Raymond stood holding the receiver in his hands and stared back at his stepfather.
“How do I know if it’s local or not?”
“Easy. If it comes up on my phone bill, and I have to shell out extra for it, it’s not.”
Yeah. I know that. Duh.
“I meant . . . how do I know before I make the call?”
“No idea. But figure it out.”
Raymond set the phone back down in its base and hurried out of the kitchen.
My Luis Project is not off to the best start, he thought.
Then he decided that statement might be giving his scant progress more credit than it deserved.
He stood in the school library, near the window, squinting under the strong fluorescent lights. There was no one in the room except Raymond and the librarian. He was actually supposed to be in a last-period study hall, but he was cutting. Lately it had been harder and harder to convince himself to sit still for that useless last period. Sometimes he just went home. It seemed to make more sense.
The librarian looked up into his face.
“Raymond,” she said. “Where are you supposed to be?”
“Study hall. But you can study in a library, too. Right?”
She gave him a crooked sideways smirk. She was about fifty, with reddish hair and a knowing gaze that always seemed to cut right through him. If he had been guilty of any crime, or even misbehavior, she’d be the last person Raymond would want to see.
“Well, yes and no,” she said, still smirking. “Regardless, you’re supposed to be where you’re supposed to be.”
He stood a minute, silently, waiting to see if she really meant he had to leave. She made no moves toward ejecting him.
“I was wondering if there was an English-Spanish dictionary I could check out,” he said. “Or even a phrasebook.”
“You’re learning Spanish?”
“I’d like to, yeah.”
“Are you taking Spanish?”
“No. I’m taking Latin. But I have less and less idea why every day. Because nobody speaks Latin.”
“But it’s the root of all the other languages.”
“That’s what my Latin teacher keeps telling me.”
“I agree that Spanish is very useful. And we have three dictionaries. But they’re reference only. I can’t check them out to you.”
“Oh,” Raymond said, and dropped his head, telegraphing his disappointment.
“But . . . I don’t know. How long do you need it?”
“Just three or four days. Till I get my allowance. Then I’ll buy my own.”
“Promise you won’t let me down on this? You’ll bring it back in good condition and buy a replacement if anything happens to it?”
“Yes, ma’am. I promise.”
“It’s so rare for guys your age to come in here and show an interest in language, and tell me they’re wanting to learn something when they’re not even being graded on it. It’s inspiring for someone like me. So I’m going to quietly hand you one. But the arrangement is strictly between you and me. And it’s going to be back in less than a week with no problems. Right?”
“Yes, ma’am. I promise. I won’t let you down. Thank you.”
Raymond practiced on the subway ride. Out loud, but under his breath.
“Me llamo Raymond Jaffe. Luis Velez, está él aquí?”
A Latina woman sitting next to him, bouncing a baby on her knee, glanced over at him and smiled.
“Está aquí,” she said. Or, at least, that’s what it sounded like she said. Like all one word, really. “Estaquí.”
“That’s how you say it?” he asked her.
“Pretty much. Otherwise it sounds like you’re talking out of a dictionary.”
“Well . . . I am.”
She smiled again.
“Okay, thanks,” he said. “I mean . . . muchas gracias.”
“De nada. Or you can be a little more formal and say ‘No hay de qué.’”
“But then I might sound like I’m talking out of a dictionary.”
“I think you run that risk either way,” she said. But her smile told him not to take it as an insult.
Even her baby smiled at him. She was a beautiful little girl, maybe a year old, with curly hair and gold studs in her ears. Raymond smiled back.
The subway train squealed to a halt.
“Oh, this is my stop,” he said, and jumped to his feet.
“Buena suerte,” she said.
“I don’t know that one.”