“What does that doctor guy even know? He lives a million miles away from Pig Park,” Josefina said. She meant Dr. Vidales Casal, the man who had come up with the idea to build a pyramid in the first place. “I mean, I looked him up. His website says he’s president of the Autonomous University of New Mexico, on top of being a professor and a bunch of other stuff.”
“What about the president of Mexico?”
“You’re not paying attention.”
“Let’s stop for a second,” I said. I stretched out on a nearby patch of grass. I kicked off my shoes and wiggled my stubby brown toes through the cool blades. I pulled a tube of chapstick from my pocket and slathered on the melted strawberry-flavored balm.
Josefina plopped down on the curb. She rubbed her scalp with one hand and her neck with the other. “My hair hurts. I’m done. I’m not coming back tomorrow.”
It was a punch to the gut, as if I’d stumbled into a pile of bricks. My chapstick fell in the grass and rolled into the gutter. I let it vanish into the sewer, and just stared at Josefina.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said.
“It’s hard not to.”
“I don’t want to come back. My mom pawned all her jewelry—even the stuff my grandma left her when she died— to help pay for this scheme. She used to stare at that stuff and cry herself to sleep. She’s probably never getting it back. I don’t even care anymore. Look at what happened with Otto,” she said. Otto was a boy she’d fallen in love with the year before. His father had found a job downstate just before the summer, and they’d moved away. “It makes me want to leave too. It makes me not care about a lot of things.”
I didn’t know what to tell her. I didn’t know anything about that kind of love. I wanted to—I wished I could meet a boy who saw me as more than his little sister— but that obviously hadn’t happened.
But I did know something about a different kind of love. Josefina’s words made me feel like I didn’t matter. I was a speck of pollen drifting past her. I wanted Josefina to care and to want to fight to stay together. I wanted our friendship to mean something. I didn’t say anything. We sat there in silence.
“Hot, hot, HOT!” Josefina blurted. She fanned herself with her hand. “It’s time to go.”
I stood up. I wasn’t ready to let Josefina quit. She just needed to give it time. “Think about it,” I said. Josefina shrugged. I pushed the cart to the grocery store for her, then stomped off in the opposite direction towards the bakery.
A boy I didn’t recognize rounded the corner from one of the American Lard Company’s vacant buildings. His eyes drank in everything around him.
He was older, but not a grown-up. He wasn’t dressed to work like the rest of us. He wore pressed khakis, a plain but tidy blue polo shirt, and carried a backpack. His skin was the color of toast.
Maybe he was lost. Although the company’s buildings blocked Pig Park from the expressway and any major roads, the train stopped right here. People still rode those trains from their crummy downtown jobs stapling papers and cleaning buildings to get to the neighborhoods west of us, then back downtown the next day. I’d seen those train cars bursting at the seams like Josefina in her gym shorts. It was possible to get off by mistake.
Or maybe he was one of the people who were supposed to come on account of the pyramid. Never mind that we hadn’t even built it yet.
I looked at the train stop, then the boy, then back again. I closed my eyes and opened them. The boy vanished. Maybe the boy had been wishful thinking or a mirage. It was hot enough for it.
I made my way into the bakery. I was downright delirious.
“This is nuts,” my mom said to my dad. I tuned them out and climbed the back stairs to my room, two at a time, as fast as I could.
I ignored the shuffle of footsteps behind me.
I sat on the edge of my bed and shook off each shoe without bothering with the shoelaces. Gravity pulled my socks off along with my shoes.
My mom paused in front of my bedroom doorway and took a few steps toward me. “Can I come in?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said. I lay back into my bed.
My mom crossed the length of the room and sat on my desk chair. “I see Colonel Franco’s been working you kids hard.”
“I don’t mind. I like helping.”
“I know you do. I have something so you don’t wake up sore tomorrow,” she said. She left the room and returned with a small white can. She pried it open and showed me the kiwi-colored balm. She dipped her fingers into the goop and dabbed the stuff along the outside of my arms in a circular car waxing motion. My skin tingled.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” she said.
“I don’t mind. It’s okay so far.”
My mom sighed—deep and profound. It dawned on me that maybe she wasn’t just talking about the bakery or the pyramid. What was she talking about then? And what was it with everyone? My dad had it right, belting out a song when things got tough. The man was more animated than one of those classic Disney movies these days.
“It’s okay,” I repeated to my mom. But I wasn’t sure it was okay. I lay my head on her shoulder for a minute. I put my hand over my mouth and yawned. “I need to change. I have to finish my chores so I can go to bed and get up early again tomorrow.”
“Leave the chores tonight if you’re too tired. I’ll take care of them.”
“Don’t do that. I just need a minute.” I pulled my pillow over my head until I heard the door close. My body would be fine. I didn’t know about the rest of me. I was hallucinating. Josefina was ready to jump ship. Now something was up with my mom.
I tried to think about something—anything—else. I stood up and channeled all my energy into my bakery chores. I washed the dishes, wiped the counters, swept the floor.
When there was no more cleaning left to do, I went back to my room and barricaded myself in. I drew the blinds in an already dark room. I braided my hair, washed my face, took off my jeans, and lay back down on my bed.
I picked up a magazine, flipped through it, and threw it aside.
I thought back and counted the loads of brick we sent to the park in my head. One, two, three, four, five... We would finish in no time at that rate. I couldn’t help myself. My thoughts shifted to the boy from the park. I’d only seen him from afar. He was sort of a blur by now, but I hoped that he was as real as me. The presence of a newcomer would mean things were actually turning around. And, honestly, with everything else, it felt nice to think of him.
My eyelids dropped like ten-pound sacks of flour.
Chapter 7
The heat of the sun seeped between the slats of the blinds, warming my face. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. The sun was high enough to leak through my window, which meant I was late—very late.
I threw on my jeans and ran across the street.
Our group huddled in the center of the park. I pushed my way in. Casey Sanchez stood at the center. She wore a cut up styrofoam bowl tied around her neck with a belt. The homemade neck brace pushed the meat of her cheeks up like two bulging slabs of menudo. “What happened?” I asked. “Did you fall down the stairs at home or something?”
Casey grimaced and moaned.
Colonel Franco shook his head from side