Chapter Two
First Step Completo√ »Homegirls or Amigas?
The bus stop is on the corner at the end of our street. I walk past the brightly colored houses that line up after our apartment complex. I like ‘em. I like the bright colors because they contrast with the dismal grey concrete of everything else. And you sure as heck won’t find vivid and vibrant colors on the rich, white side of town. The rich white side has their own flavor of dismal concrete, only cleaner looking . . . and well, white.
The girls are already there at the bus stop, chatting. I pull myself together and grit my teeth against the pain in my side and in my ankle. At the same time, I remember to paste on my “face” and concentrate on trying to hide my limp.
“¿Q-Vo, Blanca? Hermana, this is un-bee-leev-a-bull! Girl, I did not expect to see you here today! You are one tough chola, bay-beee!”
Has Cookie always had such an ear-splitting, piercing voice? Or is it just my throbbing head that makes her sound worse than a fire alarm going off right in my ear. I have already decided that when we get to school, I am so going to have to pop some aspirin when no one is looking. We’re not allowed to bring “drugs” to school without some kind of pre-authorization. Not even aspirin. Ha! If they only knew what some of these guys really bring through those hallowed doors!
Cookie is dressed in her uniform. Hip-hugging, baggie chinos with a way-too-tight, practically booby-showing, white baby-tee. The Tee doesn’t quite reach her belly button even, so that she can show off her new playgirl studded piercing. This, of course, is all stretched over a black lace bra.
She is also sporting some gold, wire hoops on her ears that are so big I could prolly put my whole foot through them. If I could even lift my foot right now, that is. An image of her black Nike Cortez shoes slamming into my side last night flashes in my head like a lightning bolt. It almost makes me flinch again; but I cover it with slanted grin and give her a nod-up in greeting.
Just then, I hear a second high-pitched, baby-doll voice to my right and turn to face it, already knowing who it is.
“Oooooh, Blanca! You are really lookin’ good, chica!”
It’s Shortie. Like for cake, you know. As in, like, strawberry shortcake? And she’s short. Well, um…. Yeah. I never claimed to understand the logic behind it. And any ways, go figure this, they get the cute names. Cookie and Shortie. How fair is that? Not! Unfortunately, as I found out last night, they ain’t as cute as their nicknames make them out to be.
Shortie keeps talking to me as if I’m really listening to her. Her bright, red lips are in a permanent kewpie-doll pout, almost as permanent looking as her highly arched, penned-in-with-black eyebrows. I still have my eyebrows thank-you-very-much, I can’t go that far. Her skintight, black jeans could have been painted on for all anyone knew. To complement that classy choice, she’s wearing a half-size-too-small, pink baby-tee, with a bright-red picture of . . . wanna’ guess? Why, a juicy-looking strawberry, of course, that covers the whole front of her boobs. She balances this fashion choice all out on some rainbow colored wedges with a two-inch platform heel. But, even with those monster shoes on, she still only manages to barely make it to a little more than five feet tall. Ya know, I don’t think I could walk in those clunkers even if I wanted to. Today especially.
“Gu-uurrrl, you lookin’ better than me after I had my ‘jump-in!’” Shortie chirps this; and then she giggles again for some unknown reason. I just keep my “face” on with nothing to say.
A tan brown arm reaches around Shortie from the back; and the body the arm belongs to practically slides around to stand at her side in an almost lean. In fact, it just about looks like he’s got her in a headlock if I didn’t know any better.
Shortie looks up at him through her long lashes and gives him this huge lollipop grin that totally lights up her animated features. She croons, “Aye, Papi chulo!”
She offers him a turned-up cheek and he plays at planting a big, sloppy smooch on its smooth, made-up surface.
That’s when her sweet, melodious tones shrill through my brain once again and she squeals at him in an almost-whine, “Don’ mess the make-up, Nacho-o-o-o!”
Her small hands plant hard on his chest and she shoves him away. Nacho (whose real name is Ignacio Rodriguez-Pena) almost lands on his butt in the middle of the street. He stumbles back on his heels not letting himself fall, and he’s laughing like a hyena the whole time. Little girl has more power in her than most people think.
Nacho stays bent over, still laughing his hyena laugh like he can’t breathe or something, and his hands are pushing on his knees to keep himself up.
What a zonzo! Always the clown.
Then she realizes he’s still laughing at her. "Why you always gotta be so rude, vato!” she squeals again.
I don’t get what she sees in him really. Nacho is only about half a head
taller than Shortie; and with those shoes she’s got on, they still only just about match each other in height.
Today he’s got on some jeans that must be like five times too big for him, all saggy, with his blue plaid chonies peeking out from his belt. Why does he wear a belt if he aint gonna wear it right, ya? Just say no to crack, ladies! But hey, that’s just me.
On top of that, he’s sporting this huge, blue and white -# 22- football jersey. The guy has never played football in life! The closest he has got has been to play futbol in the park with his boyz, his shirt off and wearing only a pair of his old cutoff Dickies. This year, he’s gone and shaved his head cause he thinks it makes him look more
gangsta’.
But like I said before? They’re really not hard-core like some thugs. We’re ‘209, just a local street crew really, that wannabe tries to act big-time. And we’re not even close to the hardness of those Asian gangs across town. Though I wouldn’t admit this out loud-cause I’d get my butt kicked again-those East Side Asian gangs are just way crazy!
Shortie and Nacho have been going-out since the seventh grade when they were still Iggy and Nica. Yeah, that’s right, Shortie is really Veronica Reyes. Oh, and Cookie is really Lola (Yolanda) Martinez. The humor in these cholo names hits me hard. If I could smile without cracking my lip back open I would. Or, if I could smile without them asking me what I was smiling about. Which I couldn’t. Cause then I’d have to make something up or get slapped down.
Cookie sidles up beside me and drapes an arm over my shoulder, “You know chica? After actividades tonight? You should tell your moms you’re sleepin’ over my place.” She grins and gives Cookie a side-glance and a nod before adding, “I’m gonna give you a makeover, muñeca!”
Her Egyptian-lined eyes light up and she looks at me as if I should be just
so thrilled to be so blessed by all this attention. I don’t even have to nod at her and she keeps talking, “I’m gonna’ dye your hair black and Shortie’s gonna’ fix your make-up. She’s real good at the make-up innit she? Mira, when we are done with you, baby, you are going to have every cholo in Stockton wantin’ to get with you! Watch!”
She holds a loose fist up to Cookie who gives it a pound, and with a mischievous
grin answers, “Ri-iight?”
Nacho strikes his serious cholo pose, leans to the side, slits his eyes, puts his chin up high, and says real solemn-like, “How’d she do?”
Before anyone can take a breath, Shortie just hauls off and punches him in the gut super hard! So hard that he doubles over again, this time cause cholito’s air has been knocked out of his sorry butt. Man, he lets her get away with a way lot more than other cholos let their girls get away with.
“She’s here ‘aint she?” Her hands shoot up and shove him back again. “She’s right here standing in front of you and your blind butt needs to ask how she did!” She rolls her eyes sky–high and then lifts her chin, tilting her head to the side before adding, “Puh-leez, vato! Just who you think you’re talking to?”
He holds a hand up in defense, his teasing grin in place as always.
“¡Chalé, mujer! Alls’ I did was ask, baby!”
Our little Shortie gets real close to his face and with a way scary look hisses, “¿Y-Que? You know me better than that; and you best be giving respet, vato. ”
There is totally no “baby-doll” in her voice now.
“¡Oralé! ¡Todo bien, mi'ja! It’s all good, baby.” Nacho pulls Shortie into an almost straightjacket-like hug. “Now, gimme besos, chica.” A sly smile splits his lips revealing perfectly white teeth.
Shortie, who can never stay mad at him long, lets out a kind of bubble laugh and gives him a sweet little smooch on his cheek. Then, still wrapped in the straight jacket, they press their foreheads together with twin little smiles playing at the corners of their mouths. Must be nice.
I look down at my shoes so I don’t look like I’m a creeper or something peeping in on their “private” moment. I’m quiet. But that’s all right, they’ve never expected me to talk much anyway. I have always been the quiet one. That’s probably a good thing, though. If I opened my mouth it would only reveal my stupid whiteness, ya? I’m only ‘in’ because of my pops. He’s kind of a legend around here. They still tell his stories at parties and stuff. I just listen, taking it all in.
# # #
