The Crossroads

  To the refugees and immigrants who truly make this world great.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Are you sure I have to go? There’s only six weeks and three days left of school anyway.” Jaime twisted the straps of his new backpack around his hand. “I can help you with your work, Tomás, I know I can.”

  The large brown building seemed to have been dropped from space into a field of cacti and scattered bushes that the locals called trees. The glass gleamed from the windows and the stucco and brick walls still had that new, un-broken-in, graffiti-free look that made the whole building less welcoming. New in every way. But to Jaime Rivera, who was used to chipped cinder blocks and slatted windows that opened and closed with a hand crank, this school building looked completely alien.

  Tomás put an arm around Jaime’s shoulders but kept driving down the two-lane highway toward the solitary building in the middle of the desert. On his other side, his cousin Ángela shifted the new backpack on her lap to reach for Jaime’s hand.

  “I’m scared too,” she said just loud enough for Jaime to hear.

  They’d talked about it all week. Tomás and Ángela. Mamá and Papá back in Guatemala. Even Abuela had her one-minute say in it. Everyone agreed, “The children need their school,” and “They should be grateful for this opportunity.” It’s not that Jaime didn’t want to go to school. It’s just that going in August would be better than going now, today, in the middle of April.

  Today. Only a week after coming to live with his brother, Tomás. Only a week since he arrived in southern Nuevo México. A week since he and Ángela had crossed la frontera into los Estados Unidos.

  Tomás parked the truck in a big parking lot near the glass front door. These people really liked their glass. “Alright. The sooner we do this, the sooner you’ll see everything’s going to be okay.”

  Jaime didn’t believe him. He glanced at Ángela and then scooted out of the driver’s side door Tomás held open for him. With a second slamming door, Ángela got out too. At fifteen, she was going to a different school, one ten minutes away and in the middle of town. They’d driven past it yesterday when they’d gone grocery shopping. That school at least had character, with its old paint and holes in the fence. Not like this prison with its fence of pointed iron rods to keep kids trapped, as if there were anywhere to go from here.

  They walked together, Jaime clinging to Ángela’s hand again and Tomás leading the way. Through the glass front doors they came to another set of glass doors, which were locked. You needed to be buzzed in or have a special pass to get through those doors. Definitely a prison.

  All the paperwork had been filled out already, and there was nothing stopping the inevitable. Even the lady to escort him to his cell, a young woman with dyed maroon hair, was present.

  She entered through the locked glass doors in ripped jeans and at least three shirts layered over each other in a punk-rocker sort of way. “Hi, I’m Ms. McAllister. Do you speak English?”

  Jaime understood enough to shake his head no.

  This “Meez Macálista” didn’t miss a beat. She switched to decent Spanish even though she was a gringa. “Don’t worry. The Spanish teacher is sick today but I can help you out. Say good-bye to your dad and—”

  “Hermano,” Tomás corrected, and then continued in English as he held out a hand. “I’m his brother, Tom.”

  At his side, Ángela gave Jaime a look out of the corner of her eye. Tomás liked to show off that he spoke near-perfect English, but they were still not used to him being “Tom.”

  “Mucho gusto.” Meez Macálista shook his hand and continued in Spanish. “Let’s get him to class. You can pick him up at three o’clock outside the glass doors. Sixth graders don’t need to wait with a teacher.”

  Ángela wrapped her arms around Jaime as best she could with his bag protruding from his back. The bones of her back stuck out more than they should, more than they used to.

  “You’ll be okay,” she whispered in his ear with a sniff that held back tears. “I wish you could be with us to drop me off at my school.”

  Jaime let his hands dig into her spine and wing bones. “I’ll be there to pick you up.”

  Tomás hugged him too, and then he and Ángela left the office through the glass door.

  Meez Macálista let him watch until the truck was completely gone before putting a hand on his shoulder. “Come. Mrs. Threadworth will be wondering where you are.”

  She used a plastic card around her neck to open the locked glass door and walked down the vast hallway.

  “Unfortunately, our school district doesn’t have much money,” the teacher continued talking in Spanish. “It’s probably too late in the year to get you a special class to help you learn English, but hopefully, it won’t be too hard for you.”

  Nothing Jaime saw seemed to indicate they were a poor school district—they had plumbing and electricity after all. On the contrary, it was one of the most well-maintained buildings he’d ever been inside. It looked just as new as the outside, with shiny floors that would make you slip if you where only wearing socks, and walls without chips or dirt smudges. Next to each classroom was a large bulletin board with class projects on display—maps labeled with all the states of El Norte, essays in English written in the best handwriting possible, the kindergarteners showing off their capital and lowercase letters. When Meez Macálista stopped, they were in front of a door with pictures of science projects. Jaime gulped. He’d never been good at science.

  Meez Macálista knocked on the door and then entered without waiting for permission.

  Four rows of six desks were squeezed into the room, where all but one desk was filled. Twenty-three pairs of eyes stared at him like he was some kind of alien. He ran his hand through his new crew cut and felt the sharp spikes of too much hair gel.

  “Come in.” The teacher gestured with her hand as he entered. Her voice was deep, and with just those two words, Jaime knew this was not a teacher to upset.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  A few of the twenty-three pairs of eyes blinked and continued to stare at him. Which was the way out? Two rights and a left and he’d be by the glass doors? He wasn’t sure. Just as he wasn’t sure whether the glass door was unlocked from the inside.

  “He doesn’t speak English,” Meez Macálista volunteered, and then returned to Spanish. “Mrs. Threadworth asked what your name is.”

  Great. Now the owners of the forty-six eyes thought he was stupid as well as alien. “Jaime Rivera.”

  His teacher continued in English, “Where are you from?”

  He shifted from one foot to the other. If he told the truth they might guess he didn’t have any papers. But if he lied, he’d never be able to convince them he spoke good enough English to be from here. Back home, in his regular school, he’d learned some English but he wasn’t like Tomás and Ángela. Languages didn’t come easily to him.

  He understood more than he could speak and knew what Meesus had asked, just as he had the first question. He forced his mouth to answer. Just to prove to them all he wasn’t stupid. “Guatemala.”

  “And how old are you?”

  The panic rose more than ever. He was pretty sure he understood the question, it was the answering he wasn’t sure about.

  “Telv.”

  As expected, all twenty-three mouths burst out laughing. Jaime could feel his face burning and wondered if he’d accidentally said a bad word.

  The teacher said something that made them quiet down and then turned to Jaime, said something else, and pointed to the empty desk in the corner next to the window. He took the hint and squeezed his way to the desk. From the front of the room, Meez Macálista, his only Spanish ally, waved good-bye and left.

  The teacher
continued talking and writing things on the whiteboard. He didn’t even know what subject she was talking about. The eyes no longer stared at him but the kids also didn’t have books open that gave any indication of what was going on.

  Jaime glanced from the clock (only 8:52) to the window. Right away he noticed it was just a pane of glass—there was no way to open it. Back home the school’s slatted windows were always open during the day to let in light and a breeze. How he wished for a breeze.

  Outside on the ledge sat an interesting bug. Dark, six legs, and antennae. If he dared, he would pull out his sketchbook and draw the insect. Instead, he traced the outline on the desk with his finger. No, not six legs. Only five. One of them must have broken off.

  He was just adding pretend leaves to his drawing when the teacher dropped a book on his desk that squashed the invisible bug.

  The teacher must have said something along the lines of “read this” and then returned to the rest of the class. Jaime lifted the book but all he saw was an old metal desk. No bug drawing. And no more bug outside.

  The book was one of those first word books for babies that had a picture of something and then the word underneath. Except reading in English wasn’t exactly the same as reading in Spanish. At least he already knew that “or-se” was really pronounced “horse” and “beerd” was really a “bird.” Still, he kept at it through 9:14 and 9:39, until disaster hit. He had to go. Bad.

  “Meesus?” he asked while raising his hand.

  “Yes, Jaime?”

  “I go bat-rume?”

  She waved in the direction of the board and said something he didn’t understand but sounded like “seen out,” which didn’t make any sense. Maybe it was her who hadn’t understood.

  9:51.

  “Meesus? I go toh-ee-let?”

  This time what she said sounded more like “sign out” but he still didn’t know what that meant. He crossed his legs. 9:56. Time to be more blunt.

  “Meesus! Pee-pee.”

  The twenty-three mouths laughed and then the twenty-three pairs of eyes turned to sneak glances at him before laughing again.

  “Please sign out.” And again she nodded toward the board.

  10:02.

  He squeezed his legs tighter. Okay, “please” he understood, no problem. And “out” meant outside. But it was that “sign” word he couldn’t figure out, and the whole whiteboard pointing was a complete mystery. Maybe the outhouse was behind the whiteboard? But he remembered passing the bathrooms on the way to the classroom.

  10:09. He couldn’t hold it any longer.

  “Meesus!” He ran for the door without waiting for her response. But his movement relaxed his muscles and before he made it to the door, he felt wet warmth trailing down his legs.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was a while before Meez Macálista’s voice echoed into the boys’ bathroom. “Jaime? ¿Estás aquí?”

  Jaime didn’t answer. His pants were still wet and the laughter kept playing in his head.

  She left without checking the stalls and Jaime made sure his door was locked.

  Boys came and went every few minutes, sometimes talking with others, sometimes forgetting to flush or wash their hands. A few even spoke in Spanish. No one noticed Jaime locked in the corner stall.

  One boy came in a few times, but only to eat chocolate. Even without seeing him, Jaime knew it was the same kid. The crackle of the wrappers and the smell of chocolate gave him away each time. Choco-chico, as Jaime began to call him, had just left for the third time when Jaime was about to escape. But a herd of children stomped by outside the bathroom in loud voices and he lost his nerve.

  “Jaime?” Meez Macálista returned. Jaime ignored her. She called again, saying something in English before her shoes squeaked into the boys’ room. He lifted his sneakers off the floor so she couldn’t see him from under the gap. Her own shoes, hot pink with leopard spots, stopped in front of the stall. “Jaime, I know you’re in there.”

  He kept silent and still. Any minute she would pick the latch or look under the door.

  Except she didn’t. Judging by her shoes, she leaned against the wall in front of the stalls and crossed her ankles instead. “Please come out. It’s lunchtime. Aren’t you hungry?”

  Yes, he was hungry. Back in the classroom was his new backpack, which had his new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles lunch bag, which had a ham and avocado sandwich, a banana, a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, and a carton of milk. They had gone to a huge store the day before that sold everything imaginable, and Tomás had let him and Ángela pick out all their favorite foods. His stomach rumbled just thinking about it. So much for being quiet. But that wasn’t enough for him to come out. He knew what it was like to be hungry; he’d spent days in near starvation. Skipping one meal was nothing. It would take a lot more than a few funny noises from his stomach to change his mind.

  Meez Macálista seemed to think the same thing and sighed. “I can’t force you, but I’ve talked with your teacher. This school has a strict no-bullying policy so no one will say anything to you.”

  A snort came out of Jaime’s throat before he could stop it. He knew kids, and knew they would say whatever they wanted. He just wouldn’t be able to understand what they said.

  Meez waited. Maybe she understood what his grunt meant because she sighed after a few minutes.

  “I can’t stay. It is—” she paused as if she were trying to remember the Spanish word for what she wanted to say, “—not allowed for me to be here in the boys’ bathroom. If you want to hang out with me instead, my room is to the left outside the bathrooms, left down the next hall, and all the way to the end. You’ll hear the music.”

  Music? Did this mean Meez Macálista taught music? Did kids play the chinchines made from the dried gourds he’d seen along the side of the ranch road? Or was it just singing? He was about to ask when Choco-chico entered (the wrappers in his pocket were extra loud this time) and Meez Macálista excused herself before she got into trouble.

  Jaime waited for Choco-chico to leave before pulling out some toilet paper and seeing what kind of sculptures he could make out of the paper. Lots of things, apparently. By making small balls and snakes and licking his fingers to make the paper stick, he ended up with a zoo of animals parading on the floor by the time the toilet paper ran out and the final bell rang.

  Now was the time. He grabbed his two favorite paper animals, a horse and a dragon, and left his sanctuary, camouflaged in the crowd of kids with no one noticing him. Everyone talked and speed walked toward the glass front doors which, thank goodness, weren’t locked from the inside. And there, waiting among all the parents, was Tomás.

  Jaime rushed to his big brother and almost knocked him over by jumping on him.

  “Hey, good to see you too! Where’s your backpack?”

  Jaime looked down at his scuffed sneakers and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  It wasn’t a total lie. He didn’t remember where the classroom was.

  “Did you lose it?”

  Again Jaime shrugged.

  Tomás sighed and pulled out his phone to check the time. “Let’s go look for it before picking up Ángela. I can’t afford to get you a new one.”

  Jaime took a step back. He looked down at the state of his pants. They were dark blue and from his angle he couldn’t notice any stains. Tomás’s hand stayed on his shoulder, pushing him forward. After all these years of working as a cowboy and herding cattle for a living, Tomás didn’t seem about to let one twelve-year-old boy go astray.

  The teacher was still in the classroom grading papers. Jaime’s backpack lay slumped on his seat. Jaime dug in his heels, ready to bolt, but Tomás pushed him in.

  “Hi, I’m Tom Rivera, Jaime’s brother,” Tomás told the teacher in English.

  As they talked, both of them kept looking his way. He didn’t need to understand the words to know they were talking about him. They ended their talk with a handshake, and Tomás motioned with his head for them to
leave. Jaime didn’t need to be told twice. With his backpack strapped on and the two toilet paper creatures still in his hand, he was out of the classroom before Tomás.

  They were almost at the truck when Tomás spoke up.

  “Next time you need the bathroom, just write your name on the right-hand corner of the board and you’re excused.”

  Really? That simple? Then why hadn’t she said so!? Why did she have to use fancy words like “sign out?” How hard was it to beckon him to the board, have him write his name, and then point to the door. He was smart. He would have gotten it. Instead, she had practically ignored him as she waved vaguely in the board’s direction. Weren’t teachers supposed to know how to explain things so kids would understand?

  He ate his sandwich while they drove to get Ángela. The avocado had gone brown but it still tasted pretty good. Maybe a squeeze of lemon would help next time he made the—

  “Wait. What do you mean, ‘next time?’ I have to go back?” Jaime gasped.

  “Tomorrow. Education is a good thing,” Tomás said.

  “You didn’t finish school,” Jaime pointed out.

  “I did,” Tomás reassured him. “Once I got here, I studied for my certificate.”

  “But back home, lots of kids my age don’t go to school,” Jaime reminded him. Home. What he wouldn’t give to be back there where everything was familiar.

  “That’s because there’s no free transportation to get them to school: uniforms, books, and supplies cost too much; and parents need their kids to start working instead. In this country, kids are required by law to go to school.”

  “Well, maybe I don’t want to be in this country.”

  The truck bumped and banged as Tomás pulled over and slammed on the emergency break. The truck leaned dangerously toward the ditch on the right.

  Tomás unclipped his seat belt to turn and glare at Jaime. Gravity and surprise pushed Jaime against the passenger door. He couldn’t remember ever seeing his brother so angry. And scared. “Don’t even joke about that.”