Someone Like Summer by M. E. Kerr Page B

were always kids from school chilling there, and I didn’t like them talking about me. One look at Esteban and me, and they knew we were in love. I imagined them whispering behind their hands. There were a few other girls dating Latinos, but the ones from my class were dating Latinos from school, not ones who were just here to work. I’d been telling myself that once Dad got past his thing against Esteban, I wouldn’t care who saw us or what anyone said. But it wasn’t that easy, particularly now that I knew he was undocumented.There was a different feeling about the workers. I was always the good girl, admiring the ones who were rebels but never tempted to go Goth or run with the cutters or the loose gooses.
    â€œLet me go back up there and take one last look, E.E. I have an idea he might have hidden a key.”
    â€œLook, Anna.” He pointed up at the moon. “ La luna nueva . Do you know it brings luck?”
    â€œI hope so! I’ll be right back,” I said. “Don’t go away.”
    I had this giddy, high feeling that seemed to be there whenever Esteban was. I remember Mom saying she had a chemistry with Dad, that if that wasn’t there nothing could make it appear: not money, not looks, not occupation; it was just this thing you had with only one person. It happened right away, she said, bang! Kenyon was taking French at Seaview High then. He said the French called it coup de foudre . A thunderbolt, a gunshot: That was what it was first time I laid eyes on E.E.: Bang!
    I didn’t hear anyone drive up, but from thetop of the stairs, outside Kenyon’s door, I heard a man shouting down in the yard, and soon after the sounds of fighting.
    I went down the stairs as fast as I could and collided at the bottom with Dr. Annan.
    He was out of breath, holding his hand over his chin as he reached inside the garage and turned on the overhead light.
    Esteban was nowhere in sight.
    â€œSomeone was just trying to break in. Did you hear anything?” he asked me.
    â€œI was taking a look at Kenyon’s apartment when I heard something that sounded like a fight.”
    â€œI got a punch thrown at me. I saw this kid when I drove up, Latino kid hanging around here. I called out, ‘What the hell do you want here?’ I even left my car lights on while I tried to get him, but he got me first.”
    â€œI didn’t see anyone,” I said. It was then that I noticed he had the Santa Cecilia medal in his hand, the gold chain broken.
    Dr. Annan said, “I’m glad for your sake I hadto come by. Who knows what that spic wanted around here?”
    â€œAre you sure he was a Latino?”
    â€œCould have been one of them from Ridge Road, getting even. Little guy. Big fist.”
    Charlie Annan had on jeans and a black T-shirt that read WE CARE FOR YOUR CRITTERS . He was a tall, good-looking man, a redhead with blue eyes and freckles, boyish looking, but I knew he was about ten years younger than my father. While he opened his car door and turned off the lights, he kept rubbing his chin where Esteban must have hit him.
    â€œGood thing there was this emergency, Annabel,” Charlie said.
    â€œWhat emergency, Doctor?”
    â€œDalí was run over in front of Larkin’s. They called me, and I told them to meet me here.” I saw him shove Esteban’s medal into his jeans.
    â€œWell, they’ve arrived,” I said, watching Dad’s truck turn in.
    I was surprised that Esteban had been able to reach Charlie Annan’s chin, and glad he got away.

EIGHTEEN
    T HE ONE PLACE I knew I could find Esteban was at the Accabonac School sports field, Wednesday nights at six thirty. That was the same time the library gave computer lessons. E.E. said as much as he wanted to learn how to do all that, he couldn’t give up soccer. He said it was the only time he really felt like himself.
    By the time I got there, the soccer game was in progress, but