Homestretch Read Free

mother’s the only one who’s ever believed in me. I’d be nothing without her,” he said. “But women, they dump little losers like me for somebody better every day. That’s the world. That’s reality.”
    â€œThat’s not going to happen,” I said, feeling like I had to defend her.
    â€œWho knows? Maybe you’re right. Her grandparents on both sides are from Spain. They follow tradition there—all about family. I don’t care if they speak Spanish the same as shit-hole Mexico. They’re nothing like them beaners from across the border,” he said. “Anyway,
you
got nothing to worry about. She’s your flesh and blood. She can never ditch you.”
    That was the first time I ever grabbed hold of the idea that he was jealous of my relationship with Mom.
    When Dad got that job at the stables, Mom wanted me to learn how to ride. At first I was too scared to get up on a horse. They were so much bigger than me, with a mind of their own.
    I guess Mom saw that.
    â€œI haven’t done this since I was a little girl,” she said, hopping onto a horse that Dad had saddled for me. “Tell me, Gas. You gonna let your old mother show you up?”
    That practically
shamed
me into it.
    So I pulled up all my nerve, climbing onto the next one.
    Dad walked us both around the riding ring.
    I’d hardly ever seen Dad like that before. He was calm and in control, and those two big horses acted like they loved him to death. He’d nicker to them softly—
chha, chha—
and they’d just follow him anywhere.
    Mom was smiling in the saddle next to me, enjoying every second of it. And after my heart stopped racing, I did too.
    I looked down from on top of that horse at everything around me, and it was the tallest I’d ever been in my life.
    The flatbed hit a bump, and my eyes landed back on that first beaner. That’s when he looked right at me to talk.
    â€œNacho,” I thought I heard him say, tapping his chest.
    And I nearly laughed in his face at that.
    â€œMis hermanos
—
Anibal y Rafael
,” he said, pointing to the other two. “Me—brothers.”
    I just nodded my head with the vibrations of the truck and never even thought about telling him
my
name.
    The fourth beaner traveling with those brothers was much older. At first I figured he was their father or uncle. But they never looked at him once like he meant anything to them.
    That last beaner was twice as filthy as the other three, with a scruffy beard that the flies from the chickens were nesting in. And when he finally woke up, he started drinking from a small bottle of brown whiskey.
    â€œTo Amereeeca ‘n’ da money!” he hollered, raising his bottle.
    Then he started laughing out of control, slapping Nacho’s chest for him to celebrate too.
    Neither Nacho or his brothers looked happy about it.
    I couldn’t tell if that beaner was drunk or just plain crazy.
    â€œLos caballos americanos!”
he shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Y los caballerizos mexicanos!”
    Except for the “American” and “Mexican” parts, I had no idea what that gibberish meant.
    The next time he went to slap at Nacho, the three of them grabbed him hard. The bottle went flying up into the air, bouncing off the top of the truck’s cab.
    I heard it shatter onto the highway, and the truck driver blasted his horn.
    WHOOOOOOO!
    The chickens flew into a frenzy, clucking and pecking at one another.
    That lunatic beaner was buried at the bottom of the pilenow, with them all cursing in Spanish. And I was worried that one of them might pull out a box cutter or a switchblade.
    The driver got off the highway at the next exit, rolling down an incline and stopping at the first light on the service road.
    He came around back and pulled down the middle row of cages, waving a Louisville Slugger.
    â€œLet’s go, you damn Mexicans!” he screamed, like