CHAPTER FOUR

Come on,” Abel urged, heading Penelope out the door toward his Jetta.

Penny followed him, but she was still cranky over her mother’s scolding.

“I haven’t saved enough money yet for the jeans,” Penelope wailed.

“I’ll cover the difference,” Abel promised, grabbing Penelope’s arm and propelling her down the driveway. “My own dating life is in the pits. So I’m saving lotsa money from my wages at the Sting Ray.”

Tears ran down Penelope’s face as she climbed into the Jetta. “I don’t know what got into me, Abel,” she cried. “I don’t hate Tomás. But . . . my life is falling apart. I flunked a math test today. And I’m in trouble in history. And that rotten Rocky said I was fat. And everybody’s bein’ mean to me at school. And—oh Abel, do you now what some girls did to me last week?”

“No, what?” Abel responded as he backed from the driveway.

“There’s a picture in the gym of our volleyball team, and I’m in the picture making a play,” she explained. “They cut out a picture of a pig and pasted it over my face. I about died!”

“Oh man,” Abel groaned. “Well, shopping’ll make you feel better.”

“I shouldn’t even be buying jeans, a fat thing like me,” Penelope wailed.

Abel sighed. “You’re not fat. Just try some on. You’ll be surprised how hot you look.”

Abel couldn’t believe what he was saying. He’d never gotten along well with Penelope since they were much, much younger. They stopped being good friends when Abel turned ten and she turned seven. Before then, she was a cute, sweet little girl, but then she got a temper and an attitude. Now they mostly fought.

But Abel always loved Penelope. Deep down, Abel loved his sister very much. That’s why he enlisted the help of his homies to drive Max Costa away. He was a threat to Penelope.

But now, in some strange way, Abel and Penelope were allies. They were the underdogs in the family. They stood in the blinding radiance of Tomás Ruiz, fairhaired child, prince of all he surveyed.

The rest of the ride was quiet. Abel was pondering his new relationship with Penelope. And Penelope was getting over her tantrum.

“Ohhh!” Penelope cried. “Look at these jeans. Ohhh! This is just what I’ve been looking for, straight leg denims. Oh, they look so good. That horrible Candy Tellez wears these. I hate her so much. She wears like a size zero.”

For Abel, nowhere on earth was worse than the girls jeans department. Perhaps being a salt mine in Siberia was worse, but he didn’t think so. At the moment, he was ready to try it. But Abel had no choice. He had to take Penelope out of the growing argument between her and their mother. If war had still been raging when The Great Tomás returned, Mom would’ve died of embarrassment.

“They come in sizes four through twelve,” Penelope announced.

“What size do you usually get?” Abel asked. He glanced around, noticing that he was the only male in the department. He felt like an idiot. He wished he could put a shopping bag over his head.

“I been able to squeeze into a six. But the last time I got a six, Mom said I looked like a sausage,” Penelope groaned.

“So take a six and an eight, maybe a ten, and go in there and try ’em on.” Abel motioned toward the fitting room. Several mothers with their teenaged daughters stared at him. Abel felt his face grow warm. Two more teenaged girls looked at Abel and started giggling. Maybe they were sophomores or juniors at Chavez. That thought horrified Abel.

One of the girls, the bolder of the pair, approached Abel. “You work at the Sting Ray, don’t you?” she asked.

“Uh yeah,” Abel sputtered.

“I’m Cassie Ursillo’s sister,” the girl told him.

“Oh,” Abel responded. Cassie worked at the Sting Ray too. She was related to Pedro, Abel’s boss as the Sting Ray. She and Abel got off to a bumpy start, but now they got along.

The two teenaged girls giggled again. Cassie Ursillo’s sister remarked, “He does, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, he does. The eyes. It’s eerie,” the other girl agreed.

Abel didn’t know what they were talking about and didn’t care. The Ursillo sister explained. “My sister said you had eyes like James Dean, that terrific actor who died a long time ago. He had the dreamiest eyes. I saw his picture. And you do too.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Abel replied. “Hey, would you girls do me a big favor? My little sister is in the dressing room trying on jeans. When she comes out, will you tell her she looks great in whatever she picks out?”

“Sure,” the girls agreed, giggling again.

Penelope emerged in a few minutes. “This is an eight,” she announced. “Does it look okay?”

“Oh, girl!” Cassie’s sister responded. “You look hot!”

Penelope looked surprised. She smiled and said, “Really?”

“Girl, you buy those jeans!” the other girl commanded.

Penelope beamed. After the girls were gone, she asked Abel, “Who were those nice girls?”

“Who knows?” Abel said. “Buy the jeans, and let’s get out of here.”

As the sunny day was fading and turning to dusk, they headed home to Sparrow Street and the Ruiz house.

“Thanks for putting that twenty to my money, Abel,” Penelope said. “I couldn’t have gotten the jeans if you hadn’t done that. Thanks a lot. Wow, I really love those jeans. Do you think I looked okay?”

“Super!” Abel told her. Actually, he thought, she didn’t look bad at all in them.

As he turned on Sparrow Street, he spotted Tomás’s Honda in the driveway. In the driveway themselves, Abel turned to his sister. “Now, lissen up, Penny,” he ordered. “He’s only gonna be here for a day and a half. It means a lot to Mom to have everything good. We can keep our cool for a day and a half. The big windbag’ll blow out of here tomorrow night, okay? Let’s not give Mom one of her headaches. We don’t want to ruin her visit from Prince Charming.”

Penelope giggled. “You’re lots nicer than you usually are, Abel,” she remarked.

“It’s maturity, kid,” Abel stated solemnly. “Old age is creeping up on me. I’m having my eighteenth birthday in a coupla months. From then on, it’s downhill all the way.”

“Hey, there they are!” Tomás shouted as the front door opened, admitting Abel and Penelope. “My beautiful little sister and my handsome kid brother!” He grabbed Penelope for a hug and a kiss. Abel hoped against hope for just a brotherly handshake, but Tomás hugged him too.

“Well, Tomás, everything wonderful with you as usual?” Abel asked, trying not to sound bitter.

“I got this award for being the most promising dude in the sophomore class,” Tomás answered. Tomás picked up the parchment in the walnut frame and waved it, almost hitting Abel in the nose. “Hey, Abel,” Tomás continued, “Mom was just telling me that the girl you were going with—that Claudia chick. She dumped you? Hey, man, that’s too bad.”

Abel glanced at his mother. He hoped she’d see the rage in his eyes, but she probably didn’t. “Why does she humiliate me like this?” he thought.

“Well,” Tomás rattled on, “don’t sweat it, man. Chicks can be a pain. I’ve been going with this amazing girl, Zoe. Smart, gorgeous, on the honor roll like me. Just so fun to be with. I bought her a ruby pendant for her birthday. I spent a fortune on her, but I thought she was worth it.”

“Ohhh!” Mom moaned in delight. “That’s the girl whose pictures you put on your Facebook page, you and her at the county fair. What a lovely girl. You looked so good together. Tomás, you must bring her—”

Tomás plopped down in the big leather chair, crossed his legs, and held his hand up, palm facing Mom. “She tweeted me on my way down here. She found somebody else,” he announced.

A deep, almost unbelievable silence fell over the living room. Mom’s eyes seemed as large as dinner plates. Abel was sure he misunderstood what Tomás had said, but then he got it. It had to be a joke, he figured. Tomás was making fun of him for being dumped by Claudia. Tomás was pretending that he, too, had been dumped. It was a sadistic joke on Abel.

“What did you say, Tomás?” Penelope asked, breaking the silence. “Some girl dumped you?”

“Yeah,” Tomás confirmed. “Zoe Fernandez. Dumped me like a hot potato.”

“Oh, Tomás,” Mom cried in a grief–stricken voice. “I am so sorry. Oh, my poor boy. How could she do such a thing!”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Tomás assured her. “It’s not the end of the world. It hurts my pride, and, sure, I feel bad. But she wasn’t for me, that’s all. Better we found it out now. That Claudia wasn’t for you either, Abel. We’re both too young to settle on one chick anyway, bro. This is the time to enjoy life.”

He turned then to Penelope and remarked, “When did you get to be so pretty, hermana? But, listen, you need to put on a little weight. You’re too skinny. Muchachos like curves, right, Abel?”

Both Abel and Penelope were flooded with an emotion neither of them often felt for their brother—affection. Abel had not planned to cook a meal for Tomás while he was here. They planned to go out for dinner tomorrow. But now Abel announced, “Tomás, I’m cooking something special tomorrow, just for you. I want you to see what a fine chef I’ve become!”

That Sunday evening. Ernesto Sandoval and Naomi Martinez were driving past Cesar Chavez High School. They saw a small group of freshman standing around, and they looked as though they might be trouble.

“I don’t see gang colors, Naomi. But I don’t like how those dudes are just standing around staring at the school,” Ernesto observed. “This might be the bunch who went in and spray painted the library. They might be wannabe gangbangers trying to prove themselves. One of them looks familiar, but I don’t know the dude’s name.”

Ernesto pulled to the curb and shouted out the window, “Hey, homies, what’s goin’ down?”

“Nothin’, man,” the tallest of the group shot back.

“Four dudes just standing around the school on a Sunday night,” Ernesto commented. “Doesn’t look good to me. If a police cruiser came around the corner just about now, you guys might have some explaining to do.”

“Oh, the tall one is Rocky Salcedo,” Naomi told Ernesto. “That’s the guy who looked familiar. He’s been in trouble.”

“Hey, Rocky!” Ernesto called out. “You better be getting on home.”

The boy looked startled that the senior guy knew his name. He muttered something to his friends, and they all ambled on down the street.

“Know what?” Ernesto remarked. “I got a bad feeling that those dudes were up to something. My Uncle Arturo knows a really good cop who’s savvy about the barrio, Jerry Davis. I think I’ll text Uncle Arturo to tip off his friend. Maybe they could send a cruiser around to the school. The punks might be coming back. If they see police action, it could discourage them from whatever they have in mind.”

Within fifteen minutes of Ernesto’s text to his uncle, a police cruiser appeared on Washington Street in front of the high school. Tío Arturo must have called his friend at home. The four boys were now standing across the street. The cruiser stopped there, and two officers got out to talk to them. Within minutes, the boys were sitting on the curb talking to the officers.

Naomi looked worried. “I hope those guys don’t connect you talking to them and the police coming around,” she said.

“Yeah, well, I’d kick myself if Chavez was vandalized tonight,” Ernesto responded. “If I’d seen suspicious-looking dudes and done nothing, I’d be laying awake at night. Getting a visit from the police might discourage them.”

“I’ve heard that Rocky Salcedo is a tough kid and a poor student,” Naomi remarked. “But what good would spray painting the library do for him?”

“Who knows?” Ernesto replied. “Rocky’s a freshman, but he looks at least fifteen. I think he’s been held back one grade at least. He’s probably really frustrated. Mad at the world. Sometimes people just lash out.”

The police got back into the cruiser, and Ernesto and Naomi went home.

When Ernesto got home, he finished his AP project from Mr. Bustos, and that was a great relief. Ernesto was leaning back in his chair and taking a deep breath when his cell rang.

“Ernie,” Naomi cried, “check out your Facebook page. Somebody’s posting awful pictures of Mr. Davila! I don’t know if they got to your page, but the pictures’ve gone viral. Everybody’s getting them!”

“What?” Ernesto gasped. He checked his Facebook page on his iPad and found pictures taken of Jesse Davila at embarrassing moments. Somebody from his classes must have had an iPhone and had taken pictures when Mr. Davila was misspeaking or just looking silly. They caught him during a sneezing spell that was hilarious but humiliating. One day last week, Mr. Davila’s briefcase popped open, and his papers flew all over. The page showed pictures of him scrambling around the floor retrieving his stuff. All together, the pictures made Jesse Davila look like a laughable fool, not a teacher to be respected.

“Oh man! Who did this?” Ernesto groaned.

“It’s awful, Ernie,” Naomi responded. “I’m sure these horrible pictures have been sent to the other teachers, the administration. It’s like character assassination. Maybe some creep just put the pictures on their own Facebook page and sent them to friends. And they sent it on to somebody else and . . . it just went viral.”

“How do you stop something like this?” Ernesto exclaimed. He didn’t expect an answer. There was no answer. It could happen to anybody.

“It’s like that lady sportswriter,” Naomi responded. “Some freak snapped pictures of her through a hole in her hotel room and put it out there. She was just devastated.”

“Yeah,” Ernesto added, “every iPhone’s a camera now. It’s not only that Big Brother’s watching you. It’s worse. Somebody can destroy you with a click on an iPhone. It’s worse than like getting mugged or beat up. Or even having your house robbed. Man, it’s like somebody takes your . . . dignity.”

Naomi nodded in agreement.

“I’m thinking Rod Garcia,” Naomi guessed. “He’s been so down on Mr. Davila. But how can you prove it?”

“Yeah,” Ernesto agreed. “Remember the other day when Mrs. Sanchez came in to observe, and we all made Mr. Davila look good? Rod stopped me and told me he wasn’t done yet. He planned to get rid of Mr. Davila.”

“It’s enough to make you want to smash all the iPhones,” Naomi fumed, “and go back to the old-fashioned phones. Imagine how hard this is going to be on Angel Roma. She’s under enough stress already. Some mean kids’ve been making fun of her taking care of her sick grandmother. Now her grandfather is made to look like a fool. It’s like terrorism, Ernie.”

“I know,” Ernesto agreed. “What can we do, though? Do you think we should call Mr. Davila and . . . ” Ernesto’s voice trailed off. What could they possibly say that would make any difference? “We’re sorry about those horrible pictures of you, Mr. Davila. We want to express out outrage that such an evil thing was done.” Lame. But both Ernesto and Naomi knew saying something like that would only make matters worse.

“Poor Mr. Davila,” Ernesto groaned. “Taking care of a sick wife and having a daughter and granddaughter living with him. How much piling on can the poor guy take? And he’s a Vietnam veteran too. He served his country, and he’s a good teacher. It’s so not right, and yet there’s nothing we can do.”

When Ernesto saw Rod Garcia on Monday morning, he walked over to him and spoke coldly. “You must have gotten a big laugh over those stupid pictures of Mr. Davila. You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that happening, would you?”

“I’ve seen them, sure, but I didn’t take the pictures and put them out there,” Rod insisted. “Somebody in class did it, but not me. But the pictures tell the story, don’t they? The guy is clearly an idiot who doesn’t belong in the classroom. Like that old saying, ‘A picture is worth a thousand words.’” Garcia’s face wore a pleased smirk.

“Whoever did this is one evil dude,” Ernesto said.

“I don’t see it that way, man,” Garcia objected. “Wake up, Sandoval. The time is past when we have to put up with old, incompetent teachers. Times are changing. The old fogies and their outdated methods are done. Tenure for lousy teachers! Ha! That’s going out like the dinosaurs, man. Get with it.”

“Mr. Davila is an excellent teacher,” Ernesto asserted. “On the teacher evaluation form the students fill out, he’s one of the best here at Chavez.”

“Yeah?” Rod sneered. “Maybe that says a lot about how crummy the whole faculty is, dude. Maybe your father isn’t such a hot teacher either. Jelly brains like you might put up with bad teachers out of some lamebrained idea of compassion. But you’re screwing the rest of us, dude. Compassion don’t cut it anymore. We gotta go out in the world and be well educated to get a good job. We count. The students count. When a car gets old, we junk it and send it to the crusher, Sandoval. You don’t keep on trying to drive a busted car. That old dude won’t get out of the way on his own. So maybe somebody needs to spread the word any way they can that he has to go.”

As Rod Garcia walked away, he fired a parting shot. “You’re going outta style with your sappy attitude, Sandoval. We’re the future.”

Ernesto stared at the other boy and shouted at Rod’s back. “If you’re the future, dude, we’re all in trouble.”