by Liz Maccie
“I better get going. I’m really late for Bio,” Mervin said.
“No, that’s cool, go.”
But he just stood there.
“Really, Mervin, go…I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Okay, yeah…” And he ran out of the cafeteria.
I slowly walked down the hall toward Spanish. Great, I had gotten another detention. This school just sucked. It sucked. I could feel myself starting to break down. I wanted to crawl into some tiny dark corner somewhere and just cry. But I knew I couldn’t. If Adonis or any of his stupid friends saw me crying, they would tear me apart.
Stay strong, I kept telling myself. Don’t cry.
Defeated, I opened the detention slip Twiggy had given me. It was blank. Surprised, I quickly turned it over and saw that the other side was blank as well. A slight grin crept across my face. I guess Twiggy had been on my side for being on her side after all.
I folded the slip back up and walked into Spanish.
Spanish
11:55 a.m.
A few years ago, our house burned down. Well, it didn’t really burn down, but my family had to stay in a hotel for a month while our house was being repaired. It was Memorial Day weekend, and our next-door neighbors, the Putzios, had recently bought a state-of-the-art barbecue grill from Sears. They were nice enough to sponsor a block party for the entire neighborhood and, of course, the main event was the spankin’ new grill.
It seemed that there was something about grills that made men feel complete. They could stand around, drink beer, talk sports, and nourish their loved ones all at the same time. When Mr. Putzio revealed his new grill to the neighborhood, a silent hush worked its way through the crowd of testosterone, followed quickly by whispers and rumors.
“How could they afford such a grill?”
“That grill was bought with blood money.”
“I heard Vinnie Nunzio sold it to them out of the trunk of his car.” And so on and so on.
It was a perfectly beautiful Memorial Day. Mr. Putzio had an unlimited supply of burgers, dogs, and Good Humor Chocolate Éclair ice cream bars. Music was playing and people were dancing in the street. The next thing I recall was that Mr. Putzio set fire to his backyard and his house, and then our backyard and our house. The Putzio’s house was toast, but luckily for us, the fire department arrived just in time to save our bedrooms and the kitchen, but the living room was burnt to a crisp. That night, thanks to our insurance and the fact that all the cheap hotels were booked, we moved into the very ritzy Claremont Suites for an entire month while our house was being repaired. And that’s where I met Carlos.
I saw him for the first time standing at the edge of the pool. He was a young boy, around my age. His skin was tan, and his hair was black and curly. His eyes were a shade of brown that I had never seen before, almost like caramel. I was very heavy, and I looked like a round beach ball in my bathing suit. Even though I felt horribly insecure, I didn’t want to leave the pool.
When he dove into the water, I would imagine living at the bottom of the pool with him. I could be a mermaid and he could be a merman and we would live in a castle. He would bring me flowers and put them in my hair, and I would find precious pool jewels and make him a necklace. He would tell me I was beautiful, and I would believe him. When he came up for air one time, he noticed me staring at him. And I quickly turned away.
I looked for the boy from the pool for the next couple of days, but couldn’t find him. I thought about him, dreamed about him, and even wrote in my diary about him. Then one night, my mother gave me and Anthony five bucks each to go to the arcade and get out of her hair for a few hours. Anthony took off, and I decided to bypass the arcade and do a little exploring instead. I loved sneaking into places where I wasn’t supposed to be. My father always said he thought I’d wind up working for the FBI one day.
I turned a corner to a long hallway, where all the hotel’s ballrooms were set up for the next day. There were two weddings, a conference meeting for some pharmaceutical company, and “Bill’s Eightieth Birthday.” I looked around and quickly opened the door to the Grand Deluxe Ballroom. It was pitch-black inside. I found a light switch and turned it on.
The room glistened and glittered with gold and crystal and what seemed to be diamonds. I had never seen anything so beautiful before. All the tables had elegant white linen tablecloths that draped to the floor and gigantic silk flower arrangements that soared up toward the ceiling. I walked over to one of the tables and looked at the flowers. They were cream with just a hint of pink. It almost looked like the flowers were blushing. I couldn’t help myself, and I reached out and touched one. It was soft and silky and expensive. I got up on a chair and reached for an inconspicuous petal just as I heard, “Cuidado!”
Startled, I quickly looked over in the direction from where the voice was coming. It was the boy from the pool.
He took a few more steps closer to me. “Tu hablas Español?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”
My heart was racing. I couldn’t believe I was actually talking to the boy from the pool. He was so cute, standing there in a pair of faded jeans and a green-and-white soccer jersey. I was waiting for him to make fun of me, call me fat, or throw something at me, the same way all the kids made fun of me, but he didn’t. He just stood there. Looking at me.
Finally he said, “You no speak Spanish?”
“Oh…no, I don’t. I speak English. Do you speak English?”
“Un poquito.” He smiled. “Who you are? I Carlos.”
Realizing how silly I must have looked standing on the chair, I hopped down to the ground. “I Roberta. I mean, I am Roberta.”
“That good.”
I just stared at him, searching my brain for something to say. “I know, hola?”
“Hola! Yes, hello! That good.” He smiled again as we stood in silence.
“Well, okay. I guess I should be going. My brother is going to kill me.”
“Tu hermano.”
“What?”
“Hermano, it mean brother.”
“Oh, that’s cool. Hermano.”
“Where live you, the hotel?”
“No,” I giggled. “I live in a house in West Orange. Do you live in the hotel?”
“No, no. Me padre…me father and me go to Mexico, mañana.” He thought for a second. “Me llamó Roberta. When someone Spanish say what name you are, you say, Me llamó Roberta.”
“Me llamó Roberta,” I said back.
“Good, that good.” Carlos walked over to the light switch and turned it off. The room was in darkness once again. In shadows I could see him move toward the back corner of the room. I had no idea what he was doing.
“Here, come here,” he finally called out to me.
I felt really nervous, but I decided to follow him. He got down on his knees, lifted up one of the tablecloths, and climbed under. I contemplated it for a second, but decided to climb under after him.
Carlos had a flashlight, which he turned on, to reveal his secret hideaway. He had sodas, bags of chips, Hersey bars, a couple of books, and a pillow from the hotel. He handed me one of the books, and the title read: La Rojo Cabreza. I opened it and flipped through the pages; it was written in Spanish.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know how to read Spanish.”
Carlos took the book from me and pointed to the title. “It say, The Little Girl With Red Cape.”
“Like Little Red Riding Hood?” I asked.
“I no understand.”
“We have a girl who wears a red cape and gets eaten by a wolf, wait…no, she doesn’t get eaten by the wolf, but other people in her life do, like her grandma and stuff.”
“Sí, sí. A wolf. Me madre…me mother, give to me.”
“Is your mom here, with you and your dad?”
“No. She in Mexico. We go tomorrow.”
Carlos looked away, and I felt like I had said something wrong, which was not uncommon
for me to do. There was an awkward pause and then he said, “I see you and you mom…at the aqua…the water?”
“Yeah, the pool. She doesn’t let me go alone. She’s a drag.”
“What drag?”
“Never mind.”
“You and you mom. The same. You eyes and you…” He pointed to his nose and his mouth. “How you say?”
“Nose and mouth.”
“Sí, eyes and nose and mouth. The same.”
“I guess,” I said.
From outside the room, I could faintly hear Anthony calling my name.
“Oh no. That’s my brother. I have to go or I’ll get in trouble.”
“Here, you have.” Carlos handed me the book about the girl in the red cape.
“I can’t take your book. Won’t your mom be mad?”
“For you and you mom.”
“Okay,” I said with some hesitation. “Thank you.”
“De nada.”
I got up from under the table and worked my way out of the dark room with the book under my arm. I opened the door and saw Anthony turning the corner. When I caught up to him, he assured me of how much trouble I was in and how badly I was going to be punished. Sure enough, my mother threw a fit and my father grounded me for disappearing.
I hid the book Carlos gave me under my pillow. When everyone was asleep that night, I snuck into the bathroom and flipped through La Rojo Cabreza. Somewhere toward the end of the book, a thin slip of newspaper fell out. I picked it up and noticed it was in English, not Spanish.
It read: In loving memory of Maria Suzette Gonzalez. Mrs. Gonzalez peacefully died in her New Jersey apartment after losing her fight to ovarian cancer. She is survived by her husband, Esteban Gonzalez, and her only son, Carlos Gonzalez. She was a valued housekeeper at the Claremont Suites in Fairfield, New Jersey, where she worked for ten years. She also met her husband at the Claremont Suites, where he has worked on the janitorial staff for fifteen years. Mrs. Gonzalez will be buried in her hometown, Rosarito, Mexico. The family requests that in lieu of flowers, donations be given to the “Maria Gonzalez Ovarian Cancer Fund,” which has been set up by the Claremont Suites Hotel in Fairfield, New Jersey.
I read the newspaper clipping three more times before I slipped it back between the pages of the book. It made me sad, really sad, to think of Carlos living without his mother. Everyone should have their mother. I crawled back into bed and held the book in my arms. I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Maria Gonzalez.
The next morning, I searched for Carlos, but he was nowhere to be found. I waited until the wedding in the Grand Ballroom was over and then snuck back inside. I looked under the table that Carlos and I had sat beneath the night before, but there was no trace of him at all.
I raced back up to our room and searched through my suitcases. Finally I found my “Miss Piggy” bank. Fortunately the bank, which contained my life’s savings, had survived the fire. I dumped its contents out on the bed and counted $62.53.
I shoved all the money inside a hotel envelope and took the elevator back down to the lobby. I handed it to the lady in a pretty floral dress standing behind the front desk.
“This is for the Maria Gonzalez Ovarian Cancer Fund,” I said.
“Sure. No problem.” She dumped out the wad of singles and mess of change onto the counter.
“There’s $62.53. I counted it twice and wrote it on the envelope.” I pointed to the top corner, where I had scribbled the total with a red pen.
“Oh yes, I see. Well, thank you very much.” She used the edge of her hand to push the coins back into the envelope.
I started to walk away.
“Just one sec, hon,” the lady called out. “Who should I say has made this donation? The family would like to receive a list of all the people that have donated.”
“Oh, uhhh…” I really thought about it. And I know this was probably silly, but somewhere in my heart I believed Carlos would know that it was me. “Could you say it was from the mermaid?”
“The mermaid?” she repeated.
“Yeah. If that’s okay?”
She smiled. “Of course it is, sweetheart.”
That night, when my mother tucked me into bed, I studied her face. “Did you know we have the same eyes? And the same nose and mouth?”
“Of course I do. You’re my daughter.” She leaned down and softly kissed my forehead.
There were no other seats, so I was forced to sit in the front row of Spanish class. I was expecting some kind of retribution for being late, but my Spanish teacher, Mr. Riveria, didn’t seem to care.
Mr. Riveria was a super-hot, twenty-something Latin guy, with spikey black hair and a navy blue dress shirt. He looked like he belonged on a daytime soap opera.
The afternoon sun pierced through the window, blinding everyone.
“Bienvenida a la classe de Español,” he said with a big smile as he walked over and pulled the shade down. “Mi nombre es Señor Riveria. Como te llamas?”
I hesitated, but then raised my hand. Mr. Riveria pointed at me.
“Me llamó Roberta,” I said.
Biology
12:30 p.m.
After Spanish, I ran into Annie out in the hallway. She had pulled her red hair up into a ponytail, which made her freckles really stand out. We both had Biology next, so we started up the stairwell to the science lab.
“How was gym?” I asked her.
“Lame, but at least I didn’t pass out like Mervin. How was Spanish?”
“Good. I think that’s my favorite class so far.”
“Why, because Mr. Riveria is a piece of ass?”
I could feel my face instantly flush with heat as I shyly looked away.
“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay to be hot for teacher. Mr. Riveria is a piece of ass; there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I don’t know, that just seems kind of gross.”
“My mom slept with him,” Annie said rather matter-of-factly.
Shocked, I stopped abruptly between two stairs. A boy behind knocked into me. When I turned to apologize, he gave me a you’re-a-loser kind of look and walked past.
“Your mom slept with Mr. Riveria? Are you serious?”
“No, I’m lying. Of course I’m being serious.”
I was dumbfounded. We continued walking up the stairs.
“My mom, she’s really pretty and young-looking and stuff. You know, Botox, boob job, collagen lip implants. She’s had everything done. My dad’s a plastic surgeon.”
“Your dad performs surgery on your mom?”
Annie nodded. “Oh yeah. It’s like instead of giving her flowers, he gives her an ass lift. Not anymore, though. They’re divorced, so I think he secretly prays for one of her boobs to explode.”
An upperclassman, drop-dead gorgeous, blonde girl was coming down the stairs. She looked at Annie and made a halfhearted attempt to say “hi.”
Annie totally ignored the girl and continued right on with our conversation. “But my parents, they still live together. Our house is a complete and total nightmare.”
“Your parents are divorced, but they still live together? That doesn’t make any sense,” I said.
We had reached the top of the stairs, and I held the door open for her.
“Look, Roberta, don’t judge my family.”
“I’m not judging your family. My family’s crazy,” I said as we headed down the nicely carpeted hallway toward the bio lab.
“Does your mom sleep around, too?” Annie asked.
Instinctively I scrunched up my face in disgust at the mere thought of my mother having sex. “No. My mom’s not the type to sleep around.”
“What does that mean?” Annie’s tone got rather defensive.
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
A boy with a big head and small body nervously asked us if we knew where room 501 A was located.
“Nope, sorry,” I said.
And Annie just kept walking, totally ignoring
Big Head. “Are you calling my mother a slut?”
“No, of course not. I just meant my mom is not…”
“What, a slut?”
We reached the bio lab and hung outside the doorway. Annie’s eyes got small and angry-looking. It felt like she was trying to burn a hole right through my face with her stare.
“Annie, I never said your mother was a slut.”
“But she is.” She smiled. “I’m just messing with you, Roberta. My mother’s a slut, plain and simple. Who cares? I don’t. My dad’s an egomaniacal asshole, my mother’s a slut, and they hate each other. Big shit. The world’s a horrible place.”
I leaned up against the wall. “If your parents hate each other that much, then why don’t they just live in different houses?”
“Because then they couldn’t possibly torture each other as effectively as they do now. I mean, what’s the point of bringing your girlfriend around if you can’t rub it in your ex-wife’s face?”
“Your dad has a girlfriend?”
“My dad has many girlfriends. And so does my mom. Not girlfriends, boyfriends, but then again I seriously wouldn’t rule anything out with her. My house is like the flagship office of a horribly dysfunctional dating website.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s intense.”
“Besides, if they moved out, then inevitably someone would have to be stuck with me and my brother. I guess it’s just easier to stay put and have the maid take care of us.”
I had absolutely no idea how to even respond to this. I decided it best to just change the subject. “I didn’t know you had a brother. Older or younger?”
“Older. He’s the varsity football team captain.”
Oh. My. God. An instant panic spread over me about what I had done earlier in the cafeteria to Adonis and all his friends. Mervin had said Adonis was the captain of the football team; could Adonis be Annie’s brother? “Your brother…is captain of the varsity football team here at Meadowbrook?”
Annie nodded.
Kids started piling into the bio lab. A teacher from the classroom next door came out and closed her door.
“Are there maybe two captains of the varsity football team?”