with the tiny embroidered lizard on his shirt. I looked up. He was very good looking up close. He had cat eyes—pupils so large it was hard to tell what color his irises were. He blinked. Two curtains of lashes floated against his cheeks.
Felix squeezed my hand. He sauntered across the room, looking through the glass cases at the bread on the trays. The labels on the shelves read: conchas, cuernitos, bolillos, marranitos—aka conch-shaped sugar- topped loaves, croissants, white baguette style rolls, and ginger pigs.
“Have a taste, Felix,” my dad said.
Felix picked up a large fluffy conch. He tore off pieces and stuffed them in his mouth until it was nothing but sugar dust on his shirt. “Delicious. I wish I could make this myself.”
“You bake?” my dad asked with a grin.
Felix laughed. “I try every now and then. Nothing this good.” Felix went on about how he could make out the taste of lemon rind. He listed out other spices I was surprised he’d even heard of, like anise and cloves. “I decided to minor in chemistry when I discovered an ability to decipher the ingredients in almost anything, but my major is business.”
“Very nice. Speaking of business, will you kids excuse us for a minute?” My dad ushered Colonel Franco toward the door. “What’s all this business about these kids writing letters?”
“We’re reaching out to some of our public officials,” Colonel Franco said.
“Can’t Jorge Peregrino just make some phone calls? I know he knows some people in the Mayor’s office.” My dad was right. Peregrino was more than connected, and he was more than doing okay moneywise. He the richest man in Pig Park. He had made a fortune importing and distributing herbal supplements from south of the border. His customers and friends were everywhere. Big cities, small ones. Rich neighborhoods, poor ones.
Felix walked towards me. “You have an interesting name,” he said.
“My mom wanted to name me Tomasina after my dad. My dad didn’t like it, so they named me Masi for short. Spelled M-A-S-I, but pronounced Mah-see.” His lips parted. He smiled a bleached-tooth smile. Heat rose up my spine. I was suddenly nervous—or some other thing.
“So it’s a family name.”
“Yep. After my dad.”
“How long have you been in business?”
“Since before I was born. Well, my parents have been. I mean.” My voice cracked. It was city asphalt in the spring.
I excused myself and ran back to the kitchen. The kitchen door swung closed. I pressed my back against the nearby wall. The voices in the front room carried on a few more minutes.
I waited until I was sure that they were gone and walked back into the room.
My dad smiled like his face was about to split in two. He washed his hands and wrapped up the ball of masa sitting on the counter. “This thing seems to be catching speed,” he said.
“Yes.” I wiped down his work area.
My mom entered the room and headed for the register. I glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes past seven: closing time. “We had company?” she asked.
“Colonel Franco was here.” My dad drew the blinds. He turned the deadbolt on the door. “Dr. Vidales Casal sent a boy to help. Colonel Franco came to introduce him. He seemed nice.”
“You didn’t call me. I would like to have met him.”
“You were taking a nap,” my dad said.
“I was tired.” My mom pulled out the register’s tray with such force that a coin flew out. There were ten singles, two fives, four quarters and a roll of dimes in there—no more than we kept to make change.
I don’t know if it was from just waking up, but I could tell she was in a mood. I backed away and tiptoed upstairs.
I lay in my bed staring at my bedroom ceiling. I thought about Felix’s eyes, his lips and his skin the color of toast.
Chapter 9
“That’s my pencil,” Casey said.
“No it’s not,” Stacey said.
“I bought it!”
“No you didn’t!”
They talked non-stop, back and forth, their words flying everywhere, crowding the already small basement. I leaned into Josefina. “Did Colonel Franco visit you guys yesterday?” I asked.
“Sure did,” she said. “Colonel Franco walked HIM up and down the street and introduced him to my parents. Do you think the rest of them are that cute?”
“The rest of who?”
“He said more students would be coming to help us.”
“I don’t know.”
“Are New Mexicans supposed to be cute?”
“Same as old Mexicans.”
“Very funny.”
“I know.”
“Old Mexicans like the Colonel?” Casey interrupted.
“Ew. This is a conversation between two, not three,” Josefina said. She made a big to-do about turning her chair around so that she was facing me and giving her back to the Sanchez sisters. “That boy sure is something to look at. Even more reason to get outside.”
I nodded, relieved at Josefina’s changing attitude. Her good mood was contagious. I smiled. Stacey smiled. The Colonel burst into the room. Even he smiled.
He stood in front of us and held up a large paper for us to see. “Okay, girls. I’ve finished the blueprints. Now, someone dial Jorge Peregrino’s number for me.”
Josefina grabbed the phone, punched in the number and handed it to him. Colonel Franco didn’t waste time with small talk. “Jorge, can you call some of those construction friends of yours? Yes. Tell them that we still want to use the salvaged materials the kids hauled.” Colonel Franco nodded, uttered a few mmms, and hung up.
The phone rang a couple minutes later. Colonel Franco reached for the phone and pressed it against his ear. “Done,” he said. He put down the receiver and sat at his desk. He smiled. “A construction company has just offered to donate and build the support beams for La Gran Pirámide’s structure.”
It all looked so easy. Maybe it was because Peregrino was important or because our pyramid was so extraordinary, but people just wanted to be a part of it like Peregrino had promised. It didn’t matter much as long as it got done.
I chewed on my bottom lip and whispered to Josefina. “This could mean we might get back outside sooner than we thought. Let’s work on changing Colonel Franco’s mind while he’s in a good mood.”
“I
