Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco by Judith Robbins Rose Page B

taken her to get braces. Nuts weren’t allowed.
    “Has anyone teased you about your braces?” Miss asked Rosa.
    Rosa pulled her eyes off my mouth and focused on her. “Why would they tease me?”
    “Kids used to laugh about my braces when I was a teenager. They don’t do that anymore?”
    “No,” said Rosa.
    “Yes,” said Ethan.
    They looked at each other.
    “If you have braces, it means you’re rich,” said Rosa.
    Ethan looked at me. “Then your family’s rich, and we’re not.”
    “Ethan,”
Miss warned.
    “You’re getting braces,” Cody said to Ethan.
    “When we can afford it,” said Miss.
    While Ethan made a face at Cody, I asked, “Miss, why didn’t you buy Ethan’s braces first?”
    The word for her look is
dumbfounded
. “
I
didn’t buy Rosa’s braces. There’s a program for families without insurance.”
    “Why don’t you take Ethan there?” I asked.
    “I make too much money.”
    “Ha!” I said to Ethan. He made another ugly face.
    “Boys, time to do the dishes,” said Miss.
    They both groaned. Rosa stood. “I’ll help.”
    As they cleared the table, I whispered to Miss, “Are you mad that Rosa gets her braces for free?”
    “Why would I be mad?”
    “It’s unfair. You’re an American and you have to pay.”
    She smirked. “We only
think
we want fairness. We should be asking for
grace
.”
    I didn’t understand. Teachers, parents, and grown-ups all over the world are always telling kids to “play fair.”
How can fairness be bad? And grace?
I’d heard of
grace
at church. Miss was always reminding me to be
gracious
when I’d forget to thank her for stuff. I’d thought maybe
grace
meant being polite. But that didn’t seem to fit. I asked, “What
is
grace?”
    Miss thought. “When you get something wonderful that you don’t deserve — a blessing you haven’t earned.”
    Usually she was good at explaining things. But not this time.
    “I don’t get it.”
    She patted my arm. “Think about it.”
    Miss handed a red gift bag to Rosa, but before Rosa could open it, Miss said, “That’s for Carmen. For her new baby. What’d she name him?”
    “Mateo,” said Rosa.
    Miss nodded and smiled.
    “Can we open it?” I asked.
    “No!”
    As Miss tore the paper off my present to her, a smile spread across my face. Then she smirked, examining the doll I’d bought at the drugstore. “How nice!”
    “I got you a doll because your name is Doll!”
    Ethan snickered. “Our name is
Dahl
. D-A-H-L.”
    I blushed, suddenly remembering all the times I’d seen her name on TV, written underneath her face while she reported the news.
Why hadn’t I paid attention?
    “Guys,”
their mother warned as Cody started giggling. They were laughing because I didn’t know something. But it was funny. I giggled, too.
    Then Rosa started. And finally Miss.
    Many moments later she wiped her eyes. Then she picked up two small boxes made of shiny red foil and tied with green ribbons. She checked the tags and held one out to Rosa and the other to me.
    Just as my hand touched the box, I glanced at Miss. Something in her face made me hesitate.
    Rosa ripped off the ribbon, opened her box, then pulled out a ring. “Miss!”
    As Rosa flew past me to hug Miss, I tore open my own box. Then I paused. In the glow of the Christmas lights, the ruby sparkled. My birthstone. Pink. It meant more than just hope. A promise
fulfilled
. I stared at the ring on its bed of cotton until the image got blurry.
Miss loves me
.
    I slipped the ring on. It fit. Like it was made for me.
    Miss sent the boys away so we could have
the conversation
. She explained that she was giving us
purity
rings. By taking them, Rosa and I were promising not to be alone with a boy. Then her face wrinkled up. “Will your parents mind me giving these to you?”
    “No, Miss!” Rosa and I answered together, clutching the rings to our chests.
    Rosa’s ring had an
amethyst
in it. Purple.
For sorrow?
I was glad I got the pink one. With Mamá