Maria yawned, stretched her arms and wondered if she ought to go to sleep. She might go down and study English grammar or practice speaking English with her father and try to remember that in this language verbs were placed differently in sentences. But the kitchen was filled with company and they were probably talking about San Juan and the little community they had once called home. Why had they left Puerto Rico? This they need not answer, for they had only to touch their pockets and look at the kitchen sink with its faucets.

Winking lights cut diagonally across the city, and Maria followed that flight. Was this plane coming from Puerto Rico? Was it returning to Puerto Rico? Again she was tempted to return to the kitchen, but everyone there would be speaking in Spanish, and if they spoke English it would sound like Spanish. She wanted to speak English as Americans did, with harsh consonants and clipped vowels and no music or lilt in their speech. She wanted so much to be an American.

Maria stood to stretch her arms and embrace the moon and stars. Yesterday she had been sixteen and her mother had kissed her many times as she exclaimed what a beautiful bride Maria would be. And Chino Martin, Bernardo’s friend, had looked at her with eyes filled with love. Later he had spoken to Bernardo and to her parents about wanting to marry her. He was a steady boy and worked as an apprentice in a dress factory on Seventh Avenue; some day he would be a full-fledged union operator. Chino was good looking, very shy, much different from Bernardo.

Standing on her toes, moving about, Maria whirled and kissed her hands at the sky and the distant towers. If she married Chino her sisters would have more room because she and Chino would have a flat of their own. And if they made love, it would be more wonderful because they would have the privacy on the day they were married that her mother and father had not known for almost twenty years. Maria covered her face. She had to stop thinking such things, even when she was alone on the roof and in love with the world.

Did it include Chino Martin? She wasn’t quite sure. Yes, she loved him as she loved everything in the world, but no more than that.

She heard the heavy metal door to the roof open and turned to see the dark shadow of a man. A startled flash of fear vanished at the sound of her name, and her respondent sigh of relief was loud enough to tell Bernardo she had recognized him.

“How come you’re sitting on the roof alone?” Bernardo challenged his sister.

“Why not?” she asked him.

“Because it isn’t safe,” he said. “Not even if you were sitting up here with Anita.”

“Why not?” Maria persisted in this question. “Isn’t Anita your girl?”

“I guess so,” Bernardo said. Resting against the parapet, he lit a cigarette, flicked the match toward the street, and watched the path of its descent. “It isn’t safe to sit on a roof alone. There’s too many bums in this neighborhood. If one of those Jets saw you sitting up here no telling what might happen.”