She stared.
I had the sense that I could be more demanding now that she had been so revealing and had demanded such a thing from me.
“I want to go,” I said firmly.
“So, go,” she said, waving her hand. “Wallow in the poor, immigrant swamps. Maybe I can’t do anything for you, after all. Maybe you are your mother’s daughter.”
She left, her words ringing in my ears.
“There’s nothing I want more, Tía Isabela,” I said softly in her wake, “than to be my mother’s daughter.”
Of course, she didn’t hear me. She never would, I thought.
What a surprise this private talk with her had been for me. It left my head spinning, because what she had said was filled with both threats and promises. She looked down on me, and yet she reluctantly expressed admiration for my intelligence. Was I part of what she hated, or was I somehow her personal project, someone she wanted to save? Should I hate her or admire her?
Practically in a daze, I made my way through the house and up to my room. I started to change my clothes to go down to help with dinner preparations, when I remembered Tía Isabela had declared that I would have no more chores. Never before in my life had I gone a day without helping in the house in some way. This, too, left me confused. Now I would be one of those waited upon and looked after? I sat on my bed, actually lost for a few moments. What should I be doing?
My door was abruptly opened, and Sophia came in. She closed it behind her and stood there for a moment staring at me.
“How was my brother?” she asked, speaking each word slowly and loudly, as if I were deaf. “I’m told you speak better English, or at least enough to understand most things,” she added when I didn’t respond quickly enough.
“A little better,” I said.
“What? He was a little better, or you speak English a little better?”
“He is hurt,” I said.
“I know he’s hurt, stupid. Jeez.”
She walked over to the vanity table and fidgeted with my hair brush.
“I want to know about Bradley,” she said, turning. “Did you let him know you liked him? Is that what happened?”
I shook my head. “I don’t like him,” I said.
“He’s a creep,” she told me. She drew closer, until she was right in front of me. “Did he pin you down or what?”
“Pin?”
“Jeez. Did he jump on you, push you to the floor, what? I want to know the details.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Jump?”
“Oh, my God. You don’t know enough English yet. How am I supposed to talk with you, huh?” She thought a moment and then said, “Okay, you know what pretend means?”
“Yes, pretend, make-believe.”
“Good. Pretend I’m Bradley, okay?” she said, and then she lunged at me, seizing my upper arms, and pushed me down. Before I could resist, she lay over me. I didn’t know what to do. She was heavy, and she was pushing hard on my arms. “Was this how it happened?”
I shook my head and then nodded quickly.
“Yes or no? Forget it,” she said, turning over on her back beside me. She stared up at the ceiling. I was afraid to move a muscle. Then she turned and braced herself on her elbow. “You want to know something?”
“Know? Yes.”
“I never did it with Bradley. Everyone thinks I did, but I didn’t. Not that he didn’t try. I wasn’t ready to let him, and then you go and do it with him.”
“No,” I said. “I did not let him.”