2. CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 2
ETHAN
“ D amnit!” I grit through my teeth and slam the wrench down, squeezing the fingers I just pinched.
Fonz laughs from the other side of the garage.
“Yeah, laugh it up.” I’ve been trying to get the chain back on my bicycle gear for an hour now. “I thought you were coming over to help me.”
Fonz licks orange dust off his sticky fingers before plunging them back into the Doritos bag and shoving more chips in his face, then says around a mouthful, “Yeah, but it’s so much fun watching you struggle.”
I throw the wrench in his direction, purposely missing him.
Fonz—well, Alfonso—and I met a few days after my family moved here. I had ridden my bike about a half a mile down the road when I came to another few houses and saw him dangling from a tree branch in his front yard. He landed in a crouch, like some kind of jungle cat, then shot his head up and looked right at me. “I’ve been working on that landing for weeks,” he shouted. “How’d it look?”
“Uh, good, I guess,” I yelled back.
“My mom says I’m gonna break my neck one of these days,” said the boy with the tanned skin and short-cropped auburn hair. I guessed he was my age.
I was right.
Fonz joined me on his bike that afternoon and we became fast friends. We take turns riding to one another’s house, or going on adventures out in the countryside. That is, we did, until my damn bike chain snapped and caused me to go tumbling onto the gravel on the side of the road this afternoon. I had to walk it back to the house, and garage, where we are now trying to fix it.
Or at least I was trying to fix it.
Fonz hops off the stool he’s been perched on and goes to adjust the radio sitting on the workbench. “Touch that and die,” I say without even turning to look at him.
“Oh, come on! You’re killing me with this country crap.”
“Don’t knock the country.” I pull the chain over the gear and try to line up the holes and grooves.
“Oh, why? You think someone is really going to think your tractor’s sexyyyy ?” Fonz teases as he swivels his hips like Elvis.
That has me laughing. There is something ridiculous about a Spanish kid dancing like Elvis to a country song. In fact, it has me laughing so hard I start swiveling my hips, too. Hands on my waist, I sing along. I do a twist-jump, and stop dead in my tracks when I see Ari standing in front of the open garage door. Her hand is on her mouth, attempting to hide a giggle. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail again, and she’s wearing cutoff jean shorts and a blue T-shirt that’s about three sizes too big.
I’m not sure what she reads on my face, but whatever it is, it makes her freeze. “S-sorry,” she stammers nervously, probably thinking I’m mad.
And she knows what happens when she makes someone mad.
I want to take that fear away—even if only for a moment. So, I prop my hands back on my hips and, doing a slow twirl, belt out, “She thinks my tractor’s sexyyyy” until I’ve turned all the way around to face her again.
I see a smile trying to peek out between her tightly closed lips.
“Uh, I wasn’t dancing,” Fonz speaks up from behind me. “I don’t even like country music. I’m not that dorky.”
Ari looks over my shoulder at him, then back at me. Turning sideways and opening my arms, I gesture for her to come into the garage with us. As she shuffles a few unsure steps in, I throw an arm around her shoulder and walk her over to the stool Fonz was previously occupying, and pat it a few times. She takes my hint and scoots up onto it.
“Ari, this is Fonz. Fonz, Ari,” I say as I go back to my bike.
“Nice to meetcha!” Fonz greets Ari in a weird voice. Man, that kid is awkward.
I roll my eyes and turn toward Ari. “Fonz lives down the road. He’s actually kind of fun to be around when he’s not being totally weird.”
“So, where do you live?” he asks Ari, and she just points to the side, toward her house. Fonz nods. “Do you like to ride bikes? Do you have your own bike?”
She doesn’t respond, and I realize that, in her mind, Fonz isn’t considered someone she’s safe around, since she doesn’t know him.
“Fonz has a three-year-old brother and sister. They’re twins,” I say. “Fonz’s dad works for the farmer who owns the fields on the other side of the block. He picks apples in the fall, and harvests the corn.”
Ari nods and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
“His mom works in the lunchroom at school. You’ve probably seen her. Mrs. …” I turn back toward Fonz. “What’s your last name?”
“Fuentes,” he answers, tipping the near-empty Doritos bag over his mouth and shaking out the crumbs. He crumples it up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “But the kids at school call her Miss Vida. That’s her first name.”
I see Ari smile. If she’s met Fonz’s mom, then she knows Miss Vida is the sweetest woman on the planet. She’s short and squishy and full of hugs, and she always smells like baked goods. She also has an accent that somehow Fonz doesn’t seem to have.
Ari clears her throat. “Miss Vida sneaks me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when she sees I’ve forgotten to pack my lunch, or when Lena and Papa won’t give me any money.”
I try not to react to Ari speaking, although I do note it’s the first time I’ve heard her use her stepmother’s first name.
“I’ll have to bring you one of her orange-cranberry muffins,” Fonz says. “They are”—he brings his fingers and thumb together on one hand and kisses them—“chef’s kiss!”
“That sounds delicious,” Ari says.
Fonz tosses the balled up chip bag toward the garbage can, and misses. “You got any pop? Those chips make my breath stink like the Prince of the Bog of Eternal Stench.”
“Better than the Goblin King,” Ari replies softly, and I whip my head in her direction.
“ You’ve seen Labyrinth ?”
She shrugs. “Axel has weird taste in movies.”
As I turn back to the bike, men’s dress shoes clack along the front walk, followed by my dad’s voice. “You better not be in here messing up my tools,” a stern command comes through the open garage door. All three of us turn our heads toward the sound.
There he stands. James Walker. Hands in the pockets of his khaki pants, square jaw set, eyes settling on me before bouncing over to Fonz, then to Ari, then back to me.
“Uh, Dad, you remember Fonz?”
Fonz gives him a pathetic two-finger salute, and my dad doesn’t even look at him. “And, uh, this is Ari. She lives next door. I’m sure you’ve seen her around …”
Dad does look at Ari, pulling his brows together. “Axel’s girl,” he says. “I think you shouldn’t be here hanging out with the boys. You should run along home, now.”
As Ari quickly scrambles off the stool, irritation creeps up my spine. “Dad,” I step in front of Ari to slow her. “We’re just trying to fix the chain on my bike. And listening to music. There’s no one else for Ari to hang with.”
Dad huffs out a breath. “Look, I just don’t want any trouble.” He looks at Ari. “Is your dad gonna be upset you’re in here with the boys?”
She looks at me for support, and I nod, so she turns to my dad and shakes her head.
“You lying to me?” Again, she shakes her head. “Good Lord, girl. Do you ever speak?”
“Yes, sir,” she says softly. “I mean, no. No, I’m not lying. He won’t be mad.”
“Alright, then. Just don’t stay too long.” Dad turns and starts heading up the walk toward the front door, shouting over his shoulder, “I better find all of my tools the way I left them.”
After he’s gone, Ari moves around me like she’s going to leave. “You don’t have to,” I tell her. “My dad’s bark is worse than his bite. He won’t bother us anymore.”
She curls her fingers around the bottom hem of her shirt. “Lena will be home from work soon anyway, and Papa’s TV shows will be over and he’ll wonder why I haven’t started dinner. And, also, I want to write a letter to my mom.”
Pulling my eyebrows together and my head back, I turn to look at her directly. “I didn’t know you were in contact with your mom.”
“I’m not. But one day I will be. When I’m old enough to drive, I’ll go to the hospital and ask to see my birth records. Well, I may have to go to a couple of the hospitals in the city. I’m not sure which one I was born at.”
I nod, even though I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.
Head ducked, she starts toward the open garage door when Fonz pipes up, “Hey, wait!”
She turns just as he takes three skips toward her, then flings his arms around her shoulders and squeezes. Ari turns her head and widens her eyes at me in question, with her arms pinned to her sides, fingers fanned out like she doesn’t know what to do with them.
Fonz pulls back, leaving his hands on her shoulders, and says, “It was really great to meet you, Ari. Miss Vida always has something fresh-baked at the house, so come over anytime. OK?” Ari sweeps another stray piece of hair behind her ear and nods while looking down at the floor. “I mean it,” he says. “Anytime. OK?”
“Uh, thanks,” she says, then gives me another questioning look—which I just shake my head at—and heads toward her house.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, I turn to Fonz. “What was that all about?”
Fonz folds his arms across his chest and watches Ari enter her house. “My mom told me about Ari. Said she missed a lot of school last year, and whenever she returned it was with bruises and black eyes. She often doesn’t have lunch. And she’s skittish, like a feral cat.” He shrugs, arms still folded. “I just thought she could use a hug.”
I grin. Maybe this kid isn’t so awkward, after all.
Later that night, flipping through the TV channels while Mom and Dad are arguing in their bedroom, my attention is pulled from their argument to yelling further off in the distance. I click off the TV and stand, walk over to the door, and slip my bare feet into my dirty sneakers. Before I open the door, I hear from down the hallway, “Fine, James. I’ll get out of work earlier, OK?”
Dad responds. “Thank fuck. Why did that have to be an argument?” Knowing their disagreement has been quashed, a small weight lifts from my chest.
Then I hear more loud voices coming from next door.
I head out, making sure to hold the screen door as it closes so it doesn’t slam, and walk toward Ari’s house. The light is on inside, and since it’s past dark, I can see right inside the big side picture window, as if I’m watching a scene from a play. It’s open, so I can easily hear what’s being said.
“Are you simple just like your mother?” Axel bellows. “What do you think happens to stupid girls who hang out in garages with boys? Huh?”
“Papa, it wasn’t like that,” she says firmly, but with her head bowed.
“Don’t talk back to me, girl!” he snaps, and she jumps back, even though he’s on the other side of the room.
“I just had to ask him something. I just had to ask him, um, where he got his bike. I thought maybe—”
“You have a bike.” Axel walks into the kitchen, then re-enters the living room with a beer can.
“The tires are flat,” she says to the floor.
“Well, maybe if you took better care of your shit, they wouldn’t be.”
“It’s not my fault.” I can barely hear her, but Axel must have heard loud and clear because, in an instant, he swivels and swings out, backhanding her across the cheek so hard she stumbles into a side table, knocking a lamp over.
I start to run toward the house but stop when hear a woman’s voice as Lena, I’m assuming, comes into view. “Axel, seriously? School starts next week. She can’t miss the first day and she can’t show up with a black eye.”
“Well, then”—he cracks open his beer—“you deal with her.” He plops down in the recliner, grabs the remote, and turns up the TV.
I see Ari scramble to her feet, and I expect her to run down the hallway toward her bedroom, but instead, she heads to the corner where a little cot is set up. She flops herself down, turns to face the wall, and pulls the covers up. She doesn’t even have a bedroom.
And I realize that my dad may be a dick, but he’s nothing compared to Axel.