No Place on Earth

Gustavo

It’s an impossible choice.

In front of me is a growling wolf. Behind me? A huffing grizzly. Both clearly want to rip me to shreds and eat me for dinner. The question is, should I pick the—­

Icy cold water gushes over me so fast I think I’m drowning. I sputter in my seat, eyes darting around wildly, until I realize that I’m in Ms. Román’s classroom. That there is no bear. There is no wolf. Diego and Javi laugh and fist-­bump each other.

“Te dije que the water would work,” Diego snorts.

“Funny. Very funny,” I mutter, standing up and grabbing my backpack. The wall clock says 2:35, which means I slept through the dismissal bell. Why would Ms. Román just leave me alone in here? On my last day, too.

I walk out of science class as Diego and Javi fall into place on either side of me. Javi nudges my shoulder.

“No te molestes. We just wanted one last prank. Ms. Román said we could.”

I roll my eyes and shove them both, but I don’t mean it. Not when they did me a favor. Dying was not on my to-­do list for today.

We hurry down the maze of open-­air corridors, and by the time we make our way to the school parking lot, all three of us are sweating. I’ve lived in Puerto Rico my whole life, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how humid it is here. How heavy the heat feels. Today the breeze reminds me of the stinky wet air at Titi Ingrid’s house. How her dog pack pants loudly in my face whenever we visit. She insists they’re just being friendly, but I know wild animals when I see them. And right now it feels like the whole island has been swallowed into a feral dog’s sticky hot throat and then burped out.

I shudder. Nasty.

Diego, Javi, and I shuffle over to the curb where most of the sixth graders are waiting. The fourth-­to-­sixth pickup line is already backed up, the long line of cars winding around the red flamboyán tree in the center of the redondel. I squint into the afternoon sun, but Ma’s Toyota is nowhere to be seen, even though she promised she’d come grab me right after school.

Then again, she promised she’d consider letting me stay in Puerto Rico with Pa, and that isn’t happening either.

Diego wipes the sweat off his forehead. His hair is the longest out of the three of us, and right now it’s sticking to his neck in damp clumps. “Qué calor, puñe—­” he starts to complain, then stops his cussing mid-­sentence as Ms. Figueroa gives us a look.

“Sorry, missi,” he apologizes.

Javi readjusts his glasses and fans himself with his Fortnite T-­shirt. “At least you’ll be out of this heat soon, Gustavo.” He shows me the weather app on his phone. “Está en fifty degrees en Yellowstone.”

I make myself smile at him, because I know Javi is just trying to be nice, but come on. Yeah, I hate the heat, who doesn’t? But my move to the United States tomorrow is the last thing I want to think about right now.

Besides, doesn’t Javi know that colder climates are actually way worse? I’m pretty sure people die from cold exposure all the time.

I pull out my phone and tap: What kills more people, heat or cold?

Ha! I knew it! El frío is the silent killer. Four times more deaths!

I put my phone back in my pocket and keep watch for Ma’s car as I listen to Diego and Javi plan our first long-­distance video-­game session. My heart isn’t in it, though, and I kind of zone out.

I hate goodbyes. I hate new things. And moving to the middle of a giant forest two months into sixth grade is pretty much one of the worst things I can imagine happening to me.

And trust me, I can imagine a lot.

“Hellooooo, ¡Gustavo Emanuel!”

I blink and knock Diego’s waving hand out of my face. “Deja eso.”

Diego is frowning. “¿Estás bien?”

I shrug. “Yeah,” I lie. “I’m fine. We’ll game on Monday. Igual que siempre.”

“Don’t worry, Gus. Nothing’s gonna change,” Javi says reassuringly, even though I just told them I was fine. “We already chat online more than in person anyway.”

“Exacto,” Diego agrees. “The Legendary Looters Whats­App group will continue on as normal. You’ll just be farther away. Besides, no es pa’ siempre. You’ll be back.”

I smile uneasily, my stomach cramping a bit. My friends always do this. Assume I’m worried even when I say I’m not. I push the discomfort down. It’s not like they know I’m lying.

I’m about to change the subject when I finally see Ma pull up a block away. My phone pings a second later, probably with a text telling me to walk over.

I half hug Diego and Javi goodbye, promising to log on to Fortnite in a few days, and then shoot my school one final look. I’ve been coming here since kindergarten. It’s hard to believe this is really it. No more arroz con salchicha plates at lunch. Or hide-­and-­seek games before homeroom. I’ll miss this place.

It’s not forever, Gustavo, I remind myself.

My phone pings again, and then Ma honks at me like I’m the one who’s late. Qué pantalones.

I grip my backpack straps tightly and walk out the school gates.

By the time we finish braving the school-­dismissal traffic and get home, the house is full of people. Cousins. Aunts and uncles. My grandparents on both sides.

Did everyone leave work early or something?

I’m halfway through the room, kissing cheeks as I go, by the time Pa shows up with a stack of Faccio pizzas. Pizzas! Like this is a freakin’ birthday party.

He still has the keys to our house, but he doesn’t live here anymore. Not since he and Ma decided to take a break. A trial separation, they called it. Me pone mal just thinking about it. O sea, how is Ma getting a job three thousand miles away supposed to help them fix their relationship?

I may be eleven, but even I know that moving to a forest while “on a break” is a terrible idea. Lorena keeps insisting it’s not, but what does she know? She’s sixteen and has had exactly zero relationships.

It’s different for her anyway. She gets to move to Yellowstone guilt-­free. ¿Pero yo? I was there the night of their big fight. I know it was about me. It’s kind of hard to unhear something like that.

I eat my pizza in silence, watching everyone laughing and eating like this is just a regular family reunion. How can they all be so relaxed about saying goodbye?

“¡Gustavito!” my uncle Reymundo calls out from across the living room. “You ready for that Wyoming wilderness? Ready to have some big brave adventures?”

Pa laughs. “Gustavo and his chapines? Not a chance.”

I force out another fake smile as my aunts and uncles laugh, like they usually do. But like I usually do, I stay quiet.

Once, at the beach, I had what I think was a panic attack after we had all eaten some pastelillos de chapín. The fried trunkfish pastries were still making their way into my stomach when I thought I saw a shark by the shore. It ended up being some guy with a toy fin, but the damage was done. My stomach was a mess.

Pa said, “Eso no es ná, Gustavo, solo los chapines dando vuelta en tu panza.”

And that was that. No more “nervous stomachaches” for me. Only Caribbean trunkfish swimming around my insides.

If I’m honest, I kinda like the mental image. Because it really does feel like fish are constantly swimming around in my guts, especially when scary scenarios play out in my head. So, yeah, I also blame that whirlpool feeling in my stomach on the chapines. That’s not the problem.

It’s the way Pa talks about the chapines that I don’t like. No sé. It’s hard to explain. The way he jokes about it isn’t that funny. At least I don’t think it is. But every time I say something, ask him or my uncles to stop messing around, it just makes everything worse. They say I’m too sensitive. That I need to learn to take a joke.

I bite into my pizza quietly, letting the laughter and conversation buzz around me. Zoning out is kind of what I’m known for, but this is our final night as a family. And as much as my tías and tíos annoy me sometimes, they’ve been around my entire life.

How are we gonna have monthly family reunions with just me, Ma, and Lorena? That’s not even enough people to fill up one table.

“Ya vas a ver,” my tío Reymundo says. “The forest will be good for you, Gustavo.”

Oh great. So the conversation is still about me. Fantástico.

Pa turns to me. “Your uncle’s right. Less PlayStation and more hiking, mijo. That’s what you need. Get you strong and brave like your papi.”

I give Pa a sarcastic thumbs-­up but he just laughs. Do they actually think I’m going to move to Yellowstone and just turn into a completely different Gustavo? I’m changing my home address, not my whole personality.

Here’s the thing. Lorena chose to go with Ma when she got her new job. Said living inside a national park would give her an edge when applying to the best college biology programs in the US. But me? I begged to stay in Puerto Rico. I told Pa all sorts of things, even offering to mop and clean the bathroom and do the dishes—­all those household chores neither of us would ever normally do.

In the end, though, my uncles and my dad’s army buddies convinced Pa that Yellowstone would be just the thing to help me with my nightmares and stomachaches. Just the thing to “toughen” me up.

So here I am. Comiendo pizza fría and about to make the biggest move of my life.

And for someone who is always working through worst-­case scenarios?

I really did not see this coming at all.