Amigas and School Scandals

by Diana Rodriguez Wallach

  “Well, people will know you a lot better after that.” Madison half-chuckled as she peered around the lunchroom.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Mariana, there isn’t a single kid in here without family drama,” Emily reasoned as she gazed into her empty yogurt cup.

  “You don’t have family drama.”

  “Yeah, that’s what everyone thinks. Until it falls apart,” she whispered.

  Madison and I nodded.

  I could feel the goggles burning impressions into my cheeks and forehead. There was nothing worse than strolling the hallways after chemistry with red science-geek goggle lines. I pulled on the plastic protective eyewear hoping to give my skin time to breathe.

  “Mariana, you know the rules about goggles. Keep them on at all times,” Mr. Berk warned.

  The man had nothing better to do than stand in front of the class waiting to pounce on any student who dared alleviate the goggle pressure. If the school board really wanted us to wear them, then they should get us more comfortable goggles. Or Mr. Berk should be forced to wear them as well.

  “This lab is taking forever,” Bobby whispered.

  “A watched crucible never evaporates,” I warned.

  We were in the midst of a hydrate lab and tasked with finding the empirical formula of five grams of magnesium sulfate hydrate using any laboratory procedure available. Currently, Bobby and I were heating the hydrate in the porcelain “crucible” as Mr. Berk called it, or the “jar” as we called it. We had the lid slightly off hoping to burn off excess moisture. It was a classic tip I’d learned in my mother’s kitchen. If you don’t tightly cover the pot while heating pasta sauce, it dries up and gets crusty around the edges. Apparently, the rest of the class had gotten the same lesson from their mothers because they were all using the same technique.

  “So your party’s in two weeks. I think I can make it,” Bobby grumbled, a pencil in his mouth.

  He tugged on his goggles, which were uncomfortably placed over his black plastic glasses. If I found our eyewear uncomfortable, I couldn’t imagine how he felt.

  “You and the rest of the student body.”

  “Did you invite a lot of people?”

  “No, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping them from coming.”

  Bobby took his pencil from his lips and tapped it on the table. It was the first time he stopped chewing it all period.

  “What’s with you?”

  “Nothing,” he said abruptly, shifting the pencil’s metal tip back into his mouth. “It’s just, I mean, I was kinda, you know ...”

  I snatched the No. 2 from his hand and slapped it on the table. It left a small pool of saliva on the surface.

  “Try talking without the lead in your mouth. It might help you form a sentence.”

  “Oh, sorry.” His cheeks fluttered with pink.

  “Why are you being so weird?”

  I had never seen Bobby blush before. He actually had one of the quickest wits of anyone I knew.

  “It’s nothing. It’s just, I’m having a screening of my documentary this weekend,” he blurted out. “The one I made in Dublin. I just finished editing it... .”

  “No way.” I smiled, grabbing the crucible tongs and checking our experiment.

  “And I was wondering, if maybe ... you’d like to come.”

  “To see your film? Totally! When is it?”

  “Saturday night. At my house.”

  “Sweet, who else is gonna be there? Because I don’t think Madison or Emily have plans. I wonder what Lilly’s doing... .”

  “Oh,” he interrupted, tugging at his curls. “Okay.”

  I peered over and put down the tongs.

  “Oh, my God. I’m sorry. I thought it was a group thing. I’m so rude. Here I am complaining about people crashing my party and I go and invite a bunch of randoms to your film—”

  “No, no. It’s cool. I mean, they can come. If they want.”

  He stared at his worksheet.

  “They don’t have to. If you’ve already got too many people ...”

  “No, not at all. The more the merrier, or whatever.”

  “I’m sure they’d love to see it. You made a movie!” I cheered, punching him in his shoulder.

  Only, apparently, I caught him off guard. His lanky frame wobbled on his lab stool, lifting two of the chair’s legs off the ground and tilting his body backwards. His feet swung up and, before I could stop it, his whole body crashed on the floor, his arms swinging desperately in the process.

  I knew I shouldn’t laugh, but I couldn’t help it. An involuntary burst of giggles shot out of me igniting the rest of the class. Mr. Berk darted over, but Bobby waved him off and slowly stood up. His cherry red face glowed as he took a mortified bow. The class clapped and cheered.

  “That was graceful,” he mumbled, before breaking into chuckles himself.

  Chapter 18

  Thursday marked Lilly’s tennis debut. She had been practicing with the team for only a few weeks, but the coach thought it was time to throw her onto the court and see how she handled the competition. She was justifiably nervous. She had joined the team purely for social reasons, and I didn’t think she had thoroughly considered what would happen when she was asked to play a match that would affect the team’s record.

  She begged me to come, and I in turn begged Madison and Emily, which was not an easy sell.

  “She has a cheering section larger than the Philadelphia Eagles!” Madison pointed out huffily. “Why the heck does she need us?”

  “Because she’s my cousin, and my mom will kill me if I don’t go. Plus, those boys aren’t her friends... .”

  “And we are?” Madison grunted.

  I shot her a look.

  Eventually, she and Emily caved, and we plopped ourselves onto the rickety wooden bleachers. The JV squad competed on the practice courts, which were boxed in with a metal chain-link fence to protect spectators. On the opposite side of the weathered stands sat Lilly’s fan club—a half-dozen pimple-faced boys shaking homemade “Go, Lilly!” posters and waving Puerto Rican flags. It seemed more humiliating than flattering.

  “When the heck is your cousin gonna play?” Madison whined, taking the last sip from her water bottle. The water had lost its chill long ago.

  “I think she’s up next.”

  Lilly was the final seed on the JV doubles lineup, which meant her match was dead last. Almost two hours of boring matches, and it looked like she and her partner, Juliet, were finally beginning to warm up. Juliet Downy, a freshman like Lilly, was about thirty pounds overweight and about as coordinated as an elephant. Since I’d been watching, she’d already knocked over a teammate’s water cup, dropped the entire contents of her sport bag, and tripped into her own coach while she was arguing with a referee. The lovely, raven-haired, forty-year-old woman gracefully brushed off Juliet’s clumsiness and continued her rant. I could tell she was used to the ineptitude.

  I watched as Lilly bounced a ball on the court. Her reddish-brown hair was tied in a high ponytail; she wore a white terry sweatband around her forehead (a gift from Betsy), two more sweatbands on her wrists, and the adorable team uniform with a white collared shirt that clung to her breasts (even with a sports bra) and a tiny white skirt. She might not be the greatest tennis star, but she definitely looked the part.

  “Oh, hey, she’s up!” Emily hollered.

  “Go, Lilly!” I shrieked, jumping to my feet.

  “Yay!” Madison yelled.

  I looked down to smile at my friends and caught a glimpse of Evan Casey standing just behind the bleachers. He was hovering in the shadows, his face blocked by the top row of seats. When I followed his gaze, his eyes were focused on my cousin, who was bopping on her toes with her back to the crowd. I gestured to Madison and Emily, who immediately turned around.

  “Looks like Lilly’s got another cheerleader,” I whispered.

  Madison rolled her eyes.

  Lilly then clutched the ball for her serve. She
was playing in the court right before us and was close enough to hear our conversation. Her fan club was off to the side. We all fell silent. She lifted her arm high and turned her face to spot the ball. Sun dripped into her hair as she tossed the ball high and swung ferociously. A whiz of green fuzz flashed toward the opposing team, soaring about three feet over their heads until it crashed onto the far back fence about a foot shy of clearing it. (If this were baseball, it would have been a homerun.)

  “It’s all right, Lil!” I screamed, clapping my hands. “You got another serve. Just get it on the court. You can do it!”

  “Go, Lilly!” Emily cheered.

  “You got it! You got it!” Madison clapped, rising to her feet.

  Lilly twisted her neck to peek at us, then glanced at her fan club boys who were whirling around wildly calling her name.

  She bounced the ball onto the court several times to regain her focus. Juliet turned to look at her.

  “Come on, Lilly,” she cheered, tapping her racquet with her free hand.

  Once more, Lilly held the ball up high, tossed it into the air and swung with all her might. This time it beelined, with the speed of a major league pitcher, straight toward the referee. He swiftly lunged to the side, instinctively raising his hand to protect his head. She didn’t hit him.

  “Mierda,” she cursed, shaking her head. “Estupida.”

  Three boys seated in the row in front of us, decked out in red and black T-shirts to support the opposing team, suddenly turned to each other.

  “Well, that explains a lot,” the dark-haired teen mumbled.

  His buddies smiled and grunted.

  I glared down, squinted my eyes before glancing to Madison and Emily, but they didn’t seem to notice the interaction. They were focused on the court. Lilly’s deadly serves continued the entire game. Not one made it on the court.

  Finally, the serve switched. A petite blond from the other side of the net tapped the ball gently, serving it into the correct box and sending it straight toward Lilly’s partner. Juliet hustled over and swung awkwardly, barely clearing the net. The waiting opponent quickly made contact, volleying the ball back toward Lilly. I held my breath and crossed my fingers as her fans yelped and shouted, their Puerto Rican flags waving. Lilly smashed the ball with a massive follow-through, sailing it straight toward her opponent’s head. The ninety-pound brunette flung up her racquet to protect her face but the force of the impact caused her racquet to shoot backwards, crashing into her nose. The ball ricocheted out of bounds, giving Lilly the point.

  “I’m okay. I’m okay,” the opponent whimpered, her eyes filled with tears.

  “I’m so sorry,” Lilly shouted.

  The girl waved her off, blood dripping from her nostril.

  “Did you hear the accent on that one?” the dark-haired teen in front of me hissed to his friend.

  “Yup, dirty spic.”

  “I wonder when her raft came in.”

  The words hit me with abrupt force. My lungs froze as my body tensed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Emily’s face swing toward mine. Madison rested her hand on my arm.

  “Mariana, why don’t you sit down,” she whispered, yanking me toward her.

  Blood flushed from my brain as I plopped onto the bleacher.

  “Did you hear what they said,” I grumbled.

  The blond-haired guy in front of us cocked his head slightly. He was obviously listening.

  “Mariana, just drop it. Let’s watch Lilly,” Emily suggested quietly.

  I glared at the backs of the guys’ heads. They were white, clean-cut teens in khakis and jeans with brand-name sneakers. If it weren’t for the opposing team’s T-shirts, I could have mistaken them for students from my own school. They didn’t look any different.

  The blond guy twisted his cleanly shaven neck further and caught my eye.

  “You know they shouldn’t let people on the court who don’t know how to play,” he said loudly.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think those people know how to do much of anything, except mow our lawns,” his friend responded.

  I jumped to my feet.

  “Shut the hell up!” I shouted.

  “What did you say?” the blond barked, rising to his feet.

  “You heard me. Why don’t you get out of here? No one wants to hear your crap.”

  “Says who? You?”

  His friend stood up beside him. He had to be at least six feet tall.

  Madison and Emily quickly popped to their feet, standing firm at my side while the fan club swarmed in.

  “Says us! You can’t insult the redheaded goddess!” a tiny pimple-faced boy shouted. He was holding a small Puerto Rican flag in Lilly’s honor.

  “Back off evildoer. You are not worthy of our Lilly!” a scrawny, five-foot boy added in a squeaky voice, a “Go Lilly” sign clutched between his fingers.

  “Are you freakin’ kidding me?” the jerk from the opposing school chuckled, scanning the guys up and down.

  “Hey, clearly nobody wants you here.” I cocked my head toward him. “Why don’t you go back to where you came from and leave my cousin alone.”

  “Your cousin’s the spic?” the blond grunted with a snotty grin.

  “What gene pool did she fall out of?” his friend said nastily.

  “My gene pool.”

  “You’re not Hispanic.” The guy laughed scornfully, like he thought I was kidding.

  “Yes I am.”

  “No. You’re not. I know a spic when I see one.”

  “You say that one more time ...” Pinpricks of anger lifted the hair on my arms. My hands balled into fists. Madison gripped my shoulders as if she needed to hold me back—the guys were twice my body weight. I might be loud, but I wasn’t stupid.

  “Back off buddy, right now!” Evan shouted, charging over.

  He puffed his well-toned, championship wrestler chest at them and thrust his face forward.

  “I think it’s time for you to go,” Evan whispered with authority.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m the guy who’s gonna kick your ass if you don’t get out of here.”

  Evan was so close to the blond that I could see the spit from his mouth splash onto the guy’s cheek.

  “Whatever,” the kid muttered, taking a step back. “This school sucks.”

  “Let’s get out of here. We don’t need this crap,” his friend added.

  The three guys grabbed their backpacks from the ground and turned toward the parking lot. They left without saying another word.

  “Holy shit,” Madison muttered, staring at Evan.

  He locked eyes with me, then he turned toward Lilly, who was standing on the opposite side of the fence staring at us. Apparently the match had halted after her opponent took a racquet to the nose. Lilly had heard every word.

  “Hey.” She gazed at Evan.

  “Hey.”

  Her face lit up with a luscious look before she briefly glanced at me. My heart was still thumping rapidly and, before I could say a word, the referee blew the whistle to restart the match. Lilly turned her focus back to the game.

  Evan sat down next to us.

  Chapter 19

  The next night, my parents had planned a family dinner. It wasn’t just for the immediate family to sit around the table and discuss our day over roasted chicken; no, my mother invited my two uncles and my new tia Teresa.

  She said that since Teresa was moving to the States, the proper thing to do was to officially welcome her to the family. My father didn’t comment on the affair, but I knew that if he wasn’t supportive of the idea, then the dinner wouldn’t happen. This meant that on some level he must want to get to know his half sister—which is partially why he sent Vince and me off to Puerto Rico. He wanted to reclaim his roots, and it seemed like those roots were following him across the ocean.

  I was currently hiding in my room with Lilly and Tootsie, absorbing a few moments of peace before the guests arrived. It had been more than twe
nty-four hours since her tennis match, but the inevitable loss didn’t faze her in the slightest. All she could talk about was Evan.

  “It’s just the way he stood up for me ...” she stated, her brown eyes dreamy.

  “He stood up for you? Don’t forget the skinny redhead who got in their faces first,” I snipped as I dug through my closet for a cardigan.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. But I already said thank you to you.”

  “Still. I thought I was pretty hard-core.”

  “Yes, you were very scary.”

  “Those guys were shaking.”

  “Absolutely petrified.”

  Lilly smiled as she swept on another coat of nude lipstick—a gift from Madison’s Suburban Square makeover. Ever since the shopping excursion, Lilly’s look had gone from thick and cakey to sheer and nude. It was a definite improvement that shined all the way to her added boost in confidence. She didn’t even wear her miniskirts anymore. She said it was no longer “the look she was going for.”

  I pulled my black sweater over my tan short-sleeved top and checked my reflection in the mirror. Tootsie barked his approval as I smiled.

  “You know, I defended your honor,” I said as I smoothed my black wide-leg pants.

  “Well, you also defended your honor... .”

  “It was weird. It was the first time I was ever offended not to be considered Puerto Rican.”

  “Ah, my little girl is growing up,” Lilly cooed.

  “Shut up,” I said, tossing a pillow at her as I plopped on the bed. “You don’t want to mess with me. I’m tough.”

  “Oh, yes. I’m sure given the choice between you and Evan, those dicks would much rather have fought Evan,” Lilly mocked.

  “So you like him?” I asked, an eyebrow raised.

  Lilly smiled. “Betsy says he’s a good guy... .”

  “Ah, the magnificent Betsy. I still can’t believe you’re friends with her.”

  “Why? She’s nice!”

  “She is; she’s just ‘Betsy Sumner.’ She kinda rolls in a stratosphere more fitting for Lindsay Lohan than the lowly ole Ruíz clan.” I smirked.