Read Online We Were Here by Matt de la Pena - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Matt de la Pena
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eyes when she finally looked at me outside Juvi, just before the guards took me away. Sometimes the look in a person’s eyes can tell you what they mean just as good as words. I never admitted this before, but I think I know what she meant when she looked at me. Even back then I did. It was relief. It was like me going was a big weight lifted off her shoulders. Like she’d been holding her breath underwater and she finally got to come up for air.
Maybe it’d be better if I went to damn Mexico, I thought, laying there across the room from snorin’-ass Rondell. Even if Mong stabbed me on the beach and I had to watch my blood go into the sand. Life for everybody else would probably be easier.
I remembered that first night back at the pad after the judge said my sentence. How I came in from me and Diego’s room and saw my moms sitting on the couch in the living room, perfectly still. The TV was on, but she wasn’t watching it—she was staring out the window. And when the light from the news show flickered over her face I could see tears going down her cheeks. They were streaming out from her eyes and rolling off her chin onto her shirt. And she wasn’t wiping them off or nothin’. Just letting them do whatever, like she didn’t even know it was happening.
Seeing her like that, man, it was like somebody shot me inthe damn stomach with a gun. My whole body went numb like I was dead. But I wasn’t dead. I tiptoed back into me and Diego’s room, climbed under my bed and curled up on my side on the floor. And that’s where I fell asleep that night. Under the bed. The next morning I got up and took my shower and ate breakfast and went to the levee with my fishing pole and then when I came home I went right back under my bed and slept there again. I slept under my bed every night until it was time for Moms to take me to Juvi. I remember thinking how lucky I was Diego was away for that week. Or else he would’ve kicked me out from under the bed and told me I was acting like a little bitch. But at the time I seriously didn’t feel like trying to be anything else.
Here’s the thing: even if it would be for the best, me going with Mong to Mexico, even if it made it easier for my moms and everybody else in my family, I seriously don’t think I can do it. I’d never be able to come back. Ever. And besides, shouldn’t I have to stay here and suffer doing the time they gave me? Even if it goes the whole year and I gotta do two times as many counseling sessions? Shouldn’t I have to pay for what I did? Wouldn’t it be messed up if I just left the Lighthouse and Jaden and the sentence they gave me and went to another country to start over, like Mong said?
Still, though, I keep thinking.
But if I do.
July 16
On the night Mong decided we should bust out we tried to make like everything was perfectly normal. Only thing different was me and Rondell didn’t change out of our street clothes when Jaden called for lights-out. We just climbed in bed and pulled the covers over our jeans and sweatshirts and dirty-ass kicks.
When Jaden came by for his nightly room check we closed our eyes up quick like we were already passed out. He walked in, did his normal circle where he checks everything off on a clipboard and then walked back out to get ready to leave for the night. Right after he left I heard Rondell snickering like a little girl.
“Shut the hell up, Rondell!” I whispered.
“I’m tryin’,” he whispered back.
“Well, try harder. Put a pillow over your damn head or somethin’.”
It’s not like I was that freaked out or nervous or whatever, I just didn’t want shit to go wrong before we even did anything.
Rondell did what I said, he put a pillow over his head, and for the next two hours we waited for Mong’s signal (two loud finger snaps from the hall) fully dressed, bags packed, swiped screwdriver stashed between my two mattresses.
I laid there quietly, staring at the paint-chipped ceiling and thinking
Maybe it’d be better if I went to damn Mexico, I thought, laying there across the room from snorin’-ass Rondell. Even if Mong stabbed me on the beach and I had to watch my blood go into the sand. Life for everybody else would probably be easier.
I remembered that first night back at the pad after the judge said my sentence. How I came in from me and Diego’s room and saw my moms sitting on the couch in the living room, perfectly still. The TV was on, but she wasn’t watching it—she was staring out the window. And when the light from the news show flickered over her face I could see tears going down her cheeks. They were streaming out from her eyes and rolling off her chin onto her shirt. And she wasn’t wiping them off or nothin’. Just letting them do whatever, like she didn’t even know it was happening.
Seeing her like that, man, it was like somebody shot me inthe damn stomach with a gun. My whole body went numb like I was dead. But I wasn’t dead. I tiptoed back into me and Diego’s room, climbed under my bed and curled up on my side on the floor. And that’s where I fell asleep that night. Under the bed. The next morning I got up and took my shower and ate breakfast and went to the levee with my fishing pole and then when I came home I went right back under my bed and slept there again. I slept under my bed every night until it was time for Moms to take me to Juvi. I remember thinking how lucky I was Diego was away for that week. Or else he would’ve kicked me out from under the bed and told me I was acting like a little bitch. But at the time I seriously didn’t feel like trying to be anything else.
Here’s the thing: even if it would be for the best, me going with Mong to Mexico, even if it made it easier for my moms and everybody else in my family, I seriously don’t think I can do it. I’d never be able to come back. Ever. And besides, shouldn’t I have to stay here and suffer doing the time they gave me? Even if it goes the whole year and I gotta do two times as many counseling sessions? Shouldn’t I have to pay for what I did? Wouldn’t it be messed up if I just left the Lighthouse and Jaden and the sentence they gave me and went to another country to start over, like Mong said?
Still, though, I keep thinking.
But if I do.
July 16
On the night Mong decided we should bust out we tried to make like everything was perfectly normal. Only thing different was me and Rondell didn’t change out of our street clothes when Jaden called for lights-out. We just climbed in bed and pulled the covers over our jeans and sweatshirts and dirty-ass kicks.
When Jaden came by for his nightly room check we closed our eyes up quick like we were already passed out. He walked in, did his normal circle where he checks everything off on a clipboard and then walked back out to get ready to leave for the night. Right after he left I heard Rondell snickering like a little girl.
“Shut the hell up, Rondell!” I whispered.
“I’m tryin’,” he whispered back.
“Well, try harder. Put a pillow over your damn head or somethin’.”
It’s not like I was that freaked out or nervous or whatever, I just didn’t want shit to go wrong before we even did anything.
Rondell did what I said, he put a pillow over his head, and for the next two hours we waited for Mong’s signal (two loud finger snaps from the hall) fully dressed, bags packed, swiped screwdriver stashed between my two mattresses.
I laid there quietly, staring at the paint-chipped ceiling and thinking
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