This stops her. She studies me carefully. The traffic light changes down the street and a truck shudders past; the smell of its gasoline fills my nose and its soot in my mouth tastes like fine sand. For a moment it seems like she might be concerned about me, might even touch me, because she thinks I am odd, but something changes, and her eyes seek me with hardness again.

What kind of a thing to say is that?

I don’t know.

You don’t know.

I shrug.

Well, whatever, Gabrielito. She waves her hand. I don’t want you to fuck up. Do you understand me, Gabe?

I nod.

She turns and I follow her with my hands in my pockets. We do not say anything as she leads me to the administration building to take an entrance test.

IV

Sunday comes again and our mother asks Tomas if he will drive us to church. Though I had already gotten her Tercel key and put on my sweatshirt—ready to drive her myself—I keep quiet and hide the chain gently in my pocket.

He turns and looks at her. He wears an undershirt with no sleeves and you can see the gang tattoo in Spanish on his shoulder. It involves barbed wire coiling through a skull’s empty eye sockets, and pieces of a shattered cross.

Church? he says sarcastically.

We could go to the ten-thirty Mass.

I’m busy.

She shifts about, flustered. She looks away and then back again.

We could go to the twelve o’clock, she says almost shyly.

He gives her a look.

This evening they have the youth Mass, she adds. You might meet some pretty girls.

Tomas grins, then turns to me. I’ll let mama’s boy keep you company, he says.

She glances towards me and I blush and look down but she has already turned back to him. In the end, he doesn’t come and I drive her to church in the Tercel.