Efrain's Secret by Sofia Quintero Page A

this girl?”
    “I’m feeling her.”
    “I mean, you trying to get to know her, or you trying to get to
know her
, know her?”
    “Know her, know her.”
    “’Cause if you ain’t really feeling Candace, if you ain’t trying to get to know her like
that
, then leave that girl alone, E. But if you’re really feeling her, if you think she’s worth it, then figure out a way to let Ma Dukes
know
you.”
    That makes sense. And I do think Candace is worth it. I just have no clue how to win over her moms.
    My silence must speak volumes because, without my asking, Chingy says, “You know what I’d do?”

Exorable (adj.)
susceptible to being persuaded or moved by entreaty
    I wait in front of Candace’s building with my bags for about fifteen minutes until someone leaves. Before the front door locks shut, I slip inside and walk up to her floor. Chingy had advised me to ring the bell and wait for someone in Candace’s apartment to let me in, but I feel this is the better way to go. Yeah, I risk coming off brazen, and Candace’s moms might think I’m being shifty or disrespectful. But my gut tells me that Mrs. Lamb has to
see
me, and that may never happen if I wait for her to be willing to meet me. And it beats standing on the street under her daughter’s window hollering her name like some ghetto knight.
    Instead, I come to her door and gently knock. Before I came over, I followed Chingy’s advice and changed out of my Crooked Ink hoodie and LRG jeans and into an Avirex button-down and pleated khakis. On general principle, I shouldn’t have had to switch my gear, but if I’m taking this risk, better to not play into negative assumptions, as unfair as they might be. Behind the door, a woman says, “Child, how many times do I have to tell you to stay away from that door?”
    Aw, man, her moms is going to open the door! I hear her slide the cover to the peephole. “Who is it?”
    “My name is Efrain Rodriguez, ma’am, and I just wanted to drop off some things for your daughter.”
    The door clicks, then opens slightly. An ebony eye with wrinkled edges peeks under the security chain. “Come again?”
    “My name is Efrain, and I’m a classmate of your daughter Candace, ma’am. She told me that you wouldn’t let her go out with me for lunch and a movie since you don’t know me….” I hold up the two bags so she can see them. “So I thought I’d bring lunch and the movie to her so you could meet me.”
    The eye blinks at me a few times and then disappears behind the closing door. I wait, then hear the security chain slide across its axis. The door opens, and a middle-aged woman looks me up and down. She seems too old to be her mother and yet too young to be her grandmother. She squints at me. “Did you say your name was Rodriguez?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Where are your people from?”
    “I was born and raised here in the Bronx. So was my mother. She’s Puerto Rican. And Ru—My father is from the Dominican Republic, but he’s been living here for years. He finally became a citizen a few years ago.”
    “And do they know that you’re here right now?”
    “Well, my mother knew I had plans to go out with your daughter, but she doesn’t know I’m here now. She’s at work thinking we’re at the movies.”
    “And your father?”
    “Yes,” I lie. “He works at the auto shop on Jackson and 139th Street.”
    “You see what I mean, Mama? I told you he was a nice boy.” I look past Mrs. Lamb and see Candace in the hallway. Her eyes are red, and there are tearstains down her cheeks. “May I please go?”
    Mrs. Lamb whips her head to yell, “No, you cannot, Candace.” Then she turns back to me and steps aside. “But Efrain can spend time with you here.”

Prescient (adj.)
having foreknowledge of events
    On Sunday afternoon, I sweat through my physics homework when Mandy yells, “Efrain, Chingy’s here!”
    Thank God, because I need the brother’s help. Sometimes I spend the same amount of time