Barely Missing Everything: Chapters 6–13

JD was so fixated on the scene in front of him that he hadn't noticed that Alma was at the doorway.

It was true; Alma had to know how much fakery Tomás always conjured up.

The blowout was worse than the El Paso High loss.

JD felt like a bomb errantly dropped from the sky, armed and free-falling.

He snuck another chug before looping around to the same four-way stop, this time watching a small group, two guys flanked by three girls, walking by.

Lurching forward in his seat, JD realized he wasn't sitting at a red light.

They thought we were squatting in the house, that nobody lived here.

Juan watched how intently Roxanne listened, heard her explain how normal Eddie's response was.

His guts were churning, a blender hacking away at a handful of rocks.

"That seems ironic. I never understood scholarships for playing sports."

The eviction notice had been taped to the front door, citing illicit drug use and gang activity.

She told Fabi she was lucky she wasn't calling the cops, but if Fabi refused to leave the premises, she would. If she ever saw Juan near the apartment again, she would call the SWAT team.

Juan had always refused her birthday gifts, never wanted a party, and usually didn't open Christmas presents until days later—often after she forced him to. Fabi had always thought of these gestures by Juan as humble or selfless, but what if they weren't?

Gladi wouldn't have stayed home and played the good daughter, wouldn't have bathed and fed Mamá, changed her catheter and tried in vain to make her comfortable until she died and Gladi bailed to college.

She stood side by side with her father. She was taller than he was, her frame built like his, but still strong, wiry.

He grabbed the barrel and tried to pull it away from me, but I pulled back. We yanked back and forth; I could feel the stock slipping from my hands.

"I'll fight them," Tomásito said, jumping to his feet, striking a pseudo kung-fu pose, and kicking his leg into the air.

JD walked the seemingly empty office, the cheap furniture and carpet as unimpressive as the images of smiling airmen marshaling airplanes and holding M16s.

Behind Bullard's desk were plaques, laminated newspaper articles, and neatly folded American flags inside triangular wooden frames. JD stood behind the recruiter's desk, reading. Curious. Three different citations were for service in wars, the dates spanning JD's entire life.

Roxanne starts with what she calls the basics, and explains that information about arithmetic operations on fractions can be extrapolated to all real numbers.

She remembered how Mamá used to call him Manny the mannequin; he was still dressed in her father's old greens—olive drab pants and shirt, web belt and canteen, jungle boots and the piss-pot helmet that had a dent where her father claimed a bullet had hit and knocked him clean out.

She remembered how Mamá used to call him Manny the mannequin; he was still dressed in her father's old greens—olive drab pants and shirt, web belt and canteen, jungle boots and the piss-pot helmet that had a dent where her father claimed a bullet had hit and knocked him clean out.

The sewing room was where her mamá spent her last months, the room becoming a makeshift hospice.

She leaned over and extended her hand, her armful of bangles jingling.

The .22 fit perfectly into the groove behind the lever that moved the seat back and forth, making her wonder if that was the intent of the space, if every truck had a space ready for a gun, and if most of the trucks on the road already had them nestled inside and she had no idea.

Fabi pulled into the parking lot and saw Ruben's lime-green Hummer, the KING OF THE DEAL decal emblazoned on the back.

Fabi pulled into the parking lot and saw Ruben's lime-green Hummer, the KING OF THE DEAL decal emblazoned on the back.

The first rush of the dank air, the smell of stale booze and harsh cleaner, took her breath.

She could recite all of his cheesy jokes and knew the shoddy camera work and effects, the lens zooming in and out on his face, arrows pointing at the cheap cars as the words LOW LOW PRICES flashed across the screen.

The patrons at the bar turned to Fabi, waiting for her to say something.

Bottles clanked around her. The zippy guitar played on the jukebox as a sea of hipsters gawked.

He gripped and pulled at the steering wheel, as if correcting from a slow veering off.

JD complained all the time how his mother made him go to church every Sunday and on saints' days, how he had to go to catechism every year.

He'd walked to the school and examined his ankle, which finally looked like an ankle, the bruising still there but fading, discoloring from deep purple into orange and dingy yellow around his toes.

The whole scene depressed Juan, how cliché it was setting up to be. He knew, depending on his answer, a list of inevitable questions would follow: Did he want something more out of life?

All of them flashed inspirational quotes and churchy memes like tHRIVE and GOD IS ON YOUR SIDE and THIS WAY TO HEAVEN.

Everyone clapped and cheered as he approached the mic, and Juan was sure no one at Our Lady of Guadalupe gave it up when Father Mumbles took the pulpit.

Three times I was shipwrecked; a night and a day I was adrift at sea; on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers, danger from robbers, danger from my own people, danger from Gentiles, danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea, danger from false brothers; in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, in hunger and thirst, often without food, in cold and exposure.

Three times I was shipwrecked; a night and a day I was adrift at sea; on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers, danger from robbers, danger from my own people, danger from Gentiles, danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea, danger from false brothers; in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, in hunger and thirst, often without food, in cold and exposure.

The apostle never mentioned love, only anxiety about the future.