Page 74 of Explosive Prejudice

“It’s impossible not to hear you, stupid. You chased away the cat.”

Poking my nose, he chuckled. “You can’t pet every stray cat or dog we see, peque.”

“You done playing soccer?” I looked up at him. The flush on his cheeks and the sweat dripping down from underneath his ball cap were enough to tell me he was.

“Yes, let’s go home.”

“You look like a douche with that stupid hat,” I said as we started walking. We had an annoyingly long walk back home. In our old town, before we moved here, the soccer field, which was basically an old junkyard, was next to the house. Now, it was four miles away.

Iván’s smile grew bigger before he took off his hat and put it on my head, pulling it down until it covered my eyes. I swore at him because it was damp with sweat as he rolled with laughter.

“You’re disgusting.”

Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, he pulled me closer. “You can’t tell that to your older brother—”

“Go back to Mexico! Stupid immigrants,” someone shouted from a passing truck, cutting Iván off midsentence.

Knowing my brother, I knew there was no chance he’d let it go, and I was right. A second later, he picked a stone off the ground, took a few steps, and threw it at the driving truck. Having the arm of a pitcher, Iván hit the truck’s back shield, smashing it.

“We’re not immigrants, you bunch of pussies!” my brother shouted in perfect English as soon as the truck stopped and the front doors opened. “And we’re Colombians, you dumb fucks!” He grabbed my arm and told me to run.

Whoever thought he could outrun two kids in a neighborhood they knew like the back of their hands was an idiot, and we managed to get rid of those jerks with no trouble. By the time we got away, it was almost twilight.

Iván spat on the ground, then turned to me. “Fucking racists. You know what looks best on a racist face?”

“A black eye.”

His lips pulled into a big smile. Taking his cap back from me, he ruffled my hair. “I taught you well.”

We started to walk back home again, but as we reached the skating park where Iván’s friends usually met up to drink and smoke, we saw some of his guys gathering.

“Wait here,” Iván said, then whistled to one of his friends and ran toward him. Not wanting to wait, I joined them.

“A body? They found a body?” I heard my brother asking, a curious smile on his face.

“Yeah, a girl. They found her on the shore, tossed away for the tide to take her or some shit.”

“Think we can see it?”

A body? On the beach? My heart hammered fast in my chest as curiosity trickled in. Other than in movies, I’d never seen a dead body before. It would be so cool. I could tell Mamá after, and maybe even Dad. He’d probably seen lots of bodies throughout his life.

“Camilo, you know the way back home from here, right?”

Wait, what?

“I want to see the body, too.”

Iván’s brows pulled close. “Ain’t no fucking way. You’re just a kid. Now, do as I say and go home.” He pointed in the direction of our street.

“I’m not a kid,” I grunted. “I’m eight.”

My hands clenched into tight fists when his friends laughed. If I was old enough for our dad to beat me, I was old enough to see a dead body. Only Iván didn’t care for what I had to say, and he’d already gone on with his friends. Looking in the direction of our house, I almost considered going there but quickly changed my mind and ran toward the beach, where the others just went.

I’ll show stupid Iván that I’m big enough to see a dead body.

By the time I arrived at the scene, police were already there. Blue and red lights flashed through the orange-painted sky. I noticed Iván and his friends trying to peek over the crowd. Morons. With officers blocking the place, there was no way to see the body now. At least, not for them. Being much smaller wasn’t so bad now as I quickly shoved my way into the crowd. I guessed Iván saw me sneaking in since I heard him calling for me, but I didn’t stop.

Eager to reach what everyone came to see, my heart raced as I sneaked under the yellow tape the police had strung up and managed to get into the crime scene. Police officers and detectives were everywhere. Since my dad was in and out of prison his whole life, I knew how to tell them apart.

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