The girl nods, looking relieved.

“What is the strangest thing someone wanted you to do?”

“I can’t say that with my young niece here.” Now all eyes turn toward me.

“But,” Auntie says loudly, and they’re back in her trance. “I told him I’m not that kind of woman. And that’s not the kind of healing I do.”

The students and the teacher laugh. I don’t, but I know why they’re laughing. I’m not that young.

After class, the teacher asks Auntie Bernadette to stay for the next one.

Auntie smiles. “You’re lucky. I don’t have any appointments this afternoon.”

I sigh, not meaning to be heard, but the teacher and Auntie Bernadette notice.

“Isabel,” the teacher says, “would you like to walk around the campus while your auntie talks to my next class? You could watch the diving team at the pool. They’re champions this year.”

“Thank you, miss,” I say as I slip out the door and head across the campus grounds.

Falling into Water

No one notices me at the swimming pool. They’re watching the man on the high diving board. He wears a red Speedo and his head is clean shaven like most of the other divers’. He pauses a moment, then stretches his arms above his head and bends at the waist. With a bounce, he dives. But before he reaches the pool, he turns into a ball and spins in the air. Then his body unfolds and becomes a straight arrow pointing toward the water. His arms break the surface and lead the way. After he swims to the edge of the pool, the next diver takes his place. And the dance begins again.

I want to know how that feels.

Phone Call

I miss my friends in Malesso. My father sees Roman almost every day and tells me his fishing stories. But I’m curious about Teresita. Is she still winning cockfights? I even miss Mrs. Cruz, the fish artist, and the hot-dog lady, who sells hot dogs and slices of green papaya from her stand at the pier.

Each village celebrates its patron saint with a fiesta every year. Malesso’s saint is San Dimas. I wonder if we’ll return before fiesta time.

I pick up the phone to call Teresita even though I should know better. Teresita isn’t like Tonya or Delia. She hates talking on the phone. Sometimes Delia and I just breathe into the receiver while we watch the same TV show.

Teresita answers and I say, “Teresita, how is Malesso?”

“It’s still here.” Silence. Then Teresita says, “But you’re not. I miss you, girl.”

Teresita’s remark both pleases and surprises me. She always acts so tough. But I think that’s because she’s had to be. Her mother is addicted to ice. Some people call it “poor man’s cocaine” because it’s cheap to make. Tata says cheap to make, expensive to get off. He says it steals people’s lives. All I know is that it stole Teresita’s mom from her.

No Crying Over Spilled Milk