Читать книгу BORDER JUSTICE - Aubrey Smith - Страница 9

The sun was already high when Sierra woke. Quietly she turned in her bed to see if anyone else was still asleep. She stared at the huge Lady GaGa poster over Sandra’s bed, but Sandra was already up and her bed made. Rosemary was gone. Her bed was made in her usual haphazard “best I can do” way. Sierra was alone in the bedroom and, as she listened, the house was quiet.

She opened the door and walked through the house, a little surprised to find no one at home. Her mother had left a note stuck on the refrigerator with a magnet-Gone to Mass and then to the Garza victory celebration in the park. “I guess they’re too ashamed of me to take me out in public, except to work. Well, that’s okay by me,” she pouted.

After a long warm shower, she wadded up the note that was on the refrigerator door. Then she opened the door to get some milk for her bowl of Froot Loops. It was ten-thirty and there was nothing on the TV except religious jerks asking for you to send them money. She turned the set off and stacked her dirty dishes in the sink.

The rules to wash what you mess up don’t apply when you’re not home Mama, she thought. Sierra went back into her bedroom, turned on the radio and found a station out of San Antonio that played only the wildest rock. She curled up against the headboard and pouted. “How could I have been so stupid? I hate you Randy, and your secret invention. Phooey on you and your Sangria.”

Lunchtime came and went. About two-thirty Sierra ate some Snack Well chocolate cookies and a glass of milk, then went back into her room. She looked at the clock. It was six-twenty when she heard the car drive up.

“Sierra, get out here and clean up this mess in the sink,” her mother hollered.

“Que tienes?” her dad asked. Everyone was staring at her.

“No me heches a mi la culpa!” she stammered in frustration.

“Quien tiene la culpa? Me parece que la culpa es tuya. Whose fault do you think it is Sierra? Your mother’s or mine? Perhaps we should hold your sisters to blame for you staying out all night and then pouting for two days. I told you that we’d not speak about Friday night again and I won’t, but you’ve got to get your head back on straight. Escuchame!” Then in a softer voice her dad said, “Oyeme, mi hijita, I love you and I always will. But none of us are going to put up with you acting like a six-year-old.

“Desculpame. Lo siento mucho, I’ll clean up the dishes and then I’ve got to study. I’ve got one more test Monday and then I’m out for the summer. I’m sorry about the dishes, okay?”

Everyone seemed to disappear somewhere in the house as she washed and dried the dishes. Her mother watched with sad eyes as Sierra went into the bedroom to study.