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his childhood. In one, he sat in a stroller, waving a rattle in his hand and grinning at whoever snapped the picture. Everything about him was pretty much the same except his hair, which lay across his head in short dark wisps. In another photo, he was dressed in a tiny suit and sat on his mother’s lap while his father stood protectively over his family. His hair was buzzed short in that one. The rest of the pictures were of Javi dressed in his baseball uniform, standing on the pitcher’s mound, or holding a trophy while surrounded by his teammates.
    When I spotted a picture of Rance with his arm around Javi’s neck, my flesh crawled. How the hell could a guy like Javi be friends with an asswipe like Rance? It defied explanation.
    It was too much to think about right then, so I turned around and found a picture of the Virgin Mary lovingly placed above a table to the left of the front door. On what could only be described as an altar stood two lit candles, some prayer cards, and a crucifix, around which hung a beaded rosary.
    “Mom, this is the new kid I was telling you about,” Javi said as he reentered the living room with his mother. “His name’s Tru.”
    I turned to greet Mrs. Castillo, readying myself for the disapproving gaze I’d grown accustomed to. I was not prepared for what happened next. Her plump lips drew themselves into a big O, and she rushed over to me. “ Ay dios mío! ” she cried to God. Her hazel eyes narrowed in worry. “What happened to you?” When she spoke in English, her accent was thick, but not as deep as the concern in her voice. She even gingerly glided her hands over my cheeks as she inspected me for broken bones.
    “I told you he fell off his bike,” Javi said from immediately behind his mother. It was obvious from his tone he was slightly annoyed.
    She turned around and playfully smacked her son across the head. “And you neglected to tell me he fell on his face.”
    “Gee, thanks, Mom,” Javi said. His cheeks flushed a deep red. “Way to make a good first impression on my new friend here.”
    Mrs. Castillo continued chiding her son as she took my hand and led me through the living room and toward the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I stood in stunned silence as she wiped the blood from my face with alcohol and gauze. I didn’t hear any of the questions she asked or her banter with Javi.
    The only word that still resonated in my ears was the one Javi had spoken: friend.
     
     
    A FTER CLEANING me up and bandaging my cuts, Mrs. Castillo insisted I stay for dinner, especially after she learned my mother wouldn’t get off work until midnight. The offer was too good to pass up, so I accepted after convincing her to allow me to help set the table and clean up.
    “I didn’t know you were such a brownnoser,” Javi playfully teased as I set the yellow kitchen table for four.
    “ Cállate ,” Mrs. Castillo reprimanded from the stove. She was making chicken mole, Spanish rice, and refried beans in her white apron embroidered with yellow daisies, which draped over her blue pants and yellow-and-blue striped shirt. She commanded Javi to be quiet, but the glint in his eyes revealed he wasn’t planning on obeying. “It’s nice to have someone around here who wants to help,” she said with a wink at me. Javi’s mom had to be somewhere in her forties, but you couldn’t tell that from her smooth skin or her long, thick locks. It was obvious where Javi’s full head of hair came from.
    “You’re making me look bad,” Javi said. “You know that, right?”
    I glanced at him, sitting on his ass and drinking a Coke. “I think you’re doing just fine with that all on your own.”
    Mrs. Castillo laughed at my retort. Javi scowled and then let fly the loudest burp I’d ever heard in my life.
    “ Cochino !”
    Javi grinned broadly at his mother’s attempt at embarrassing him. Clearly, he didn’t mind being called a pig. He seemed to rather enjoy it.
    “So how was your first