As Ernesto Sandoval came on campus Monday morning, he noticed a group of girls. They were gathered around one freshman girl in particular. A couple of them were crying, and the one who seemed to be the center of attention was hysterical. Ernesto didn’t know the girl who was freaking out. Then Penelope Ruiz came walking over. Her brother Abel had just dropped her off.
“Hey, Penelope,” Ernesto called, “what’s going on over there?”
Penelope laughed harshly. “That’s Lacey Serrano having the crying jag,” she answered. “She tweeted everybody that she’s getting blamed for spray painting the library. She says she didn’t do it, of course. She’s going ballistic, huh? It couldn’t happen to a bigger creep. She hangs with that gross Rocky Salcedo, who’s always calling me fat. I bet he was in on it too.”
Ernesto and Penelope stared at Lacey for a few seconds. Then Penelope shook her head and spoke. “Oh, I hope they get so busted! I hope Lacey and Rocky get grounded for the rest of their lives. I hope their stupid parents take away their iPhones and their laptops and their mattresses too. I hope they make them sleep on the floor.”
“Penny, calm down,” Ernesto advised, trying not to grin. “Why would Lacey Serrano do such a thing? Spray painting dirty words on the library wall? I mean, she’s a good student, isn’t she?”
“Oh, she cheats like crazy, but Mr. Lucas is so clueless,” Penelope explained. “She turned in a paper the other day about the crisis in Africa. Even I knew she copied it online. Lucas gave her an A. Can you believe it? Lacey’s so mean to poor Angel and her sick grandmother. What kinda creep would make fun of a sick old lady and the kid who’s helping her walk? I mean, is that the lowest thing you ever heard of, Ernie?”
Penelope finally stopped to take a breath, but she soon continued her rant. “I read a fairy tale once about a mean girl who plucked the wings off of insects. Then one day she fell into a pit, and she was buried to her neck. All the bugs came and tormented her. The spiders and wasps, all came and feasted on her head. That’s what should happen to Lacey.”
“Wow!” Ernesto exclaimed. “Remind me to never get on your bad side, Penny.”
“Oh, Ernie,” Penelope responded, “you’re the best. You could never get on my bad side. Abel just loves you. He said you’re the best friend a guy ever had.”
Even while she was talking to Ernesto, Penelope’s eyes were locked on Lacey Serrano. Penelope started laughing. “Look at her bawling like a baby! She runs after Angel and taunts her. Now that something bad happens to her, she acts like a two-year-old!”
Finally, Lacey Serrano began walking to her class, still sobbing. Her best friend, Candy Tellez, walked beside her, comforting her, her arm around Lacey’s shoulders.
By lunchtime, the story was all around the school. Bits and pieces were texted and tweeted. Somehow the school administration had been tipped off to check Lacey Serrano’s locker. There, tucked in the back, was a can of spray paint of the exact shade as that used in the vandalism. Lacey Serrano was now a person of interest in the crime.
Lacey and her mother had been asked to meet with the principal Monday morning to explain the can of paint in her locker. That paint was the only evidence against Lacey. It was of the same rare purple color that had been used to spray paint the library wall.
At that meeting, Lacey could not say what the paint was doing in her locker. And she vehemently denied vandalizing the library. Her mother came with her to the interview. Mrs. Serrano threatened legal action against the school if her innocent daughter’s reputation was damaged.
During the interview, Mrs. Serrano had become very emotional. “Some vile child planted the spray can in my daughter’s locker,” she screamed. “Then told you it was there. My poor little girl is the victim of a frame-up.”
Mrs. Sanchez kept her cool despite all the emotion.
And after the meeting, Lacey Serrano texted all her friends with details of her “ordeal.”
“I wonder who tipped the school to check Lacey’s locker?” Naomi remarked to the other kids at lunch.
“I heard it was an anonymous tip,” Julio Avila replied. Julio was on the track team with Ernesto.
“I’m just wondering how she was stupid enough to keep the spray paint right in her locker,” Ernesto commented. “You’d think she woulda dumped the can somewhere far from here.”
“It sounds weird,” Abel agreed. “Lacey’s got a lot of enemies ’cause she’s so mean, but, still, something doesn’t add up here.”
Julio Avila laughed. “From what I hear, this kid is bad to the bone. Seems like, whatever happened, she’s got it comin’.” Julio leaned back on the grass and chomped on his apple. “I hope she gets keelhauled good.”
“What’s ‘keelhauled’?” Abel asked.
“My old man was a sailor,” Julio explained. His father was an alcoholic and a loser too. But he was the only family Julio had, and Julio loved him. Julio knew what it was like to be mocked by cruel classmates. When his disheveled father would show up at school, Julio was ribbed without mercy. He knew what Angel Roma was going through. “Keelhauling is punishin’ somebody by dragging them under a ship. They’d get all scraped up by the barnacles stickin’ to the hull. Sounds good to me.” When Ernesto Sandoval came onto the field for track practice, Rod Garcia hadn’t arrived yet. The ill will between the boys was no secret. Coach Muñoz liked his track team members to be buddies or at least to respect one another, especially in the relay races. Guys who hate each other can’t be handing off the baton to one another. Making the other guy look bad could become more important than helping the team win.
Coach Muñoz approached Ernesto with a serious look on his face. “Sandoval, you and Garcia have a problem that worries me for the sake of the team.”
“Don’t worry, Coach,” Ernesto assured him. “Whatever problems we have, I won’t bring them on the track.”
“I don’t know what beef you guys have, and I don’t want to know,” Coach Muñoz said. “All I care about is the team.”
Coach Muñoz was single-minded. All he cared about was winning the championship this year. He hadn’t paid any attention to the senior class president election. He had no idea that Ernesto had beaten Garcia out of the job he wanted so badly. Coach Muñoz didn’t know that Rod was leading the charge to destroy poor Mr. Davila, the beleaguered history teacher. Ernesto saw nothing to be gained by exposing all that. Ernesto was happy just to follow the Coach’s wishes. Coach didn’t want to know what was going on between Ernesto and Rod.
“Nothing’s going to interfere with taking the Cougars to another championship, Coach,” Ernesto vowed. Last year, the Cesar Chavez Cougars track team won the regional championships. A lot of the credit went to Julio Avila, who had developed amazing speed in the last year and a half.
Julio was not running for just the glory of the team. He wasn’t running just for his own pride. His father never failed to watch the races, and the only bright spot in the man’s life was his son’s triumphs. Julio hoped to do well enough this year to win an athletic scholarship to college and go on to compete in the Olympic trials. Julio had an ultimate fantasy. He’d be standing on that Olympic stage as they played the national anthem, the gold medal around his neck. He’d look out at the crowd and see his father standing there proudly. Julio knew that, if that ever happened, he wouldn’t see anybody else in the crowd. All he’d see is one decrepit old man who would be crying tears of joy.
The rest of the team arrived and went through their warm-ups, including Rod Garcia. Garcia knew better than to start anything in front of Coach Muñoz, but he cast a dirty look at Ernesto.
Ernesto liked all the other guys on the team, especially Jorge Aguilar and Eddie Gonzales. A few weeks ago, Jorge had started hanging with gangbangers. Ernesto risked his life to rescue him. Now Jorge was back on the team and in classes.
“Okay,” Coach Muñoz announced, toying a little nervously his timer. “Let’s see what you boys got.”
The whole team started from the blocks. Rod Garcia took the lead. Ernesto was just behind him, and Julio was in third place. Jorge and Eddie were taking the fourth and fifth spots.
Ernesto had been spending a lot of time running and doing stretching exercises. He was disappointed that he wasn’t faster. He wanted to catch and pass Garcia. But from the corner of his eye, Ernesto saw Julio coming on like never before. Julio had always been fast, but today he was amazing. He flew past Ernesto and then Garcia. He put so much distance between himself and Garcia, who remained second, that it was no contest.
“Avila,” Coach Muñoz exclaimed, “you are incredible!”
Julio Avila grinned. “Coach, I been running twenty miles every day and running sprints up and down my street,” he explained. “I get up at four in the morning to run and do six miles. Then, before school, I do another six. I get in the other eight miles and sprints at night.”
“You guys,” Coach Muñoz declared in a nearly worshipful voice, “you see what dedication can do?”
At the end of practice, the boys were walking from the practice field. Rod Garcia caught up to Ernesto. “I put you in the shade, man,” he boasted.
Ernesto decided to ignore Garcia. He kept walking.
“I’ll beat Avila next time too,” Garcia swore. “I plan to break a world record on this team and qualify for the Olympic trials.”
“Dream on, man,” Ernesto finally remarked. “Julio’s the best I’ve ever seen. If anybody from Cesar Chavez High gets to the Olympics, it’s gonna be Julio.”
“That little punk?” Garcia sneered. “My father was a track star in college. It’s in my genes. You ever see Avila’s father? He’s a drunken bum. No way he passed decent genes down to that little punk son of his.”
Ernesto laughed and stopped walking. He just couldn’t let such a stupid comment go unanswered. “I never heard of championship genes, dude. Look at the great runners in sports history. Never heard that Usain Bolt’s dad was a champion. Never heard of Michael Johnson or Wilson Kipketer having a dad who excelled in running. That’s all nonsense. Julio’s got a real shot at the Olympics, and I’m rooting for him.”
Before Rod Garcia could respond, Ernesto wheeled and jogged toward the locker room.
The next morning, Ernesto met Naomi and Carmen on the way to classes.
“Ernie,” Naomi said excitedly. “Something so cool has happened! You know, since we took Bobby and Richie and Angel on that trip into the mountains, they’ve become friends! They hang out together at lunch now, and they never did that before. They got a little lunch gang now, like we do, Ernie. At lunchtime they’d mostly eat alone, and now they’re buddies!”
“That’s super,” Ernesto responded.
“Penelope’s part of the group too,” Naomi continued. “She’s such a sweetheart. She gets Abel to make stuff, and she treats everybody sometimes. Penelope is sorta the leader. Oh, Ernie, it’s so important for kids like that to have a support system!”
“Isn’t that so great, Ernie?” Carmen asked. “You know, kids are sorta like wild animals. I saw a TV show about the elephants and the wildebeest in Africa. If they all stick together, then they’re safe from their enemies. On this show, the elephants and the wildebeest formed a circle. They stood there in a big group against the lions who were coming to attack them. That’s just like those mean kids. They can’t pick on you if you’ve got friends. By themselves, those four kids are like natural outsiders, easy prey for the bullies. But together, they can’t be beat!”
Ernesto laughed. “You’re right, Carmen,” he agreed. “I always thought school was sorta like living in the wild. The big mean students prey on the weaker ones. Guys like Clay and Rod, girls like Lacey and Candy. The good kids gotta band together against them, like those elephants and the wildebeest.”
Naomi changed the subject. “I wonder if Lacey is the one who spray painted the library,” she asked. “It seems strange, but . . .”
“She’s mean, but she’s sly too,” Carmen noted. “I don’t buy it. She woulda lost the spray can.”
“You think she’s been set up?” Ernesto asked.
Naomi shrugged. “My mom sorta knows her mother. Mrs. Serrano and Mom work on the PTA together sometimes. Mrs. Serrano is really freaking out over this. She swore up and down that Lacey would never do such a thing. She thinks it’s some evil plot against her poor little innocent angel of a daughter.”
“Naomi, does Mrs. Serrano have any idea of the kind of stuff her kid does around school or on the street?” Ernesto asked. “Does this lady know what Lacey does to Angel Roma and her grandmother? Do you think she knows Lacey and her friend walk behind them making fun of the old lady’s disability?”
A sad look came to Naomi’s face, but Carmen looked furious. “Ernie, do they really do that?’ Carmen demanded.
“Angel said they do, and I believe her,” Ernesto answered.
“I’m going over to the Serrano house after school today and tell her parents,” Carmen declared in a shrill voice. “Do you guys know where they live?”
Ernesto grabbed his cell phone. “I’m calling your mom, Naomi. She’d know,” he said. He got the address quickly from Linda Martinez.
“They live on Cardinal Street,” Ernesto reported. “Those nice new condos.”
Carmen had a determined look on her face. “Well, Mrs. Serrano is in for a rude awakening!” Carmen glanced at her friends. “Anybody brave enough to come with me? If not, I’ll go alone.”
“I would,” Naomi replied. “But I gotta get home right after school. Mom has a doctor’s appointment, and I’m going to drive her. She usually drives. But she’s so nervous about this appointment that she’d feel better if I drove. It’s a mammogram, and she freaks out whenever she has one of those.”
“I’ll go,” Ernesto responded. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but he admired Carmen’s determination to do the right thing. He wasn’t about to let her go alone. Carmen was her father’s daughter all right. Emilio Zapata Ibarra had run for the city council and won so that he could help the people of the barrio. He wanted to erase corruption and bring justice. So far, he had made great strides.
At the end of the school day, Ernesto drove Carmen in his Volvo.
Cardinal Street had nice houses, some of the nicest in the barrio and some of them built thirty or forty years ago. Many were stucco with Spanish tile roofs. It also had middle-class apartments, like the one Paul and David Morales lived in, and sparkling new condos. The Serranos lived in one of the condos. Developers were slowly tearing down the single-family homes, as the owners grew too old to keep them up, and building fine condos in their place.
“There’s the address Naomi’s mom gave me,” Ernesto pointed. “This must be it.” He pulled into the parking area and stopped where a sign said “Visitors.”
Ernesto and Carmen walked to the door of the unit. A few seconds after they rang the bell, an attractive woman came to the door. “Yes?” she asked in an annoyed voice. “If you’re selling something, I don’t want—”
“No, Mrs. Serrano,” Carmen interrupted. Carmen had seen the woman bringing Lacey to school and knew what she looked like. “We have something very important to talk to you about. We’re students at Cesar Chavez High School, and we really need to talk to you.”
“Well, I’m very busy,” Mrs. Serrano replied. “What is this about?”
Ernesto was starting to feel uneasy. The woman had a mean look on her face. In just a few seconds, Ernesto took an instant dislike to her. But he knew he had a duty to speak up and help Carmen with this. “Mrs. Serrano, it’s about your daughter, Lacey. There have been things going on that you need to know about. May we come in for just a few minutes?”
Reluctantly, Mrs. Serrano stepped back and allowed them in. She looked at Ernesto and noted, “You’re the senior class president at Chavez, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am, but this is about something else,” Ernesto replied.
The woman ushered them into the living room. Both Carmen and Ernesto sat down in stiff, uncomfortable chairs. Mrs. Serrano sat across from them. She offered no refreshments, for which Ernesto was grateful. He couldn’t have gotten anything down his throat.
“This is about your daughter, Lacey,” Carmen began.
Rage filled the woman’s eyes. “Have you come to apologize for the terrible way my child has been persecuted at the school?” she demanded. “Lacey is a wonderful girl, an excellent student. Now she’s being falsely accused of that spray painting vandalism in the library. I have already talked to my lawyer. If the school continues to imply that my innocent child did this, they will be facing us in court.”
“Mrs. Serrano,” Carmen said in a strong voice, undaunted by the woman’s wrath. “There is a girl in the freshman class who lives with a disabled grandmother. The woman has Parkinson’s disease, and she staggers when she walks. The child lets her grandmother lean on her while they walk. Two freshmen girls from Chavez have been tormenting the girl and her grandmother by mockingly walking behind them and calling them names. Your daughter is one of those girls.”
Mrs. Serrano rose up wrathfully in her chair, reminding Ernesto of a snake getting ready to strike. “How dare you come into my home and tell such contemptible lies about my daughter?” the woman demanded. “Lacey is a lovely, compassionate girl. She would never do such a terrible thing. I am outraged. Lacey is the kindest, sweetest child in the world. To suggest she would do something so loathsome is beyond contempt!”
“Mrs. Serrano, it’s happening,” Ernesto affirmed. “Your daughter is a bully, one of the mean girls at school. I’m not surprised that you know nothing about it or that Lacey has managed to fool you. I don’t know anything about the spray painting incident, and maybe your daughter is innocent of that. But I do know that a little fourteen-year-old girl is being harassed every day by Lacey and her friend. We both think you need to talk to your daughter and convince her to stop.”
“Get out of my home!” Mrs. Serrano screamed. “Or I will call the police! I am giving you two minutes to get out of my home, or you will be dealing with the police. Don’t you dare ever come back here. And if you continue to spread lies about my child, my husband and I will sue you! And don’t think we won’t.”
Carmen and Ernesto left the home immediately. As they went down the walk, Ernesto commented, “Whoa! The Wicked Witch of the West is alive and well.”
“Like mother, like daughter,” Carmen agreed bitterly.