In the Break Read Free Page B

had been for Jamie to lose his father,
     to lose all his money, to have F live in his house.
    Sick shit, I figured, because of a damn big rig.
    I must have finally conked out, thinking those thoughts, letting the hot water soak me, when my father, Nestor Barrela, banged
     on the bathroom door. My older brother Raul, when he first began to talk, had called him Nestor Barrela, and it had sort of
     stuck as a family joke, though I just called him by his first name. “You’re using all the hot water!” Nestor shouted. When
     he wasn’t home I wouldn’t wake up until the cold water hit me.
    After drying off, I lay on my bed in my room. My brother’s bed was still against the other wall, and I could almost imagine
     him lying there in his boxers, talking on his cell, his lean and strong body gangly-like even though he wasn’t that tall,
     his brown hair still messed up from showering, his long eyelashes looking wet though they weren’t. I’d shared a room with
     him my entire life, and now he was married and going to be a father. It was weird not having his clothes in the closet, not
     having stuff I could borrow if I needed it. Or not talking with him when he came home from his job at the pharmacy, where
     he had worked the counter and made deliveries.
    I must have dozed off again, for the next thing I knew my mother said, “Come on, sleepy head.” She was
in
my room.
    “I’ll be right there.”
    It was weird with only five of us at the table, my older brother’s seat empty next to me. Across from me sat my little sister
     and brother. Patti was eleven, Paul seven, still getting his “big” teeth. My older brother was nineteen (soon to be twenty),
     four and a half years older than me.
    “How was surfing?” Nestor said. Even though my mother wasn’t yet seated, he’d already begun eating.
    My mother had made meatloaf and mashed potatoes and gravy. But my parents put salsa on their meatloaf, something none of my
     friends’ parents did. And my father would sometimes wrap the meat in a tortilla, making a small burrito. Another thing my
     friends didn’t do. Ever. But they tasted good that way and I did the same as my father.
    “How was it?” my father asked again.
    I thought of Jamie. “It was fun for a while,” I said.
    “You sure were tired,” my mother said, placing the gravy bowl on the table and sitting down. “It’s not like you to sleep all
     afternoon. Are you feeling well?” She placed her hand on my forehead.
    I recoiled from her touch. I didn’t tell them about walking home, about F and Jamie on the beach.
    “He’s fine, just lazy.” Nestor was half finished with his food before we’d even served ourselves.
    “No, I’m not,” I said.
    Nestor bared his teeth at me, his teasing smile.
    “Leave him alone,” my mother said. As she chewed she always ground her teeth, something that made me squirm, sort of like
     when you hear chalk screech over the blackboard.
    My sister wolfed down her food, following my father’s lead, laughing from time to time. She was starting to develop already,
     and she was going to be real pretty, like my mother. My mother was short with a “full figure” and a bright smile and she colored
     her hair a reddish shade. My sister had brown hair and green eyes and the fair skin of our mother.
    My father, finished with his food, pushed his plate forward,stood up, and said, “I’m going to read.” That meant he was going to take a nap before going to work. He was a printer, a foreman,
     and he worked the graveyard shift, eleven at night until seven in the morning, but he had a far drive to get to work, and
     he always went in early on Sunday night, the first work night of the week for workers of the graveyard shift.
    As we finished our dinner, my mother said to me, “Are you okay? You’re awfully quiet.”
    “Mom, can I get a subscription to
CosmoGirl
?” Patti said.
    “I’m okay,” I said.
    “I want my own computer,” Paul said.
    “You’re too