Free Under the Same Sky by Cynthia DeFelice Page B

aliens meant foreigners. But why had those guys called our crew “illegal” aliens? Mom and Dad went strictly by the book. They wouldn’t allow anything illegal to go on at the farm.
    But I was beginning to realize there were a lot of things happening at the farm that I didn’t understand.

10
    When I walked down the driveway the next morning, I saw that the crew members were all outside, cleaning up the mess left by last night’s joyriders. Watching them, I thought about how scary it had all seemed to me, even though I hadn’t actually been the target of the attack. I tried to imagine what it must feel like to have that kind of meanness pointed right at you.
    Manuel was raking gravel off the grass, where it had been tossed by the cars’ wheels. David was holding a big trash bag in his good arm, and some of the other guys were tossing in broken bottles and the shells left behind from cherry bombs. “At least it wasn’t the migra ,” he said.
    Rafael, who wasn’t doing much, just muttering and gesturing at the debris, nodded in agreement.
    But Frank looked worried. “Yes,” he said, “but something like this could call the attention of the migra to us.”
    Luisa was stooping down to pick up little pieces of glass, so I knelt down beside her to help. “What—or who—are the migra? ” I asked.
    Looking tired, Luisa shook her head and waved my question away.
    I tried again. “Those guys who came here, they’re a bunch of idiots,” I said.
    â€œMmmm,” she answered.
    â€œWell, at least they’re gone,” I said, which was pretty stupid, but, as usual, I found myself tongue-tied around Luisa.
    It wasn’t only that she was a girl and pretty, and Manuel’s cousin. For some reason, I felt like apologizing to her for what had happened, even though I wasn’t one of the jerks who had come ripping through the yard the night before. I wanted her to know all gringos weren’t the same, but how do you say a thing like that?
    There was a silence that felt long to me. Then she said softly, “Maybe yes. But probably not.”
    Startled, I asked, “What?”
    She looked at me then, and once again I had the odd feeling that she was older than I was. She seemed to be seeing past me to another time or place. Wherever or whenever it was, it made her eyes dark with sadness.
    She stood up, brushed the hair from her face, and forced a weak smile. “I hope you are right, Joe.”
    I wanted to ask what she meant by that, but Dad came out then. He and Manuel talked a little bit about what had happened the night before. Dad said, “If those guys show up while you’re working, or if anything odd happens, come right back here and tell me about it, okay? If anybody hassles you, ignore ’em and walk away. Don’t get into it with them.”
    â€œWe don’t want no trouble, Señor Jim,” said Manuel.
    â€œWe may not be able to avoid it,” Dad said grimly. “I talked to Tom Matthews this morning, and our visitors stopped at his place last night, too.”
    Manuel nodded.
    Dad straightened up then and turned businesslike. “Okay,” he said, “so you’ll be picking strawberries today, out in the far field.”
    â€œSí.”
    â€œWhen you’ve got a full load, bring ’em back here. I’ve got a truck coming to pick up the morning’s haul, and Tip-Top wants a delivery later on this afternoon.”
    Dad started for the barn, but Manuel said, “Boss?”
    Dad stopped and turned around. “Yes?”
    â€œYou pay like before, by the basket?”
    â€œOh, right. Yes. Same as last year. A dollar-eighty for an eight-quart basket. Sorry, I guess I’m a little distracted.”
    â€œOkay, good.” Then Manuel cocked his head in my direction, his eyebrows lifted in a question. “Little Boss, same thing?”
    Dad hesitated.
    I didn’t