“Take this too.” Words tumble from my mouth like a waterfall and I scramble to open a container with freshly baked star-shaped churros.
The sugary cinnamon hits my nostrils, and instantly, my mouth waters. Churros are my favorite. Sweet things are a treat we can’t afford, and with my birthday cake, Bianca was all too happy to point out my greediness in wanting them. But Mamá insisted we make a large batch.
Why am I giving some to this strange boy? He’s stealing.
I silence the nasty voice telling me not to share—that’s not how I was raised. If he’s here, there must be a valid reason. He does have a roof over his head and surely the Garcias must feed him, yet something tells me things aren’t as they seem.
The boy watches as I wrap the baked goods in a paper towel. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you need it more than I do.”
“I don’t need your charity, girl,” he spits as if biting into a rotten apple, and I step back.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean...I love churros. They’re my favorite. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like them.”
“Thanks.” He straightens, tugging at the waist of his jeans like it’s no big deal, but with the gratitude in his gaze, I’m guessing he thinks the opposite. “What’s your name?”
“Eva Ramirez.” My name has barely left my lips when I follow fast with a question of my own, afraid he won’t answer again. “What’s yours?”
“Jared. Jared Grange.”
“Hi, Jared. It’s nice to meet you.” I extend my hand.
His eyes widen and eyebrows rise at my polite gesture as if I’m an alien. Heat climbs up my neck and he chuckles. Even at my expense, the sound warms my insides, as his large, strong grip swallows my small hand.
“You live with the Garcias?”
He nods, shoving the rest of the empanada in his mouth. “You make this?”
If I wasn’t proud of my part in the cooking, I’d say something about how rude it is to talk with his mouth full. Instead, I beam.
“Yes. Do you want more?”
Why am I offering when he already has more than enough? We made a lot for the party, and the little he’s taken will go unnoticed, but any more and someone may ask questions.
“Nah, I’m good. I gotta go.” He hikes up a shoulder and turns on his heel.
“Wait, um…are you…do you, ah…” I trip over my tongue, nerves tangling my brain and insides.
He cocks an eyebrow, resting his hip against the counter, and waits, staring. The corner of his lips twitch upward, as if amused with my awkwardness.
I channel my older sister, Bianca, and how cool and confident she is with boys. “See ya.”
“Yeah, see ya around, kid.” He dips his chin and in a blink, the doorway is empty.
I forgot to ask why or how he broke in or tell him not to do it again. What he did was wrong, but I won’t tell a soul. His secret is safe with me.
“Eva, come help clean the bathrooms! Mamá didn’t say take a break!” Bianca’s aggravated tone pulls me from my thoughts.
I lock the back door, double check it’s secure, and place the food on the tray before heading upstairs. My mother lies on the bed, a cool washcloth over her forehead.
“You okay?” I crawl onto the mattress and snuggle into her warmth.
Bianca glowers from the door to the bathroom, yellow rubber-gloved hands on her hips. She likely thinks I’m kissing up, trying to get out of chores. I’m not.
“I’ll be all right, mi pequeña.” My mother strokes my hair affectionately. “It’s been a long day. I’m tired and need a nap before tonight. We will have so much fun.”
She tries to inject enthusiasm into her tone, but fatigue overshadows her efforts.
My sister marches to the bed and smacks my butt.
“Come help. I’ve still got to shower and do my hair and makeup.”
“Ow.” I jump at the sharp sting and accidentally disturb my mother, who moans and grasps her aching head.
“Girls.” My father stands in the doorway, all of his five-foot-five stature displeased. “Go. Leave your mother.”
“Sorry, Papi,” we say in unison, and I gingerly climb off the bed.
I rub at my backside and stick my tongue out at my sister, making sure my father isn’t looking. Bianca does the same and we giggle, shutting the bathroom door.
My party is a smashing success, and like my mom promised, a lot of fun. We ate, danced, and laughed, and even as Bianca and I clean up the mess, I can’t help but smile.
“I’m going out.” She tosses the sponge in the bucket. “Tito is waiting for me.”
She’s sixteen, closer to seventeen, and a rule breaker.
“What?” I glance down the dark hallway, making sure Papi has gone to bed. “It’s late. You’ll get in trouble—”
“No, not if you keep your mouth shut and cover for me.” She looms over me, and I want to laugh.
She has, at most, an inch on my five-foot-two frame. I won’t be intimidated. Grabbing the bucket, I trudge to the laundry sink. The kitchen is clean and all that’s left is to dispose of the dirty water and the trash.
“And how am I supposed to cover for you?” I flick the light on and hoist the bucket to the basin.
“Lock the bathroom door, and if Papi comes in, tell him I’m not feeling well. I doubt he will. They’re sleeping and he has an early start tomorrow.”
She has used the sick ruse before, without my help, and gotten away with it. Something tells me she won’t be so lucky the second time around, but she can find out on her own.
“I want nothing to do with this.” I wipe my damp hands on my jeans and tuck the bucket into the corner.
“Eva, I busted my ass to help make your party as fantastic as it was. This is the least you could do.”
“And here I thought you did all that because you were a caring sister.” I can’t resist my sarcasm.
“Look at it this way, I’ll owe you.”
Quirking a brow, I’m skeptical, cocking my hip to one side. “I’ll never get what’s owed to me.”
It isn’t because she won’t repay the debt but because I will never need her to cover for me.
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss the offer. You’re going into high school. It’s different. You’d be surprised at what you may do.”
Her words give me pause. Bianca’s rebellion or need for independence or whatever you want to call it did start with high school. She has changed. But we aren’t alike.
“Eva, don’t be such a baby.”
“Fine.” Jaw clenched, I make my way up the stairs.
My long hair sticks to the back of my neck, and I gather it into a messy knot at the base of my skull. Exhausted and now grimy, I want a quick rinse off and then bed.
Piano practice with Mrs. Hernandez is first thing in the morning, and then I’m babysitting the Sanchez twins for most of the day. I better get some sleep.
After my shower, I’m cooler but now wired, sleep nowhere in sight. On my twin bed in the room I share with Bianca, the moonlight illuminates the dancing shapes of leaves and branches on the ceiling.
A gentle breeze floats, warm and thick, into my room, and a light whisper of the trees mingles with the distant sounds of voices, car engines, and horns. A loud thwack of metal startles me.