Free The Book of Unknown Americans: A novel by Cristina Henríquez

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    In the beginning I ate the crustless sandwiches and opened a can of Coke, then excused myself to my bedroom to do homework or to listen to my iPod. My mom would track me down sometimes and give a disapproving look and try to convince me that it would be nice if I came out and talked to Maribel because she and I were basically the same age and because she was new here so she would probably appreciate me talking to her. “Don’t you think that would be nice?” my mom asked. But I didn’t think so. I mean, maybe it would have been nice for Maribel, but otherwise what was the point? Looking at her, sure. I could have looked at her all day. But actually having conversations with her? That was a different story.
    Then one week I was walking home from my bus stop in the rain when, from behind, someone said, “Where you going?”
    I turned around and saw Garrett Miller grinning at me, his skateboard under his arm.
    “Home,” I said.
    “Back to Mexico?”
    “I’m not from Mexico.”
    “My dad says all you people are from Mexico.”
    When I didn’t respond, Garrett said, “What are you looking at?”
    Garrett didn’t have a single friend that I knew of. His older brother had gone to Iraq with the air force and had come back in a body bag. The rumor at school was that Garrett’s mom had a breakdown after that. She just couldn’t handle it, so she’d split and hadn’t been back since. Supposedly Garrett’s dad started drinking so much that he lost his job. They must have been living off benefits from the military or something. Or maybe they were on welfare by now. I didn’t know.
    I started walking away. I could hear Garrett trailing me, the shuffle of his sneakers on the pavement, the drag of his jeans. What was I supposed to do? Was he going to follow me all the way up to my door? What did he want? And then I heard another sound—the low rumble of an engine. I looked back and saw a bus, Maribel’s bus, turning off the road. It drove past Garrett and me and pulled up in front of the building. I watched as Maribel got off, walking down the steps like a deer carefully picking its way down the side of a mountain. At the sight of her, I forgot about Garrett for a second. She might have been one of the Evers kids, but she was still the prettiest girl I had ever seen in real life.
    After the bus bounced back onto the road, Maribel just stood in the middle of the parking lot in the drizzling rain. She didn’t move.
    “Hey,” Garrett called.
    Maribel turned.
    “You remember me? I saw you a few weeks ago at the gas station.”
    Maribel stared at him.
    “What’s your name?” Garrett asked.
    When she didn’t answer, he said, “What’s the matter? You don’t speak English? ¿No inglés?”
    She shook her head.
    I watched as Garrett took a step back and surveyed Maribel from head to toe, nodding in appreciation. She didn’t squirm, didn’t shift, just stood there letting herself be ogled.
    “Take off your sunglasses so I can see your eyes,” Garrett said, but instead of waiting for her to do it, he pulled her sunglasses off her face himself. When Maribel reached for them, Garrett held them up in the air where she couldn’t get them. Reflexively, Maribel put her hand over her eyes.
    “What?” Garrett said. “Something wrong with your eyes?”
    He pried her hand away and held on to it.
    I cringed.
    He snaked his head closer to study her face and then pulled back, looking confused. “Something wrong with you?” he said, dropping her hand like he’d just been burned. Then he whistled as if he’d put it together. “That’s why you were on that bus, isn’t it? You’re some kind of retard. How do you say ‘retard’ in Spanish? Hey!” Garrett said, waving his arm in front of her blank face. “I’m talking to you. Can’t you hear?”
    I took a step, then stopped. What did I think I was going to do?
    Garrett twirled her sunglasses around. “You need these back?”
    When Maribel reached for them,