The Time It Snowed In Puerto Rico - Plot & Excerpts
I tried to pomade them down, but they always sprang up and dried, crispy wet. Mamá noticed and asked me what I’d done to myself. I told her it was my hair, and I liked it that way, even though I didn’t.She started snooping through my stuff around then, cleaning my room when I told her not to, asking if I had any dirty clothes to wash, standing outside the bathroom every time I came out. The two of us were home alone a lot. Papi stayed out later and later. He said they were a man short on the finca, but his razor box was empty. I knew where he was. I hadn’t forgotten the jíbaros bar—the piles of money and the easy way he held the red playing cards. But I wouldn’t tell Mamá. I’d keep his secret.After school each day, I wrote in my journal on the front porch, making myself too busy to be bothered. I cut out pictures from Mamá’s magazines and catalogs—pictures of pretty dresses and shoes and hairstyles. I taped them to the pages of my journal and wrote on the top of each why I liked them and where I imagined wearing the outfit.
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