After having tacos with Richie, Ernesto drove him home. Then he picked up Naomi, and they drove to Angel’s house on Finch Street. Naomi had already met Angel’s mother and grandmother, who was a sweet woman.
Ernesto and Naomi met with Angel’s grandparents. Jesse Davila did most of the talking for them. Angel’s mother was still at work. Angel was over at Penelope’s house, and Abel was due to bring her home soon.
“Angel is a sweet and wonderful girl, and I’m so happy she’s my little sister,” Naomi told them. Ernesto had shared with Naomi what Richie told him, and they were both pretty sure about what had happened. They had rehearsed how they would handle their meeting.
“Angel has a friend at school,” Ernesto began. “He’s in our program too. Richie Loranzo. He cares a lot for Angel.”
“Yes,” Mr. Davila replied. “I’ve met him. A nice boy.”
Ernesto took a deep breath and then said, “Mr. Davila, this is difficult for me to tell you. I think that Angel might have spray painted the library a couple of weeks ago. Then she planted the paint can in Lacey Serrano’s locker. Richie confessed to me that he did it, but I could tell he was lying. He was all mixed up about the details. And he kept saying, over and over, that he didn’t want Angel to get in trouble. I think the kid was willing to take the blame to spare Angel.”
“Oh my Lord!” Mr. Davila cried. “You know, the night it happened . . . one of my keys was missing, and Angel was gone from the house. She claimed she was going over to see Penelope. But when I called the Ruiz house, she wasn’t there. She came home late, and she seemed very upset. I know Angel has been under a lot of stress—the bullying and all . . . I just didn’t put her behavior together with the incident at school.”
Mr. Davila put his hands over his face. His wife understood what Ernesto had said. In her slurred voice, she said, “The poor little thing . . . the poor little thing . . . ”
When Abel dropped Angel home minutes later, the girl opened the door and stared at Ernesto and Naomi. Then she looked at her grandparents. She burst into tears. “You know,” she sobbed. “Ohhh! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
“Mi nieta,” Mr. Davila said in a sorrowful voice. “You spray painted the library. Then planted evidence on the mean girl to get her in trouble, didn’t you?”
Angel stood rooted to the spot, tears running down her face. She was pale and trembling.
“Richie Loranzo told me he did it,” Ernesto added. “He wanted to take the blame for you, Angel. He cares about you, but Richie is a very poor liar.”
Naomi grabbed Angel and put her arms around her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll work something out.”
Angel buried her face in Naomi’s chest. “I’m sorry,” the girl wept, her shoulders hunching with each sob. “It’s just that . . . I was so mad . . . about stuff. I spray painted the library because they . . . those mean girls . . . were hurting me and Gram so bad. Nobody would do anything . . . and then . . . and then . . . I got an idea. I dug the spray can out from under my bed where I hid it. I watched Lacey open her locker, and then I knew how to do it. I stuck the can in there.”
Angel’s grandparents both hugged her, and she was in their arms as Ernesto and Naomi left. Mr. Davila said he would talk to Mrs. Sanchez and explain the situation in the morning.
Two days later, Mrs. Sanchez called Lacey Serrano into her office. “Lacey, we have solved the spray painting incident, and you are cleared. But I still expect that paper on Parkinson’s disease from you and Candy,” she advised curtly.
“Who did it?” Lacey demanded. “I got the right to know.”
“You have no right to know anything, missy,” Mrs. Sanchez told her. “And don’t you dare talk to me in that tone of voice again. Some very fine seniors took up a collection to reimburse the school for what it cost to repaint the library wall. The matter is settled. And I expect that paper on time, or you’ll be on detention for the rest of the year!”
Every day after school, for the next month, Angel Roma spent one hour helping the school librarian. They sorted books for an upcoming book fair at Cesar Chavez High School. It was said that Angel volunteered for the special project. Actually, she was atoning for her act of vandalism by what amounted to twenty-four hours of detention. But the only ones who knew that were Mrs. Sanchez, Angel’s grandparents and mother, and Angel’s special friends, Naomi and Ernesto.
The next Friday night, Ernesto took Naomi to the movies. As they drove to the theater, Ernesto was thinking about the kids in the big brother, big sister program. He said, “Naomi, do you know we’ve matched seventeen at-risk freshmen with seniors now? Mrs. Sanchez told me all kinds of creeps are targeting even middle school kids for gangs and drugs. The street gangs are especially looking ninth-graders to do their dirty work. They offer the kids money. But they also tell them that, because they’re kids, even if they get caught, it won’t go hard on them. Now these at-risk kids got a senior looking out for them.”
“That’s great, Ernie,” Naomi responded. “That program was such a super idea.”
“By the way, Naomi, the other day you said your mom was going in for a mammogram. Everything okay?” Ernesto knew that, when his mom checked in for one of those exams, everybody was a little nervous.
“Yeah, everything’s fine, Ernie. Thanks for asking.” Naomi reached over and put her hand on Ernesto’s knee. “Mom had to go back because something looked un-usual,” she added. “But it turned out to be nothing. I was surprised at how upset Dad was.”
Naomi seemed be cooking up an idea. “You know what, though?” she finally said. “Mom hasn’t been out for a nice dinner for a while. And next Sunday, Dad’s cousin, Monte Esposito, is having Dad and some other guys over for the big football game. Mom’ll be home alone, and I thought I’d take her out to one of those nice Asian restaurants. She likes Asian food.”
“Is that strictly a mother-daughter thing or . . . ?” Ernesto asked.
“Oh, Ernie, I’d love for you to come,” Naomi replied, taking the cue right away. “You don’t know how much Mom admires you. Once she said she wishes the Sandovals would adopt one of her boys. Then she could have you. She was just kidding, of course. She loves her boys, but they’re a wild and woolly bunch sometimes. Do you like Japanese food?”
“Yeah, I do,” Ernesto said emphatically. “I know a great place that serves awesome Asian food, the Sting Ray.”
“Where Abel works?” Naomi asked.
“Yeah, he’s been telling me about the Asian cuisine, and he’s really into it,” Ernesto answered. “Abel works there Sundays. He’d get a big kick out of making your mom’s dinner. You know, the chefs often come out there and greet the guests, and Abel would be so proud.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Naomi said.
On Sunday, Ernesto drove over to the Martinez house and went inside. Brutus, the family pit bull, wagged his tail and greeted Ernesto like an old friend. When Felix Martinez first got Brutus, his wife had been terrified of the dog. She used to lock herself in the kitchen when the dog was loose. But over time Linda Martinez grew to love the dog as much as her husband did, maybe more. It turned out that Brutus was nothing like the stereotype of pit bulls. He was a lovable clown.
“So, Mrs. Martinez,” Ernesto remarked, “your husband is over watching the big game.”
“Yes, his cousin has one of these giant screens,” Mrs. Martinez replied. “When those big guys come running with the football it seems like they’re in your face! I don’t like football anyway. I don’t like any sports, except maybe figure skating. Do you like football, Ernie?”
“It’s okay,” Ernesto responded. “I’ll watch if I like the team or the quarterback or if some local guys got a shot. I’m not that much into baseball or football. I love to run on the track team. That’s fun. And it’s something I can do on my own when I’m done with school.”
Naomi giggled. “Remember how upset Dad was when he found out you didn’t like football? He thought every real man ought to love football.”
“Yeah,” Ernesto laughed too. “He thought I was a wimp.”
As they all went outside, Linda Martinez smiled and commented, “Oh, you still have your Volvo. They’re such safe, reliable cars.”
Ernesto gave Naomi a look and growled under his breath, “Dear old Viola!”
Naomi was giggling when she got into the car.
When they were seated at the Sting Ray with their menus, Mrs. Martinez was so happy. “Oh, this is such a treat. I love Asian food, and Felix hates it, so we never have it at home.” She ordered Thai chicken with basil over rice with chopped peanuts and shredded coconut. Ernesto and Naomi went for the spicy pork ribs brushed with orange marmalade.
As they waited for their entrees to be served, Mrs. Martinez confided, “You know, I dearly love Felix, and he’s a good man. There’s no doubt about that. All during our marriage, he’s worked hard and taken care of me and his kids. I never knew a man to work harder”
Mom sighed. “But he has this hot temper, and sometimes I’m so hurt by what he says. I should be used to it by now. He doesn’t mean to hurt me, I’m sure. But when he yells and criticizes me, I just sort of curl up inside and ache.”
Naomi glanced at Ernesto. A slow current of sadness flowed through Naomi’s eyes.
Her mother continued. “You hear so much about this domestic abuse, and Felix doesn’t do that. I mean, years ago there was some pushing and shoving, but nothing serious. I can’t complain about that. But the words, they can hurt too. They don’t leave scars you can see, but I think they do leave scars . . . you know, inside.”
Mrs. Martinez ran her finger down the water glass, leaving a line in the moisture on its side. As she spoke again, her gaze was on the glass. “My own father was the same way. A good, hardworking man, but he could be cruel to my mother. I would see her crying. I guess I thought that’s the way things were. That it’s something a woman just has to put up with. You had to be grateful if your husband was faithful, and my father was. My father never looked at another woman, and your father, Naomi, he’s always been faithful. And that’s a blessing.”
She lifted her head and looked right at Naomi. “You know, I always wanted a girl, but then Orlando and Manny came. Then Zack. And I thought maybe that was best. If there was a girl, she’d have to go through so much. And then, Naomi, you came along, and I was so happy. But then when you got older and started dating Clay Aguirre, my heart just ached.”
“Yeah,” Naomi agreed ruefully. “I put up with a lot from that jerk.”
“He’d come to pick you up and sit in his car honking his horn,” Mrs. Martinez remarked. “I’d hear him yelling for you to hurry up. I felt so bad for you.”
The woman’s face lit up then. “And then you came along, Ernie. Oh, it was so wonderful. When you’d come to pick up Naomi, you’d come in the house and talk to us, to Felix and me. You were nice and polite. You don’t know how many times I said to myself gracias a Dios!”
Ernesto felt genuinely touched by the woman’s words. “That’s very kind of you to say, Mrs. Martinez,” he told the mother. “I love Naomi very much, and I think she has a great mom.”
The meal was delivered, and it was perfect. Mrs. Martinez kept raving over how good everything was. “I love Mexican food, of course,” she commented, “but it’s so nice to have a change.”
As they were finishing their meal, Abel Ruiz appeared at their table. “Was everything all right?” he asked, smiling. He looked much older than he did at school, in his starched white blouse and apron with the Sting Ray logo.
“It’s all wonderful, Abel,” Mrs. Martinez replied. “Such a marvelous meal.”
“Yes, Abel,” Naomi added. “I’ve never tasted such delicious pork.”
“Another home run, dude,” Ernesto said.
At that moment, a pretty girl appeared, her long dark hair tied up in a bun. She was also wearing a starched white blouse and apron. Abel made the introductions. “This is Cassie Ursillo. Her uncle is the big honcho around here.”
Cassie smiled and said, “Doesn’t Abel have James Dean eyes?”
Abel laughed. “Most people don’t even know who the dude was. He died like a hundred years ago.”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Martinez corrected him. “My mother just loved him. When I was a little girl, I saw his old movies on television. Something about a rebel. I was sad when I found out he was dead. And, yes, Abel does have those dreamy eyes.”
Cassie slipped her hand under Abel’s arm. “Time to go back to the kitchen, chef.”
When Abel and Cassie were gone, Ernesto declared, “She’d like to hook Abel, but he’s not buying. . . . Okay, who’s for dessert?”
Later, as they headed home, Mrs. Martinez remarked, “This has been such a lovely day. I’m so happy you came, Ernie. It made it extra special.”
“Thank you. I enjoyed it too,” Ernesto responded.
Naomi turned on the radio and tuned to the game. They all listened in silence for a few minutes. “Uh-oh!” Naomi groaned. “The Chargers are losing.”
“Felix’ll be in a bad mood when he gets home,” Mrs. Martinez sighed.
“They’re down just one touchdown . . . they’ve been known to bring it home at the last minute,” Ernesto said.
“Every time they lose, Felix curses the coach and yells about firing him,” Mrs. Martinez explained.
As Ernesto pulled onto the freeway, a car sped past, going very fast. Few motorists kept to the seventy-mile-per-hour limit, but this car seemed to be going ninety or better.
“Look!” Naomi noted in a suddenly frightened voice. “He’s changing lanes like crazy. I thought he’d rear-end that van.”
The car was a silver Infiniti built for speed. Ernesto didn’t know anybody who owned one except his AP History teacher, Mr. Bustos. Of course, Ernesto thought, there had to be a lot of other Infinitis on the road.
“He’s changed lanes again,” Naomi gasped.
“Oh my gosh!” Mrs. Martinez cried. “He almost sideswiped that truck.”
“Call nine-one-one, Naomi,” Ernesto directed. “Tell them there’s a dangerous driver out here. Could be drunk.”
Naomi pulled out her cell phone. “We’re southbound on the six-oh-five, nearing the Washington Street off ramp,” she told the 911 dispatcher. “There’s a silver Infiniti driving really crazy. I think he’s hit a hundred miles per hour. Oh no! That truck swerved to miss him. It’s in a spin!”
Mrs. Martinez clasped her hands to her cheeks. A Toyota pickup truck had gotten hit by the swerving bigger truck, and the van behind them couldn’t stop and plowed into them. Three vehicles were in a tangled wreck, but the Infiniti was out of sight.
“Oh, there’s been a horrible accident,” Naomi almost screamed into her phone. “Please send help right away!”
Ernesto pulled the Volvo to the shoulder of the road and out of the freeway lane, at a safe distance from the accident. Two other motorists who’d witnessed what happened also stopped. Police sirens and emergency vehicles wails filled the late afternoon.
“We’ve got to tell the police what caused that accident,” Ernesto said. His heart was pounding as a highway patrolman came walking up.
“Officer,” Ernesto told him, “a silver Infiniti was driving really crazy, weaving in and outta lanes. He swerved into the lane that the big Ford pickup was in, and the Ford swerved into the blue Toyota. The van just couldn’t stop fast enough. The guy in the Infiniti caused the whole thing. You gotta find him. He could do it all again.”
The highway patrol office called in the information right away. He then took Ernesto’s statement and the statements of the other drivers. Nobody had been able to get a license number on the Infiniti. All Ernesto hoped was that the creep driving the Infiniti hadn’t gotten clean away.
Ernesto continued the drive home, caught up in the massive snarl of traffic. Two lanes of traffic were shut down by the wreckage and emergency vehicles. Traffic inched past the scene. The motorists slowing down for a look made matters even worse.
As Ernesto was finally exiting the freeway, he saw a medical helicopter overhead. “Oh man. Somebody hurt bad,” he remarked. “I bet that Infiniti driver was drunk. You don’t drive like that unless you’re dead drunk!”