Page 68 of Pride High 3: Yellow
CHAPTER 11
March 7th, 1993
Silvia kept peering through the window of her trailer to see if Keisha had arrived, but all she saw was an empty gravel road. When she turned around again, her parents were sitting at the dining area table, despite lunch having been cleared away. Her mother had a pad of legal paper in front of her as her father consulted a partially unfolded map. Their voices were artificially low.
"¿Qué tal?"she walked over to ask.
“Making a plan,”Elena replied in Spanish after studying her a moment.“But I want you to know that we talked it over and our family won’t go—if we move at all—until summer. That way you can finish the school year.”
As always, the topic of moving filled her with anxiety. In addition to saying goodbye to Omar and her friends, she worried about losing control. A different town in another state would be unfamiliar territory for them all, and in her opinion, only increased the risk of something going wrong. But she also knew this wasn’t an easy decision for her parents. They were just as established here, and no doubt had their own emotional sacrifices to make. Like they had when leaving their native country behind.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can help with,”Silvia said.
“Thank you,”her father replied, although his expression contained just as much guilt as gratitude.
She wanted to assure him that none of this was his fault—that borders were drawn by people who had more than enough in order to keep out those who struggled to get by. The world was unfair. But they knew that already. Better than anyone.
A knock on the door distracted her. She turned her head toward it longingly but didn’t move.
“Go have fun,”Elena insisted.“That’s what the weekend is for.”
Silvia cast her eyes over the table before nodding. She kissed them both on the cheek before rushing to answer the door. Keisha was wearing a flannel shirt tied to one side, showing off a hint of dark skin above the waistband of her distressed jeans.
“Hey, girl,” Keisha said with a lopsided smile. Then she noticed Silvia’s parents and switched to Spanish that was imperfect but more than sufficient.“It’s a beautiful day. Why don’t you come join us on the farm?”
Silvia’s parents didn’t take the invitation seriously. She stepped aside to introduce her friend, who struggled with a phrase or two but was perfectly charming. They left soon after, Silvia relieved once in the confines of the Bronco, because it meant she could drop the brave façade.
Keisha seemed to notice, her gaze lingering before she started the car. “How are things?” she asked as they drove away.
“My parents are planning a move.”
Keisha’s head whipped toward her. “As in, they’re moving somewhere else in Pride? Or…”
“Chicago,” Silvia said from around a tight throat.
“Wow.” The Bronco slowed. “Any reason why?”
Silvia hesitated, like she always did. Sometimes she wanted to freak out and shout the truth at the top of her lungs, consequences be damned. “My dad thinks he’ll have an easier time finding work.”
Keisha didn’t ask why, thank goodness. “But if he finds work here, then your family will stay? Because I’ve already talked to my parents about it.”
“You have?”
Keisha nodded. “They definitely need extra help right now.”
“What about his broken leg?”
“He can still drive a tractor, can’t he?”
Not only could he. Miguel would be thrilled! Earning anything at all—even a little—would lift his spirits. But it wouldn’t be enough to change their plans. “I appreciate the offer, but my dad needs to find full-time work.”
“That’s possible,” Keisha said with an air of authority that had to be based on hope alone. “Let’s get him out on the farm and see where he fits in. My parents need roofing work, once he’s back on his feet.”
“They told you that?” Silvia pressed.
Keisha nodded. “And I told them about your family’s garden. Little Bee wants to grow flowers out of her own toilet now. She even promised to water them herself.”
Silvia laughed, although her amusement was short-lived. There was a very big reason this plan wouldn’t work, but she wasn’t foolish enough to voice it. “The idea is nice,” she said noncommittally.
