Shut Up Read online

  Shut Up

  By Marilyn Reynolds

  Also by Marilyn Reynolds

  True-to-Life Series from Hamilton High

  Telling

  Detour For Emmy

  Too Soon for Jeff

  Beyond Dreams

  But What About Me?

  Baby Help

  If You Loved Me

  Love Rules

  No More Sad Goodbyes

  Shut Up

  Eddie's Choice

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Shut Up (True-to-Life Series from Hamilton High)

  Chapter | 1

  Chapter | 2

  Chapter | 3

  Chapter | 4

  Chapter | 5

  Chapter | 6

  Chapter | 7

  Chapter | 8

  Chapter | 9

  Chapter | 10

  Chapter | 11

  Chapter | 12

  Chapter | 13

  Chapter | 14

  Chapter | 15

  Chapter | 16

  Chapter | 17

  Chapter | 18

  Chapter | 19

  Chapter | 20

  Chapter | 21

  Chapter | 22

  Chapter | 23

  Chapter | 24

  Chapter | 25

  Chapter | 26

  Chapter | 27

  Chapter | 28

  Chapter | 29

  Chapter | 30

  Chapter | 31

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  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  New Wind Publishing

  Copyright © 2009, 2014 by Marilyn Reynolds

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be adapted, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without permission from the publisher. Like Marilyn Reynolds’ other novels, Shut Up is part of the True-to-Life Series from Hamilton High, a fictional, urban, ethnically mixed high school somewhere in Southern California. Characters in the stories are imaginary and do not represent actual people or places.

  Originally published by Morning Glory Press, 2009.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Reynolds, Marilyn, 1935-

  Shut Up/ Marilyn Reynolds

  Summary: Mario must do whatever it takes to protect his little brother from abuse while their mother is serving in the military overseas.

  ISBN 978-1-929777-05-1

  1. Child sexual abuse—Fiction. 2. Families of military personnel—Fiction. 3. Brothers—Fiction I. Title. II. Series: Reynolds, Marilyn. 1935- True-to-life series from Hamilton High.

  PZ7.R3373Sh

  [Fic]—dc21

  New Wind Publishing

  Sacramento, California 95819

  www.newwindpublishing.com

  Dedicated to the silent boys who hold secrets shut up in their hearts.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  For much-needed reality checks, many thanks to:

  Nancy Blackburn and Mac Slater, and their students at Esperanza Junior/Senior High School, especially Zach Cole, Brandon Flores, Robert Ivy, James Lewis, Steve Lopez, Mario Navarro, Alton Stewart, Steven Treadway, Sergio Velez, and Timothy Williams.

  Deb Young and her students at Roanoke Benson High School, especially Kara Kolb.

  Jennifer Harmon and the Adolescent Parent Program stu­dents at Walnutwood High School, especially Erika Rivera, Liliana Calderon, Stacey Delgado, Carolynn Samaniego, and Stephanie Nasca.

  For close readings and plenty of general help along the way, thanks to:

  Mimi Avocada, Dale Dodson, Kathy Harvey, Karen Kasaba, Judy Laird, Leesa Phaneuf Reynolds, Matt Reynolds, Mike Reynolds, Jeannie Ward, and my fellow writers in the UUSS Write to Life Group.

  A special thank you goes to Libby for her generous gift of a quiet writing space—a space where Mario and Eddie could materialize.

  Chapter

  1

  When I think back about all that went wrong, it seems like our troubles started back in September. That’s when our mom, Max, went off to Iraq. Or maybe it was when Max first joined the National Guard, or maybe even before that, when my dad left my mom. But I think September was the start of the really bad times.

  It’s the first day of school for Eddie, and the last day be­fore our mom ships out to Iraq with her National Guard Unit. Eddie’s only nine, so little stuff keeps him happy—like being all Wal-Marted out in new clothes. There’s a band of white across the back of his neck where his new haircut shows skin that the sun’s never seen, and he’s even brushed his teeth already without being nagged about it.

  Hamilton High classes don’t start until tomorrow, so I’m still in my boxers and tee shirt, helping pack crates of kitchen stuff to take to storage later today.

  Max is smoothing Eddie’s collar for about the hundredth

  time. She pauses, wiping her eyes.

  “Ai Mijo, I can’t believe you’re already in fourth grade,” she says. “And you, Mario . . . you’re taller than I am! And all buff,” she says, grabbing my bicep. She’s smiling and getting teary at the same time. “My little niños . . .”

  “Hey! Max!” I say, giving her a light swat with a dish tow­el. “Don’t go getting all emotional on us.”

  She laughs.

  “I’m not getting all emotional. I’m just getting partly emo­tional.”

  “You’re such a stickler for words,” I say, taking another swat.

  “Best form of communication ever invented,” she says.

  “Communicate this,” I tell her, letting go with my specialty Pumbaa rumble fart.

  She flings open the door and fans at the air while Eddie collapses on the sofa in laughter.

  “Don’t laugh,” she tells Eddie. “It only encourages him!”

  Eddie laughs harder. Which gets Max laughing, too. It’s hard not to laugh when Eddie laughs because he’s got this sort of cross between a giggle and a roar way of laughing that’s like nothing else I’ve ever heard.

  Max flops down beside Eddie and pats the place beside her, motioning for me to sit down.

  I stuff the last plate into a storage box and sit next to her on the sofa—the sofa that’s going to be picked up by the Salva­tion Army in about an hour.

  Max puts her arms around both of us and pulls us close. Eddie’s small for his age, and it’s still easy for him to snuggle in under her arm. Me, though, I’m bigger than she is, so the closest I can get to a snuggle is to scrunch down and lay my head against her shoulder.

  “Listen,” she says. “You two clowns are going to have to get serious when I’m gone. That’s first thing tomorrow morn­ing. You know? First thing tomorrow morning, at 5:30 a.m., you’ve got to get serious.”

  “I don’t want you to go!” Eddie yells, his voice going all crackly the way it does just before he starts crying.

  I don’t want her to go, either, but I’m too old to yell that out, or to let my voice go crackly.

  “Why do you have to be in the stupid old National Guard anyway?” Eddie says.

  Max tells Eddie, again, why she joined the guard. She had a hard time supporting us after our dad left. We had to move out of our house to a small apartment in a not very good part of town. Even after the move, Max’s Macy’s paycheck would barely cover our rent and food. She had to figure out a way to make more money. One thing she did was go to school to become a dental assistant. The other thing she did was join the National Guard.

  “Can’t you unjoin?”

  Max pulls him closer.

  “We all have to make the best of this, Mijo. You’ve got to be maximum now, too.”

  Eddie nods, w
iping at his eyes.

  Back when Max was still going to school plus working and doing her monthly duty thing with the Guard, Eddie and I both used to complain that she wasn’t home as much as other kids’ moms. Once, after a long bout of complaining, she told us it was time to get over it.

  “I’m glad I got you guys out of the deal, but I’m sorry I chose such a minimum dad for you. The thing is, with such a minimum dad, I’ve got to work my butt off to be a maximum mom.”

  Which is why I nicknamed her “Max.” Her real name is Maria. Maria Barajas, Eduardo Barajas, and Mario Barajas. That’s us. My dad is Jacob Barajas but he’s gone so long I hardly remember what he looks like. It’s not like there are a lot of his pictures sitting around, either. I mean, a guy who runs out on his pregnant wife and seven-year-old kid doesn’t exactly deserve a framed photo all over the place.

  Max gets up from the sofa and starts searching around in a shopping bag that’s sitting on the kitchen counter. She pulls out a battery-operated red race car toothbrush.

  “Maybe this will help you remember to brush your teeth,” she says to Eddie.

  Eddie takes the toothbrush from Max and examines the de­tails.

  “Cool,” he says.

  Eddie’s notorious for not bothering to brush his teeth. Maybe the race car toothbrush will help, but I doubt it.

  “Twice a day, Eddie,” Max says. “I don’t want to come home and find you with a mouthful of rotten teeth.”

  Eddie’s already got the toothbrush out of the plastic pack­age and is vroom-vrooming around the room with it. It’s loud enough to be a race car.

  “Aunt Carmen won’t be reminding you to brush your teeth, or take your vitamins, or eat your vegetables, or do your homework, or any of the things I always remind you about,” Max says, shouting over the noise of the toothbrush. She turns to me.

  “I’ve put a six-month supply of vitamins on your dresser, Mario, and I want you boys to take them every single day. No skipping!”

  “I never skip my vitamins,” I yell over the roar of the race­ car toothbrush.

  “No, but you’ve . . . Eddie, shut that thing off!”

  He gives it one more vroom, then flops down on the couch next to me. I stick my finger out for him to pull. He pulls. I fart. We both crack up. Really, I owe my talent for farting at will to Eddie.

  Eddie was born without any real fingers on his right hand. He’s got a little stub thing where a thumb should be, and two sort of half-fingers that were attached to each other where his index and middle fingers should be.

  When he was four he had an operation to separate his fin­ger stubs. He was in a lot of pain for weeks after the surgery and the only thing that could take his mind off the pain and get him laughing was farts. He was only four. It’s not like he had a highly developed sense of humor. We’d play that warthog section in “The Lion King” over and over for him. And I’d also do my part to entertain him. Once when he woke up in the middle of the night, screaming with pain, Max called me into his room and asked me to fart for him. Now she says she wish­es she’d doubled up on the pain meds instead of encouraging my farting skills, but I know she was grateful at the time.

  Chapter

  2

  Max pulls a chair up in front of us and does the eye-to-eye thing.

  “Listen, you two. Carmen’s not going to put up with all of this farting business. And she’s not going to be checking your homework, or fixing special meals for you, or any of that stuff that I do. And Mario, I know you always take your vitamins but you’ve got to remind Eddie, too.”

  “Could we bring Simba-Kitty back to live with us at Aunt Carmen’s?” Eddie asks.

  Max just looks at him like he’s asked the most stupid ques­tion in the world. Which he has, because Carmen hates cats.

  “Simba’s happy catching mice in Tia Josie and Tio Hec­tor’s barn. Besides, Aunt Carmen’s allergic to cats.”

  “I miss Simba-Kitty!” Eddie says, rubbing at his eyes again.

  Simba’s been up at Josie and Hector’s for over three years and all of a sudden Eddie’s rubbing his eyes because he miss­es the cat? More like he’s going all mental because Max is leaving.

  “Don’t make this harder than it already is,” Max tells Ed­die. “You’ll see Simba when you visit Tia Josie and Tio Hec­tor at Christmas time. Just like you always do.”

  The apartment we live in has a no pets rule, so we’ve never had a pet. Except for Simba.

  Eddie was still in his Lion King phase when he found this skinny little orange kitten behind the trash bin at our apart­ment house. Eddie knew Max wouldn’t let him keep the kit­ten, but he snuck him into the house anyway, and hid him in our closet.

  I didn’t even know about it until one night when I was awakened by these strange sounds. Then I noticed a sliver of light around the edge of our closet door. I got up to take a look and there was Eddie, sitting on the floor of the closet, feeding little bits of tuna to his scrawny find.

  “It’s Simba,” he’d said.

  “If that’s Simba I feel sorry for the future of the pride,” I told him.

  “He’s just got to get bigger,” Eddie said. “Don’t tell Mom.”

  He’d already fixed up a regular kitten habitat in our closet. There was a little bed, and litter box, and a bowl of water.

  “You better keep it clean in there,” I told him. “I don’t want my clothes smelling like cat pee.”

  Somehow Eddie managed to keep Simba and Max from meeting for weeks. Then Max got sick one day and came home from work early. I’d left my jacket tossed over a chair in the living room. Max is a neat-freak even when she’s sick, so she took the jacket into our room to put it away. I guess she was pretty amazed to see Simba stretched out on the window­sill, soaking up the sun.

  By this time Simba was fattened up and cute, and, once Max was over the surprise of it all, she was pretty impressed with him. Still, there was that no pets rule. Max borrowed a cat carrier from a friend and we drove Simba all the way up to Redville, to live with Tio Hector and Tia Josie. They always have a few cats around to keep the mice out of their barn, so they didn’t mind adding one more to the rodent patrol. Eddie cried and carried on when we left, but Simba seemed pret­ty happy to be outside with trees and birds and grass to roll around in, and a barn full of interesting prey.

  “Simba could stay in our room all the time. Aunt Car­men wouldn’t even know he was there,” Eddie says.

  Max nails Eddie with her “no more foolishness” look, then turns to me.

  “You guys have got to be responsible for yourselves now.”

  “We are, Max,” I tell her. “We’re plenty responsible. That’s why we should just stay here ’til you get back. It’d be better than going to Carmen’s.”

  “Mario. Mijo. We’ve been all through that. Unless you want to change your mind about staying with Hector and Josie up in Redville . . .”

  “Where the biggest excitement of the year is who takes first prize in the garlic recipe contest? Where half the time the fog’s so thick the soccer team can’t even see the goal?? Get real!”

  “Right. So you’ll stay with Carmen and make the best of

  it.”

  “It won’t be good,” I grumble, lifting my head from Max’s shoulder and moving a few inches away.

  Max gives me a long look, and I can tell I’m in for one of her “let’s get this straight” talks. Here it comes.

  “Let’s get this straight, Mario. I’m doing what I’ve got to do. If I’d known when I signed on with the Guard that some­day I’d have to leave you guys for a year to go off and fight a war, I wouldn’t have signed up. But I did sign up. I made a commitment and I’m bound to keep it. You understand?”

  I nod.

  Eddie sits quietly, picking at a piece of lint on the sofa. He knows better than to interrupt Max in the middle of a “let’s get this straight” talk.

  “Okay. So I’ve got to do my duty, just like thousands and thousands of other soldiers are do
ing. You’ve got to live with some adult who is your official guardian. You’re not willing to go to Tio Hector’s, so Carmen’s it.”

  “I just don’t want to leave Hamilton in my senior year. There’s soccer, and the firefighters course . . .”

  “Right. And you can stay at Hamilton High because Car­men’s doing you a favor. Maybe you could show a little ap­preciation.”

  I sigh.

  “The good thing about being at Carmen’s is that you’ll practically be on your own. Just follow her house rules. She’s busy at the bank, and she’s found some new love, Stanton, or Fenton—something like that. Anyway, she won’t be paying a lot of attention to you two as long as you keep a low profile.”

  “Okay. Okay!”

  Even though I don’t do anything but sit there, Max’s “let’s get this straight” talks wear me out. And even though I say “okay,” just to get Max off my back, I don’t mean it. I’ve never really gotten along with Carmen. I don’t do very well with bossy people and she’s about as bossy as they get. Mov­ing in with her and having her be our official guardian seems way not okay to me. Max is right, though. I don’t have a bet­ter idea for a place to stay within the Hamilton High School boundaries.

  Eddie picks at the lint for a while longer, long enough to know Max’s finished her talk.

  “If I can’t take Simba with me, can I at least take his pic­ture to Aunt Carmen’s?”

  “Of course you can take Simba’s picture.”

  “Aunt Carmen’s not allergic to pictures of cats,” I tell him.

  “How come Robert’s not Carmen’s boyfriend anymore?” Eddie asks.

  “She’s too bossy,” I say.

  Max ignores me.

  “He was kind of nice,” Eddie says. “He played Monopoly with me once.”

  “Well . . . he seemed nice for a while, and then he didn’t,” Max says.

  “Why wasn’t he nice?” Eddie wants to know.

  Max just looks at Eddie, like she’s trying to decide what to say.

  “Why wasn’t he nice?” Eddie asks again.

  “Well . . . he’d get mad at Carmen over any little thing, and he’d say bad things to her.”