CHAPTER ONE
Teresa
“Teresita! You’re going to be late!” my mom called. I groaned and shut the book I’d been reading. Okay, accounting isn’t exactly sexy and exciting, but it’d pay the bills and help lift my family from our humble origins.
I sighed and stumbled to grab my backpack, stuffing the book inside with a bunch of other things I’d need. Notebook? Check. Calculator? Check. Extra change of clothes for my shift? Check check.
Reality was tough. My mom and I moved to California from the Honduras ten years ago, temporarily moving in with relatives while getting settled. I’d enrolled in junior high and my mom had joined my aunt’s business “Krystal Klear Kleaners – Make Your Rooms Sparkle!” It wasn’t bad. It was honest work and my mom and I took home about $50 per home we cleaned. Of course, I was thirteen when I started, so I was essentially free help, someone who tagged along and dusted, did the easy stuff while my female relatives slaved away.
But even fifty dollars a pop was far more than what we could earn in the Honduras. Ah, my home country … I shuddered at the memories. My mom and I had fled, leaving my dad and brothers behind because of the increasing gang violence. Women were prey down there, subject to the vagaries and whims of the locos, the gangs who ruled each city through terror and violence.
I remembered one sweltering, summer day. I’d just gotten back from a neighbor’s birthday party, wearing a pink party dress and clutching a balloon, more child than woman still.
Mom had frowned.
“Where were you?” she asked. “It’s late afternoon. Why weren’t you back sooner?”
“Oh Mami, the party was so fun. Some boys came by to chat with us, you know Rosita’s brother Esteban, guys who hang out with him?” I said with an innocent smile. Esteban had been slickly handsome in a blue soccer jersey with a silver belt buckle the size of my fist. I’d been duly impressed when he’d singled me out, whistling appreciatively.
But Mami’s frown only deepened. “Esteban?” she asked, “Carla’s boy? He still in school?”
“Oh Mami, how would I know?” I sighed exaggeratedly. The truth was that I knew perfectly well that Esteban no longer attended the local high school. Boys routinely dropped out as early as eight or nine to become runners for the local gang, strutting like cockerels on the sidewalk. Esteban probably hadn’t been in school for years.
Mami turned away, so I couldn’t see her face. But I could hear her voice, low and urgent. “Be careful Teresita, Honduras is a dangerous country,” she intoned. “It’s not the country of my childhood anymore, there are many tiburones and sharks waiting for a girl like you.” And I’d shrugged in agreement. I was only ten then, on the cusp of womanhood, the world an exciting place filled with hot, sweet boys like Esteban.
But everything changed a few weeks later. I’d noticed Mami on the phone a lot recently, calling around, her voice becoming hushed when I was within earshot. One day after school, she met me at the school gates.
“Mami, what are you doing here?” I asked, bewildered. She never picked me up after classes, she was always on a job with one of my aunts. There were a bunch of girls around me, all of us in regulation blue and white uniforms.
“Teresita, get your things,” she said calmly. “I’ve hired a taxi for us.”
Scowling, I packed all my school supplies into my bag and threw them into the back of the car. “Where are we going?” I asked plaintively as the taxi bumped and ground along an unpaved dirt road. Honduras is a poor country, but even we pave our roads. The dirt track could only mean one thing -- we were headed out to the boonies, god knows how far from civilization.
“I have homework,” I whined. “Carlita wanted me to come over and study!” I added, throwing my mom a reproving look.
“Teresita,” said my mom sternly, turning to look at me from the passenger’s seat. “I’m moving you to the countryside to live with some relatives. You remember Auntie Blanca, your father’s cousin? She lives with Uncle Gordo in Guadalajita, about two hours from the city. They’ll be able to look after you until you’re married.”
“Mami, no!” I exclaimed in shock. “No!” I reiterated forcefully. “All my friends at school, my teachers, I haven’t said goodbye, and what about Papi and Herberto and Gonzalo?” I asked, referring to my dad and two older brothers. “Do they even know I’ve left? Why?” I whimpered, my childishness evident.
“Teresita,” my mom said firmly, sadness pulling at her mouth, “we want to keep you safe. You’re becoming a beautiful girl,” and her voice trailed off, dabbing at her eyes. “And we can’t protect you in the City. Mami and Papi have to work, and the wolves, they’re all over.” I knew she was referring to the local gang which had branded themselves as Los Lobos, the wolves. Suddenly I was sad and scared, just a little girl again, a pawn among bigger, stronger players. What had happened to my innocent existence, my safe haven of childish chatter and the latest movies?
But I bit my lip and tried to look brave, holding back tears. I didn’t understand it, but I didn’t have a choice either. I was exiled to some isolated farm to live with an elderly aunt and uncle, rarely to see my friends again. I sobbed quietly, my cries barely audible in the back of the car. But it didn’t change my mom’s mind, her back straight and resolute.
“Vamos, Teresita, take care my darling daughter,” she intoned before dropping me off, the taxi doing a U and disappearing in a cloud of dust. And with a heavy heart, I began trudging to my new home … unsuspecting of the danger inside.