TWENTY-ONE

Thomas turned onto Acorn Street and pedaled toward the Rodriguez house. Both sides of the street were packed with cars, from new and shiny to rusted out and nearly falling apart. Latin pop filtered out of the backyard, giving the whole block a party vibe. Thomas rolled up the sidewalk, climbed off his bike, and flipped down the kickstand. Voices filled the air, coming from inside and out, blending with a variety of rich aromas.

Above the open front door hung a giant pink banner. Feliz Cumpleaños, Maria!!! The letters were huge and glittery gold. An SUV with dark-tinted windows pulled up alongside the curb. The doors opened, and a pair of familiar faces materialized.

“Tee Dubya!” hollered Jameel.

“Thomas,” said Meng. “Good timing.”

“Hey, guys. What’s happening?”

The front window rolled down. Jameel’s mom materialized, a giant smile on her face. “Thomas! Come say hello.”

“Hi, Mrs. Johnson,” said Thomas. “It’s been a long time. How are you?”

“I’m doing great, sugar. How are you?”

“I’m doing great,” said Thomas. “Just—”

“Bye, Mom,” interrupted Jameel. He waved impatiently for her to go. “See you later.”

“Oh, come on now, Jameel. You’re not embarrassed by your momma, are you? Maybe I should take you inside, make sure you’ve been properly introduced to all of Maria’s friends?” She made a motion to open her door and climb out. “Just hold on a sec. I’ll be right there.”

Jameel’s eyes widened in horror. “No, Mom. Seriously, no. Mom!”

Mrs. Johnson leaned back and laughed. “I’m just teasing, baby. You boys behave for Mrs. Rodriguez, okay? And be nice to Maria. Jameel, Meng, I’ll be back to pick you up at 7:30.”

“Nice to see you, Mrs. Johnson.” Thomas waved goodbye. Mrs. Johnson had been his second-grade teacher and was still one of his favorite people on the planet. Her sense of humor was as legendary as her ability to make her students feel special and make learning a game everyone could win. Progress, not perfection, was her motto, and she celebrated every step forward.

“Thanks for the ride, Mrs. Johnson,” called Meng.

“Yeah, thanks, Mom.” Jameel looked relieved as the car rolled down the street. “That was too close. I thought she was actually going to come in.”

“She’d have been fine,” said Thomas. “Everyone loves your mom.”

“Unh-uh,” said Jameel. “No way. She’s been finding all kinds of ways to embarrass me lately. She thinks it’s good for me or something. But it’s not. At all.”

“It’s good for me, I’ll tell you that much,” laughed Meng. “You should have seen her at the mall the other day. Went right up to a group of the eighth-grade girls and told Carla Flores that Jameel has a crush on her. I didn’t know brothers could blush like that.”

“Man, shut up,” said Jameel. “That was not funny.”

“Oh, it was funny,” said Meng. “Very, very funny.”

Thomas laughed. “Come on, let’s head in. I’m starving.”

“Ditto,” said Jameel. He slapped Thomas a high five. “Do you smell that? Enrique said his mom was making twenty pounds of carnitas and old-school tacos al pastor. Not the pan-cooked junk. The kind they carve right off the spit.”

Thomas’s mouth watered. “Ooh, I love that stuff.”

“What’s not to love?” asked Jameel. “Seasoned pork seared to perfection. It’s magic.”

The house was full to overflowing. Maria and her girlfriends had overtaken the living room. A handful of boys from her school lounged on the couch, trying to act cool and disinterested, but looking up every few seconds as the girls laughed and danced. Two of Enrique’s older cousins slid past with plates loaded with meat and tortillas. Thomas waved as they walked past.

“Enrique!” shouted Meng.

“ ’Rique,” said Jameel. “What’s happening?”

“Hey, guys.” Enrique came down the stairs looking beleaguered and relieved all at the same time. “Man, I’m glad you’re here. It’s been estrogen central all afternoon. My mom was on fire. Don’t eat the cookies. Don’t touch the meat. Save the guacamole until everyone gets here. And don’t even get me started on Maria. She was wound so tight I just about—ah, forget it. Come on, there’s food and drinks in the backyard.”

Thomas followed the group into the backyard. The place was full of Enrique’s aunts and uncles and cousins. The next-door neighbors were hanging out, their cups full of colorful drinks. Margaritas, probably. Younger kids and older adults danced under a canopy draped with twinkle lights. Others gathered around the fold-up tables, eating and laughing. The music put everything into rhythm, made the gathering feel like a real party.

“Hey, Uncle Timo,” said Thomas. Enrique’s uncle shook Thomas’s hand, his thick mustache twitching at the ends. “Hi, Aunt Fabi. How are you?”

“Hola, Tomasito,” said Uncle Timo. “Mucho gusto en verte.”

“Igualmente,” said Thomas, wincing at his own awkward accent. “How are you?”

“Doing great,” said Timo. “Grab yourselves some food.”

“Come on,” said Enrique, ushering them toward the food. “You guys get food. I’m going to snag that last table before Maria and her friends come out here.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” said Jameel. “Look at that. It’s beautiful.”

Thomas had to agree. The al pastor rotated on a vertical spit with a flame running up the side, crisping the outer layer of the meat and putting off a smell that literally made his mouth water. He grabbed tortillas, smothered them with guacamole, and held out his plate. Enrique’s cousin Tommy ran a long knife down the spitted meat, sending a shower of seasoned happiness onto the tortillas. “Thanks, Tommy.”

“Aren’t you going to have some?” asked Jameel.

“Me? Nah. I’m going to stick with carnitas,” said Meng. “That stuff kind of freaks me out.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Jameel. “Pork is pork. Other than tasting less good, how is carnitas different from al pastor?”

“I don’t know,” said Meng. “That thing just looks weird, you know? Like it’s still part of an animal or something.”

“It is part of an animal,” said Jameel. “A pig. So is that.”

“Whatever.” Meng scooped a mound of carnitas onto his plate. “You eat your pig, I’ll eat mine.”

“Oink, oink, ooweeee.” Jameel’s pig sounds were surprisingly accurate, drawing looks from a number of the nearby adults.

Thomas laughed and headed to the back table. “You’re up,” he told Enrique.

Enrique hopped out of his seat. “Make sure Maria and her friends don’t steal the rest of the table. I can’t handle one more minute. All morning, I listened to them talk about this boy, and that boy, and this class, and that teacher. It’s too much.”

“What’d you say?” said Jameel. “Make sure all the cute high school girls sit at our table? Got it.”

“Yup, that’s what he said.” Meng looked at the door and made a come-over gesture. “Over here! There’s seats available!”

Enrique pulled Meng’s hand down, his eyes wide with fear. Thomas looked toward the house. Maria and her friends were nowhere in sight.

“Not cool,” said Enrique. “Not cool at all.”

Meng raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Sucka.”

Thomas and Jameel laughed. Enrique ran to the serving table at a jog, looking at the house every few steps. By the time he came back, Thomas had already eaten two tacos and was starting on a third. Jameel’s plate was empty, his mouth completely full. Meng was picking daintily at his plate with a plastic fork, eating one nibble at a time.

“You guys wanna head upstairs and play some NBA360 after this?” asked Enrique.

“Nah,” said Jameel. “How about we go to the park and play for real? It’s Saturday. There’ll be some ballers out there for sure.”

“Works for me,” said Meng. “You guys in?”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah, sure. Of course.”

“Not yet, you don’t.” Firm hands gripped Thomas’s shoulders. “The guerito owes me a game. Come on Tee Dub. The board is set. Are you ready?”

“I’m always ready,” said Thomas. “Are you guys okay waiting a couple minutes?”

“Don’t worry about them,” said Juan. “Worry about me and my mad chess skills. These chumps can watch and learn.”

Thomas followed Juan to the porch, where the chess table was set up between a pair of wooden deck chairs. They played with a thirty-second timer, snapping moves back and forth with speed and intensity. The first game ended in a draw, with Thomas barely escaping an early checkmate. Juan took the second game with a clever knight trade. Thomas squeaked out a win in the third, pinning Juan’s king with a rook and his queen.

“And that’s mate,” said Meng. “Time for some hoops. Let’s go.”

“No, no, no. One more,” said Juan. “For the tie-breaker. Come on.”

“No way,” said Enrique. “I’m not watching any more chess. Let’s head to the park. Juan, you want to come? That’d give us five, enough to jump into the pickups with our own crew.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Juan. “Let me put on my kicks.”

• • •

Thomas didn’t say his goodbyes until the sun was hovering just over the edge of the horizon. The party was still in full swing, but after three hours of basketball and another half-dozen tacos, he was tired, happy, and ready to get home. Besides, his mom had a rule about riding his bike on the streets after dark. Don’t do it. It wasn’t a terrible rule. Drivers with cell phones were dangerous enough in the daytime.

Thomas cruised down the street, full and happy. He passed the supermarket and cut through an office complex. Suddenly, there was a flash of olive, a glimpse of dark hair, a sense of strange movement. The world blurred, came back into focus. His bike clattered to the ground as strong hands gripped his shirt and yanked him into the shadowed space between buildings.

He tried to resist, to fight back, but his arms and legs were noodles, powerless to react. His body thudded into the wall. Wild green eyes stared between strands of tangled black hair. Eyes lit with a spark that burned even in the dim light. Thomas tried to look away. He couldn’t. Time froze. You broke the rules!

The voice was a whisper in Thomas’s mind, disconnected from the man’s unmoving lips.

Thomas tried to answer but panic sealed his mouth shut. He struggled, but the hands pressing into his chest were strong, unrelenting, the wild eyes blazing from a face streaked with dirt and grime. Thomas heard a soft clicking sound. A stream of memories flashed through his mind, snippets of the past few days played back and forth as if his brain were being used as a DVR.

The panic swelled. He tried to launch a kick. His legs refused to move. He let his body go limp, his full weight falling toward the ground. The sudden shift pulled the man off-balance. The hands pressed him harder into the wall. The eyes blazed.

Good. Now fight back!

Formless energy slapped against Thomas’s mind, a wave of darkness that threatened to carry him into unconsciousness. Something moved inside of him, fierce and unshapen. A fire sparked in his belly, burning a trail of liquid lava through his veins. He thrust upward, his hands slamming into the ribs of his attacker. Faint blue light shimmered in the shadows as the man shot back, his olive overcoat billowing around him.

Blazing purple light flashed, blinding Thomas for a fraction of a second. He flinched, bracing himself for another attack.

It never came. The man was gone.

Thomas jumped on his bike, panic-stricken, a single phrase hanging in the space between his synapses. Not bad. Learn a few things, and you might have a chance after all. The words were a whisper, the voice the same he’d heard in his head a moment earlier. He covered the remaining mile to his house at warp speed, nearly tumbling over as he skidded to a stop at the front steps. He looked up the street, his heart hammering and entire body wracked with shakes. There was no sign of the man.

Thomas sat on the bottom step and stared at his shaking hands. Even as he tried to piece things together, the details blurred and swam together. The voice, the eyes, the feel of the man attacking his mind, the fact that he and his bike had wound up between buildings two blocks away from where he had first turned.

Attacking my mind? What does that even mean? What the hell is happening? Thomas clenched and unclenched his fists, forcing himself to breath.

Slowly the sun dropped below the horizon, melting the blue sky with golden fire. Thomas sat still, watching a solitary cloud light up, its fluffy white folds tinted with purple, pink, and red. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his thinking before stepping inside. Soft music filtered from inside the house, the resonant voice intimately familiar. Andrea Bocelli, his mom’s favorite. An old sedan cruised past, a heavier beat thumping through its open windows.

Time passed. Minutes, maybe hours. Thomas’s phone vibrated. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the text. It’s getting late. Do you need me to come pick you up? He put the phone away and looked up. It was almost completely dark out. He took another breath, stood up, and headed inside. The door swung open with a gentle creak.

“Thomas, honey, is that you?”

“Hey, Mom.” He stepped into the living room.

She was sitting on the couch with her laptop. “I was afraid you were going to ride home in the dark. How was the party?”

“Great.”

“Just great? No details?”

Thomas shrugged and cleared his throat, not fully trusting his own voice. “I don’t know. There were a ton of people there. Maria seemed happy. Me and the guys played basketball. I ate like fifteen tacos. Mrs. Rodriguez told me to tell you hello. It was great.”

“All right, almost-teenager, I guess great will have to do.” His mom ruffled his hair. “Ugh. Sweaty again. Why don’t you run up and take a quick shower? When you come down, we can have a popcorn and movie night. Okay?”

“Can we watch the new Transformers?”

“Sure,” said his mom. “Now go on. Get freshened up. There’s no snuggling when you’re stinky. House rules.”