Delia's Crossing (Delia 1)

He nodded and felt his way to a chair, lowering himself carefully.

“Tell me what really happened after that, Delia. Qué sucedió? After the Mexican boys left the fiesta?”

“Sophia and her friends wanted to…how do you say, follow, go behind Ignacio and his friends.”

“And she told my mother you lost them because they were going so fast. My mother should have known that was a lie. Since Sophia knew where Bradley was, it wouldn’t matter if they had gone so fast ahead of them, right? Which means you were all there when they attacked Bradley? You saw what happened to him, didn’t you?”

“No adentro…no en la casa.”

“You didn’t go inside the house, but you saw what happened to Bradley?”

“Sí, yes. The window…he came out. Fell…”

“And then what?”

“Sophia’s friend drove away quickly. I didn’t know…no sabía…”

“You didn’t know how badly Bradley was hurt?”

“Sí.”

“Why did you go with them?” he asked angrily, and then shook his head. “That’s a stupid question. What else could you do?”

He put his elbows on his knees and lowered his head to his hands.

“I don’t know what to believe about anyone anymore,” he said. He raised his head slowly. “Why did you come to my room nearly naked?” He pointed his finger in my direction. “You are not as innocent as you pretend to be, right? Well?” he demanded. “La verdad. You’ve been with other boys in Mexico, right? You knew what you were doing when you came into my room. You weren’t so innocent in my room. Does that mean you weren’t so innocent with Bradley? Well?”

I was shaking my head, but he couldn’t see, of course.

“I did not want to be in your room. I…”

“Then why did you do it? Por qué? Huh? Why? I liked you, Delia. I thought very highly of you, and I felt sorry for you when Mr. Baker took you away and treated you that way. Why would you come into my room and do something like that? Is that how you got boys to like you back in Mexico? Is it?” he practically shouted. He looked as if the effort gave him pain.

“No.”

“You grew up fast, huh? You might as well tell me the truth. It doesn’t matter now. C’mon,” he said, taunting me. “Tell me some of your Mexican stories about you and your boyfriends. Go on, tell me.”

“No, Edward. There are no such stories.”

“Right. You just decided to come into my room and offer yourself to me.”

“No, I did not want to do this.”

“So, how did you come to do it?”

“Su madre,” I began.

“My mother?” He stopped smiling. “What about my mother?”

My lips fell shut, but I realized I had already opened the door. The truth was like a balloon I was trying to flatten; it just kept popping up here and there. His face seemed to brighten as he thought.

“Are you saying my mother sent you into my room like that?” He grimaced. “But why would she do that?”

“Para ver…to see.”

“To see? You’re saying she was there at the time? Mi madre estaba…in the room? Tell me!” he nearly shouted, now standing again.

He was angrier than before. I thought I would burst into sobs and not be able to speak. My throat was tight, but I said, “Sí.”