office. He was like a gofer for Esposito. Well, one day Rezzi refused to do some dirty work Esposito wanted done, and he got canned. When you work for Esposito, you’re like the guy who walks behind the elephants in the circus parade. You gotta clean up his messes, or he fires you.”
Ernesto stared at Julio, wondering where he was going. Julio was so excited he was shaking.
“This poor guy, Rezzi,” Julio continued, “he’s been down on his luck since he lost his job. He drinks a lot, like Dad does. He’s kinda given up on life, doesn’t make waves. But he comes across this smear flyer that Esposito’s friends put out, the one telling lies about Ibarra. Rezzi went nuts. That’s how Dad described it. Rezzi just went nuts. It brought back to him all the lousy stuff he’s seen Esposito do, and how he fired Rezzi.”
“Oh man,” Ernesto groaned. “I bet Esposito is scared that, if he loses the election, some of his dirty deals will come out and he might be in trouble.”
“You got it, dude,” Julio confirmed Ernesto’s thinking. “Rezzi told my dad that Esposito’s runnin’ scared. He thinks maybe losing the election won’t just push him out of his cushy job. It might throw light on all he’s been doing—the bribes, all that. It’ll be like the new guy turning the light on in the dark places. You know, like the cockroaches run when you shine a light on them. That thing about Esposito going to the island on city money, that was just the tip of the iceberg.”
“How come this dude, Rezzi, doesn’t go to the police or the district attorney if he has the goods on Esposito?” Ernesto asked. “If he knows something that’s really big, it should come out now before the election. I think Mr. Ibarra is gonna win, but maybe not. Wouldn’t it be awful if Esposito pulled it off in the end. We’d be stuck with all the corruption for another term when Rezzi could do something about it?”
“My dad, he’s been telling Rezzi to blow the whistle on Esposito,” Julio said, shaking his head. “Rezzi was supposed to lean on the building inspector. He was supposed to offer him money to approve a building with no steel rods in the foundation. When Rezzi balked at doing that, Esposito fired him. Rezzi’s been going downhill since. Lost his wife, his kids, everything.”
“Does your dad think Rezzi has enough on Esposito to make a case?” Ernesto asked.
“Yeah, for sure!” Julio affirmed.
All the boys sat quietly. They all knew what had to be done.
That night, Julio texted Ernesto that Rezzi was going to the authorities. Rezzi left word at the council’s office too. He told the councilman it was all over. Rezzi was taking some documents to the district attorney. Esposito might as well concede the election right now.
Ernesto was elated and had a really good night’s sleep.