Silent (9 page)

Swinging my backpack over my shoulder, I increased my speed only the tiniest bit. Couldn’t let her have
that
much control over me.

Brandon and Dwayne were waiting for me outside the front door. I got a dirty look from Dwayne and a smug one from Brandon before we started off together, with Seb trailing a few steps behind.

My first real trip into the neighborhood, and it had to be to fucking
school.
Not that there was all that much to see in this part of LA, an area unimaginatively named Mid City. I guess the houses we passed were kind of cool, if you ignored the bars on the windows and the jalopies parked out front. No two were alike—and they looked old, like they had stories to tell. Once upon a time some of them might’ve even been classy, but they were jammed so close together you could practically flip pancakes in your neighbor’s kitchen. And there was still trash in the streets—a stained mattress at the end of a cul-de-sac—and graffiti along the fences.

Different tags than I was used to, though. Different gangs in these parts. God, I hoped I stayed off their radar.

“So I figured I’d be taking you around, showing you where stuff is…” Brandon said as we approached the ugly brick building surrounded by chain-link and barbed wire, “but that was when I thought you was a sophomore. You not gonna be around the same parts as me and Dwayne. Gonna be spending most of your time in the little freshman wing.”

Dwayne huffed a laugh. “Maybe he should go to school with Seb.”

I stared at the cracks in the concrete walkway. “Maybe you should shut the fuck up.”

“You one pissed-off dude,” he responded, shaking his head and stepping a few feet ahead.

Damn it, how was it that I always ended up the loser in these situations? This was all wrong. I knew how to stand up for myself.

But the moment had passed, and I just gritted my teeth and climbed the brick steps to my doom.

As promised, Brandon and Dwayne peeled off their own separate ways the moment we set foot in the blue and beige school hallway. Seb stayed outside, waiting for his bus by a lonely sycamore tree, while I leaned against the wall near the front office.

For all that I was surrounded by hordes of students, I might as well have been out there alone at that tree. I didn’t know any of the people who passed me, so all the faces merged together into a sea of brown and black. No José smiling up at me like I was his role model for cool, no Diego sauntering by to catch my wandering eye. Not even a Blanca to throw a lip-glossed kiss and let me know I was a desirable human being, even if the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Here, I was no one.

“Alejandro Alvarez?” A woman with freckles and long curly hair emerged from the office and stuck out her hand for me to shake. I didn’t take it. “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Ms. Morrison, and I’ll be your guidance counselor here.”

I arched a brow at her. “So you know Suzie?”

“Your social worker spoke to me when you were enrolled. I just wanted to let you know if there’s anything you need, you can come to my office, any hour of the day. The door is always open.”

My eyes drifted to her left hand, where she held a printed piece of paper. “That my schedule?”

“Yes, I have your classes here.”

“Then can I have it so I can go?”

She hesitated for a moment, trying to read me—probably wondering if she could push me enough that I’d crawl into her lap like some kind of pet.

Things might’ve been screwed up, but I still wasn’t that kind of kid. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d forget her name by the end of the day.

I held out my hand and spoke slowly, like she was hard of hearing. “Can…I…please…go?”

She sighed and gave me the schedule. “Homeroom is in room 17.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

I crumpled the paper and turned left toward the freshman wing. The school was a bit bigger than my last, but as Brandon had pointed out, I would be spending most of my time in semi-isolation. I supposed schools thought it was safer that way, so us freshmen could keep our innocence just a little bit longer.

Someone should have told them it was a lost cause.

The homeroom teacher looked me over with disinterest, smoothing her hair into her loose bun. “Alejandro Alvarez?”

“It’s Alex.”

“Fine, Alex. You may have a seat in the back.”

She didn’t give me a second glance after that, and for that matter, neither did anyone else. A few pairs of eyes slid over to me as I made my way to my chair, but then went right back to books, or to friends.

I slunk into my seat, spreading my hands out wide over the small desk and staring at them. My nails were clean—cleaner than normal—and less dirt seemed to have gathered in the creases around my knuckles. Maybe ’cause there was less soot in the air, away from the tracks that ran by my home.

Home.
As unenthusiastic as I was about school, if I’d have been home, I’d have had people to reconnect with during this brief period. I’d have had gossip to catch up on, or rumors of my own to pass along. Here, I had nothing.

I waited for a while, with both dread and hope, for someone to turn to me. But I couldn’t look like I was expecting it, so I studied my hands until I’d practically memorized every pore and hair on the skin. No hellos, no
ey cabróns
, no flirting smiles—at least not that I could see while I avoided eye contact with these strangers. Every nameless, faceless person around me seemed content to let me keep my position as the outsider.

And I was fine with that. I really was. I didn’t need them—or anyone, for that matter.

After about five minutes, I dug into my backpack and pulled out an old paperback—a required book at my old school. I didn’t know if I’d need it here, but I was that fucking bored that I actually began reading.

Might as well have slapped a stamp on my forehead: I give up on being me.

~*~

Somehow, I got through the day, though not without a splitting headache. Most of the stuff I was studying was the same, but there were new assignments, new testing schedules, and new papers to write. It felt like more work than I was used to, but that might’ve been because it was the first time I was worried I’d actually have to
do
it.

My mom never really cared how I did in school. She hadn’t minded when I was held back, and she didn’t often make time for those parent-teacher conference things. The most I got was a sigh and an
ay, papi, you should study more.
Her main concern was that I actually
went
to school, ’cause cutting class too many times could’ve gotten her in trouble.

But now I felt like there were at least
three
freaking adults who were going to be breathing down my neck. I’d seen the sisters interrogating all the boys on their assignments. Even though I was the only one in ninth grade, I didn’t think they’d buy the “nope, no homework today,” that my mom always had. And then there was Suzie, who’d come to see me the night before, telling me in her sickeningly soft-sweet voice that even though circumstances were difficult, I shouldn’t lose sight of the fact that an education was just
so
important.

What would be worse, pissing them all off, or actually doing the work?

There would have been an evil pleasure in getting them angry, to be sure, but it’d probably only make my situation worse. And it wasn’t exactly like I had a life anymore, so what else was there to do
but
homework?

The internal debate raged on while Brandon and Dwayne traded their school-uniform navy pants and polos for jeans and t-shirts. I congratulated myself on keeping control of my thoughts as they changed, though I sort of slipped up afterward, staring out the window to watch them toss around the basketball in the backyard.

Brandon looked good sweaty. And if he got a little sweatier, he might even have to take off that shirt…

The small bodies of Andrew and Ryan suddenly burst into the room, chattering with the energy and excitement that only little kids still have.

“Ms. Loretta says it’s your turn to help us with our homework.”

I turned reluctantly from the window. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Ryan’s brows shot up to his clean-cut hairline. “Ooh, you said a bad word! I could tell on you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Like you’ve never heard no one say that.”

“Still a bad word,” Andrew said, tugging his batman shirt down and puffing out his chest authoritatively. “And you could get in trouble.”

When
couldn’t
I get in trouble here?

“Fine. What do you have to do?”

“Our homework!” Ryan sang out. “We got to do our homework! We got to do our homework!” He danced around himself as he sang.

Kill me now.

I took them both downstairs to the dining room and dropped their backpacks on the table in front of them. “All right, then. Do it. I’ll…come back to check on it in a while.”

“But I need help!” Ryan protested before I could even take a step away, scrunching his nose and curling his lip to reveal his messed-up teeth. That kid really needed braces.

Andrew nodded solemnly. “Ryan always needs help.”

I shook my head. “But you haven’t even tried it yet. How can you know you need help?”

“Because I do,” Ryan whined.

“Jesus, just take the homework out and f—…and
try
it.”

Ryan huffed and finally dragged out his folder. “Okay, but I’m still gonna need help.”

I took my break upstairs. Seb had slipped in at some point while I’d been with the boys, and he was already hidden in his blankets by the time I reentered the room.

Lucky kid.

I stared at the back of his head for a minute or two, wondering if I should follow his lead, or go out back and quit being such an antisocial freak.

“
Alex!
I need help!” Ryan screeched.

I rushed back down before Ms. Loretta could leave the meatloaf she was making and call me out for failing at my duties.

“What? What do you need help with?”

The scene I came upon stopped me in my tracks: three paper airplanes on the floor, and Andrew making a goal with his thumbs and index fingers as Ryan flicked a crumpled wad toward him.

“Aw, you’ve gotta be f—”

“Bad word!” Andrew warned.

I took a deep breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You haven’t even picked up your pencil.”

“Duh.” Ryan rolled his eyes. “Because I need help.”

Dwayne wandered past, the smell of his sweat thick in the air. I pretended to be hard at work studying the outside of Ryan’s folder so I could ignore the fact he
had
actually stripped off his shirt. I wondered if Brandon had as well? Maybe if I could sneak back upstairs I could catch him out the window…

“Ya know,” Dwayne said, “it’s easier if you separate them. They never do their work when they together.”

Andrew’s eyes went wide. “But I need help, too. Who’s he gonna help first? My show’s on in thirty minutes, and I gotta be done to watch!”

“Maybe you shoulda thought of that before you started playing paper football,” Dwayne responded.

The headache I’d had earlier was gearing up for a sequel. Actually, I felt like I’d been in various stages of headache for at least a week now.

“Can you just take one of ’em?” I muttered, face buried in my hands.

“Okay.”

Dwayne’s reply startled me enough that I looked up. Fuck, he had way too many muscles for a sixteen-year-old.

“Okay?”

He shrugged. “Sure. I can take Andrew up and help him since you probably too stupid to help him anyway. But what’re you gonna do for me if I do?”

“Huh?” I blamed my less-than-brilliant response, as well as the fact that I’d ignored an insult, on the way the sweat coating his muscles gave them a brilliant sheen.

“I ain’t gonna do it for nothin’. I’ll take Andrew today if you mow the lawn for me this Sunday.”

“Fuck no,” was my immediate answer.

“Bad word!” Andrew trumpeted.

“Jesus, will you shut up!” Whirling around, I very nearly clamped a hand over his mouth. “Fine.” I jerked his chair back violently, and was pleased to see him flail from my efforts. “Take him. I’ll mow the f—…I’ll mow the lawn. Whatever.”

Dwayne dropped his hand on Andrew’s shoulder to lead him away. “Nice doin’ business with ya.”

Ms. Cecily came in just as I opened Ryan’s folder to get a look at whatever it was a first grader—or was he in second?—well, whatever it was a kid his age was supposed to have for homework.

“Afternoon, Alex. Is Andrew doing his work? You know that one likes to sneak away and turn on the TV before he’s done.”

“Mhm,” I mumbled, digging for a pencil in Ryan’s backpack and then shoving it into his hand. “Dwayne offered to take him.”

“Did he now?” She laughed. God, I really was the butt of everyone’s jokes here. “Well, you see that they finish up before Ms. Loretta has dinner ready. We havin’ meatloaf tonight, my favorite.”

I thought she’d had a few too many loaves of meat in her lifetime, but I just nodded so she’d leave us alone.

“Okay. So what all do you have to do?” I asked Ryan. He was doodling in the margins of a piece of paper he’d yanked out of his folder.

“Gotta write a paragraph about my family.”

“So…do it.”

“Yeah”—he stuck his tongue to the top of his crooked teeth and stared up thoughtfully—“but which family do I write about? My real one, or my foster family?”

Foster family
. My skin prickled with immediate rejection. No way was I part of any foster
family.

“Write about your real family, kid.”

“Okay.” He nodded, gripping his pencil. It didn’t quite make it to the paper, though. “I have a brother. Do you have any brothers?”

“Nah.”

“My brother’s bigger than you.”

“Good for him.”

“He plays football.”

“Will you please just write?”

“You don’t play football? Dwayne and Brandon do.”

“No, I don’t. And I don’t want to.”

“My brother Jordan was gonna teach me how to play.”