The Skirt Read Online Free Page B

monkey,” his father said with affection. He turned to Miata, who was coloring at the kitchen table. “What did you do today?” he asked. “I saw you at the library with Ana. You two are going to dance like flowers tomorrow.”
    Miata stuttered, “Ah, well, I checked some books out. We just hung around. We didn’t do anything.”
    “I’m glad I got a good daughter,” her father said. “Some kids were fooling around on the buses.”
    Miata stopped coloring.
    “Did you catch them?” her mother asked.
    “Nah. Henry saw them, but I was busy welding.”
    Miata started coloring again. She was working on a picture of a tropical rain forest.
    Her father sat down at the kitchen table. He said, “There were two girls and a boy on a bike.”
    Miata stopped coloring again.
    “But you know how kids are,” her father said. “They were just fooling around.”
    Miata started coloring again. Her mother said, “You know, I saw two girls and a boy at the library. I wonder if it was them?”
    Miata stopped coloring again. This time she gathered her crayons and picture and left the kitchen. She couldn’t stand to hear any more.
    That night they had hamburgers, thick french fries, and root beer to wash it all down. After dinner her father turned on the television. Luckily for him and the rest of the Dodgers fans, it didn’t rain in San Diego. Her father cuddled up on the couch with Little Joe and Miata. Although the Dodgers lost 4–3, it was something to do on a Saturday night.

S unday morning. The family sat down early to
chorizo con huevos
. They ate happily in silence, pinching up their breakfast with ripped pieces of tortilla. The radio in the kitchen was softly playing Mexican songs.
    Miata’s mother took a sip of her coffee.Then, getting up, she said, “Miata, I have a surprise for you.”
    Miata looked up. She had a little stain of ketchup in the corner of her mouth. Her mother went to the hall closet and returned with a crinkled bag.
    “You have some stuff on your mouth, Miata,” Little Joe said. His cheek was flecked with ketchup and the corners of his mouth stained white with milk.
    Miata pressed a napkin to her mouth and ignored her brother. She was curious about the bag in her mother’s hand.
    “Now close your eyes,” her mother said. Her smile was bright.
    Miata closed her eyes. Maybe it was a new jacket, she thought. Maybe it was a Nintendo. Maybe it was a pair of new shoes. Her mother had been promising her new shoes.
    When her mother patted her hand, sheopened her eyes. Her mother was holding up a skirt. A beautiful new
folklórico
skirt. The shiny lace rippled in the light. It smelled new. It was still stiff from not being worn.
    “It’s pretty,
mi’ja
,” her father remarked. “You’ll be the prettiest girl at the dance.”
    Miata forced a smile. “But I have a skirt, Mom.”
    “That old thing?” her mother said. “Stand up.”
    Her mother pressed the skirt to her waist. “It’s a little long, but you can wear it just for today.”
    “It looks neat,” Little Joe said. He now had ketchup on his elbows.
    “Thanks, Mom,” Miata said. She hugged her mother and went to her bedroom.
    As Miata dressed for church she thought of all the trouble she went through to rescueher old skirt: slipping through the locked gate, rolling off the hood of the bus, getting scraped up. She remembered how they hid behind the oil barrel, and how Rodolfo just slurped on his soda while they were so scared.
Qué
bother! What a waste of time.
    But it
is
pretty, she thought. She admired the new skirt that was fanned out on the bed. She liked the bright new colors and its fresh smell. She liked the rustle that sounded like walking through knee-high weeds. She pictured herself twirling in the middle of her friends.
    She felt sorry for her old skirt. It was like a flower dead on its stem. She folded it carefully and put it in her bottom drawer. She brushed her hair and then stopped. She felt sad for her old skirt. It had