Chapter 1 Chapter 1
IT WAS BAD ENOUGH THAT Mario’s parents were banishing him off the face of the earth for one insignificant, harmless misdemeanor, but did they also have to hire someone to watch his every step?
“Mario Gallegos?” A woman with a tight bun, a tighter smile, and an all-black uniform opened the taxi door as soon as it arrived at the Hopkins International Airport in Cleveland.
To make matters worse, she’d pronounced his last name “Gally-goes” instead of the correct Spanish way.
For a second, Mario thought of telling the nice cab driver he was being kidnapped. The other option would be the old “no espeeca eengleech” standby. Except that a glimpse of his sixth-grade school picture, the one that made him look like a gangster, and not in a cool way, shone from the tablet at the crook of her arm. He grunted and exited the taxi from the traffic-side door, not the one opened for him.
“Who are you?” Mario demanded.
The woman held out the lanyard with her ID card as if she really were an FBI agent proving her identity and high-security clearance. “My name is Frances, and I’m here to escort you to your departure gate.”
Too late now to get back in the cab as the driver heaved Mario’s suitcase out of the trunk. “Have a good flight!”
“Your mother said she left you money to tip the driver,” the FBI nanny reprimanded him, as if he were three and had forgotten to wash his hands after going pee pee in the potty.
Mario frowned. The whole point of giving him cash for the tip had been to teach him responsabilidad (Papi) and accountability (Mami). Having this FBI nanny remind him to do it defeated everything.
The driver grinned and flashed the folded five-dollar bill in his hand that Mario had slipped him in exchange for the suitcase. “He gave it to me already. Thank you, my friend.”
“Yeah, thanks, man.” Mario jerked up his chin in farewell. As much as he had wanted to keep the money, just to annoy his parents, he couldn’t cheat the driver.
The FBI nanny turned to Mario with a stern, mind-reading glare. She’d obviously been given an account of his record and even had one of those hands-free phone devices that clipped to one ear.
She broke her eye contact when someone tooted their horn, and seeing his chance, Mario bolted into the crowded terminal.
Unfortunately, he’d packed too much, and even with three-sixty-degree wheels, his bag wasn’t built for quick crowd maneuvering. Double unfortunately, he was spotted before he was able to hide himself among a family with six kids.
Must be his darn tracked phone. One mistake and his parents acted like he’d burgled the US Treasury.
“Please don’t try that again,” the FBI nanny scolded him the second she materialized next to him.
“Or what, you’re going to handcuff me to you?” Mario demanded so loud, all eight members of the family in front of him turned to stare. He pulled his hood over his head.
Once again, she gave him that stern, patronizing look. “No one’s handcuffing you. You’re a little boy, not a criminal.”
A little boy?
He swallowed several times and, once he was calmer, tried a different tactic. “Look, I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve flown more times than I can count. I’m twelve. I know how to read the boards for flight information.”
“I’m just doing my job.”
If only he could make a run for it again. But first he’d have to slip his phone into one of the bags of the large family and hope they were flying to Bangkok. Try tracking that.
Seriously, though, if his parents thought he was such an irresponsible flight risk, they should have brought him to the airport themselves. Or at least come out of their home offices to say goodbye when the taxi had arrived at the house.
Being escorted through the airport might have been bearable if he were only around strangers, people he’d never see again.
But no, it had to become personal.
“Yo, Mar-ee-yo!” called a familiar voice when they got to the gates.
Swaggering over were Derek and Patrick, from his basketball team. They held their arms up for the high-five handshake the teammates used in greeting. To add insult to injury, they both sported brand-new limited-edition Air Jordans, the very thing that had gotten Mario into this whole “we don’t know what to do with you” mess with his parents in the first place.
“Hey!” Mario plastered on a wide smile and slapped each of their backs in return. “Where are you guys off to?”
“Chicago,” Derek bragged. “Dad got home-plate tickets for the Guardians–White Sox game tonight.”
“Nice,” Mario lied. He secretly found baseball boring, and even more secretly, he really wanted to ask if he could go to the game with them.
Patrick’s face twisted in confusion as he stared at Mario’s hovering chaperone. “You’re not Mario’s mom, are you?”
“No way!” Mario said. Not that the question should have surprised him. In all the years they’d been in school with Mario, the boys had probably only seen Mami a couple of times.
“I’m Frances, Mr. Gally-goes’s unaccompanied-minor escort.”
For a second Derek and Patrick gave them blank expressions. Then they doubled over in fits of laughter, as if she had said that she was also responsible for changing Mario’s diapers. At least they didn’t pull out their phones to document the shame. If his whole basketball team found out, Mario wouldn’t be able to show his face in Ohio again.
Not that he knew he’d be back. Papi had only bought him a one-way ticket.
“It’s Gallegos,” Mario corrected, pulling up his hood even farther. Just in case the boys’ phones did come out. “Pronounced ‘Gah-YEH-gos.’?”
Instead of responding, the FBI nanny touched her earpiece as if listening to something. Was Mami seriously overhearing everything they said?
Derek and Patrick’s mom came over and wrapped Mario in a big hug. She was like one of those perfect humans from TV shows: worked full time at her doctor’s practice and still managed to drop the boys off at school before the first bell and never forgot to pick them up from practice. Whenever Mario had been over for dinner, she actually cooked, too. Like, with a pan and lots of fresh ingredients.
“Mario, sweetie, we heard what happened. Are you okay?” she asked, holding him at arm’s length and examining him up and down. He suddenly wished he’d taken a second look in the mirror before leaving the house.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Mario said. Like he’d say anything different.
“Is it true the cops were called?” Derek asked, his eyes wide in awe.
“Is that why Mary Poppins is here?” Patrick jerked his thumb at the FBI nanny.
Mario tugged at the cords on his hoodie. Seriously, just kill me now.
“No, I—” Mario started, but found he couldn’t explain.
His friends’ mom seemed to understand something Mario didn’t and gave him another hug. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Call if you need me. Boys, they’re boarding us now.”
Mario watched them join their dad for their family trip. Forget sending his phone off to Bangkok. Mario really should have asked them if they’d be open to acquiring a third son. Bet Derek and Patrick wouldn’t be shipped off if they’d done something wrong.
“They seemed nice,” the FBI nanny said, reading his mind.
“Don’t even,” he snapped. His flight wasn’t due to board for another forty minutes, and he couldn’t stand her one more second. He grabbed his backpack and stormed off to the one place she couldn’t follow.
Mario burst into a bathroom stall, slamming the door so hard it jammed into the lock mechanism. He braced his back against a side panel and raised his feet to press against the other so he “sat” suspended in midair.
Can you please tell the FBI nanny to lay off? Mario texted Mami, though he didn’t read any of her previous fifty-two messages. Stop treating me like a baby. I know what I’m doing.
Mami responded so quickly, Mario wouldn’t have been surprised if she had the message drafted already: Ms. Frances is there to make sure you behave and get on the plane.
Mario muttered some choice words in Spanish, which, judging by his stall neighbor’s chuckle, were understood by at least one person in the bathroom. He went back to ignoring his mother and opened a game app to pass the time.
It didn’t load.
He checked that he was connected to the free airport Wi-Fi and tried again. Nothing. Not only that, no streaming music or videos, no search results on the browser. You have got to be kidding!
He put in his earbuds. Time to handle this face to face.
“Did you block all my apps?” he shouted in Spanish when Mami, from the attic, and Papi, from the basement, picked up the video call from their respective home computers. Even when Mario was in the house, most communication with either parent happened through screens.
“Tienes que aprender,” Papi said, his eyes clearly shifting between the two massive programming monitors in his home office. “I can’t have you getting into more trouble and acting like un niñito malcriado without consequences. You’ve forfeited any trust we had in you by stealing from us.”
“And we both agreed you needed less screen time,” Mami said in English. The sound of her clicking fingers typing code transferred through the speaker.
Mario squeezed his phone hard, wishing he were strong enough to crush it in his bare hand. “So you’ve left me with nothing?”
“Not nothing,” Mami said in a cheery voice. “You can call, text, and video your friends like normal. And to make sure you can still learn, we left the Wikipedia app active.”
Also active, it turned out, was his End Call button.
A different sort of escort awaited Mario when he landed at his final destination.
“¡Mi amor!” Abuela waved at him as soon as he had walked across the tarmac and into the building of the municipal (or minuscule, as it should be dubbed) airport in New Mexico. “How’s my favorite criminal?”
And here he’d thought he’d had enough embarrassment for one day. Why couldn’t she have just driven by to pick him up once he’d gotten his checked bag? Or better yet, gotten him a taxi like a normal parent? But no, she had to meet him in person with perfect hair and makeup (“because you never know who you might see”), expensive Native jewelry, and clothes that looked like they had been made just for her.
To make sure everyone in the tiny airport noticed her, she hadn’t come alone. On either side of her, still as statues, sat two intimidating Dobermans in red service vests.
“¡Mira qué grande estás!” Abuela hit him on the shoulder, hard, as if it were his fault he’d grown taller than her since Christmas. Then she pulled down his cheek to cover it with kisses.
As soon as she released him, the dogs rose to thigh height, wagging their nub tails.
“Say hello to your cousins,” Abuela ordered. “They’ll help keep you in line.”
“Hola Pancho. Hola Villa.”
The two Dobermans slobbered on his hands in greeting, their uncropped ears flapping in excitement. He slipped them each a pretzel he’d saved from the plane. He’d never admit it, but he didn’t mind when they kissed his hands to say hello. Despite Abuela’s tough love, he knew at least one person and two dogs were happy to see him.
“Now, call your parents to let them know I have you and you arrived safely,” Abuela continued in her way of making everything she said sound like an order, which it was. “They were frantic when you gave the escort the slip in Dallas. I told them not to worry, that you knew how to read the flight information on the boards to get to the right gate.”
Mario felt the heat rise on his cheeks as he tried not to smile. It had been pretty James Bond of him to dodge the new escort waiting to help him change planes when he’d landed in Dallas. Even in a bustling airport he’d darted one way and another through the hordes without crashing into anyone to get to his next gate alone. Talk about off season training.
He’d also kept his phone off after having hung up on his parents to escape being tracked. Getting back online wasn’t going to be pretty.
The phone flashed like a strobe light as literally hundreds of messages pelted down from the satellite.
“Mami already knows.” He held up his phone showing the latest of the messages. “She just texted to say hi to you.”
Abuela grumbled. “In my day, we communicated with our voices.”
Not that Abuela was one of those elderly people who didn’t get smartphones—she knew how to use hers better than Mario. When his worked. But she didn’t think technology replaced live communication. As a result, Abuela was the only person Papi would actually call.
“They’re both deep in deadlines.” Mario excused his parents out of habit.
Abuela shot him a disapproving look. Whether the criticism was for defending his parents or his parents’ behavior itself, he didn’t know.
The four walked to get his suitcase, the two dogs never once pulling on their leashes. Abuela had paid to get them “service dog” training just so she could take them anywhere. Here at the airport, everyone gave them a wide berth.
“You know I was the one who told your parents to send you to me, ¿verdad que sí?” she asked.
Mario nodded.
Not that it’d taken much convincing. Papi had already been on the phone with Abuela when the credit card fraud alert had come in. That had been Mario’s first mistake. He should have never tried to get away with something while Papi was talking with Abuela, who always rattled Papi’s nerves by saying what Papi didn’t want to hear.
Mario was willing to bet that was the first time anyone had dared hang up on Abuela.
Mistake number two came from trying to order the just-released limited-edition white-and-red Air Jordans with a certificate of authenticity signed by MJ himself from a website called genueengoodznotstollen.com. In Mario’s defense, they were fifty bucks cheaper than on other sites with guaranteed free next-day delivery.
While Papi had yelled at Mario (“¿Cómo se te ocurre gastar tanto en unos zapatos?” and “I should call the cops to teach you a lesson” and other threats and accusations for what felt like ten hours), Mami had gone through their credit card statements and discovered a lot of other purchases neither parent remembered making.
In retrospect, Mario also probably shouldn’t have bought an e-zine subscription to Farts and Toots, even though it was a gas. Call that his third mistake.
And of course Abuela had called back and demanded to know what was going on. His parents locked themselves in Papi’s office, but even from within his own room, Mario overheard their side of the conversation: “What are we supposed to do with him? Our jobs have us under a lot of pressure. We can’t deal with a delinquent right now.”
That’s probably when Abuela had suggested having him come to her, because the next thing Mario knew, Mami had texted to tell him they’d booked him a one-way flight to New Mexico.
“Thanks for having me,” Mario said automatically as he collected his luggage from baggage claim. It was what she expected him to say.
“I promised your parents I’d whip you into shape. Don’t let me down,” Abuela said.
Mario grumbled his agreement.
It’s not like he didn’t like his abuela. Truthfully, she was by far his favorite family member, and he knew he was hers (after her beloved canine children, of course). She never switched between ignoring him and treating him like a niñito chiquito. She got him presents she knew he’d like (and she was almost always right) and thought up things for them to do as a family. But their past time together had happened during short breaks and holidays, often during snowboarding season. What was he going to do here for an entire summer? It wasn’t as if she had friends with kids or grandkids his age.
“I have a surprise for you tomorrow,” Abuela said. She pressed a button on her key fob to open the rear of her Mercedes SUV for Mario’s suitcase. Then, like a chauffeur, she held open the door to the back seat for the pups, who clambered onto the leather seats with the entitlement of spoiled children.
“You signed me up for basketball camp?” Mario had overhead Mami suggesting this when they finalized the arrangements to send him away. All of two days ago.
Abuela winked. “Even better. Ya verás.”
