“Spit out your gum,” says Brianna.
In the space Lizette once occupied, there are four divots pressed into the carpet.
Angel holds Brianna’s gaze and begins to chew, slow, determined, openmouthed.
“I’m serious. Spit it out.” At Brianna’s temples and above her upper lip, sweat rises.
“No.” The word comes out parched. Angel licks her lips. “No.”
Brianna half stands, her skirt rumpled and riding up, then stops in that position. “I am warning you, Angel. We have rules here, and if you want to stay in this community you need to abide by them.”
“You kicked Lizette out for nothing.”
“Lizette left. She made the decision to leave.”
“Because you forced her out! She needed help, more help than any of us, and instead you forced her out! Right now she probably doesn’t even have food in the house except maybe cereal. She only has her brother and he moved out, and now where’s she going to go? To some stranger she barely knows? With a GED she could’ve done so many good things, like a job. And what about Mercedes? None of this is Mercedes’s fault.”
Brianna is miserable; she doesn’t want to be doing this, but can’t stop herself. “Angel, I am warning you: Get control of yourself. You are pushing boundaries, and that will not be tolerated.”
“Boundaries?” cries Angel. “Oh, please, tell me more about boundaries. Tell how sleeping with my dad isn’t pushing boundaries!”
Brianna’s breath is sharp.
“Wait, what?” asks Trinity. “Are you for serious?”
Angel is crying, her sobs loud and messy. The girls watch—some with eyes on Angel, some with eyes on Brianna, their mouths actually agape.
“Angelica Padilla, spit out your gum now, or there will be serious consequences.” It never crossed her mind that Angel would confront her, and like this, in public. She assumed that Angel would turn inward with her suspicions, that she’d second-guess herself—and that if Angel did somehow give voice to her suspicions—in private, after school, maybe—that she’d ultimately believe Brianna, might even apologize for thinking her teacher could be so preposterously unprofessional. Brianna had trusted in her power over the girl. Foolish, foolish. And she feels obscurely betrayed by Angel, too, as if she broke a pact—of what? Affection? After all Brianna has done to support her!
The movement of Angel’s mouth is robotic. Her face is contorted, anguished, as she chomps. She looks like she is about to be ill.
“Okay, Angel. You’ve made your decision. Out.”
Angel’s mouth stills. Her tear-glossed eyes widen in disbelief.
Brianna holds her gaze for a moment, then, feeling very calm and self-contained, sits and turns her attention to the stack of papers on her desk. Ache blooms in her heart. Evenly, without looking up, she says, “You heard me. Don’t come back.”
Just a couple hours after his daughter leaves for school, she’s back, Connor babbling in her arms. Without a word, she tosses the keys on the table, and spends the rest of the morning shut in his mother’s room with the baby.
Amadeo gets up several times, beer in hand, pretending that he’s on the way to the bathroom, but instead stands listening at his mother’s bedroom door. Occasionally he hears murmurs, but mostly silence. Maybe they’re napping in there. Or maybe Angel has already told his mother that he slept with her teacher, and they’re so united against him they’re beyond language.
When Angel helps her grandmother to the bathroom, or changes Connor, Amadeo tries to catch her eye, but she doesn’t look down the hall in his direction. Each time the door clicks shut behind her. Amadeo brings lunch—two bowls of canned chicken noodle—but no one answers his knock. He leaves the tray outside the door, and when he comes back, one has been brought inside, the other left untouched.