The Skirt (3 page)

“But it’s true.”

Miata looked at Ana in a funny way. “Whose side are you on?”

Ana smiled and answered, “Yours, of course.”

But Ana was thinking of her own things that Miata had lost. She had lost two erasers, some marbles, a rubber ball, a favorite pretty feather, the glittery magic wand from her Tío Benny, a magnifying glass from a cereal box—things now lost in the wide, wide world.

“Good. Because you’re going to help me get my skirt back.”

“Me?” asked Ana, her shoulders hunched slightly. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Just do what I do,” Miata told her.

They went inside the library. The canary behind the desk was beating its tiny beak against a silver bell. The noise didn’t seem to bother anyone.

Neither did the constant hum of the drinking fountain. The two of them stepped on the fountain’s pedal. The water sprang up, nearly hitting Miata in the face.

“Watch it,” Miata screamed, jumping back.

The librarian looked in their direction. She raised a finger to her pursed mouth. It meant to be quiet.

The girls stopped at a world globe. They spun it. For a few seconds they were dizzy as they saw Africa, Europe, and the Americas spin before their eyes.

“My father and mother are from here,” Miata said, tapping northern Mexico. “From Sonora.”

“My parents were born in L.A. But my
grandfather is from here,” Ana said, tapping the state of Guerrero. “We went there once. I thought it was going to be hot, but it wasn’t.”

They gave the globe a spin and left the children’s corner. They ventured into the reference room. A man wearing large earphones was listening to English tapes. He was an old man with leathery skin, a
Mexicano
. The man was quietly saying the words “dust, rocks, suitcase.”

Miata and Ana checked out four books each and left the library. Instead of heading home, they walked in the direction of the school parking lot.

Miata was getting scared, and Ana was already scared. They felt like thieves.

“It’s like stealing,” Ana said.

“No, it’s not,” Miata countered. “It’s my skirt.”

“What if someone sees us?”

“Who?”

They stopped in their tracks when they saw Rodolfo, the boy with green eyes. They pressed themselves against a tree as Rodolfo rode by on his bike. His knees were grass-stained. His hair was tousled.

“He almost saw us,” Ana whispered.

“He’s nothing but a big bother,” Miata said. For a second she recalled his perfect score in math. Next time she was stuck on a problem she would seek him out.

They watched him jump a curb. He pushed his hand into his pocket for a fistful of sunflower seeds. When he turned the corner Miata and Ana came out from behind the tree.

“That was close.” Miata sighed. “Let’s go.”

They rushed up the street, their library books pressed into the crooks of their arms.

They slowed to a walk when they saw a German shepherd. They were scared of dogs. The German shepherd was carrying an orange tennis ball in its mouth.

Miata looked around. “Do you see his owner?” she asked.

“No,” Ana answered. “He looks nice, doesn’t he?” Ana relaxed because this dog looked friendly. He had started to wag his tail.

The dog went the other way, the orange ball still in its mouth. The girls watched the dog disappear and then started walking fast again.

They arrived at the school parking lot. It was surrounded by a tall chain-link fence. Miata and Ana put down their books and clung to the fence, looking in. Three large buses stood huge as billboards.

Miata and Ana looked around. The street was quiet except for a breeze in the
sycamore trees. They rattled the locked gate.

“We can squeeze through,” Miata said.

“Someone is going to see us,” Ana said. She looked around, biting a fingernail. She saw a boy playing catch by himself on a front lawn.

Just then a car passed on the street. Ana wanted to run away. But Miata grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t panic. Just do what I do,” Miata whispered. The two of them pretended to be tying their shoes.

“Come on,” Miata said when the car disappeared. “It’ll just take a second.”

“You go first,” Ana said.

“Okay,” Miata said. She groaned as she squeezed her body through the opening. First her head went in, then her foot, her shoulders, and, finally, her other foot.

Since Ana was smaller she slipped through the gate easily. But she had to slip back out. They had left their library books outside the gate.

“That’s all we need,” Ana said, passing the books to Miata. “We’d be in trouble for sure if we lost them.”

They were now inside the gate. In one of the buses, they hoped, was the skirt that could save Miata from a scolding.

T
he three yellow buses were too tall. Miata and Ana leaped up and down like frogs, but they couldn’t see inside.

“I can’t see a thing,” Miata said.

Ana wrote her name in the grime that clung to the side of the bus.
ANA MADRIGAL
. Then she erased it with her hand. She knew that her name shouldn’t be there.

“What are we going to do?” Ana asked Miata as they walked around the first bus. Ana stopped to kick the tire, and hurt her big toe.

“Easy,” Miata said. “I’ll look in from the window.”

“How?” Ana asked. She craned her neck. The windows were too high.

Without answering, Miata boosted herself onto the fender. She started climbing onto the hood of the bus. The climb was as slippery as going up a slide the wrong way. The hood buckled and popped. The noise seemed deafening.

“You’re making too much noise,” Ana hissed. She looked around. She saw a car passing slowly on the street. Its radio was too loud for the driver to hear them.

Miata knew she was making a lot of noise. She didn’t know what to do except to climb faster. Once on top, she cupped her hands around her eyes. She peered through the dusty and insect-flecked windshield. She saw a math book, a crushed lunch bag, gum wrappers, and a pencil in the aisle.

“Do you see it?” Ana asked in a whisper.

“No,” Miata answered flatly. She had scanned the inside of the bus, but saw nothing that looked like a skirt. She slid down the hood, nearly face first, to the ground. She brushed the gravel off her hands and ordered, “Let’s check the next one.”

Again Miata climbed onto a bus and gazed in. This time she saw a sweater, a baseball cap, and a smashed milk carton in the aisle. For a moment her heart fluttered because she thought she saw her skirt. But it was only a jacket on the floor.

“Do you see it?” Ana asked as she
looked around nervously. Two more cars passed. A diesel truck was rumbling up the street. Black smoke rose from its shiny chrome exhaust pipes.

The truck driver waved at Miata. Not knowing what to do, she waved back. “The driver saw us,” she told Ana. She grew nervous and started climbing down.

“He saw you?” Ana asked in a loud voice. She turned around and saw the diesel truck rumbling away. Its taillights were dusty red. “Do you think he’s going to call the police?”

“Nah,” Miata answered. “Give me some room.”

Miata slid down the hood. This time she fell on the gravel and skinned her knee.

“Ay!” she screamed. Blood the color of pomegranate juice began to rise to the surface of her skin. She hobbled on one leg,
her face pinched from pain. Miata stopped and took a long breath. She pressed a thumb to the scrape and counted to ten.

“Are you all right?” Ana asked. She examined the scrape. A worry line rippled her brow.

“I’m okay,” Miata answered, and counted in a whisper, “…  
ocho … nueve … diez
.” The blood had stopped flowing. She rose to her feet and said, “It’s gotta be in that last bus.”

Ana marched alongside a hobbling Miata. They were going to search the third bus.

“Let me look,” Ana demanded.

Miata was surprised. She knew that Ana was scared of heights. Scared of the dark. Scared of dogs, cats, and thunder. Ana was scared of everything, it seemed to Miata.

Ana boosted herself onto the fender. She strained and grunted. The muscles in her
skinny arms shivered. Her knees got dirty and hurt from pressing into the metal.

“You’re almost there,” Miata encouraged. “Keep going.”

Ana climbed onto the hood and looked in through the windshield. She saw a book, a paper cup, and gum wrappers on the floor. Then she screamed, “It’s there! In the back.”

“You see it?” Miata yelled.

“Yeah!” Ana hollered.

In her excitement Ana lost her balance and rolled off the hood. Luckily she landed on her feet, just like a cat.

“That was cool,” Miata said. “How did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” a dizzy Ana said. “How are we going to get in?”

“Easy,” Miata answered. “You’re going to squeeze your arm through the door and pull the lever that opens it.”

“Me?” Ana asked, her eyes big.

“Your arms are smaller. You can do it.”

Ana shrugged her shoulders and walked over to the door. She pushed her arm through the rubber gasket. Her fingers reached and reached for the lever.

“You can do it,” Miata encouraged again.

Ana reached until her arm hurt from stretching. When her hand clasped the lever, she pulled and yanked. And Miata pulled and yanked on Ana.

The lever gave, and the door opened with a sigh.

“¡
Qué bueno
!” Miata cheered, hugging her friend. They smiled widely at each other.

Ana looked at the black marks on her arm. She rubbed the black off and said, “I’m going to take a bubble bath tonight.”

Miata marched inside and snatched her
skirt off a seat. She pressed it to her waist and twirled, so that the skirt fanned out. She said to herself, “It’s so pretty.”

As she started to leave, Miata heard the sound of a car. Her heart leaped like a fish. Did someone see them? she wondered. Through the windows of the bus she saw her father’s truck. He was with a man in a checkered shirt who was unlocking the gate.

“¿
Qué pasó
?” she said to Ana as she hurried off the bus.

M
iata’s father revved the truck’s engine, shifted into first gear, and slowly entered the unlocked gate. Bluish smoke coughed from the tailpipe.

The man in the checkered shirt locked the gate behind him. “That one over there,” he bellowed. He pointed to the bus where Miata and Ana cowered.

Miata gripped her skirt and library books. Ana gripped Miata’s hand in prayer. They tiptoed to the front of the bus, where they were out of sight.

The truck sounded like a tank as it moved toward the bus. Miata’s father turned off its engine. The door opened with a squeak and then slammed closed. Heavy footsteps crunched against the gravel.

“What are they doing here?” Ana asked, biting a knuckle.

“I don’t know,” Miata answered. “Let me see.” She peeked from behind the fender. Her father was putting on his heavy work gloves. The other man was tapping a flashlight against his thigh.

“Do you think we should surrender?” Ana asked. “They’re going to find us.”

Miata shook her head and pulled on Ana. They hurried to the far end of the parking lot and hid behind a row of big oil drums. They watched the men unload welding equipment from the truck. Miata’s father looked under the bus.