Free La Linea by Ann Jaramillo Page B

underbrush. “It’s better. I’ve checked it out already. The federales swing through the train yard every now and then.”
    We followed the tracks for several hundred meters. The grass on both sides was firmly packed down, evidence that many train-hoppers had waited here before us. In the thick undergrowth beyond the grass, others had cut back the brush to make places to sleep, or to hide. A dead campfire blackened the ground in one spot. A faint wisp of smoke crept up from the center.
    A pack of yellow-eyed dogs emerged from the brush and wandered toward us, sniffing the ground. The leader eyed us boldly. I picked up a rock and flung it in his direction. Javi ran after the dogs, screaming, “Go on! Get out of here! ¡Lárguense de aquí! ” I hoped the dogs weren’t like the rats, another bad omen.

CHAPTER 19
    Javi chose a spot just before the track curved for us to wait. “This is good,” he declared. “The mata gente will still be going slow enough for us to hop on. It’ll be here in less than an hour. You’ll see, no problem. But first things first.”
    From his pack, he took out a pocketknife, the kind with miniature tools attached. He pulled out the little scissors from one side and held them out to Elena.
    â€œYou need to cut your hair off, all off, short. Then put your cap back on,” Javi instructed.
    He looked away, but continued, “You should disguise yourself. The less you look like a girl, the better. There are train gangs. They rob, steal, beat people up.…”
    Javi paused. Finally, he looked back at Elena. “And they rape many women.”
    The look I saw in Elena’s eyes when Colmillo robbed us returned for just a moment. She grabbed the scissors and began to hack away at her hair. It fell to the ground in dark, thick clumps. She cut and cut her hair. Then she asked Javi to cut it even more, until it lay like a small black cap on her head.
    When he finished, Javi stood with the little scissors open in his hand, staring at Elena. “You look like m’ija Magdalena with your hair like that. She cut it short herself last year. She plays soccer, climbs trees, runs. She said she didn’t want to bother with her hair. Really, you could be hermanas, you look so much like her.”
    Javi seemed unable to move. He seemed stuck to the ground. He couldn’t take his eyes off Elena’s face.
    â€œWhat else, Javi? What else?” Elena demanded.
    She just wanted to finish. She just wanted to get it over with. Elena looked down at her clothes. Her pants and loose shirt, her sneakers—all of them could’ve belonged to a boy. It looked like a good disguise to me. With her cap pulled down over her eyes, she would fool almost anybody.
    Javi turned, and dug into his backpack. He pulled out a black marker and handed it to me. His hand trembled. He looked me in the eye, but it seemed he was looking straight through me to a place a long ways away.
    â€œWrite ‘Tengo SIDA’ in big letters across her chest,” he said quietly. “The threat of AIDS might stop some men.”
    I swallowed hard, took the top off the marker, and wrote the words in thick block letters right above Elena’s small breasts. It was warm, but she shivered anyway. I shivered, too, at all the things I didn’t know, and didn’t want to know.
    And how could I protect Elena when I didn’t have a clue about all the things I was supposed to protect her from?
    Of course Javi had a plan for getting on the train. He made us run through the steps ten times before he was satisfied. I didn’t see why we had to practice hopping the mata gente. We were young and quick and there was no one else around to fight us for a spot on a ladder.
    â€œIt’s coming!” Javi said. “Can you hear it?” At that moment, the mata gente ’s whistle blew loudly. It was close, very close.
    â€œCome on! Get in position!” Javi