The Time It Snowed in Puerto Rico by Sarah McCoy Page A

said.
    “Your brother is little. You must watch over him,” she scolded, then lifted Pepito onto the ledge of her hip and headed to the kitchen. “Mami is here.” She kissed him, leaving a smear of fuchsia across his temple.
    Teline got blamed for everything Pepito did wrong, because he was the only boy in the family. It wasn’t fair. I did not want Mamá to have a boy. I took Teline’s hand and led her away to the quiet corner of the living room wherePapi had put up a plastic tree with colored lights and a blinking star on top. I’d covered the limbs with silver tinsel like I’d seen in a magazine. The tree stood about my height, but if I lay down next to it, it seemed a hundred feet tall. I pulled her to the floor next to me; the crinoline beneath our skirts stuck up like white branches.
    “Do you like our tree?” I asked.
    “Sí , we have one too. Mami got it at Walgreen’s,” she said.
    “My papi says Santa Claus is coming. Someone finally told him about our barrio .”
    “Santa Claus? Delia says he’s an old white man who only visits families on the mainland.” She pulled a tinsel strand off a lower limb and wrapped it around her thumb.
    “No, he’s a saint—Santo Nicolas Claus. He comes to everyone in the world. My papi said so. It was in the newspaper,” I corrected her. “Don’t believe Delia. She’s just mad ‘cause she has to go to confession. Probably because she doesn’t believe in saints!”
    “No, Delia goes to confession because she has a boyfriend.” Teline covered her mouth to keep in the laughs. But I didn’t.
    “A boyfriend!”
    I knew that some señoritas had boyfriends that made them do crazy things, like scream and throw plates or dance in the rain. I’d seen it all on Mamá’s telenovelas . She watched them in the afternoons while crocheting, pausing every so often from her counting to say Ay bendito! and cluck her tongue.
    “Shhh,” Teline warned. Delia stood a few feet away in the kitchen. Teline rolled over on her stomach. From where I lay, the layers of fluff haloed her head like an angel. She cupped her mouth and whispered, “Sometimes she goes in the back shed with him. I see them. Like when the rooster climbs on the hen. He rubs her and kisses her tetas . And she makes noises like this, oooo—ahh —sí —oh, sí .”
    I thought of Mamá and Papi on the couch, and the roosters I’d seen pecking hens, pecking each other—the blood of the jíbaros bar and the sound of bone against bone. I stopped laughing. Teline rolled around next to me in a fit of giggles.
    “Not funny,” I said, my face hot, my heart pounding.
    Teline cocked her head. “Did you hear what I said?”
    “Sí .” I pulled away.
    “What’s wrong, Verdita?”
    “Who cares about Delia and her boyfriend.” I got up. My red-striped dress was caught in the crinoline. I worked around myself, smoothing the stiff bristles. Teline stood and did the same.
    “I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.” Her eyes were big as eggs.
    I wasn’t mad. I was something else. But I couldn’t explain that to her. So instead I kissed her cheek. “It’s okay.”
    “Girls,” Titi Lola called. “Come help.” We went to the kitchen. “See this.” She held out a large bowl. “See those.” She pointed to a basket of eggs. “Now, crack these eggs and put the yolks in the bowl. Just yemas . Don’t get yourdresses dirty.” She tied a dish towel around my waist and did the same for Teline.
    “What are we making?” I asked.
    “Ahh!” She winked and smiled so that her eyes became slits. “Co-qui-to .” She broke the word in three parts. “Some for tonight, some for el Día de los Inocentes y los Días de Reyes and the rest for in between. Go on, crack-crack,” she said and waved a hand.
    We smashed the shells against the bowl’s edge. It was fun to feel them break inside my palm. I ran my fingers over the smooth sides before crushing it into sharp pieces. My hands felt powerful.
    The troubadours arrived just