The Skirt, Page 2

  “But it’s true.”

  Miata looked at Ana in a funny way. “Whose side are you on?”

  Ana smiled and answered, “Yours, of course.”

  But Ana was thinking of her own things that Miata had lost. She had lost two erasers, some marbles, a rubber ball, a favorite pretty feather, the glittery magic wand from her Tío Benny, a magnifying glass from a cereal box—things now lost in the wide, wide world.

  “Good. Because you’re going to help me get my skirt back.”

  “Me?” asked Ana, her shoulders hunched slightly. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Just do what I do,” Miata told her.

  They went inside the library. The canary behind the desk was beating its tiny beak against a silver bell. The noise didn’t seem to bother anyone.

  Neither did the constant hum of the drinking fountain. The two of them stepped on the fountain’s pedal. The water sprang up, nearly hitting Miata in the face.

  “Watch it,” Miata screamed, jumping back.

  The librarian looked in their direction. She raised a finger to her pursed mouth. It meant to be quiet.

  The girls stopped at a world globe. They spun it. For a few seconds they were dizzy as they saw Africa, Europe, and the Americas spin before their eyes.

  “My father and mother are from here,” Miata said, tapping northern Mexico. “From Sonora.”

  “My parents were born in L.A. But my grandfather is from here,” Ana said, tapping the state of Guerrero. “We went there once. I thought it was going to be hot, but it wasn’t.”

  They gave the globe a spin and left the children’s corner. They ventured into the reference room. A man wearing large earphones was listening to English tapes. He was an old man with leathery skin, a Mexicano. The man was quietly saying the words “dust, rocks, suitcase.”

  Miata and Ana checked out four books each and left the library. Instead of heading home, they walked in the direction of the school parking lot.

  Miata was getting scared, and Ana was already scared. They felt like thieves.

  “It’s like stealing,” Ana said.

  “No, it’s not,” Miata countered. “It’s my skirt.”

  “What if someone sees us?”

  “Who?”

  They stopped in their tracks when they saw Rodolfo, the boy with green eyes. They pressed themselves against a tree as Rodolfo rode by on his bike. His knees were grass-stained. His hair was tousled.

  “He almost saw us,” Ana whispered.

  “He’s nothing but a big bother,” Miata said. For a second she recalled his perfect score in math. Next time she was stuck on a problem she would seek him out.

  They watched him jump a curb. He pushed his hand into his pocket for a fistful of sunflower seeds. When he turned the corner Miata and Ana came out from behind the tree.

  “That was close.” Miata sighed. “Let’s go.”

  They rushed up the street, their library books pressed into the crooks of their arms.

  They slowed to a walk when they saw a German shepherd. They were scared of dogs. The German shepherd was carrying an orange tennis ball in its mouth.

  Miata looked around. “Do you see his owner?” she asked.

  “No,” Ana answered. “He looks nice, doesn’t he?” Ana relaxed because this dog looked friendly. He had started to wag his tail.

  The dog went the other way, the orange ball still in its mouth. The girls watched the dog disappear and then started walking fast again.

  They arrived at the school parking lot. It was surrounded by a tall chain-link fence. Miata and Ana put down their books and clung to the fence, looking in. Three large buses stood huge as billboards.

  Miata and Ana looked around. The street was quiet except for a breeze in the sycamore trees. They rattled the locked gate.

  “We can squeeze through,” Miata said.

  “Someone is going to see us,” Ana said. She looked around, biting a fingernail. She saw a boy playing catch by himself on a front lawn.

  Just then a car passed on the street. Ana wanted to run away. But Miata grabbed her wrist.

  “Don’t panic. Just do what I do,” Miata whispered. The two of them pretended to be tying their shoes.

  “Come on,” Miata said when the car disappeared. “It’ll just take a second.”

  “You go first,” Ana said.

  “Okay,” Miata said. She groaned as she squeezed her body through the opening. First her head went in, then her foot, her shoulders, and, finally, her other foot.

  Since Ana was smaller she slipped through the gate easily. But she had to slip back out. They had left their library books outside the gate.

  “That’s all we need,” Ana said, passing the books to Miata. “We’d be in trouble for sure if we lost them.”

  They were now inside the gate. In one of the buses, they hoped, was the skirt that could save Miata from a scolding.

  The three yellow buses were too tall. Miata and Ana leaped up and down like frogs, but they couldn’t see inside.

  “I can’t see a thing,” Miata said.

  Ana wrote her name in the grime that clung to the side of the bus. ANA MADRIGAL. Then she erased it with her hand. She knew that her name shouldn’t be there.

  “What are we going to do?” Ana asked Miata as they walked around the first bus. Ana stopped to kick the tire, and hurt her big toe.

  “Easy,” Miata said. “I’ll look in from the window.”

  “How?” Ana asked. She craned her neck. The windows were too high.

  Without answering, Miata boosted herself onto the fender. She started climbing onto the hood of the bus. The climb was as slippery as going up a slide the wrong way. The hood buckled and popped. The noise seemed deafening.

  “You’re making too much noise,” Ana hissed. She looked around. She saw a car passing slowly on the street. Its radio was too loud for the driver to hear them.

  Miata knew she was making a lot of noise. She didn’t know what to do except to climb faster. Once on top, she cupped her hands around her eyes. She peered through the dusty and insect-flecked windshield. She saw a math book, a crushed lunch bag, gum wrappers, and a pencil in the aisle.

  “Do you see it?” Ana asked in a whisper.

  “No,” Miata answered flatly. She had scanned the inside of the bus, but saw nothing that looked like a skirt. She slid down the hood, nearly face first, to the ground. She brushed the gravel off her hands and ordered, “Let’s check the next one.”

  Again Miata climbed onto a bus and gazed in. This time she saw a sweater, a baseball cap, and a smashed milk carton in the aisle. For a moment her heart fluttered because she thought she saw her skirt. But it was only a jacket on the floor.

  “Do you see it?” Ana asked as she looked around nervously. Two more cars passed. A diesel truck was rumbling up the street. Black smoke rose from its shiny chrome exhaust pipes.

  The truck driver waved at Miata. Not knowing what to do, she waved back. “The driver saw us,” she told Ana. She grew nervous and started climbing down.

  “He saw you?” Ana asked in a loud voice. She turned around and saw the diesel truck rumbling away. Its taillights were dusty red. “Do you think he’s going to call the police?”

  “Nah,” Miata answered. “Give me some room.”

  Miata slid down the hood. This time she fell on the gravel and skinned her knee.

  “Ay!” she screamed. Blood the color of pomegranate juice began to rise to the surface of her skin. She hobbled on one leg, her face pinched from pain. Miata stopped and took a long breath. She pressed a thumb to the scrape and counted to ten.

  “Are you all right?” Ana asked. She examined the scrape. A worry line rippled her brow.

  “I’m okay,” Miata answered, and counted in a whisper, “… ocho … nueve … diez.” The blood had stopped flowing. She rose to her feet and said, “It’s gotta be in that last bus.”

  Ana marched alongside a hobbling Miata. They were going to search the third bus.

>   “Let me look,” Ana demanded.

  Miata was surprised. She knew that Ana was scared of heights. Scared of the dark. Scared of dogs, cats, and thunder. Ana was scared of everything, it seemed to Miata.

  Ana boosted herself onto the fender. She strained and grunted. The muscles in her skinny arms shivered. Her knees got dirty and hurt from pressing into the metal.

  “You’re almost there,” Miata encouraged. “Keep going.”

  Ana climbed onto the hood and looked in through the windshield. She saw a book, a paper cup, and gum wrappers on the floor. Then she screamed, “It’s there! In the back.”

  “You see it?” Miata yelled.

  “Yeah!” Ana hollered.

  In her excitement Ana lost her balance and rolled off the hood. Luckily she landed on her feet, just like a cat.

  “That was cool,” Miata said. “How did you do that?”

  “I don’t know,” a dizzy Ana said. “How are we going to get in?”

  “Easy,” Miata answered. “You’re going to squeeze your arm through the door and pull the lever that opens it.”

  “Me?” Ana asked, her eyes big.

  “Your arms are smaller. You can do it.”

  Ana shrugged her shoulders and walked over to the door. She pushed her arm through the rubber gasket. Her fingers reached and reached for the lever.

  “You can do it,” Miata encouraged again.

  Ana reached until her arm hurt from stretching. When her hand clasped the lever, she pulled and yanked. And Miata pulled and yanked on Ana.

  The lever gave, and the door opened with a sigh.

  “¡Qué bueno!” Miata cheered, hugging her friend. They smiled widely at each other.

  Ana looked at the black marks on her arm. She rubbed the black off and said, “I’m going to take a bubble bath tonight.”

  Miata marched inside and snatched her skirt off a seat. She pressed it to her waist and twirled, so that the skirt fanned out. She said to herself, “It’s so pretty.”

  As she started to leave, Miata heard the sound of a car. Her heart leaped like a fish. Did someone see them? she wondered. Through the windows of the bus she saw her father’s truck. He was with a man in a checkered shirt who was unlocking the gate.

  “¿Qué pasó?” she said to Ana as she hurried off the bus.

  Miata’s father revved the truck’s engine, shifted into first gear, and slowly entered the unlocked gate. Bluish smoke coughed from the tailpipe.

  The man in the checkered shirt locked the gate behind him. “That one over there,” he bellowed. He pointed to the bus where Miata and Ana cowered.

  Miata gripped her skirt and library books. Ana gripped Miata’s hand in prayer. They tiptoed to the front of the bus, where they were out of sight.

  The truck sounded like a tank as it moved toward the bus. Miata’s father turned off its engine. The door opened with a squeak and then slammed closed. Heavy footsteps crunched against the gravel.

  “What are they doing here?” Ana asked, biting a knuckle.

  “I don’t know,” Miata answered. “Let me see.” She peeked from behind the fender. Her father was putting on his heavy work gloves. The other man was tapping a flashlight against his thigh.

  “Do you think we should surrender?” Ana asked. “They’re going to find us.”

  Miata shook her head and pulled on Ana. They hurried to the far end of the parking lot and hid behind a row of big oil drums. They watched the men unload welding equipment from the truck. Miata’s father looked under the bus.

  The man in the checkered shirt said, “Looks like someone was monkeying around here.” He looked about the yard and kicked the loose gravel. A pebble ticked against one of the oil drums.

  “He knows we’re here,” Ana whispered. Her small shoulders twitched like wings.

  “They can’t see us,” Miata whispered back.

  Miata’s father popped the welder. A blue flame shot out. He adjusted the flame, lowered his goggles, and crawled under the bus. The bus was old and squeaky when it bounced on the road, and the frame was cracked from the weight of kids and time. A few sparks kicked against the ground.

  “I’m scared of that noise,” Ana whined. She pressed her hands to her ears. A single tear crawled down her cheek.

  “Don’t cry,” Miata said. She held hands with Ana, who wiped away the tear.

  Miata thought about that morning’s breakfast. She remembered how her father had talked about a small job. Her father was always doing small jobs. He would weld broken bicycles, tractors, trailers, and farm equipment. He welded on Saturday, his day off.

  “We’ll wait until Dad’s finished,” Miata told Ana. “It won’t be long.”

  They spread the skirt on the ground. The two of them sat on it, hugging their knees. The two friends had a history of experiencing similar trouble. They had both locked themselves out of their houses. They had both climbed trees and couldn’t get down. They had both played with matches and burned their fingers. And they hadn’t told anyone but each other.

  But hiding from grown-ups in a parking lot was something new. They were both ready to cry, when they heard a slurping sound behind them.

  They looked up through moist eyes. At the fence was Rodolfo. He was sipping a Coke through a straw. His hair was combed, his cheeks red as cinnamon red hots. He was on his bike and clinging to the fence.

  “What are you guys doing?” he asked calmly. His slurping was nearly as loud as the welding. He let out a polite burp.

  Miata and Ana were shocked to see him. “We’re hiding,” Miata whispered. “Be quiet.”

  “How come?” he asked. “You guys playing a game? Can I play?”

  “No, we’re not playing a game,” Miata whispered angrily.

  “We’re in trouble because of you!” Ana snapped. “If you had left Miata alone, she wouldn’t have forgotten her skirt on the bus.”

  “That’s why you’re hiding?” he asked. Rodolfo thought for a moment, then he suggested, “Why don’t you crawl out here?” He pointed to a hole in the fence partially hidden by yellowish weeds.

  Miata and Ana looked at each other. Their eyes were big with hope. They got to their feet.

  Miata peeked over at her father and the man in the checkered shirt, who was unloading a heavy toolbox from the truck.

  “You first,” Miata said, turning to Ana. “I’ll take your library books, and you take the skirt.”

  “I’m scared,” Ana said.

  “Don’t be,” Rodolfo said. “I’ll give you some of my soda if you do it.”

  “I don’t want any of your soda,” Ana said. She sneered at Rodolfo. “I have plenty at home.”

  Ana breathed in deeply three times. Then she dashed for the hole, leaping over a stack of lumber. Miata followed closely, library books tucked under her arm like a football.

  They heard someone shout, “Hey.” It was the man in the checkered shirt. He dropped the toolbox and scattered the tools. The man cursed under his breath. He had dropped a heavy wrench on his big toe.

  “Stop, you kids,” he hollered.

  But Miata and Ana didn’t stop. They scrambled through the hole and didn’t look back. They raced up the street alongside the shadow of Rodolfo’s bike.

  Miata and Ana ran to the library, where they tossed themselves on the lawn.

  “That was close,” Miata said after she caught her breath. Her cheeks were red, and her hair had come loose.

  “Yes, that was close,” Ana breathed. She was exhausted but relieved to get away.

  They lay on their backs and stared at the blue sky, where high in the distance an airplane was a black speck against a white puff of cloud. They felt their heartbeats slow to a gallop and their breathing return to normal.

  Rodolfo did figure eights while they rested. He was showing off by riding with his eyes closed. He hit the curb and sailed over the handlebars with his arms stretched out. He looked like Superman. But unlike Superman, he crashed with an “Ouch.”

  Miata and Ana s
at up and asked, “Are you all right?”

  “It didn’t hurt,” he said as he got up and dusted off his pants. A bump began to rise immediately on his forehead.

  “Are you sure?” Miata asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. He walked his bicycle over and sat on the grass with them. The bump was pink and shiny and hot when Miata touched it. Ana made a face. She touched the bump too, but pulled her fingers away quickly.

  “Isn’t that your mom?” Rodolfo asked.

  Miata and Ana followed Rodolfo’s gaze. The woman leaving the library with an armful of books was Miata’s mother. She was walking with a friend.

  The three kids were sitting on the lawn in plain view. There was no escape.

  “Hide,” Miata whispered.

  “Hide?” Ana asked.

  “Just pretend you’re asleep,” Miata said. She lay down, opened a book, and placed it over her face. Miata was staring at a mouse. One of the books she had borrowed was about a mouse that had moved from a wheat farm to New York City.

  Ana and Rodolfo did the same. Ana lay still, but Rodolfo was giggling behind his book. His body shuddered from laughter.

  Ana shivered like a leaf. She was scared of getting caught.

  They heard footsteps on the sidewalk and then the voices of adults. Miata’s mother and her friend were talking about the Sunday dance.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Miata’s mother said. “Miata plays so hard, and her legs are always full of scratches.”

  “Kids are so hard on their clothes,” her mother’s friend said. “I had to buy my daughter two pairs of shoes, and …”

  Miata thought about the new scrape on her knee. It was true. She was always falling off the monkey bars or tripping over the garden hose, sliding into second base and coming up hurt, or climbing a fence and coming down face first. And it was true that the asphalt tore up her shoes. Her new shoes were only a month old, but they already looked like her old shoes.

  They heard a car door open. A few seconds later the engine started up with a roar. When the car backed out of its parking space, the three kids looked up.