Joyride (23 page)

He thinks of Carly then, of all the balls she has in the air right now dropping to the ground and scattering. Her parents. Julio. Her job at the café, at the Breeze. School, her scholarships. She was right. She was risking everything. Arden swallows. “What do you want from me?”

“It's an election year, boy. You've caused me nothing but trouble, all these fun little screwups I've had to cover up for you. And now you're running with a girl trying to smuggle her illegal parents over. What do you reckon would happen if the news media got wind of that? What do you think the good people of Houghlin County will think of it?”

“You want me to stop seeing her.” It's not a question. It doesn't have to be.

Arden feels gut-punched. Carly is his salvation. She pulled him from a trench he didn't even know he was in. She made him take a good hard look at himself and he found himself wanting. Wanting more for himself, for his life. Wanting to be more.

And wanting her.

But how can I hold on to her when she stands to lose so much?

The sheriff laughs. Sneers, really. “That's a good start, boy.”

A good start? What else could he possibly want? Arden lays his forehead on the cold hard table in front of him. “Dad, I just … I don't know what you're asking. What else do you want?”

“Let's just say ‘stop seeing her' is an understatement. You're to cut off all communication with her. I mean that if she says hi to you in the halls at school, you look the other way. If I so much as catch you smiling at her, I'll bring down the rain.”

Fury clenches inside Arden like a wound-up vise. Slowly he brings his head up off the table. “You bastard.”

“That's not all, boy, so keep your enthusiasm to a minimum until I've finished. I'll be needing a few other things from you as well.”

“Like what?”

“Did I mention it's election year? Your grades are piss poor. You dress like common trash. All that changes. You're going to talk to Coach Nelson about getting back on the team. Enough football and you'll sleep well enough at night. Which reminds me, curfew is at eleven p.m.”

“Why? Why do you have to be such a prick?”

His father shrugs. “Giving my son a curfew, encouraging him to join a school team, and telling him to dress nice means I'm a prick? I'll take it.”

“You're blackmailing me. What does any of this matter?”

“I'm negotiating with you. It's all about appearance, son. And I'd advise you to think very carefully on it.”

But there's nothing to think about, not really. There are a million reasons why he doesn't want to let his father get away with this and only one—the biggest one—why he's going to take this deal and run with it. That reason happens to have the longest eyelashes in the county and the idea of those lashes being soaked with tears makes Arden want to punch through this cinder-block wall.

The sheriff must mistake Arden's silence for hesitation. “You do all of this for me, Arden, and I'll drop the charges against Carly and Julio. Clean slate. I'll turn a blind eye when her parents arrive. We've already ascertained they have safe passage here. I won't deport them when they get here. I'll leave them alone, all of them, if you do.”

Arden stands, putting both palms on the table and leaning so that he towers over his father still sitting in the metal chair. “I just want one thing to be clear, Sheriff Moss. I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for her.”

Arden walks to the door and waits to be let out.

 

Twenty-Five

The rain outside hits the metal roof of the trailer like BB gun pellets. In the hall, even through my closed bedroom door, I hear the gravid drops of water hitting the bucket placed under our ever-present leak. It's been storming like this for the past two days, which I find so appropriate.

Lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling has become my favorite pastime these few days. I'm like a sponge teeming with oil; I can't absorb what happened. I can't accept that Arden and I are never going to speak to each other again.

My tears feel like razor blades running down my face.

I didn't have to tell him, didn't have to break his heart. I think his father already did that for me, saint that he is. No telling what he told Arden I'd done or said while I was being detained. Whatever it was, whatever he said, it makes Arden walk right past me in the halls at school every day, with sunken eyes and an indifferent expression.

And a silent mouth that used to cover mine with such eagerness.

I had this breakup speech all prepared about how I'm going to concentrate on school and accuse Arden of being a distraction and that getting arrested really opened up my eyes, put things in perspective for me. All BS, except for the perspective part.

I got perspective in one big overdose.

It made me realize that I've been slaving for the wrong things. That if I felt truly free, then I wouldn't have to do things to prove that I am. I've been slaving for my parents, for Julio, but never for me. I'm sixteen years old and have yet to experience a childhood. I've been robbed, and I'm pissed about it. And so when Arden came along and offered me an alternative to childhood, I took it and ran. And never came back.

But now it's over.

It's over.

Why is it over?

Could I have done something differently? Couldn't I have negotiated better with Sheriff Anus? How could I have given up Arden so easily?

Or maybe this all worked out for the better. Maybe I'm being selfish about the whole thing. Shouldn't I
want
to labor for my family? Shouldn't I
want
to do everything I can to bring them over? Who cares if I didn't have the greatest childhood? I have the rest of my life to make it up to myself. What's more important is getting my family back together. Right?

And, God, don't I miss my mother? Sure, she's asked a lot of me, but things would be different if she hadn't been deported. I believe that. I shouldn't resent her so much for something she couldn't help.

And where did all these tears come from? What, suddenly I'm a crybaby?

Over the rain I hear Julio talking on the phone in the living room. He's so happy these days, Julio. All his work is done. All his slaving. Or is it, I wonder? Will the esteemed
El Libertador
deliver on his promise? Or will he use my parents, my family, as one last way to stick it to me? Everything about him screams malicious. I think back to all the things I said to him, threatened him with. He'll retaliate somehow, won't he? How could he not?

It would be wrong of me not to tell Julio. Wrong of me not to warn him. After all, he looks at
El Libertador
like some sort of earthly savior. It's disgusting.

I sit up, using my shirt to wipe the tears from my face. I check the mirror on my dresser to make sure I don't look a mess and find out that I do, in fact, look a mess. But there's nothing anyone can do about swollen, puffy, dried-up wells for eyes. I lift my chin, and decide that even though I don't look like I should be taken seriously, it's still my responsibility to do what I'm about to do.

I make my way down the hall and into the living room where Julio is still on the phone with Mama. They're discussing which part of the yard they can use to grow a small garden, and they're talking about bunk beds for Juanita and Hugo.

I can't bring myself to interrupt. Julio gives me a wide, proud smile when he tells Mama that I'm saving up for a car and how a car will make going to the grocery store much easier. I try not to throw up in my mouth.

When Julio hangs up, I give him a few moments before I destroy his high. “How are Mama and Papi?”

“They're excited. Selling things they can't bring with them. Getting Hugo and Juanita used to dry meals.”

The situation is so sad, because they actually think these things are going to happen. It makes what I've got to do that much more difficult. But Julio deserves to know the truth. They all do. “I know who
El Libertador
is, Julio. And he's a bad man. You can't trust him.” Lovely. Instead of easing him into the conversation as I'd planned, I go straight for the jugular, straight for confrontation, telling Julio what he can and can't do—and this from his younger sister.

But I know what I know.

Julio's nostrils instantly flare. “You know we never did talk about your behavior the other night with
El Libertador
. I was too angry to tell you how disappointed I was in you. Carlotta, you could have ruined it for us.”

Did he not hear what I just said? Spanish or English, or even a mix of it when I'm mad, Julio understands it all. “I'm trying to tell you something here and you're still trying to suck up to
El Libertador
.”

“Watch your mouth, Carlotta. You will treat me with respect.”

I bite back another smart remark because, really, I want to treat Julio with respect. If anyone is the victim here, it's Julio. Slaving for our parents to bring them over while he could be starting his own life, even his own family. And getting stuck raising his baby sister in the mix of it all. Julio does deserve my respect.

But I deserve his too.

I know Sheriff Moss said not to tell anyone. But I have to. I have to get it out, what happened to me. What I lost. Except the person I lost is exactly who I want to burden this with. Talk it out with. My brother? He's a distant second choice by miles and miles. Not because I don't love him and we're not close in ways, but because Julio is too perfect. He has been a better person than I have from the get-go. He never would have even considered doing the things I've done these past couple of months. I can already see the disapproval dripping from his stoic face. He has always been there for me. We have come to rely on each other, he and I.

But this he will not understand.

Of course, it's not entirely for him to understand. The part that I want to make him understand isn't
why
I've done all the things I've done, it's what I found out while doing them. That the sheriff and
El Libertador
are one and the same. And he's going to royally screw us, I feel it.

And if there is anyone who is the best at keeping secrets, it's Julio Money-Saving Vega. “Julio, I have a lot to tell you. Will you just sit down please and let me explain?”

I can tell he's curious, and also sorry that he just scolded me. His remorse will dissipate shortly, I'm sure of it. He gives me a small smile. I'm sure he's feeling like the savior of the world, being able to talk with Mama about how he's made enough to bring them over, mostly by himself, and finished raising their child for them. I've never seen Julio so relaxed before. So … free.

Should I tell him?

But the answer is yes. It must be yes.

“Would you like a cup of coffee before we sit?” he says, walking the two steps it takes to get from the living room to the kitchen. The coffee is almost ready, and it smells good. But I don't want any charity from Julio, however small.

We are silent as the coffeemaker spits and spews and huffs the last of its load into the pot. Slowly and with a kind of majestic grace, Julio pours his coffee, leaving it black of course, because he needs no frills and thrills in life. He takes the smallest of sips, savoring it as if it were the gourmet-est of all espressos.

We buy it in bulk from a bent-and-dent warehouse across town.

Julio makes his way back to the living room and sits on the couch next to me, where I've settled into the corner and into a mild panic attack. “What do you need to tell me, Carlotta? If it's about your laptop, I already noticed it doesn't have the school sticker on it. But I've overlooked that, because you deserve a reward every now and then.” Julio wraps both his hands around his mug. “Though I wish you would have asked me. That was a big expense. What if I needed it for groceries?”

“I know. I'm sorry.” Wait until he hears what else I've done. But first things first. “
El Libertador
is Sheriff Moss.”

Julio blinks. “What? What do you mean?”

“The sheriff of Houghlin County? The one whose office deported our family three years ago? Yeah, he's
El Libertador
.”

Julio sets his mug on the flimsy wood coffee table in front of us. Some of the coffee sloshes out, making a ring around the cup. “You can't go around saying things like that, Carlotta. What would even make you say such things? If
El Libertador
finds out—”

“I've struck a deal with
El Libertador,
” I say. Ohmigod. This was supposed to be a delicate conversation. I'm handling this delicate thing as if with a hammer. “He'll give Mama and Papi safe passage. If I do what he says.”

“No,
I've
struck a deal with
El Libertador,
” Julio counters. “And if you've been talking to him since our meeting, then you've been putting my deal in jeopardy.” His brows knit together. Julio's freedom—the freedom that comes with everything going as planned—was short-lived. Deep down, I mourn the loss of it. Because this conversation isn't even halfway over. And Julio deserves freedom.

I shut up then, too, because he couldn't be more right.

I've put so much in jeopardy. All for a boy. But Arden's not just a boy. He's a piece of me that's been missing. A vital part of my heart that makes everything else function correctly.

I will never function correctly again.

“I didn't mean to meet with
El Libertador.
It's just that … I've been dating someone.”

“You've been dating someone, Carlotta? Without telling me? Without asking me?” His hand gestures are all over the place, erratic movements that get speedier the madder he gets. I get somewhat pissed that he's going to go there. He's not my father. Technically I don't have to ask. But our situation is just a little outside the Normal Box. “Who is this boy?”