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students back where they belong—when he catches them. Our class is big, though, and it’s easy to duck down behind someone in the back of the room and hide. Sometimes we’re halfway through the period before he notices someone who doesn’t belong. But he caught Beth last week, and I saw Janelle grinning. She don’t have Devon yet, but still she wants him all to herself. I know that feeling, when you love somebody like that. And not just a guy.
    I love my Rosa.
    Rosa is so beautiful. I wish I could bring her to school. Mr. Ward would love her. Her toes are like tiny churros you want to nibble all the time. And I do, whenever my big sister, Christina, has me over to baby-sit. She smiles more than she did before she had Rosa. Or maybe she’s just happy to be out of the house. I would be. There’s nothing for me there, that’s for sure.
    My brother, Tito, left long ago, and then Christina. So it’s just me now, with Mami and her husband, Berto. Besides her factory job, all she cares about is him. As for Berto, he’s got no use for nobody’s kids, even Mami’s.
    Why does she put up with him? All he does is belch beer and scream at her to bring him and his buddies more while they sit around playing dominos or watching fights on TV.
    “I bet Papi doesn’t guzzle beer all the time,” I often say to Mami.
    “You don’t know what he does, Lupe,” she always says. “How could you? You were only five when he left. And he left on his own, Lupe. Pero, what did I expect? He was a jíbaro through and through. He couldn’t wait to get back to his precious mountains ! And this is the man you love? But Berto, who puts food in your mouth, him you despise. ¡Dios mio!”
    I hate it when she calls Papi a hick, the way she spits the word out.
    I used to write him. So many letters. But he never wrote back. Why, Papi? There’s nobody here to love me now. Mami has Berto, Tito has his carnales on the streets, Christina has Chooch and Rosa. And me? Raul’s been giving me the eye lately, but he can forget it. He’s too much in love with himself, always drawing pictures of his own face. What’s that about? Besides, I already got a man. My Marco. Except, Marco hardly has time for me, even though he claims I’m his woman, his one and only.
    Sometimes I say my rosaries and beg for someone to love. I lay in bed under the crucifix and pray ’til my fingers go numb on the beads.
    Lately when I look at Rosa, I think I should do like my friend Gloria Martinez. I should make a baby of my own. Maybe that’s the answer.
    I like Marco good enough. I don’t want to marry him, but he’s cute. We’d make pretty babies together, I think.
    I’ve always loved babies. When I was younger, I would wrap my doll in the lace from my first Communion and I’d show her off to all my neighbors. “Mira, mira,” I’d say. “See my baby. Isn’t she perfect?” And she loved me better than anybody, because I was her mother. It was only pretend, of course. But if I had a real baby, she would love me like that. The way Gloria’s baby loves her. The way Rosa loves Christina.
    I saw Gloria and her baby in the grocery last night. I waved to them and all the time, I’m thinking, Gloria, you have no idea how lucky you are.

OPEN MIKE
    Brown Hands
    BY LUPE ALGARIN
     
     
    You, macho soledad,
the secret I whisper in the night,
you fill your eyes with me
like a mirror
I see myself in.
Our twin hearts beat
like congas, the rhythm
churning our blood
to salsa.
Our brown hands entwine
beneath moonshine,
clasping all the love
we’ll ever need—

Tyrone
    So, the daydreamer speaks.
    Every time I look at Lupe, she seems like she’s somewhere else. Or maybe she just wants to be. Maybe she’s thinkin’ about the guy in that poem. But if she is, how come she never smiles?

Gloria Martinez
    Pampers. Apple sauce. Strained peas. I look up for a minute, see Lupe smiling at me. I nod, then go back to making my list. Orange juice. Baby powder. Soy milk. I