Guarding Secrets (Locked Out) Read online

  “Wondering what?” She yanked her arm away and pulled her sleeve down.

  Steven lifted the sleeve of his jacket. “In my family, it’s like father, like son.”

  Camila started running then. She ran all the way to the bus. But she couldn’t outrun the image burned into her brain: the Los Reyes tattoo covering Steven’s right arm.

  10

  SEPTEMBER 30 / WEDNESDAY / EVENING / ST. ANTHONY CATHOLIC CHURCH ACTIVITY CENTER

  “So, Camila, what are your plans?”

  Camila sat in the backseat of Juan’s dad’s car waiting for Juan, who had run back inside the activity center to confer with Father Gomez. Usually Camila took the bus to and from youth group, so that Juan wouldn’t have to drive in her neighborhood. But tonight Juan’s father was picking Juan up for a family event, and he’d offered to take Camila home too. Now she was trapped in the car with him.

  “My plans?” she echoed. What does he really want to know? Camila wondered. My plans after high school? With your son? For how to deal with my mom being executed by the State of California? “I mean, I’m not really sure. My life’s a little up in the air right now … ”

  “Juan plans to join the Marines,” Juan’s father said proudly. “His uncle and I both served—my brother’s still active. To be a marine takes a lot of discipline and self-control. I know my son has these traits, and I expect anyone who spends time with him to share them. Do you understand what I’m saying, Camila?”

  His eyes found hers in the rearview mirror. Camila looked away, out the window. What was taking Juan so long? “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s a shame you won’t be able to go to homecoming with him. He had his heart set on going.”

  Camila didn’t respond. What did he want from her?

  “I understand from Juan that you have some family issues, and that’s why you couldn’t go to homecoming with him. Is that right? Is it something you want to talk about?”

  “I’d rather not get into it, Mr. Cruz.” Camila couldn’t believe Juan had told his dad. She’d thought she could trust Juan. Aunt Rosa was always saying, “Men are trouble. They can’t be trusted. Trust no one except flesh and blood. If your mother had done that, instead of getting mixed up with lowlifes like Raul Mero … ” And on and on.

  Of course, Juan was nothing like the men Camila’s mother had gotten involved with. But maybe the real truth was shorter than Aunt Rosa’s message. Trust no one.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” Juan’s father said, though that seemed to be exactly what he meant to do. “Is there anything we could do to help? Anything that would make it possible for you to go to the dance? Do you need money or …?”

  Who does he think I am, Cinderella? Was he asking so many questions because he really wanted to help, or was he just another nosy adult trying to invade her privacy? “No, sir. Thanks, but it’s nothing like that.”

  They sat together in silence. Another adult trick.

  “I don’t know much about you or your family,” Juan’s dad said. “Since you and my son seem somewhat serious about each other, I’d like to meet your parents.”

  Camila took a deep breath before she launched into the standard lie. “I live with my aunt. My parents died in a car accident in Mexico when I was a baby.” She’d said it so many times to so many different people that it almost seemed like the truth. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  On the bright side, he shut up after that and clicked on the radio to a sports station. Camila put in her buds, turned on her music, and waited for Juan. Wondered if she could still trust him. Even though she’d just lied to Juan’s father, as she’d lied to so many adults over the years, she wanted to be able to tell Juan the truth. Not now, but one day. Was even that too much to hope for?

  As Juan emerged from the activity center with a Bible in his hand, Camila thought about her Bible at home, the one she’d been given at her confirmation. It wasn’t the book itself she thought about, but the news article tucked in the pages, next to Psalm 23:4 (Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil), that confirmed her worst fears.

  11

  WOMAN CONVICTED IN MURDER OF LOS ANGELES POLICE OFFICER; WILL FACE DEATH PENALTY

  A member of the transnational criminal gang Los Reyes de Aztlán was convicted Wednesday in the murder of a Los Angeles police officer who had responded to a call near LAX.

  Prosecutors said Officer Chandler Watson, who had been with the department for less than two years, was fatally shot by Gina Hernandez, age 21. An accomplice, Raul Mero, age 28, pleaded guilty earlier and testified against Hernandez in exchange for a lesser sentence. Hernandez faces the possibility of the death penalty. In her remarks to the jury, state’s attorney Ann Ramos, who prosecuted the case, said Hernandez was part of a premeditated “kill team.”

  Prosecutors said Watson, a 25-year-old father of one, and his partner, Officer Wayne Smith, responded to a call in the 6000 block of South Huron Avenue just after midnight. Soon after exiting their vehicle, the two officers were fired upon and injured. According to testimony, Hernandez opened fire with a .357 Magnum while Mero fired a rifle. Mero testified that he wanted to leave, but Hernandez wanted to “finish the job” and shot Watson in the face at close range. Officer Smith, seriously injured, appeared to be dead, which saved his life.

  In court Wednesday, Hernandez wore glasses, a blue scarf, and a white dress. Behind her, an unidentified relative sat with Hernandez’s young daughter. “Don’t be fooled by the look of motherly love, ladies and gentlemen,” Ramos told jurors. “Life is about choices, and Miss Hernandez made the choice that night to kill in cold blood.”

  Hernandez will remain in Los Angeles County Jail pending her sentencing hearing. Prosecutors said they intend to ask for the death penalty despite Hernandez’s young age. “A community has lost a fine officer and a daughter has lost her father because of the cold, callous actions of Miss Hernandez,” Ramos said. “She showed no mercy, so neither shall the state.”

  12

  OCTOBER 1 / THURSDAY / LATE AFTERNOON / ANAHEIM HIGH SCHOOL

  Camila saw him the second she walked into Mr. Bell’s classroom for after-school math tutoring. Steven, leaning back in a chair, eyes on the door—on her.

  She whirled around, sped out of the classroom and back down the empty hallway toward her locker. A moment later she heard footsteps behind her.

  She made it to her locker just as Steven caught up to her.

  “What’s up, Killer Camila? I’ve been waiting for you.”

  He leaned toward her and rested both hands on her locker, one on either side of her head. His arms hemmed her in, his sly smile looming directly in front of her.

  “Hey, back off!” Camila pushed him away, but his scrawny arms just shot back forward. As he leaned closer, his breath smelled foul, like rotted food.

  “First we need to talk. I got a business proposal for you.”

  Camila felt sick. Here it was, the offer she’d always dreaded. A tattoo up the side of her arm, a gun in her hand, and her mother’s future. “Not interested,” she said.

  “Look, you and me, we could have some fun, know what I’m saying?” Steven said.

  “You got me wrong,” Camila said. “I got a good thing here. I don’t need to play your game. So why don’t you just leave me alone?”

  Steven laughed. An ugly laugh that echoed in the silent hall. “I hear you got some straight-laced A-student boyfriend, is that true?” He’d obviously been asking around about her.

  “That’s none of your business. I’m not your business.”

  More laughter. “Well, I’m gonna make you my business, Killer Camila. One way or another. Does he know about you? This perfect boyfriend? Does he know you like I do?”

  She was cold all over, and at the same time she was sweating. “You leave him out of this.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. Tell you what, you can stick your nose up at me if you want, but just remember, all that g
ood stuff you got going on here—I can make it go away. I can blow your precious little cover, Killer Camila. And then I won’t be the only one who sees you for what you are.”

  Camila froze. She’d tried everything in the past when somebody found out. She became someone’s best friend or worst enemy. She promised or threatened. Whatever it took to keep it quiet. It had to be kept quiet. Otherwise, as soon as people knew, even though she’d done nothing, in everyone’s eyes she stood guilty.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” Camila said, her voice breaking. She hated to show weakness, but it might be the only card she could play that would work. “Just let it go, please.”

  “OK.” Steven put his hands on Camila’s shoulders. “For a price.”

  “I don’t have any—”

  “Sure you do, girl. You got plenty I want.” Steven turned his back and started to walk away. Camila stood, scared and confused, not sure what he meant, until Steven stopped in front of the boys’ bathroom. With one hand, he opened the door. With the other he motioned for Camila to join him. Even from that distance, Camila saw the smirk filling Steven’s face before he let the door swing shut behind him.

  She’d done so much to protect her secret, to protect herself, to hide her shame. What was the price she’d pay?

  Seeing no one in halls, she walked toward the bathroom. She got as far as the door, but the cold metal felt like it burned her flesh.

  She turned and ran.

  13

  OCTOBER 2 / FRIDAY / EARLY MORNING / LINCOLN APARTMENTS

  “Why did she do it?”

  Aunt Maria looked up from her morning coffee in surprise. Camila sat down at the kitchen table beside her and waited.

  She had always been scared to ask her mother this question, and the answer from every other family member had always been “drugs.” But Camila was old enough to know that wasn’t an answer. She just needed to look around the street corners of her neighborhood to see junkies and drunks. None of them ever killed anyone, let alone a police officer. And her mother hadn’t just killed, she had murdered in cold blood.

  “It was a long time ago,” Aunt Maria said slowly, “and I was only a kid myself. But I know she and your grandmother didn’t get along. The more our mother tried to control Gina, the worse it got. Then she got into drugs and the gang, or maybe the other way around. Gina left her family behind for gang life long before she went to prison. She was a selfish person, Camila, selfish and impulsive. She did what she did partly, I think, because she never thought about the consequences. For herself or for others. She didn’t think about that police officer’s life because she never thought about her own. She didn’t think about his family for the same reason.”

  Camila nodded. She had thought about Officer Watson’s family. About his wife, who had never stopped hating Gina Hernandez. About his daughter, a girl Camila’s age. What would she feel in that girl’s place? Was that girl’s life easier in some ways, even though her father was gone? There must be some comfort, Camila thought, in being the daughter of the victim instead of the murderer.

  “But that doesn’t mean she didn’t love you,” Aunt Maria added. “You would always light her up, Camila. I’m not saying that made her a better person or a better mother. She didn’t do right by you—not by a long shot—but she’s always loved you.”

  Camila stared at her hands, clasped together on the table. “Sometimes … ” She swallowed. “Sometimes I just wish … ” But there was no way to finish that sentence.

  “You know, I really can’t imagine what you’ve been through,” Aunt Maria said, placing her hand gently on Camila’s shoulder. “Not just growing up without your mom, but moving from place to place like you’ve done—paying for her crimes. I wish I knew how to make it easier.”

  Camila was at a loss for words. She’d given Maria so little credit over the past year—expecting this to be just another temporary stop on her odyssey from relative to relative. But Aunt Maria was trying. She cared, even though Camila had refused to open up to her.

  “I don’t want people to know,” Camila confessed in a small voice. The voice of a scared seven-year-old. “I don’t want them to think bad things.”

  “I understand. Believe me, I do,” Aunt Maria said softly. “I had kids whose parents were police officers or guards. They would bully me, call me terrible names, push me around.”

  “Me too.” Camila tried to block out the memory of seventh grade at Sierra. There had been a news story when the California Supreme Court wouldn’t stay her mom’s sentence. Camila wasn’t mentioned by name, but some teacher made the connection and told someone else. By the end of the week, everybody knew. Lots of kids started calling her “Killer Camila.” As bad as the name-calling was, it was nothing compared to the beating two girls, both of them cops’ daughters, gave her one day in the playground. One girl punched Camila hard enough to break her own hand along with Camila’s jaw.

  She couldn’t face it again.

  “All I know is that for the longest time, she wasn’t sorry for what she did,” Aunt Maria said. “In fact, she even seemed proud. But at least there’s some small chance at salvation now that she’s repented and asked for forgiveness.”

  “But the family of the—” Camila started but then stopped. She couldn’t bring herself to say “the victim.” That seemed like such a simple, empty word. “Officer Watson’s family,” she said.

  Aunt Maria nodded. “Like I said the other day, they won’t really heal until they forgive Gina.”

  “I don’t think I could,” Camila whispered. In a rush she added, “If I was his daughter, I mean. If it were the other way around, if someone had killed Mom—or you … ” She trailed off and looked up at her aunt. “I don’t think I could do it.”

  Aunt Maria nodded, staring into her coffee cup. “It’s not an easy thing. But I think it’s possible if you reach deep enough into your heart.”

  Camila felt like she was back at Sierra on the playground, except this punch hurt worse. They weren’t talking about the Watsons anymore. They were talking about what her mother had asked her to do, the last time they would ever speak to each other.

  “Truth is, Aunt Maria, I don’t know how I feel. Forty-nine percent of the time I love her because she’s my mom. Forty-nine percent of the time I hate her because of what she did and how she’s ruined so many lives, including mine.”

  “What about the other two percent?” Aunt Maria asked.

  Camila looked not at her aunt, but up at the ceiling. “That’s what keeps me up at night.”

  14

  OCTOBER 6 / TUESDAY / MORNING / ANAHEIM HIGH SCHOOL

  “So, what’s it gonna be?” Steven asked. “You bailed on me before. Guess you needed time to think things over?”

  Just like the last time they spoke, Steven was smirking. Though Camila had stayed away from Mr. Bell’s after-school math tutoring, she knew she couldn’t avoid Steven for the rest of the school year. She’d hoped to get through Friday, but he was in her face first thing this morning.

  All around them lockers opened and closed, fingers clicked with furious texting, people sang under their headphones. The halls were filled with the energy of a new day starting. But yet again, Camila felt alone. Juan was already in a classroom somewhere, finishing up an early student government meeting. And there was no one else in the whole school who cared about her, who would notice that she was in trouble.

  Camila set her shoulders the way she used to do before a fight. “The answer’s no. I’m not joining Los Reyes, and I’m not doing you any favors.”

  “So I guess you don’t mind going public about your mom, then.”

  “My mom’s crimes aren’t mine. Just let me alone.”

  “Like I said, if it was me, I’d be bragging about how my mom killed a cop, but that’s—”

  “That cop had a daughter,” Camila said. “What about her? Did you think about that? What was it like for her to grow up without a dad? What was it like for me to grow up without a mother?”<
br />
  Steven sniffed, like he didn’t know what to say.

  “Steven, I don’t understand why you want to hurt me,” Camila said, almost begging.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Camila,” Steven said. “I just want—” An almost slithering arm came toward Camila.

  Camila knocked his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  Camila took Steven’s left hand in her right and raised them both so they were shoulder high. She gently squeezed his hand, and for a half-second, her coy smile seemed like a real smile …

  Until she jammed her knee hard between Steven’s legs. Just as quickly she pulled her hand away and fixed it into the shape of pistol. She dug her index finger hard into Steven’s forehead, the nail piercing the skin. A small trickle of blood fell into Steven’s eyes, which were closed in pain, and then Camila spoke, her voice calm as a stone cold killer’s.

  “Guess I didn’t make myself clear. You understand me now?”

  Steven swallowed hard and nodded. He didn’t open his eyes—probably because if he did, Camila would see the fear in them.

  Camila turned and headed toward advisory. Behind her, she heard Steven mumble, “Like mother, like daughter.”

  She didn’t turn back.

  15

  OCTOBER 7 / WEDNESDAY / EVENING / ST. ANTHONY CATHOLIC CHURCH

  “Father Gomez, can I speak with you?” Camila had stayed late after youth group.

  “Is something troubling you, Camila?”

  “Yes—can we talk, in your office?” The confessional might be better suited, but going to confession had always freaked Camila out.

  “Absolutely,” said Father Gomez.

  Camila followed him through the activity center and back into the church. Father Gomez directed Camila to a chair across from his overflowing desk.

  “I wanted to apologize for the other week, you know, running out on the group,” Camila started. All the way over on the bus, she’d thought about what to say, about how to begin.