The Tequila Worm by Viola Canales

Author:Viola Canales
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780307434012
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2007-12-17T16:00:00+00:00

The PaCKinG SheD

The door slammed. “It feels strange doing math so early,” Berta said, throwing her book on the kitchen table. I measured coffee into the pot. “Please make it extra strong. I have my final tomorrow. God, how I hate math. But, Sofia, it doesn’t take a math whiz to know that you have a big zero toward that four hundred dollars you still need.”

“Yes, I know. But let’s get cracking on your math.” I sat next to Berta and opened her book.

Berta shut it. “I can’t even look at numbers without a ton of coffee. So what are we going to do to get your four hundred dollars?”

“I’ll get a job.”

“What job? You know how things are around here, with so many people unemployed. And you don’t have any experience.”

“I know. . . .”

“Why don’t we get family and friends to sponsor you, to be your school padrinos?”

“That’s the same idea you had with the dresses. Papa said he’d take on some extra work. But I told him I want to earn this money myself.”

“I’m helping Mom with some sewing projects this summer. You can help, and we’ll—”

I started to laugh. “Berta, you’re so sweet. No wonder Jamie’s crazy about you. Me, sew? No, I’ll just go downtown and find a job.”

“But how?”

“I’ll just get out there and figure it out.”

“Sofia, you are a mule. At least let me drive you there.”

“I’ll be fine.” I jumped up. “Coffee’s ready! Now open that book.”

The next day I woke early, dressed, and then walked toward Main Street in downtown McAllen. Summer had just started but it was already sweltering, with temperatures over a hundred by noon. It was about a three-mile walk.

When I got to Main Street, I dusted off my shoes, straightened my skirt and my shirt, and double-checked that all my buttons were buttoned straight. I stared at the stores. I had no idea how one went about asking for a job, what I’d say if they asked if I’d ever worked before, or been a saleslady or cashier or anything.

When I opened the glass door to the Popular, a women’s dress shop, I froze. Salesladies were buzzing around, waiting on customers. And they all wore makeup and earrings and high heels and stockings. My flat brown shoes and bare legs seemed terribly out of place. Why in the world would any woman want me to wait on her, I thought, much less ask me for any fashion advice?

I walked around in a daze and then pretended to be looking at some blouses. I jumped when I heard a woman’s voice behind me, asking if I wanted any help. I mumbled that I was only looking. The next minute, I was out the door.

I walked farther down Main Street. Most of the stores were either dress shops or clothing stores. In Woolworth’s, I could see myself unboxing toys, sticking plastic flowers into those green Styrofoam squares, even folding towels. And, maybe, if I was really lucky, they’d let me serve scoops of ice cream and glasses of Coca-Cola at the long red food counter.

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