tha—?”
“Bell’s ringing. Talk later.”
He hangs up.
* * *
—
At 8:28 a.m., there’s a knock on the door.
Gorgeous Latina was an understatement.
“You must be Rico,” the woman says with a smile befitting a whitening toothpaste commercial.
I shake the hand she extends, but I don’t really have anything to say. Just looking at her makes me feel extremely insecure about my own…appearance. Massive, uncombed hair, ratty Malcolm X T-shirt, and holey sweatpants. Chipped toenail polish too.
“I’m Anna-Maria,” she says. “Alejandro sent me—”
“Alejandro?”
“Sorry, sorry.” She shakes her head. “Alexander. Zan.”
“Ah. Yes.” Alejandro?
“He didn’t say a whole lot when he called, but he mentioned your baby brother?”
That’s when I notice the lettering on her black bag: ANNA-MARIA G. ROJAS-MACKLIN, MD.
Zan sent a doctor?
I don’t even…Why is everything spinning?
“Are you all right?” Anna-Maria puts a hand on my shoulder. She smells imMACKulate. (I mean, why not give the Macklins their own adjective?)
“Yes, sorry,” I say. “Come in.” And I step aside so she can imbue our little domicile with magic just by entering.
When Jax—who’s stretched out on the couch reading Superfudge—sees Anna-Maria, he literally drops the book.
Me too, kiddo.
“You must be Jaxon.” Anna-Maria extends a hand as she approaches. “I’m Dr. Rojas-Macklin.”
Jax just stares. I’m sure we look like starved orphans who have never known kindness.
“I can take your coat,” I say, suddenly embarrassed. The place is a wreck, and it being the size of a shoe box makes the wreckedness that much more evident.
She smiles and hands it to me. PRADA, the tag says. Likely more valuable than Mama’s actual truck.
I deposit it in the coat closet—my trench winds up on the floor since we don’t have an extra hanger—and when I come back she’s looking down at Jax. “Do you mind if I sit, young man?”
He shakes his head and pulls his knees up to his chest to make room.
“I’ve heard a lot of great things about you, Jaxon. My little brother—you know Zan, yes?”
He nods again.
“Well, Zan is one of your greatest admirers.”
Jax grins all smugly and looks at me. I give him the you-better-not-say-anything-inappropriate glare, and he turns back to Anna-Maria.
She continues, “I hear you’re not feeling too well?” and he shakes his head no. “You mind if I check a few things? Maybe we can find the cause and get you on the road to feeling better?”
“Okay,” Jax rasps.
God, he sounds awful.
Anna-Maria pulls a paper mask, a stethoscope, and a pair of gloves from her bag. “So there’s something going on with that throat, but we’ll listen to your heart first, all right? I’m going to slip this inside your shirt. It’ll be a liiiiiittle cold.”
His eyes go wide when the thing makes contact, but I can see he’s trying to be tough.
“Okay, now breathe in deep for me.”
He does.
She moves the thing. “Again…”
She does this a few more times. “Have you been coughing at all?”
There’s another knock on the door, and my eyes snap up and lock on Jax. Who’s looking at me like Well, are ya gonna get it?
This is all a bit overwhelming.
A feeling that quadruples when I open the door and find Zan-the-Man holding a box so full of gadgets, it looks like he robbed a Best Buy.
He waggles his caterpillars at me.
Though I’m rooted to the spot and can’t speak, I totally go warm all over.
“Ya gonna invite me in, Danger? This box is heavier than it looks.”
“Yes, of course, sorry.” I step to the side.
He enters and closes the door. Leans to the left, so he can see past the “entryway” wall into the living room. “Jax, my man!”
Then Zan says, “¡Hola, vieja!” in an accent that sounds so natural, a chill shoots down the center of my chest.
“Te voy a golpear el trasero, pendejo,” comes the reply from Anna-Maria.
Zan laughs.
She goes on: “¿Estás faltando las clases hoy, eh?”
“No le digas a mi papá.”
“Las locuras que hacemos por amor…”
“Silencio, por favor.”
Now she laughs.
Okay, so I took German for my foreign language requirement (I know nothing), but I certainly know the word amor….Anyway, I’m no expert, of course, but Zan speaks Spanish like his brain’s been soaking in it for years.
He sets the box on the floor and pulls me a foot to the right so we’re hidden from Jax’s and Anna-Maria’s view. Squints up his eyes and puts the back of a hand against my forehead. Takes the other one and puts it up under my jaw.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking to see if you have a temperature.”
“Everyone has a temperature, Macklin.”
He rolls