by Gary Soto
He stepped close to her and breathed in her ear, "A lot of girls like me." His bright ironic smile glowed like a lantern. "And thanks for the advice. I'll remember it on the court."
Conceited! Marisa couldn't believe such a boy. Sure, he was drop-dead gorgeous, strong, and maybe had plenty of smart noodles coiled up in his brain. His parents were doctors, right? But he was stuffed like a sausage with himself.
In English Marisa clacked her pencil between her upper and lower teeth, and then bared her teeth to a small compact, her breath fogging the mirror's surface.
"What are you smiling about?" Mr. Warren asked. "You're supposed to be doing your assignment."
"Who, me?" Marisa asked, her compact clicking closed.
"Yes, you, Miss Rodriguez."
"I wasn't smiling. I was just checking to see if I had stuff between my teeth."
A couple of classmates laughed, and Marisa had to smile but with her mouth closed—maybe there was gunk stuck between her teeth.
When Marisa was leaving at the end of class, Mr. Warren called her back. "You're distracted," he said. "You need to focus."
"I know," Marisa agreed. "It's just that I'm in love, and I'm also working out my plan to help my friend who's in love."
Mr. Warren didn't want to hear any more.
"Let's not talk about girls and boys and what you're up to." He thumped his pencil against the pile of essays as if he were trying to punish them.
"You must have been in love when you were our age." Marisa had never spoken so boldly to a teacher. At Washington she had been a moody shadow ghosting down the hallway, and she would have never raised her hand in class, even if she had to go to the bathroom. That would have been uncool. But at Hamilton she had begun to see that she could bare her soul.
"Yeah, I was in love," Mr. Warren said, patting the globe of his belly. "With beef enchiladas." He warned her about primping in class and asked how rehearsals were going for Romeo and Juliet.
"Like, real neat," she chimed, then paused, hand over her mouth as if it had issued a foul word. She would have to watch that. Shoot, I might turn into a nerd like Rene, she thought.
"You talked to him?" Priscilla said into her cell phone outside the library.
"Yeah," Marisa answered. She had just got out of her last class, biology, where she had splayed open an unfortunate frog (already dead) with a dull knife. She and Rene were going to rendezvous at the auditorium for rehearsal. "Yeah, we were chopping it up. I corrected his outside shot." She had the tickling urge to describe him as she saw him—conceited—but she was certain that would destroy Priscilla or, even worse, make Priscilla defend the blockhead basketball player.
"Oh, god, I can't believe it!" Priscilla screamed. "You talked basketball with him? Oh, wow!"
As Marisa approached the library, she could see Priscilla stomping her feet in excitement and bellowing into her cell phone. "You talked to him? Really? Oh, wow!"
"She's really got it bad," Marisa told herself. "She's really in love." She closed her cell phone as Priscilla was asking if he knew who she was.
"Aaron! Aaron! Aaron!" Marisa teased loudly.
Priscilla's face twisted in terror. Shocked, she ran over from the library and pulled on Marisa's arm. She hauled her away as if she were a bad child. "I can't believe you said his name so loudly. What if he heard?"
"It would be good if he heard. In fact—" Marisa caught sight of a shuffling Aaron, pants hanging low, out of the corner of her eye. "Here he is." She shrugged out of Priscilla's grip and hollered, "Hey, Aaron, remember to keep breathing when you shoot!"
Aaron was with two boys, both players, and he cut loose from them and approached the girls, hitching up his pants. He first sized up Marisa and then Priscilla before asking Marisa, "What's your name?"
"Marisa," Marisa answered. "My boyfriend is Rene. And this is Priscilla. She doesn't have a boyfriend."
Priscilla turned away and nearly doubled over, embarrassed.
"Don't play shy," Marisa advised Priscilla. She wanted to impress upon Aaron that he was dealing with two girls who were not afraid to take chances.
Aaron's smile was more like a snicker.
"Isn't she embarrassing?" Priscilla's face was red, but Marisa thought her blushing gave her a healthy look.
Aaron shrugged.
"We checked you out Wednesday," Priscilla remarked.
Aaron chewed his gum and then asked, "Doing what?"
Priscilla's head tilted downward and then swung up. "Playing basketball—you were so good!"
Aaron's gum chewing slowed to a stop. "You think I played good?"
Marisa had to have her say. "You are so full of yourself, mister."
Aaron shifted his attention to Marisa, who had clapped her hand over her mouth.
"Marisa!" Priscilla screamed.
Aaron smiled. "She's right. I take after my dad."
"Is your dad full of pedos, too?" Marisa nearly asked.
"My dad played in high school." Turning to Priscilla, he asked, "What's your name again?"
¡Ay, Chihuahua! Marisa was disgusted that Mr. Basketball had already forgotten her name.
"Priscilla," she answered. "My dad used to play basketball, too."
Aaron's eyes widened.
"He used to play with my little brother Adam." Priscilla giggled.
Aaron nodded. "Cool."
"I play tennis," Priscilla continued. "I used to be really awful, but I got better. Now I'm just awful."
"You go, girl!" Marisa chirped. "Hey, did you hear the joke about the two cats that went to go see a tennis match?"
Neither had, and neither showed the vaguest interest in hearing it. Marisa staggered back a few steps to give them room as they kept talking.
"Well," Aaron finally said, "I gotta bounce. I'll give you a call."
"But you don't know her number." Marisa stepped between them like a referee.
He got Priscilla's number, then turned and swaggered away to join a clot of boys huddled around a trash can—they were peeling oranges and flicking the peels into it.
"Girl, I could murder you," Priscilla whined under her breath.
"But I got you two talking," Marisa insisted. "And he has your number. You did good. He's going to like you." She hooked her arm into Priscilla's and the two walked toward the auditorium, where she caught sight of Rene and a friend thumb wrestling.
"Can you believe we girls like boys? They're so dumb!" Marisa had to ponder her own instincts. She had met Rene via Roberto, whom she had met through her friend Alicia. But just how had she started liking Rene? It was a mystery—something like chemistry.
Priscilla was nearly skipping at Marisa's side. "I can't believe he talked to me. I'm so lucky. How long before you think he'll call?"
Marisa speculated the call would come in three days. To call any sooner would show that he was hurting for attention. Aaron was too cool to want to give the impression that he was thirsty for excitement, though Marisa was certain that he was salivating over Priscilla. She was cute.
While doing her math in bed on Monday night, an activity that produced one wet yawn after another, Marisa got a call from Rene.
"My mom took my new pants away," he said promptly.
Marisa flung her brick-heavy math book across the bed.
"She what?"
"She says I look like a gangster."
Marisa resisted her typical angry response, which would start with one-word insults and then move to include long fiery sentences. Still, she had to ponder, what kind of mother was she? No wonder Rene was such a nerd.
"Listen, buddy boy, remember you wear los pantalones. You're the dude."
"Yeah, I remember," he moaned weakly. "I wear the pants, but you pick out the style and color."
Marisa chuckled. She was teaching her lover boy good.
"You told your mother that Priscilla and me bought them for you, huh?" Marisa asked.
"Yeah, it kinda came out."
Rene was her darling, nerdy boyfriend.
She had challenged and beat him at thumb wrestling, and then let him win when she saw how his sweet face got screwed up with pain. She felt sorry for him again.
"Hey...," Marisa started.
"Hay is for horses," Rene quipped. He began his honking laughter.
"Rene, you gotta learn a new way of laughing." She told him he sounded like a goose.
"But I've always laughed like this." He offered another barrage of honk-honk laughter followed by a piggy snort.
"It's not time for your silliness," Marisa retorted as she stood up and began pacing her bedroom. "You tell your mom that she did bad."
Silence.
"Are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here," he said. "My mom is so mean."
"You wear the pants—recuerdas? You're the man, el mero mero."
Marisa could hear a lumpy swallow in his voice as he confirmed his role: "That's right, I'm the man."
Marisa then asked if he had done his fifty push-ups. A few days before, she had devised an exercise regimen for both of them. Since meeting Rene she had lost inches off her waist and hips, which had drawn suspicion from her mother, who with a mouth full of mashed potatoes had asked, "Are you bulimic?" Marisa had answered no and described her regimen to get skinny—or at least slim down enough so that she could one day put on a dress, something she rarely did.
"No, but I did do six push-ups," Rene admitted.
"Only six?"
"Yeah, that's when Mom came into the room and took my pants off the bed and hid them." There was sorrow in his voice, and even more sorrow when he said he wished that he were like Aaron. Priscilla had crowed and crowed about Aaron, the man about campus. Marisa remembered how Rene's shoulders had sagged, and during rehearsal he had declared that he was no good at any sport, even the nerd's sport—thumb wrestling.
Chapter 12
On Friday night Marisa stayed over at her aunt's house and talked for hours on the phone: first with Alicia; then with her mother, who called to ask if she wanted to go play bingo at the church (she didn't); then with Roberto, who begged forgiveness for poking Rene in the nose (he didn't apologize for hitting her); and last with Priscilla, who squealed that Aaron had asked them to shoot baskets with him on Saturday morning.
Marisa had agreed.
The next morning Rene was on the bar of his bicycle, honking with laughter each time the bike dipped into a pothole.
"Careful, I'm precious cargo," he joked.
"Precious for what?" She was playing with him. She laughed when he started a coughing fit after a gnat flew down his throat. "Consider that poor little bug your protein."
When the park came into view, Rene panicked. "I'm no good at sports."
Marisa huffed up a hill slick with dew. She caught her breath and said, "What do you mean you're no good at sports? I saw you beat Trung yesterday at thumb wrestling."
"That's because money was involved."
"How much?"
"A quarter per game." He honked with laughter and bragged that he won a dollar off Trung and was prepared to splurge it on a Big Gulp if Marisa could pay the tax.
"Man, you know how to treat a chola really nice." She planted a kiss on the back of his neck and asked why he smelled so good.
"I put on some of my mom's perfume." He honked again with laughter. "I don't know why I did that."
"You girl!" When she slapped his arm, she nearly lost control and steered the bike into a set of buckled garbage cans. She secretly thought she wouldn't have minded a crash because it would have brought him to the ground where she could kiss him until he was out of breath.
The park was nearly deserted—an elderly woman was feeding pigeons and far away a man was playing fetch with his dog. A rusty swing squeaked in the autumn breeze.
Rene jumped off the bike and made a sour face at the sight of his socks. One was blue and the other black.
"You're a disaster, buddy boy," Marisa said, clicking her tongue. She tossed the bike aside and gave Rene a hug and a kiss on his lips.
"Guess what?" Rene asked.
"I don't know."
"I forgot to brush my teeth," he answered, and started his honking.
"You cochino!" She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her sweater.
"Nah, just kidding. I brushed them twice. I have ascertained your hunger for my body and figured that you would want to devour it."
"Hunger for your body! You sound like Aaron."
Marisa flung a handful of leaves at him, wrestled him easily to the ground, and planted kisses on his neck and then a long one on his mouth.
"But do you think I'll change? You know, be strong like other guys?" Rene asked after he caught his breath. Before she could answer, he added, "You're so beautiful."
Marisa's heart leaped like a gazelle. "If you change, just make it your socks."
They shook themselves clean of leaves and grass and sat on a bench, holding hands. Marisa confessed that she did possess a desire to change. She had lost weight, that much was true. But she also wanted to be kinder, less likely to explode with anger.
"Less animosity toward mankind, you mean," Rene said.
"Less what?"
Rene offered a definition of the word animosity, which he said resulted when she called people and moments "stupid."
Marisa studied Rene and smirked. "You think you're all smart."
"But I am!" Rene honked. "I took a pre-SAT exam and I scored great."
Aaron showed up, a basketball under his arm. He was wearing an oversized Los Angeles Lakers jersey. The back read KOBE.
"Hey," Aaron greeted them. His sweats had been dragging in the dirt and the cuffs had picked up a lot of mud.
"Hay is for—"
Marisa punched Rene in the arm. "Don't you dare say it."
"Priscilla's not here?" Aaron asked with his eyes cast on the netless rim.
"She'll be here," Marisa said, and against her better judgment attempted to flatter Aaron by describing a shot he had made against Washington.
"Yeah," he uttered, and did a slow layup.
"Oh, here she comes," chimed Rene.
Priscilla was running up the hill with a beagle on a leash.
"I am so late," Priscilla said. She was out of breath, and her face was pink.
Marisa understood why. Priscilla had spent her time dressing. Her hair was done in a ponytail and she was wearing a tight dress. Her lips were shiny with lip gloss.
Aaron gawked at Priscilla and did the best thing that a jock could do to demonstrate he liked someone: He passed her the basketball.
"Thanks," Priscilla said, beaming. She palmed it awkwardly, and laughed when it hit her knee and rolled away. Her beagle chased after it.
"What's your dog's name?" Marisa asked.
"Peaches," Priscilla answered as she retrieved the ball.
"Come on, let's play," Aaron said. "How about you three against me?"
What a jerk, Marisa thought. She prayed that Priscilla would see him for what he was: a conceited jughead.
"Sounds good to me," Rene said.
Aaron bounced the ball between his legs and faked left, which all three of his opponents bought. He moved swiftly right and finger-rolled the basketball through the rim.
"Oh, wow," Priscilla said. "That was really good."
Aaron bounced the ball and tossed it to Rene, who started toward the basketball. He shot but missed the backboard.
"Hold on, dude," Aaron said. "You got to check the ball. You can't just start shooting. And anyhow, it's my outs. I made the basket."
Marisa's heart was pumping with something that felt like hatred. Cálmate, she warned herself. Chill.
Rene instinctively handed Aaron the ball, and kept doing it while Aaron scored easily against the three of them. They lost 21–0.
"You're so much better than us," Priscilla said. "Like, we never got to shoot even once."
"Yeah, you did. But you missed." Aaron suggested that he play with only his left hand.
"That sounds fair," Priscilla said
giddily. A storm passed over Marisa's eyes—she just didn't like this guy, no matter how handsome he was.
They again lost 21–0, so Aaron suggested that they just watch him do reverse layups.
Marisa fumed. Still, she watched him do one reverse layup after another. He then had Rene feed him balls as he tried to dunk the ball.
"Throw it higher, man," he scolded.
Rene tossed the ball, but each time Aaron complained about the toss until he finally snarled, "Never mind." He glowered at Rene.
"Hey, buster!" Marisa called out. "You think you're so good, why are you on a losing team?"
"'Cause we don't have a center," Aaron snapped back. "I'm gonna go."
Priscilla bowed her head, bit a knuckle, and finally cried, "Can't we just have fun?"
Aaron ignored the painful moment and spun the basketball on the tip of his finger. He did a layup and then said, "I gotta meet some guys." His eyes locked onto Priscilla for a long second as if he wanted to say something meaningful. Instead, he spread his attention to all four of them—the beagle had come to sit at Priscilla's feet—and announced that there was a preseason game coming up. He had free tickets if they wanted.
"Ay, how generous," Marisa said sarcastically. "Those tickets—what are they, two whole dollars?—would break us. I don't think I can afford to buy one." She was hot. How she wished Aaron would do a layup into a brick wall. She had forgotten that phrase Rene had taught her earlier—something about antifreeze? No, animosity. That was it. She still wasn't sure she knew what the word meant, but she knew she possessed it within her soul. She was mean as a snake and would have spat her venom if Aaron suddenly hadn't wheeled and started jogging away.
The three of them watched his departure until he disappeared from sight.
Monday. Because Marisa was late to biology class, ancient Mr. Carver had her stay after to help him retrieve a cart of books from storage. The students were done with the frogs, done squinting at leaves under a microscope, and done kissing petri dishes and appraising the horrid bacteria spawned a day later. Now he wanted to lecture on fossils.