Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco by Judith Robbins Rose Page B

really, really hard — to
hate
the ballet.
    But it’s hard not to laugh when couples chase each other through a magical forest where fairies fly around making everybody fall in love with the wrong person. And it’s very,
very
hard not to like a show when Nadine Robert — the most beautiful woman in the world — is in love with a guy who has the head of a donkey.
    Backstage, Nadine Robert signed my program. Her last name was spelled like the boy’s name, and not the way it sounded: row-BEAR.
    Next to her picture she wrote,
Pour ma chère amie Jacinta
. Miss said it was French —“For my dear friend Jacinta.”
    The same thing Eva Chávez had written.
    “How many famous people do you know, Miss?”
    She snorted. “Not nearly enough.”
    I wished that Mamá could see the ballet. She liked beautiful things.
    Why am I thinking about her? She’s not thinking about me
. I shoved her image out of my mind.
    Back in the van, Miss said, “Keep that program. Nadine Robert is a true artist.”
    That’s when I knew “art” isn’t just things in a museum. Art can be fleeting
and
eternal. I thought that up myself. It sounded like poetry, so I said it over and over in my mind.
    Fleeting
and
eternal
.
    Like something Nadine might say in her low, throaty voice. Without thinking, I said, “I’d like to talk French.”

I WIPED my sweaty hands on the van seat when Miss drove past the sign: MAPLEWOOD COMMUNITY COLLEGE .
Why did I let her talk me into this? A French class? With grown-ups
?
What kid in seventh grade wants to spend more time in school?
    Maybe you’d think I should’ve learned to trust Miss, but she kept pushing me to try stuff that was harder and harder. She’d reminded me that learning French was
my
idea in the first place. I was flattered that she thought I could do this.
    And maybe some part of me wondered if I could.
    Miss shut off the van and jumped out, striding across the dark parking lot. I followed slowly, dragging my feet.
    I couldn’t talk to Angélica about it. I still avoided her, afraid I’d blurt out the story of how I beat Victor at Lotería the night he killed her
papá
. A black cloud of guilt surrounded me. A
double
black cloud, because I knew Angélica needed me.
    Avoiding her was easy, now that we didn’t have the same classes.
    When school had started, Miss made sure I was “properly assessed”— which made Mamá happy when I told her. All her dreams for me were coming true.
    I liked my smart-kid classes okay. Everybody was nice, but smart kids think mostly about school and grades. They don’t know what it’s like to miss their
mamás
or worry about their
papás
getting killed or deported. Without Angélica, I didn’t have anyone who knew the
whole
me.
    Miss was an earthquake, splitting my world in two while I straddled the crack that grew wider. A new life beckoned on one side. My old life called from the other. If I didn’t pick a side soon, I’d fall into the
chasm
in the middle, and no one would see me again.
    Miss continued her long strides across the parking lot, assuming I was scampering behind her like a trained dog.
When’s she going to notice that I’m not with her? If she has to walk back for me, will she decide I’m too much trouble?
Will she just drive me home? Then what?
    Rosa would’ve been happy to trade places with me. I’d lied to her — saying I was going to the Dahls’ for dinner — afraid she’d tell Papi about the French lessons.
    If Mamá had been home, she could’ve made Papi understand that learning new things is good. But without Mamá to explain, I didn’t know what Papi would do if he discovered I was taking a college class.
    Sighing, I raced after Miss. By the time I caught up with her, I was puffing. “You walk too fast.”
    “We wouldn’t be rushing if you’d been ready. Where’s your watch?”
    Miss bought it for me because I was late all the time, but until that moment I hadn’t thought of it as a
tool
. I wore it to school to show