Ysrael was a biter. Ate his Popsicle in three chomps. Then he chewed on the stick. He watched me lick my Popsicle with a half-curved smile on his face as I tried to take my time, make it last.
Ysrael shook his head at me.
Cool purple drops fell on my knuckles. I licked them off. More purple drops fell at my feet. I switched hands and licked the purple from my fingers. A cascade of purple drops fell to the ground.
“Do I have to take that away from you?” Ysrael asked, the corners of his lips twitching up.
I gave him a menacing look and turned my back to him. Took that Popsicle and ate it up in four quick bites. A cold, sharp headache made me squint in pain. Ysrael leaned forward to see my face. He laughed and laughed. I pushed him on the shoulder. One of his legs shot out and he lost his perch on the cement curb, toppling to the asphalt ground.
Sally sparkled. All her dents and cracks in the paint didn’t matter. Her bright, clean whiteness, the clear windshield, the shine off her bumper—she looked brand-new to us. Suna jumped up as soon as Sally was spit out of the car wash and ran to her side. Ysrael and I followed, taking our time, our steps in line.
“Thanks,” I said.
Ysrael chewed on his stick. “You didn’t look so great when you got to the library.”
“Yeah. I just have a lot to think about.”
Ysrael raised his eyebrows but didn’t press me.
“Can I take you somewhere?” he asked.
“Where?”
“Trust me?” he said.
I took a deep breath. I nodded.
Ysrael directed me along streets I never knew existed. It was a part of El Cajon that climbed high into the desert hills. The city glittered in the horizon. I pulled the car over onto a dirt overlook. Another car in the distance was parked off to the side.
Ysrael stepped out of the car and stretched, hands reaching high for the sky, a smooth brown swatch of his stomach exposed. I stepped out of the car.
“Suna, are you coming?” I asked.
Suna held up a fistful of damp paper towels from the car wash. “In a second. I want to make Sally clean on the inside like on the outside.”
Ysrael stepped up on the bumper and sat down on the hood of the car. He leaned back on his hands and threw his head back for a second, before looking forward, taking in the view of the city. The sun had just dropped out of sight, but the sky, streaked with reds and purples and blues, spread out like a canvas lit up from behind. I stepped up onto the bumper and sat down next to Ysrael. High over our heads, the first stars were just beginning to spark.
“I never knew this was here,” I said.
Ysrael tipped his head back again and looked up at the stars. “You’d never know that El Cajon was such a pit from up here.”
“You hate it here?” I asked.
Ysrael’s lips turned down. “Sometimes. Sometimes I can’t stand it.” He looked at me. “And other times, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
It was my turn to look up at the stars. “I don’t know what it’s like to be anywhere else.”
Ysrael sighed. “There are better places.”
I lowered my head and cast my eyes on the city. The lights moved and twinkled in the waves of heat. “Like San Francisco?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“You still going?”
“Yeah.”
“It sounds like the land of Oz,” I said.
Ysrael shrugged. “It did seem like a magical place when I visited. I don’t know. Maybe I made it all up. Maybe when I get there, it’ll look just like El Cajon.”
“Don’t say that,” I said. “There must have been something about it. Something you saw that made it special.”
Ysrael leaned forward and clasped his hands. “I guess.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to trust that you really do know what’s right for you,” I said.
Ysrael spoke softly, his eyes on the skyline. “I’m scared. I’ve been trying to move up to San Francisco for the past year, but I just keep staying around here.”
“Where it’s comfortable?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s it. It’s easier to stay here even if I hate it ’cause it means that I don’t have to face what it’s like to try something new.”
“I think we all do that to some extent or another. I mean, isn’t it always easier to stay with what’s familiar?” I asked.
“You feel like that?”
I nodded.
Ysrael smiled shyly at me. “I got into music school up there.”
I sat up straighter. “That’s great!” I beamed. “That is completely perfect. You’re gonna be a great musician. I mean, you already play like a pro.”
Ysrael shook his head. “I’ve got a lot to learn. I just don’t want to fail. You know what I mean? I want this so badly. I want—” He stopped himself. His hands were balled into fists as though he were ready to fight for his music right now. Right here. He ran the knuckles of his fist along his scar.
He stared out at the skyline. “When it first happened. The accident. All I could do was cry at night. I could be brave as hell all day long, run away from the kids teasing me, act like I didn’t care what anyone said. But at night, when everyone went to sleep, that’s when I let it all out. My father taught me how to play the guitar then.”
Ysrael smiled. “He used to say that I should at least put my wails to music so the neighbors would think that I was singing.”
I laughed. Imagined a man, handsome like Ysrael, placing a guitar in his young son’s hands.
Ysrael whispered, “I’m afraid I’m just gonna screw it up. Someday, I
