Perfect Glass (A Young Adult Novel (sequel to Glass Girl)) Read Online Free PDF Page A

other hand….
    “You wouldn’t understand, anyway, so let’s go buy your boards,
chulo
, and I’ll try to make sure you find your way home. Give me a minute.” He carefully put out the burning end of his blunt and dropped it into his shirt pocket.
    I shook my head and held out my hand, motioning with my fingers for the joint. He scowled, dug it out of his pocket, and dropped it into my hand. I climbed down the ladder, then used both hands to crush the joint, letting the wind carry the remnants away.
    Raf walked, tough guy style, into the boys’ dorm. He emerged a few minutes later wearing a Boston Red Sox jersey with Padilla’s number. He had a backwards Red Sox cap over his high and tight buzz cut, suitable camouflage in a place that had a huge pitcher’s crush on local boy Vicente Padilla. He put on a pair of sunglasses and headed toward John’s truck where he slid into the passenger side and sat low in the seat with his arms crossed over his chest.
    All keyed up like I was, I forgot about John. By the time I thought to tell him I had Raf, we were halfway to Managua on the washed-out two-lane highway. We’d be done and home before they realized he wasn’t in San Isidro.
    I had a fleeting thought that this sudden partnership might not be the best idea, but Raf needed to know who was boss. I glanced over at him. He slouched in the seat and pretended to sleep.
    We needed a truce to last through the conversation with the sales guys so my order would get placed correctly. In Nicaragua, lumber stores had little stock. I had to present my list and pray they’d order everything. And pray again they wouldn’t rob me blind.
    Clearing my throat to wake him, I tried to ease into a ceasefire. “You like Octavio Paz?”
    He opened one eye and looked at me. “You were surprised I could read,” he said. “¡
Se puede leer
!” His imitation of a clueless American made me laugh.
    “No, I just don’t know many fifteen-year-olds interested in Paz. He’s Mexican, right? Won a Nobel?”
    “You’ve probably never read anything by a non-
Americano
.” He hitched up his lip in a look every surly teenage boy has perfected.
    I threw the look right back at him. “You don’t know as much about me as you think, Raf. Tell me about your tattoos.”
    “Tell me about yours,” he said. “Do you have W.W.J.D. tattooed on
su trasero
?”
    I chuckled and raised an eyebrow. “That’s good. How’d you know about that?”
    He just shook his head. “
Derecha
…turn right here.”
    In Managua, where more streets were unnamed than named, you had to have a sense of direction. I’d been to Quintero’s with John a few times so Raf’s directions made sense and I found the place easily.
    Raf turned his cap around and pulled the bill low over his face, throwing off
don’t mess with me
signals. What if he failed me at the lumber store and my order fell flat? So many things were riding on this trip—my ability to get back to Wyoming and Meg, chief among them for me.
    I lucked into a parking spot directly in front of the lumber store and we walked in together. Just as I remembered, there was no stock sitting around.
    Three guys, big by Nicaraguan standards, stood behind a desk, arms crossed, watching us. Behind them, a window looked into a smaller room with another desk and some filing cabinets.
    A younger, heavily tattooed guy stood with his back to us in that room, looking through a file. I hardly noticed him, but Raf kept his eye on that guy. I was more concerned with the muscle standing in front of us, waiting for us to state our business.
    “¿
Qué es lo que necesita, los niños
?”
    I knew what the big guy had asked and even caught the insult of calling us boys, but I deferred to Raf, making it clear he’d be doing the talking.
    In Spanish, Raf told them our order would be worth their time. Then he began translating to one of the guys, who took out an order form and motioned for our permits to look through.
    I took a couple of