We’re barely halfway through the second semester of junior year, and all I can think about is getting the hell out of here and going to college. I feel as smothered and restless as ever. It’s like I’m a wound-up toy with nowhere to move.
I keep looking for the key to Olga’s room every time I’m alone in the apartment, which is rare these days. Either Amá or Apá is always home. It’s as if they don’t trust me to be by myself. Whenever they run out for a quick errand, though, I hunt for the key. I’ve even risked stumbling upon sex stuff in their room by searching all of their drawers. I found a key in a jewelry box once, but it didn’t fit. I’ve also thought about removing the lock with tools, but I’m afraid they’ll catch me in the act.
Meanwhile, I don’t know what else to do to find out more about my sister. Angie isn’t going to tell me anything, that’s for sure. I think she might hate me, and I’m not even sure why. Olga didn’t have many other friends, except some from high school I haven’t seen in a long time. I also keep worrying that if Amá goes into her room and goes through her boxes, she’s going to find her underwear and keel over. I didn’t have a chance to take them out the day she caught me in there.
All I can come up with so far is: 1) Go to Olga’s work; 2) Get her transcripts from community college; or 3) Swallow my pride and ask Juanga to get me Jazmyn’s phone number from Maribel.
The more I think about it, the stranger it seems that Olga went to this school for years and never seemed close to getting a degree. What was she even studying? The few times I asked her she said business blah-blah, and since that is something I know absolutely
nothing about and have no interest in, I never probed any further. I guess that’s typical of me.
After school, I take the train to the college on the south side of the city. The building is so dreary and sterile that it almost looks like a prison. The outside is made of concrete, and the windows are only small, tinted slits. Amá is crazy if she thinks I’m going to go to a school like this. There are students all over the hallways, yelling and playing loud music on their phones. How can anyone learn anything in this place? This is not the kind of future I imagine for myself.
Before I approach the Records and Registration desk, I practice my script in my head. I know that they might not want to release her records, just like at the hotel, but maybe if they feel sorry for me, they’ll give in. I have to emphasize how Olga is dead and how distraught I am. Maybe I should make myself cry.
“Hello, my name is Julia Reyes, and my sister came to school here,” I tell the middle-aged woman at the desk. “I was hoping you could give me her transcripts. She’s dead.”
“Who was her emergency contact?” She sounds as if my request were causing her bodily harm. Her expression is so sour I bet her mother might not even love her.
“I don’t know. My mom, I guess.”
“What was her name? What years did she attend? And how long ago did she die?” She types something into the computer.
“Olga Reyes. She attended school here from 2009 to 2013. She died in September.”
The woman knits her bushy eyebrows. “What years did you say?”
“From 2009 to 2013,” I repeat.
“Hmmm.” She looks at the screen again and purses her lips. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Why? Is it showing something different?” “I can’t give you that information.”
“Why not? How are you going to say that and then not tell me why?” My ears grow hot.
“We are not allowed to release any records until one year after the student’s death. At that time, the college will use its own discretion in deciding whether, and under what conditions, a student’s information will be released to survivors or third parties.” The woman sounds like a machine regurgitating information. I just told her my sister is dead, and she acts like a goddamn robot.
“You can’t make any exceptions? I mean, she’s dead. Please. You won’t be violating her privacy. She’s not going to come back from the grave and file a complaint. I really, really need this information. I don’t think you understand how important it is. I’m very upset about my sister’s death and would really appreciate your help. Please, just give me more information.” I try to be as patient and polite as possible, even though I hate this woman.
“That’s the school policy. No exceptions. You can come back in September and see if the office will release the information then. Until that time, there is nothing I can do. Now please move along. There are people waiting behind you.” The woman purses her thin lips and motions with her hand for me to get going.
I feel the anger rippling throughout my entire body. I know that I have an awful temper that is often impossible to control, but this woman is something special. Relax, I tell myself. Get ahold of yourself, Julia. I wish Lorena were here. She would probably know what to do.
“Do you have a soul? I mean, are you such a miserable sack of crap that you lack any kind of compassion? I guess I’d be upset, too, if I had a face like yours.”
“Young lady, if you don’t leave right now, I’m going to call security. I’m not joking.” Her face is bright red now.
“Oh, go to hell,” I say, and turn around. The woman behind me gasps as if it were the most scandalous thing she’s ever heard in her whole entire life.
