Game Seven

Game Seven Read Free Page A

Book: Game Seven Read Free
Author: Paul Volponi
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right temple. “Please. I can’t get distracted. I have nothing but exams for the next two weeks.”
    â€œUncle Ramon told me I might not get picked to be a Nacional, because of Papi.”
    I suppose there was sympathy inside of Lola somewhere. But she didn’t seem interested in showing me any. Maybe it was the stifling heat or tension over her tests that put a charge into her voice.
    â€œThat’s exactly why I’m going to a university one day, to become a teacher,” she said, burying her head inside a book. “I’m going to make my own history, not be stuck with his. You need to do the same.”
    â€œThat’s good for
you
. But I’m not a student. I play baseball,” I snapped, heading toward the shower. “They’re always going to compare me and him.”
    â€œThen jump in the ocean and swim for Miami! Follow Papi!” Lola shouted after me, a second before I slammed the bathroom door shut.
    Turning the faucets up high, I caught a glimpse of my anger in the mirror. It made my eyebrows look even sharper, as they arched at an angle, and my thin lips pulled back at the corners. Only I didn’t want to face it. So I yanked the plastic curtain closed. Then I stood in the shower with my head down and the water rushing off the bridge of my nose, like it was a spout. The temperature changed from hot to cold a couple of times without warning. Lola had always said there were ghosts in the shower. But I knew it was just other tenants in our building running water at the same time.
    When I finished, I dried myself and wrapped a towel around my waist. The mirror had fogged over with steam. But I’d seen enough of myself and didn’t even consider wiping it clear.
    Stepping outside into the hall, I saw that Lola had walked away from her textbooks. She was standing by an open window, brushing her straight black hair.
    I guess we could both feel a little bit of breeze now.
    â€œDone with your swim?” she asked, behind a half smile.
    â€œFor now,” I answered. “I’ll probably take another one after the game tomorrow in Cárdenas.”
    â€œWell, make sure you don’t drown,” she said. “I’d miss you. You’re my only big brother.”
    â€œThanks, I won’t,” I said, letting her words sink in as I grabbed a fresh towel from the closet and began to dry my wet head.
    â€“ – –
    I put on a white shirt, black pants, and a pair of Papi’s old leather shoes. Then I headed back down the stairs and walked the five blocks to the restaurant where I bussed tables. It’s part of the hotel where Mama cleans. It’s called El Puente—“The Bridge.” That’s because Matanzas is the City of Bridges, with seventeen of them crossing the three rivers surrounding us.
    My shift ran from five p.m. to midnight. I got there just a few minutes before it started. It’s my job to take away the dirty dishes from the tables, make sure all of the water glasses are kept full, and deliver any part of the meal the customer wants to take home wrapped in tinfoil. The pay by the hour isn’t good. But the waiters and waitresses give me and the other two busboys a small percentage of their tips every night. That adds up. The only problem I ever had was with a waiter named Horatio, who constantly hides his biggest tips by burying them in a different pocket. He gets away with it because he’s the nephew of the restaurant’s manager. Otherwise I’d grab him by his black bow tie, turn him upside down, and then shake him until it rained money.
    The customers are mostly tourists. Lots of them are from the US, even though there’s a travel ban from the States to Cuba. They go someplace like Canada first and then fly here. The US ban is because we’re not a democracy and don’t have any real human rights, just the ones our
presidente
and his soldiers decide to give us.
    Living in a country

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