This altar-boy act has got to go.
"High school's the real deal," the older brother warns. "People don't come up to your face and ask, 'You talkin' about me?' They just beat the [expletive] out of you."
Silently, Calixto Salgado listens, his oversize South Pole tee making him look even thinner than he is.
"When you're at Gaithersburg, you gotta make people respect you." The brother slices his English tough. "Y'know what I'm saying?" Calixto doesn't answer. "If you walk around that school and you look like a little punk" -- like a sweet, weak kid unarmed with strut and glare -- "they're gonna come up and start messing with you."
Ever Salgado doesn't explain who "they" are. Calixto already knows: the gangs. Ever has battled them at Gaithersburg High. Now it's Calixto -- deeply spiritual Calixto, whose friends call him "our priest" -- who must be ready to fight.
Staring straight ahead, past the family's five rosaries and the Salvadoran Virgen de la Paz hanging on the kitchen wall, Calixto tucks his fingers between his legs and the wooden chair. He hunches his shoulders toward his ears. He does not want to hear this.
But he fears Ever is right. He trusts his brother to tell him things his parents cannot.
"The kid who wants to ruin himself will ruin himself," his father says, his Spanish rolling. "But the kid who wants to be successful will be successful."
Respectfully, Calixto nods, but later shakes his head. His parents "don't know how it is," he worries. Who is he going to be in high school? Who is he going to make proud -- his brother? His parents? Himself?
Maybe he has a choice.
No, Ever tells him. The choice has already been made.
* * *
Calixto's Choice