Free Dream Things True by Marie Marquardt Page A

twelve and already suffering the disorientation of puberty. At first, she didn’t understand why her father kept brushing aside Ra ú l’s requests to take him to the Department of Driver Services to get his learner’s permit. She assumed her father was just too busy with his work, or that the cost of the permit was too high and Ra ú l would need to save more money.
    But one afternoon, Ra ú l and several of his friends from the soccer team were sprawled across the furniture in the living room, watching a match between Mexico and Honduras. She decided to tease him, hoping that this might erase the awkwardness she felt in the presence of these older boys.
    â€œWhat, Ra ú l?” she taunted. “Your friends all have to come here now since you can’t drive?”
    â€œShut up, Alma,” he said.
    â€œAre you too scared to take the test?”
    â€œAlma, c á llate ,” he said, standing to face her.
    â€œYou are , aren’t you?” Alma said, thrusting her shoulders forward.
    With his jaw clenched and his eyes dull, Ra ú l reached out and violently wrenched her arm behind her back, dragging her into the bedroom.
    Slamming the door shut behind them, Ra ú l yelled. “Don’t you get it, Alma? We’re illegals. I’ll never get a license, and neither will you. It doesn’t matter how good a driver I am, or how goddamned smart you are. It will never happen.”
    Ra ú l never yelled at her. He never treated her roughly. He always handled her as if she were one of those porcelain-faced figurines of the Virgin Mary—precious and very fragile.
    For a while, she hoped that his fury and frustration were simply the result of Mexico’s terrible performance on the soccer field that afternoon. They weren’t. She now knew, because fury and frustration had come to live intertwined with hopelessness and despair on her own interior landscape. Alma now understood, too well, exactly how Ra ú l felt that afternoon. But Ra ú l had let himself be defeated. Two years later, when the scholarship offers dissolved just because he didn’t have a Social Security number, he simply settled for the community college. Back then, Alma told herself that she would not let herself be defeated by the absence of nine numbers. But now?
    She pushed aside her thoughts and picked up the first stack of information.
    â€œThat’s a scholarship that the Boys and Girls Club offers,” Mrs. King told her. “It’s very competitive, and we need to look into whether you need to be, uh, ‘in status’ to be eligible, but I think you’ve got a great chance. It requires some public speaking. Are you OK with that?”
    â€œWhat kind of public speaking?” Alma asked.
    â€œThe finalists are required to speak at a banquet at the end of their junior year. You’d just be asked to tell a bit about your life and your goals. It’s very inspiring.”
    â€œSure,” Alma said. “I’m up for that.”
    She knew there were plenty of things she couldn’t tell—things she’d never tell a room full of people—but she would come up with something to say if it meant a four-year college scholarship.
    As they made their way through each of the stacks of information, Mrs. King assured Alma that she would research the “problem” of her “status,” and that something would work. Alma had nothing to offer except a whole lot of thank-yous. So she said it, over and over, until they got back into the car.
    Mrs. King saw the blue flyer from church, and she picked it up from the floor of the Buick.
    â€œWhat’s this?” she asked.
    â€œI don’t know. Someone gave it to me after Mass.”
    Alma stared down at the sheet of paper. In bold print it read, “Tell Senator Prentiss to stop separating US citizens from their parents. Ask him to stop the deportations.”
    â€œHe’s one of our