The breath was thin in Silvia’s lungs. “I would hate if anything happened to your family. Because of us.”
“And I would hate if anything happened to yours, because we were only thinking of ourselves.”
Silvia wanted to hug her, right then and there. And she might have if Keisha hadn’t walked into the room.
“Mom!” her friend chastised. “You aren’t really making her work, are you?”
“She volunteered,” Sharice said, stepping aside and gesturing at the bowls Silvia held. “And you’ve just been enlisted.”
Keisha groaned, but her eyes were twinkling when she took the bowls from Silvia. Together they filled up the cabinet again, but that was the extent of it.
“Now get out of here,” Sharice said, shooing them away. “I have important thinking to do.”
“Thank you,” Silvia said before she went. Which must have sounded random out of context, but Mrs. Hart seemed to understand.
They left the house and walked down a dirt road between rows of crops, Silvia lost in thought. This could work! The Harts were willing to take the risk and had done so before—and might be doing so even now, with other people. Her father would be safe here. And treated better than he had been at his previous job.
“I’m not going to lie,” Keisha said, breaking the silence. “I stopped outside the hall on my way back to the kitchen and listened.”
“What?” Silvia cried in shock. “Why?”
“Because I like you. In every sense of the word. So I was curious to hear how you got along with my mom, and the sort of things you would talk about with her. I was hoping it would be me, to be honest. A girl can dream, can’t she?”
Silvia remained tense. “How much did you hear?”
“Only enough to confirm my suspicions. I already assumed that your father was undocumented. Especially when he didn’t want to file for worker’s comp. Don’t be mad! We’re all of a like mind in this family. You’re in safe hands.”
Silvia’s first instinct was to lie or muddy the waters, since that’s what she had done for most of her life. Until recently. She’d taken more risks than usual. First with Omar, and again with Diego and Ricky when they helped her father, even though they hadn’t known the full truth. But like Keisha, they might suspect it now. The only difference is she wasn’t sure if they could be trusted. She no longer had those doubts about her new friend.
“It would fix everything,” Silvia managed to croak before speaking became too difficult. Her chest heaved as she gulped down air and fought against the urge to cry. Out of relief mostly.
“Then it sounds like we have reason to celebrate,” Keisha said, grabbing her hand. “If we run, we’ll be at the stable in less than five minutes.”
Silvia grinned before she took off in a sprint, still hand-in-hand with Keisha, who had no trouble keeping up with her. By the time the stable came into view, it felt as though her problems had been left somewhere in the dust behind them.
CHAPTER 12
March 10th, 1993
Instead of going straight to the cafeteria after third period, Anthony made a detour to the school parking lot, popped the trunk of his car, and took out a stack of paper. He’d been working up the nerve to distribute his article all week. The morning had provided him with extra motivation when Graham Fowler called him a faggot in the hall. Anthony would have said something back, if he hadn’t needed to grab Omar’s arm to stop his best friend from leaping into the middle of a pack of smirking apes. His indignation on Anthony’s behalf was moving, but neither of them would have lasted more than a few seconds in that fight.
The pen was mightier than the sword anyway, or so they claimed. He was about to find out. Anthony plonked the stack of paper down on the cafeteria table where his friends sat. “Who wants a copy of the Cullen Chronicle?” he asked.
“I do!” Ricky cried before accepting one.
“Sure!” David said, taking two copies for him and Dave. They seemed a little uncomfortable with the gay thing—Dave especially—but at least they both began reading the article.
Omar perked up. “Are you passing them out today?”
“Yup!”
“I’ll help you,” Cameron offered, already getting to his feet.
“Me too,” Omar said.
Anthony shook his head. “I want to do it myself. Otherwise, people who don’t know us might think that you’re outing me. I’m doing it this way to tell everyone who I am in person.”
“I can go with you at least,” Cameron said. “As emotional support.”
Anthony shot him a look of gratitude. “You’ve already done enough by helping me print it out.” Which took more effort than just pushing a button and letting the printer do its thing. For whatever reason, each page that came out was connected to the rest of the paper in the stack. They’d had to separate each along a perforated line before pulling off strips of paper on the sides filled with holes that the printer used to keep the ream moving. Computers were very very weird.
But the results were great! Anthony had one hundred copies to distribute. He grabbed the stack and began with the tables occupied by students from their grade, since he was more familiar with them, although he soon had to step outside his comfort zone. No matter how he felt inside, he didn’t let himself appear shy when handing out the copies. He made sure to tell people what the article was about, and why he was doing it.
“Hey there! I’m gay. This article is about me. The school doesn’t want you to read it.”
Plenty of people laughed or scoffed, but variations of that last line ensured that he got their attention. Anything adults wanted to keep from teenagers was instantly of interest. A couple of guys seemed especially nervous or quiet when accepting his article, which made Anthony hopeful that he was reaching the people who needed it most. Although that included more than just students who might be closeted.
He considered the table where Graham Fowler was sitting with his cronies. Anthony’s instinct was to avoid it out of self-preservation, but he wanted them to know that he wasn’t intimidated—even though he was, but not enough to deny the truth. He didn’t want Graham to catch wind of his article from someone else and assume that Anthony had been the victim of a prank. So he reminded himself of how he’d felt this morning, the anger motivating him to march over to their table.
“I wrote something special, just for you,” Anthony said, holding out a copy.
“Fuck off, homo,” Graham said, looking to his friends for support, who all laughed on cue.
“You guys will like it too,” Anthony said, waving the article in their faces.
A thin red-headed guy he didn’t recognize swiped it from him. “Have fun,” Anthony said, taking another copy off the dwindling stack. He held it out to Graham again. “Go on,” he said. “I know you can read and write or else you wouldn’t have been able to paint that big scary word on my locker. That’s part of the story, actually. You made the papers!”
Graham snatched the article from him and crumpled it into a ball that he threw at Anthony, hitting him right in the face. Which was irritating more than painful, but it still pissed him off, because the asshole could at least have read a line or two before deciding he didn’t give a shit. Instead he was grinning again. Anthony wanted nothing more than to wipe that smile off his face, so with his free hand, he grabbed a handful of soggy cafeteria french fries off the nearest tray and flung them at Graham. They pattered his face before falling into his lap. Graham looked down in disbelief. Then he stood while gritting his teeth.