“I mean Deadly Towers is still an overall better game,” an older Chris made his opinion known for the hundredth time. José and Simon weren’t even listening. Simon was playing a newer Zelda game, and José was pouring over a map that was splayed out on the carpeted floor of Simon’s old room.

Not much had changed since Simon was twelve. New posters decorated the wall, most of them representing newer games or rock bands that had replaced older games and rock bands. A few movie posters adorned the opposite wall, including a few favorites: Star Wars, The Last Starfighter, and Raiders of the Lost Ark. Simon’s TV was much larger. He now had a twenty-seven-inch television sitting on top of an old dresser. Wires spread out behind it in every direction, and the Super Nintendo sat alongside it, also appearing to expose its innards with controller cables sliding down the face of the dresser.

Simon sat on the side of his bed, which was the only real ‘chair’ available in the room. The last one had buckled when José jumped from the top bunk onto it, causing it to crash onto the floor in pieces, which made Simon and Chris laugh and José upset. That had been two years back, and Tía Tencha had taken the opportunity of the event to put José on a small diet. Simon had explained to her that the chair had broken because of José’s failed attempt at a stunt he had seen in some movie, but Tía Tencha was not buying it. Surprisingly, José had agreed with the diet, and had even managed to lose a lot of weight. Of course, that had not stopped Chris from making fun of him, but José was always more than capable of defending himself.

Tía Tencha and José no longer lived in Simon’s home. Gone was the bunk bed and most of José’s ‘stuff’. They had returned to live with Simon’s uncle, Beto, but still practically lived in Panchita’s home, visiting almost every weekend, with José spending the nights there as well. Simon didn’t mind it. He had been pretty disappointed when José moved out. He was practically a brother to him. But these weekly visits made things easier. This was especially true since Simon’s father had left the family when he was fourteen. There was never an explanation for his departure, and Simon rarely saw his parents argue, but his mom had assured him that his father had his reasons and that they would all be alright.

“No one cares what you think, menso,” José said to Chris, while keeping his eyes on the map. “Simon, it’s supposed to be inside the giant fish, the next dungeon.”

“I’m just saying,” Chris continued. “They spend so much time on the graphics that they ignore a good story.”

“Good story?” Simon asked, also not taking his eyes off the screen. “What story exactly did Deadly Tower have?”

“Well, you’re this knight.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” José added. “You’re a knight and you kill monsters in a stupid tower that happens to be deadly.

“And this?” Chris was not giving up. “Where is princess Zelda? She can’t stay un-kidnapped. After all these games you’d think she would put locks on her doors. And besides-”

“I think I found it,” interrupted Simon. “Check it out.” Chris and José turned their attention to the screen. Simon had found the dungeon in the desert.

“It says that you will need a spell book to open it,” José offered his navigator support. Simon was about to enter the desert dungeon on the screen but something off the screen took his attention.

“Wait, what time is it?” Simon looked around for a clock. He didn’t own one.

But Chris had a watch. “3:35, porque?”

“Oh no, I’m late!”

He paused the game, reached for the long-sleeved shirt on the foot of the bed and stood to go. José looked hungrily at the controller that was now sitting unmanned on the bed. Simon noticed the stare and grabbed the controller before his cousin could take it. He held it for a moment and reached out to give it to José but hesitated just as his cousin was going to take it.

“Don’t mess up my save, José!” Simon made the warning very clear, for which of course José took offense.

“Please, I’ll probably beat the game by the time you get back.”

“See, but I don’t want that. Chris, make him start his own game.”

“Simon!” Chris complied.

“What?”

“Simon… I mean yes!”

In Spanish, folks often used the word ‘simon’ to convey an affirmative response to a question. Since Chris had adopted a lot of Spanish slang, it was not always clear when he was speaking English or switching to Spanish.

“See? It’s when you speak Spanish that I can’t tell the difference,” Simon explained.

“Simon, Simon!” Chris teased.

Simon shook his head, glared one more time as José before rushing out of the room.

Simon’s mom was watching novelas in the next room. She smiled as her son sped past.

“Ya te vas, mijo?” She asked over the loud television drama.

“Ya, the party is at 4.”

“Ok, mijo,” Panchita responded. “Your tía Tencha and Beto are coming over tonight, so I’ll have dinner ready.”

“Thanks ma, bye!”

Simon brushed his mother’s shoulder with his hand as he passed. He grabbed his car keys from the kitchen counter and made his way out the front door with an unwavering speed.

The old Toyota Camry had seen better days. In fact, one could describe it as having seen an entirely better life. Simon bought it used a few years back, and while it didn’t look like much, he would describe it as ‘having it where it counts.” It always got him where he needed to be, and rarely complained. The few times it had broken down, the problem was always simple enough that Simon could fix it himself.

Simon’s dad used to help with car troubles. When he left, he did so without warning. No goodbye or note. He simply had disappeared. Simon suspected that something terrible had happened to him, but since his mom had not filed a police report, Simon concluded that she knew more than she indicated, and that his dad had simply left them. His little sister, Vanessa was too young to remember it, but it had devastated him. He was never close to his father, but he was still a presence that was no longer there. To Simon, his father may as well have passed away, because the resulting emptiness lingered for a long time. He also saw the sadness his mom endured for what seemed like years. But that was years ago, and this was now.

Simon turned the ignition and the old Camry exploded to life. ‘Exploded’ was not an exaggeration. The resulting boom that came from igniting the engine often scared neighboring cats, and when the car had initially started its spasm attacks, a few neighbors had called the police with reports of gunshots in the neighborhood. Nowadays the ordeal was just dismissed as, ‘Simon’s going out.’ Even the cats barely noticed.

Simon reversed the vehicle through a cloud of thick black smoke, another product of the age and wear of the ol’ Camry. In fact, enough billowing exhaust flowed out of the tail pipe, that often you couldn’t see the entire car until it pulled out of the driveway. Simon often thought, ‘I need to get that looked at,’ though he never had any real intention to.

~~~

Las Princesas piñata shop sat at the corner of Culebra and North Hamilton. It was a large building made to look like a fairy-tale castle. Cylindrical towers decorated the corners of the establishment and were topped by blue conical crowns. A long balcony adorned the entire top floor.

The shop had no windows, and instead was lined with a sheet-metal exterior. Hanging from a similar metal awning were dozens of piñatas: everything from Ninja Turtles to Optimus Primes like the one Simon had for his birthday.

Simon pulled the Camry into the dirt driveway, sending dust into the air that coalesced with his car’s exhaust. A crackling was heard as the rubber tires compressed the dirt and rocks that made the parking lot for Las Princesas. The shop was named after the owner’s daughter, but Simon always wondered why it was called ‘Las Princesas’ if he only had one daughter, while the name of the shop indicated multiple princesses.

He made his way through the only archway into the building. The rest of the inventory was spread out across the cavernous interior, lit only by a few overhanging lamps dangling on their power cords. Simon inspected some of the new additions, including a few princess piñatas that had golden crowns and flowing pink dresses. He made his way through rows of familiar characters from cartoons and movies.

A slight movement from the dark corner of the room caught his attention. He snapped up when he realized that there was a person standing in the darkness. She wasn’t moving and staring directly at him. That itself was unnerving enough, but she was also covered in skeletal black and white makeup and wore a shadowy tattered dress. So spectral was her attire that she blended in with the dimply-lit walls of the piñata shop, making her face look like it was floating in the darkness. Simon continued to stare for a few more seconds until someone drew his attention away.

“Hola Simon!” The voice came from behind him. “How are you mijo? How is your mom?”

Simon turned to see the owner of the shop, a woman in her thirties, named Margarita Resendez.

“Oh, hi Doña Resendez,” Simon greeted before turning briefly to glance back at the skeleton girl once more. But she was gone. Simon continued to scan the area, but she was nowhere to be found. “Muy bien,” he responded, “my mom is doing good.”

“How can I help you today, mijo?” She asked with a bright smile. She gestured towards some piñatas in the area where the skeleton girl had been standing. “We got in the pony piñatas for your little sister’s birthday party.”

Simon had not noticed the new stock.

“You read my mind!” He responded, making his way to the back of the room and kneeling before one of the pony piñatas, a purple one. “These are nice! You even have the purple one.” He looked up to Mrs. Resendez.

“Are these thirty like the rest?” He asked.

“For your family, it’s twenty dollars.”

“I appreciate that, Doña Resendez,” he stood up and brushed the dust from his knees. “But I don’t mind paying the full amount.” Reaching into his pockets, he produced three ten-dollar bills and handed them to Mrs. Resendez. She hesitated for a moment, then took the cash.

“You are so generous, Simon. If more jovenes were like you…” She trailed off. “Your mom raised you good.”

Simon returned her smile, lifted the piñata by the small hoop on the back of the pony and slung it over his shoulder.

“Thank you, Doña Rezendez!” He waved goodbye and made his way out of the shop and back to this car. Dropping the piñata into the back seat and igniting the old engine, Simon pulled out of the dusty driveway, sending a cloud of dirt everywhere once again.

~~~

“It’s time to hit the piñata!”

A group of kids were gathered around the giant tree in the backyard of Claudia Garcia’s home. Simon had arrived just in time and was sizing up the tree branches to determine which one would best hold the pony-shaped piñata, as well as provide the best angle for pulling without risking the entire branch coming down on them. The gathering of children was watching him closely, but one little boy was brave enough to approach him.

“Are you Simon-Alejandro?” The boy wanted to know. Simon tossed one end of the rope over a sturdy protruding branch and turned to see the sandy-haired boy looking up at him with big brown eyes.

“Yup,” he replied. “What’s your name?”

“Martin.”

Martin was joined by little girl.

“You’re the best, right?” The little girl named Gloria asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Simon responded, with a bit of modesty. Yet another child joined the tiny interrogation troupe. Simon recognized this one as the birthday boy, Aidan.

“We always hit my dad’s piñata easy,” Aidan commented with disapproving tone. “He’s not very good.”

“He stinks!” Gloria added.

“He’s very slow,” Martin joined in. Simon laughed at the notion that he was dealing with a tough crowd of piñata experts, all under ten years old. But he offered them another viewpoint.

“Well, maybe your dad just wants you to hit the piñata, so you can have fun,” He explained, as he continued to test the weight of his piñata. That counterpoint made Aidan pause. Simon glanced down and notice that Aidan was deep in thought. As were the other two kids for that matter. Eventually Aidan drew his own conclusions.

“No… he’s just not very good,” was his final conclusion about his dad’s skills.

Claudia was busy organizing the kids by height, making sure that Aidan didn’t miss his opportunity to hit the piñata before it was broken. She was not too concerned, what with Simon being on the other side of the rope.

It was not long before the kids were swinging away, while the others cheered on with shouts of encouragement. Every kid wanted to be the one to land the final blow that destroyed the piñata. But everyone won when it was broken because of the sweet candy within.

With a level of control and agility that contradicted Simon’s earlier modesty, he pulled and tugged the rope with little effort, while the other end of the cord had the piñata dancing in the air and dodging swings in unnatural ways, as it shifted directions mid-decent, making it difficult for the hitters to anticipate where it was. But Simon was not here to make the client's life difficult, and as soon as he would notice some frustration in his little rivals, he would allow a hit to slip in. So much control did Simon have, that he would snap the rope moments before the stick connected in order to absorb some of the blow, thus keeping the piñata intact until the birthday boy had a chance to hit. And hit it he did.

In fact, Simon controlled the reverse swing for the piñata enough to meet Aidan’s stick halfway, enhancing the impact, which tore a big hole on the side of the piñata. A little snap of his rope, and Simon triggered the small horse to wiggle enough to open the crack even more, sending candy all over the grassy lawn. Claudia, anticipating the coming rush, snapped up Aidan’s stick before her son could take another swing and accidentally hit one of the other kids. And she did so just in time, as the yard erupted in a unified cheer and the mad stream of children charged the center, eager to grab as much of the sweet-candy loot as they could fit in their small bags. Even some adults joined the fray, one larger woman nudging her way through the kids to, “make sure she could get some candy for her smaller boy.” That boy was 8 months old.

Simon waited for the crowd to clear, which happened after every piece of candy had been picked clean of the area. He let the remains of the broken pony descend enough to grab the still-attached rope and unhinge its makeshift hook from the top of the piñata. Claudia approached him as he was coiling up the rope and attaching it to his belt buckle. She grabbed his hand and handed him twenty dollars.

“Thank you so much, mijo,” she said sincerely. “I told Aidan that his dad could do the piñata, but he wanted you to come.”

Pocketing the money, Simon nodded his “you’re welcome” and smiled. The fee was supposed to be thirty-five dollars.

“And thank you for doing it for so little,” she continued. “I swear the clown wanted a hundred dollars. And he can’t even juggle.”

‘One-hundred dollars,’ Simon thought. Maybe it was time to rethink his pricing. Simon considered reminding Claudia that the price was thirty-five. Instead he said…

“My pleasure, Mrs. Garcia. Enjoy the rest of the party. Please pass the word. I can do weekdays too.”

“Of course, I will, mijo.”

~~~

A few minutes later, Simon was back in his Camry, driving slowly through the neighborhoods. He scanned every home as he cruised by. Anyone watching from their home would have been in their rights to reach for the phone and call the police. But Simon wasn’t looking for a place to rob. In fact, he spotted what he was searching for after a few minutes: a birthday party.

Well, the signs of one anyway. He slowed the car down to a crawl and noticed the tops of a bouncy castle peaking behind the roof of a red-bricked house. Quickly, he rolled down the window and heard the second tell-tale sign of a party – the sound of kids screaming and laughing.

Simon rolled the window back up, moving to park a few houses down the street. With the rope coiled on his hip, he made his way to the red house. A young, blond woman in her thirties made her way through the opened gate of the back yard. She was carrying a trash bag. She noticed Simon’s approach and paused.

“Can I help you?” Suspicion obvious in the question.

“Good evening, ma’am.” Simon was quick to start politely to discourage any apprehension and ruin any chances he might have of getting the piñata-pulling gig. The woman’s gaze went to Simon’s hooped rope.

“Oh, are you some cowboy performer or something? I’m sorry, but we already hired a magician.”

Simon raised an eyebrow at the question, until he realized where she was looking.

“Oh, no, no. I’m actually a professional piñata puller,” he corrected.

“They have those?” She asked but was immediately distracted by a commotion going on behind her in the backyard. Simon could not see what was happening from his angle, but it did not take long for him to figure it out.

“Bill!” The woman screamed. “She’s getting into the cake again! Please take care of it!” She was still looking at the yard when Simon quietly answered her question.

“Yes, I only charge twenty dollars per party. And I can guarantee that the kids will love it.”

“Twenty dollars?” Her reaction was not reassuring. “To pull a piñata. My husband can do it for free.”

“Well, yes of course. I understand.” Simon was trying to salvage the situation. After all, he had heard this argument before. “I understand that. But I do tricks!”

“Tricks? What kind of tricks?”

Simon was about to respond when something once again drew the woman’s attention from their conversation.

“Bill! Are you not seeing what I’m seeing? She is getting into the cake!” She was growing increasingly agitated. Simon was losing her fast, but he still needed to try.

“Tricks,” he brought her attention back to him. “Like, I can keep the kids from hitting it, make the piñata spin in the air.”

She was still glancing back at the yard. “Well, but I want the kids to hit it,” she reasoned. Simon made a mental note to work on his sales pitch more. Of course, we want the kids to hit the piñata.

“Of course,” he agreed. “I mean before they hit it, I ca—”

“Listen,” she interrupted, with a sympathetic tone in her voice, one that must have been forced, as she had only recently yelled at the guy named Bill. “I’m sure what you do is great, but I’ve got my idiot husband who doesn’t seem to know how to keep a kid from eating the cake prematurely. Anyway, he usually pulls the piñata. And he’s free. He may not do tricks, but the kids really don’t care.”

Simon’s wore the disappointment on his face, and the woman noticed it.

“I’m really sorry, but good luck to you,” was all she could offer, before once again looking over her shoulder. “Bill! For the love of…the cake is ruined!” She left the trash bag where it sat and rushed back to the party. Simon picked up the bag and walked it over to the curb, where other garbage heaps were collecting.

The rest of the evening was equally disappointing. Simon had managed to score a quick pulling gig for five dollars, a major discount that was better than nothing at all. But at least they had provided their own piñata. Weekends were the best for landing pulling gigs. But he was having to explain the value of his work to people who had never considered a piñata puller as a type of entertainment. On top of that, he had to convey that a “professional puller” was better than the typical uncle because of what he could make the piñata do. But how do you show someone what you can do without being given the opportunity to do it?

The sun was well past setting as he made his way back to the Camry from that five-dollar gig. Defeated, Simon was ready to get home and play some video games. Hopefully Chris and José were still up, and José had not ruined his game save. Now that he considered it, José ruining his save would be the perfect ending to a discouraging day. His spiraling thoughts stole his attention away from someone approaching from behind. So, he was startled when someone called him by name – his full name at that.

“Simon-Alejandro.”

Simon jumped turned, startled by the deep voice. He saw an older gentleman standing before him. White hair was visible under an old fedora, and an equally white beard decorated his chin. He wore a white, lose-fitting, button shirt and old brown pants. Simon was about to ask how the man knew his name, but the gentleman spoke first.

“Having a little trouble selling your skills? He asked. The stranger had a strong Mexican accent. His voice was deep and commanding. Was he talking about his piñata pulling, Simon thought?

“Who are you?” Simon wanted to know before answering, but the man ignored his question.

“I see you have some skill with the piñata, my boy.” The compliment did put Simon at ease, if only for a moment.

“I’m ok, I guess,” Simon played the modesty card, which the older man was not having. He pursed his lips, not buying the diffidence at all.

“I would say that you are more than ‘just okay’,” he imitated Simon’s shy tone. “You have absolute control, and I see that you choose only the best rope.”

Simon looked down at his rope then back at this apparent stalker, “Do I know you?”

“Walk with me,” his question was ignored again. The man turned and started to walk away from Simon and the Camry.

‘I’m probably going to be murdered’, Simon thought as he watched the man walk away. “Oh, what the heck,” he whispered to himself, moving quickly to catch up. Simon had not even reached him before the older man began to speak again.

“Simon, my name is Javier Montolio,” he proclaimed. Well, at least he had a name.

“Did Mrs. Garcia tell you about me?”

“Simon, you have pulled piñatas since you were a young boy, studying your tío Beto’s technique, and learning how to control the movement of the piñata beyond the conventional means.”

“Okay, creepy. How do you know all this?”

“I see that you pull piñatas at birthday parties, making what, twenty dollars a party?”

Simon was getting a little annoyed with his questions being ignored, and now this man was insulting his personal little business.

“It’s not a lot, but it gets me by.” Simon looked back at the party he had just worked and thought about the five dollars he had earned. “Sometimes.”

“What if I told you that you could make a lot more money pulling piñatas?”

Now it was Simon’s turn to ignore the man with the fedora.

“Okay, so I don’t even know who you are. Are you with the Garcia family?”

Instead of responding, Javier reached into his front shirt pocket and withdrew a small business card. Handing it to Simon, he then placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder.

“It’s time to leave the birthday parties behind, mijo.”

Simon inspected the card. The card was empty save for a small logo that resembled a star-shaped piñata. Javier continued to speak, stealing Simon’s attention from the card back to him.

“Go to the warehouse at Navigation and Avenue F tonight at 10:30, and you will see what I’m talking about… and learn who I am.” Javier patted Simon’s shoulder and turned to leave. Simon had nothing to say. He looked down to the card in his hand then back up to the departing gentleman. More money pulling piñatas. Doing what? Pulling piñatas for rich folks? Or was it all a front? Simon’s thoughts went back to being murdered. But for some reason, this Javier Montolio did not seem sinister or shady. Truth be told, he somewhat reminded Simon of his grandpa. There had been a sincerity in his voice.

The sun had set, and Simon could barely see the logo on the card. The purple sky blended with the orange horizon, and a cool breeze moved through the neighborhood sending scents from various kitchens, reminding Simon that it was time for dinner, and he was already late for it. Not to mention that he still had to run an errand for his mom. A low rumble was heard from the East. Simon turned just in time to see a fork of lightning in the distance. A storm was rolling in.

~~~

“Good-evening-sir. How-are-you-today?”

The young girl at the cash register looked bored. If the completely unemotional look on her face had not given that away, then her dry greeting would have. Even her name tag was crooked. But Simon did not need to read that tag to know that her name was Carla. He had committed to memory her dusty brown hair, pale face, and dark eyes. There were plenty of small stores closer to his house, but he visited Food Mart for Carla. He stood nervously across from her, slowly placing the items he was carrying on the counter.

“I’m o-” Simon cleared his throat and continued. “I’m okay. How are you?”

Carla was not accustomed to the small talk with customers going beyond the initial greeting, because she paused for a moment while scanning the items.

“I’m alright, sir,” she continued scanning the merchandise, not lifting her eyes. “Will this be everything?” Simon glanced from the items on the counter back from Carla.

“It’s Simon.”

“Excuse me?” Carla asked with little emotion.

“My name,” Simon continued. “It’s Simon. Do you have this pony in purple?”

Simon was referring to the yellow toy pony he was purchasing. Another pause from Carla.

“You collect ponies?”

Simon panicked for a moment.

“No, no. I’m trying to find a purple one for my little sister. It’s not for me.”

Carla managed a smile and shifted her attention from the pony to Simon.

“Right… The purple one is the hardest to find.”

“Right.”

“We get new shipments on Tuesdays.”

“Oh, ok. Well, I’ll come back on Tuesday, then.”

Carla stared at him for an uncomfortable amount of time. Then she smiled once again.

“Sounds good, Simon. I’ll keep my eyes open for one. That’ll be twelve dollars.”

“Oh thanks! Yeah, that would be great!” Simon handed Carla the money he had just earned from Mrs. Garcia.

“Thank you for stopping by Food Mart.” She handed him the change. “Have a good evening.” She gestured towards the front windows. “You’d better get going.”

Rain was starting to come down hard outside. Simon grabbed the small bag and waved sheepishly.

“Yeah, you have a good evening too.”

~~~

By the time Simon returned home, the streets were drenched, and he had to run to the front door to avoid becoming soaked himself. He wished that he had purchased an umbrella at Food Mart. After drying his shoes on the entry doormat, Simon entered his home and found his sister asleep on the couch. The old television across from her was showing a documentary on Aztec culture. Simon smiled and shook his head. How a seven-year-old could be entertained by documentaries was beyond his understanding.

He knelt quietly in front of Vanessa. She stirred slightly and he froze to avoid waking her. Stealthily, Simon removed the yellow pony from the bag and placed it next to her. Simon guessed she had an extrasensory power for these little horses, because she immediately rubbed her eyes and looked over to the pony. In an instant she was up and opening the toy’s package.

“Thanks, brother!”

His mom and aunt were busy in the kitchen.

“We waited for you to have dinner, mijo,” Panchita announced.

“Thanks, Ma. I’ll be right there.”

After receiving a tight hug from his little sister, Simon made his way to his room. He was not surprised to find Chris and José in almost the same state he had left them. Except José was passed out on the floor, a bag of chips at his side. Chris sat cross legged in front of the small television. He was still playing Zelda.

“Hey, man,” Simon greeted as he offloaded his piñata rope onto the bed. “I’m gonna have to work a party late tonight. You guys still staying here?”

Chris paused the game. “You have a birthday party this late? Goth kids or what?”

“Nah, the lady from the last party asked me if I could pull for some of her cousins. Girls night out thing. Hey, change it to channel thirteen. The Last Starfighter is on tonight.”

Chris raised an eyebrow before grabbing the remote and changing the channel on the small television. The space movie was already halfway over, but Simon sat on the floor and was immediately engaged by this film that he had watched dozens of times.

“Man, you don’t even have a job and you have a job,” Chris continued their conversation.

“What are you talking about?” Simon asked, somewhat offended. “This is my job.”

“Yeah, well, we can just wait up for you,” Chris said. “José’s been asleep all afternoon, so he’ll prolly be up, and”

“Wait up,” Simon interrupted. “This is my favorite part.”

Chris joined Simon in watching the movie. On the small screen, they could see that the Gunstar space fighter was surrounded by dozens of enemy ships. They were pummeling the lone starfighter with laser blasts. It was a hopeless situation. Alex Rogan sat in the gunner chair. He watched as laser fire surrounded them. He nervously glanced down to the large red button on the console to his ship. It was the button that activated Death Blossom, a weapon of last resort. Behind Alex sat the ship’s pilot, named Grig. The brown lizard man was trying to keep the ship from falling apart.

“On your right!” The lizard man cried to Alex. Alex looked out of the ship’s right window to see that there were seven Ko-dan ships approaching.

“Your left!” Came another warning from his pilot. Alex looked left to see another four enemy ships coming in fast.

“Evade!” Alex ordered. Grig did as told and their ship spun to evade the approaching vessels. The ten Ko-dan enemies collided where the Gunstar once was. But there were many, many more foes approaching, and only one Gunstar.

“Power packs are low; we need time to recharge!” Grid cried. But there was no time. Already they were surrounded, and Gunstar was a sitting duck.

“Laser power draining!” Grig continued to warn. Alex’s starfighter was being jostled by the laser impacts. He tried to return fire, but his guns were no longer responding.

“Grig, my weapons are gone!” Alex exclaimed. He looked down to the large red button again. “Should I do it?!”

“Easy, easy,” Grig warned on the television, and Simon and Chris quoted Grig’s line out loud. “Wait ‘till they’re all in Death Blossom range!”

Like hornets, the Ko-dan ships swarmed around Alex’s ship. Any moment now, the Gunstar’s shields would be gone and their ship would collapse.

Grig held his hand up as he watched the radar. He could see the tiny ships getting closer and closer on the sensor screen. They were almost in range.

“Fire!” Grig, Simon and Chris yelled. José stirred in his sleep.

On the screen, the two friends watched as Alex’s Gunstar started to rotate in place, sending missiles and lasers in every direction. The enemy Ko-dan ships were caught unaware, and they were far too close to escape this surprise attack. One by one they were picked off, and Chris and Simon cheered as if this had been the first time they had watched the movie. The enemy ships were utterly destroyed as the Gunstar came to rest in the center of the screen.

“We did it!” Alex grinned.

“Yes, we actually did, didn’t we?” Grig, Simon and Chris responded.

“How far are you in the game?” Simon asked Chris now that his favorite scene had ended.

“I just started over again. I got lost in the map and couldn’t find the second dungeon.”

“Did José save my game?” Simon was concerned about this still.

“Yeah, menso wanted to erase your save to mess with you.”

Simon looked down to his slumbering cousin. His snores reverberated throughout the small room.

“Let’s erase his save,” Simon suggested.

“I can hear you, estupidos!” José was quick to interrupt, yet his eyes were still shut and, he otherwise appeared to be very much asleep.

“Is he dreaming?” Chris looked over his shoulder.

“I really don’t know.” Simon leaned in close to inspect his chubby cousin closely. José was still breathing heavily; the right side of his mouth was a mix of drool and Cheetos. “How does he do that? Remember that time we talked to him for like ten minutes and he was asleep the whole time?”

“That’s some voodoo right there.” Chris’ focus was back on the game. “Pour some water in his ear.”

Simon suppressed a snort at the suggestion.

“Do it and I’ll fart on your face when you’re sleeping, Crisoforo!” Again José. Again, very much still asleep. If he was messing with them, there was no smile or expression to indicate a break in his slumber. But then…

“Dinner’s ready!” came Tía Tencha’s voice from the other room. “Andale, vamos o se les va infiar!” She indicated that if we waited too long, the food would freeze. José did not need the warning. His eyes were wide open, and he was up on his feet quicker than Simon or Chris thought possible from their companion. Before the two could even stand, José was already out of the room.

“You would think he was starved as a child,” Chris reasoned.

Simon continued to stare at the doorway where his cousin had exited the room.

“He claims he was,” Simon joked, and Chris responded with a laugh that continued until he left to join José in the kitchen. Simon sat alone in his room. He could hear his cousin asking what Chris was laughing about and the other making up excuses. The playful argument continued in the background as Simon looked around his room, the voices drowned out by his own thoughts.

‘Navigation and Avenue F,’ he thought. That was the warehouse district. No one ever went there. Most of those old buildings had been abandoned since he was a kid. Homeless people sometimes made their homes there. And he was sure that he had heard about some gang violence taking place that district as well. He continued scanning the room, looking at his movie posters.

“Would Luke turn away an opportunity for adventure?” he whispered to himself as he stared at his Star Wars poster.

“Would Indy?” He asked, after turning his attention to his Raiders of the Lost Ark poster. He then focused on the third movie poster, The Last Starfighter.

“You have been recruited by the Star League,” Simon began quoting the line from that movie, “to defend the frontier against Xur and the Ko-Dan Armada.”

“I’m just a kid from a trailer park,” he continued, quoting Alex Rogan from the same movie.

“If that’s what you think, then that’s all you’ll ever be,” he finished with the response the character Centauri had given Alex in the film. With a strong resolve, Simon stood and nodded to himself.

“Alex would go. I’m gonna go.”

~~~

“Como te fue el birthday party, Simon?” Tía Tencha asked when they were all sitting around the dinner table. The small kitchen shared space with the actual dining area. A small round table sat underneath a hanging lamp illuminating the small room. With this many people at the table, the group had to squeeze in.

“It was ok,” Simon responded between a bite of his enchiladas. Tía Tencha wasn’t satisfied with that amount of information.

“Did Claudia pay you? Es bien tacaña esa!”

“Yeah…yeah, she paid me. She was very nice,” Simon assured his pushy aunt.

“Hmrf!” She replied. “Everything? She paid you everything?”

Simon didn’t respond immediately. He thought about it for a moment.

“I mean, I gave her a small discount.”

“A five-finger discount!” José jumped in, implying that Simon had worked for free.

“Tu callate,” Tencha hushed her son, and looked back to Simon. “No, nene! Don’t give her a discount. She will make you do it for free if you do that all the time.”

“It was only a few bucks. It’s ok, Tía. I’m actually thinking that twenty-dollars should be my base charge anyway.”

Simon’s uncle, Beto was sitting across from him. He sensed that his wife was prying too much and attempted to change the subject.

“How were the kids?” He asked. “How many rounds did they go?”

Simon was visibly relieved at the change of subject. “I gave them three rounds before I let the birthday boy break it.”

Beto raised his soda can in a toast, “Que bueno, mijo.”

“He’s going back to another party tonight,” Chris joined in, wanting to be part of the conversation. Simon’s warning glance to Chris told him that he should have picked a better topic. And, of course…

“You are?” His mom asked. “For who, mijo? This late?”

Simon allowed his glare on Chris to linger for another second before composing himself and turning to his mom. “For Mrs. Garcia. She’s having a party with some of her primas and wants me to pull a piñata for them.”

Tía Tencha huffed at that. “At her age hitting piñatas? Is it an adult party?” She asked, as her eyes widened with a sudden thought. “Don’t tell me the piñata is shaped like a-”

Simon didn’t let her finish the thought, “What? No! No, tía. It’s not that kind of adult party. It’s just her primas, and they want to hit a piñata - a regular piñata.”

Panchita was not really concerned with the type of party. She worried more about how late her son would be out. “Pues, be careful, Simon,” she said. “Claudia lives across town. Why doesn’t José go with you?”

“Si, José. Go with your primo!” Tencha agreed. José did not.

“Ma! I was going to stay here and play some games!”

“Ya, José with those games!” Tencha was not having it. “You play that junk all day! It’s going to rot your brain, y casi ni tienes.”

Chris found that hilarious and burst in laughter. This time the glare aimed at Chris was from José.

“Sigue!” José warned.

“It’s just that your mom thinks that you have no brains,” Chris explained through suppressed laughter.

“Sigue, Chris,” José warned again.

“José, I have some work I need help with in the garage tomorrow morning,” Beto interrupted. “You can’t stay anyway.”

“Aww, Pa! But it’s the weekend!” José argued.

“Si, exactly,” Beto agreed. “So, more time to do housework.”

José began to protest, but then looked at his mom. Tencha was staring at him. She said nothing, but Simon understood – as did they all – that the look alone carried more of a threat than anything she could have said to him. The look promised punishments that would go beyond José’s very nightmares should he have chosen to argue the point any longer. So, he lowered his head and said nothing. Even at this older age, José feared his mother’s wrath.

“Chris, can you go with Simon?” Panchita asked. Chris was about to respond that he would be happy to go, but he felt Simon’s eyes on him. He risked a peek and saw that Simon was giving him the same glare as before, and Chris could swear that he even saw his friend shake his head ever so slightly. It translated to, “don’t you dare.”

“I wish I could, Mrs. De La Peña,” he decided upon. “But I told my grandma that I would be home after dinner to help her with the wash.”

Simon jumped in before his mom could ask someone else to join him. “I’ll be ok, Ma. I’m not a kid. I was just there, and I’ll be careful.”

Not convinced, Panchita shook her head. But her son was correct. He wasn’t a child anymore, and he was doing this to earn some money.

“Esta bien,” she surrendered. “Pero, when you are done, come straight home.”

Panchita stood from the table and started collecting the empty plates and cups. José and Chris also left the table, with Chris walking his plate over to the kitchen sink.

 “I’ll call Claudia tomorrow and give her a piece of my mind.” Tía Tencha proclaimed, not ready to surrender, and seeing the distress that this late-night party was causing her sister.

“No, don’t!” Simon surprised himself by how aggressively he had demanded that. He was not the only one caught off guard. His mom and aunt both looked at him incredulously. Even Chris stopped washing his plate. All eyes were on Simon, and he visibly swallowed.

“It’s a- it’s a surprise party she’s throwing for a friend. If she thinks I’m tellin’ everyone about her business, she might stop hiring me for parties. Please, Tía, I’ll be okay.

Tencha did calm with that explanation, “Ok, ok mijo. But when I see her again…vieja fodonga!”

“Thanks, Tía,” Simon said, sighing in relief.

“And don’t forget that we have your sister’s birthday party in a few weeks,” his mom added. “So, don’t plan to work that day.”

Simon relaxed a bit, “I won’t.”

With that, the rest of the family withdrew to the television room. Simon picked up his plate and joined Chris at the sink. Not to be left behind, José joined them, though they all knew that José never washed his dishes. So that meant…

“Hey, can I borrow the game?” He begged Simon “I’ll bring it back tomorrow. Come on, you’re not even gonna be here!”

“Fine” Simon agreed. “Hey, your dad never asks you to help with anything.”

“I know, right!” José was thinking the same thing. “What’s that about?”

“No kidding,” Chris chimed. “He knows you’re too huevón to do anything around the house. I guess there goes our Saturday night.” Looking over his shoulder to ensure no one else was listening, he continued, “Hey, Simon, why don’t you want me to go with you?”

This time Simon had planned a better explanation.

“It just looks bad. I’m there to work. It looks unprofessional to bring friends along. I’m trying to grow a business here.”

“You’re pulling piñatas, menso,” José teased.

“Yeah, well.” Simon argued back. “It’s still my business.”

“I guess, man,” Chris nodded. “Bueno, pues.”

Simon finished drying his plate and checked the clock on the small microwave.

8:30 P.M.

“I have to go,” he said as he dried his hands with a small towel hanging from the rack next to the sink. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” To José, “and you better not erase my save.”