When the bell rang at the end of class, I turned to Jon, who was busy putting his books in his backpack, and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped, like he wasn’t used to people touching him.
“Sorry…I just…how did you know so much about my country?” I asked him. “I couldn’t tell you the exact distance between Santiago and Buenos Aires, and I’ve lived in Buenos Aires my entire life.”
“Until now,” he said.
“Well, yes, until about a month ago, to be precise.” We walked to the classroom door together. “So, how did you know all that?”
“I like facts,” he said. “I like to read books and visit websites that have facts. And I’ve got a really good memory.”
“You must, to remember that kind of detail. Remind me to have you on my team if there’s ever a trivia quiz. I’m Dani, by the way.”
I took my schedule out of my notebook. Lunch next.
“Could you tell me how to get to the cafeteria?”
“I have lunch, too—I can take you there if you want,” he said.
“Gracias—I mean, thank you. I keep getting lost in the hallways, and people were…”
I stopped, because I didn’t want to tell him about the incident with those girls.
“Yeah, the hallways can be rough. I try to spend as little time in them as I can.”
I guess it was the same for all of us tipos raros. The corridors at school were dangerous terrain.
When we got to the cafeteria my heart sank, because standing right in front of us in the line for food were my tormentors. After the way they humiliated me about my clothes, the last thing I needed was for them to see that I had vouchers to pay for my lunch. It would be yet another nail in my Poor Girl coffin. But I couldn’t just walk away from Jon. He was busy telling me every fact he knew about Argentina, and believe me, there were plenty, including a few that I didn’t know, and which at any other time I’d have found really interesting. If he’d only taken a breath, I could have pretended that I had to go to the WC, but he just went on and on, seemingly oblivious to my growing tension.
“Hey, Jon-boy,” said the worst girl, the one they called Jess, smiling at my companion. She ignored me. I couldn’t believe she was paying attention to Geography Boy. He seemed like the kind of guy who’d be beneath her notice. I worried that she was just being nice so she could humiliate him later. But strangely, she looked genuinely pleased to see him.
“Hi, Jess,” Jon said. “This is Dani. She’s from Argentina.”
“Really? How interesting.” The way Jess said “interesting” made it sound the complete opposite. I wondered why she seemed to hate me so much already. Was it because I was wearing her old clothes or because I was an extranjera?
Jess linked her arm through Jon’s, effectively turning her back on me. “So how’s your day going?”
I watched Jess’s friends, to see if they were secretly snickering while she made fun of my unusual friend, but they acted as if the sight of her being arm and arm with Jon was perfectly natural. He can’t possibly be her boyfriend. There’s no way.
Then I overheard her reminding him, “And don’t forget, Mom is picking us up today, so don’t get on the bus.”
So that’s it. She’s his sister. I didn’t realize how intently I was looking at them, searching for a family resemblance, until Jess turned around at the lunch checkout and said, “What are you staring at, Argentina?”
Her eyes fell to the lunch voucher in my hand and I waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. She just laughed. And somehow, that was worse than words.
I ate lunch by myself, praying for the rest of the day to be over so I could go home. The problem was, I knew I’d have to go back tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.
That evening, Sarita was full of stories about school. Clearly getting lost and meeting horrible girls wasn’t a part of her first-day-of-school experience.
“My teacher, Mrs. Jordan, is really nice and she’s so pretty, much prettier than Señora Silva, but then she’s much younger, too. Señora Silva was old. I like having a young teacher, don’t you? Did you make any new friends today, Dani? I’ve already made two new friends, Linley and Emma. They’re really fun. We played this game called Tag and another one called Duck, Duck, Goose. Isn’t that a funny name? You sit in a circle and…”
It didn’t take long for Papá to explode.
“Enough, Sarita! Can I at least have five minutes of peace and quiet to eat and digest my meal without your constant talking?”
Sarita lowered her head as tears welled in her eyes.
Mamá sighed and she grasped Sari’s hand under the table.
“Come, preciosa, eat your dinner and then afterward, you can tell us all about school and about this strange game, what was it? Chicken, Chicken, Duck?”
Mamá knew exactly what Sari said, but she’d grown expert at trying to diffuse the tension between Papá and the rest of us.
“No, Mamá,” Sari sniffed. “Duck, Duck, Goose.”
She took her fork and started to eat, but I was seething, so filled with fury that I had no room left for food. Why? Why did Papá continue to behave this way? Why did we have to put up with it?
I knew things were hard for Papá, and I tried to be understanding and sympathetic, but inside I was screaming, What about me? I’d had an awful first day of school and I wanted to be able to tell my parents about it, to have them listen and give me some advice or to just say, Poor Dani, we know this is hard for you, but don’t worry, we know things will get better.
But instead I sat swallowing what I was feeling like it was the bitterest of medicines, the taste of it practically choking me.
“Dani, why aren’t you eating?” Mama asked.
I took a deep breath and tried to absorb the rest of my rage. There was no point lashing out at Mama. Things were hard enough for her, trying to navigate us all through the storms of Papa’s moods.
“It’s nothing.” I picked up my knife and fork and took a bite of food. Despite the fact that I’d cooked supper, I couldn’t have told you what I was eating. It all tasted like anger.
“How was your first day of school?” Mama asked.
I took another bite and wondered for a second how it would feel if I were to tell them the truth about my day. But only for second. I looked into Mama’s tired eyes and knew that I wouldn’t.
“It was fine. I got lost a few times. It’s hard to find your way around.”
“I’m glad my school isn’t that big,” Sarita said. “I’m glad it’s a long time before I have to go to high school. I’m too scared to go there.”
“Well, by the time you have to go to high school, it won’t seem so big,” Mama told her. “And you won’t be scared to go there.”
If only that were true—because I was terrified to have to go back the next day.
Chapter Nine
THE KIDS AT THE BUS STOP at least nodded to acknowledge me the next morning, although no one spoke. I managed to find my way to my locker, and open it. Being in classes was hard, but the worst part was getting there—navigating my way through the crowded, noisy hallways, trying to figure out if I was in the right building and if I had the correct books with me, and most of all trying to avoid bumping into those girls.
History class. Found the room. Found a seat. I was even a minute early, so I could relax.
“Hey, Evita.”
The tap on my shoulder was a clue that “Evita” meant me. I turned around to see that guy from yesterday, the one who rescued me when I was lost. I didn’t realize he was in my class. Why did it seem that what little people knew about my country—well, except for Jon, but he was clearly a special case—they seemed to have learned from the movie Evita? Didn’t they teach geography in America?
“Oh, hello. It’s my GPS. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name—and you’ve obviously forgotten mine.”
“Actually, I haven’t. Daniela ‘But My Friends Call Me Dani’ Bensimon.”
Now wh
o felt like an idiota?
“Okay, Personal GPS, but I really have forgotten yours.”
He grimaced and placed his hands over his heart in mock agony.
“You really know how to hurt a guy, Evita,” he said, pretending to fall off his chair onto the floor. “I’m crushed. Completely crushed.”
“Well, why don’t you get up and tell me your name instead of cleaning the floor with your jeans?”
He grinned suddenly, and it transformed his face. The realization that he was handsome shot an unwelcome tingle down my spine. Roberto. Mi novio es Roberto, I reminded myself sternly.
GPS held out his hand for assistance, and I stood to grasp it and pull him to his feet. He was taller than Roberto—when he was standing I only came up to his shoulder.
“The name is Brian. Brian Harrison,” he said, shaking my hand, which was still firmly retained in his grasp. “That’s B-R-I-A-N H-A-R-R-I-S-O-N. Try to remember it this time, okay? Otherwise I might have to resort to more desperate measures to imprint myself in your memory.” He grinned. “And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
His smile reignited the spine tingle, and I was suddenly not so sure I wouldn’t want it. I pulled my hand out of his grasp and turned to sit down at my desk.
“Brian Harrison. I’ll write it down so I remember.”
I felt consumed by guilt. If I was feeling spine tingles for Brian Harrison, did that mean Roberto might have similar feelings for some girl down in Miami? I wanted to race to the library to IM Roberto, to ask him if there was anyone else, if he still loved me. But it was time for class.
I found it hard to concentrate while the teacher was lecturing; I kept writing Roberto’s name in tiny letters in the margin of my notebook. I needed to contact him. I desperately wanted to hear his voice. Maybe I could beg Mamá to let me call him, even just for five minutes. But with money being so tight, spending on long distance calls to my boyfriend was pretty far down the family priority list. Anyway, I didn’t even know his phone number.
After class, Brian walked with me down the hallway.
“So do your parents talk about what it was like living in Argentina during the Dirty War?” he asked. “Like, did anyone in your family get Disappeared?”
I stopped and looked at him, shocked. In Argentina, one just didn’t come out and ask such a thing. My parents still only talked about the Disappearances in hushed tones.
“I’m sorry—did I say something wrong?”
He took off his sneaker and opened his mouth wide.
“Open mouth and insert foot. That’s a Brian Harrison specialty.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, and my confusion obviously showed on my face.
“It’s an expression. To put your foot in your mouth means to say something stupid and tactless that you shouldn’t have said. You know, that offends the other person.”
“Oh…now I understand. An idiom.”
“Yes. In this case an idiom used by an idiot. I’m sorry.”
“I have a problem with idioms,” I told him. “I didn’t learn them all at school.”
“Some of them can be pretty colorful,” Brian said. “I’ll have to teach you—that’s if you’ll still talk to me after I put my foot in my mouth.”
He took a pretend bite out of his sneaker before sliding it back on his foot.
I laughed.
“I suppose I can still talk to you. Otherwise, how will I find my way to my next class?”
“True. You are one smart cookie, Miss Daniela Bensimon from Argentina. Come on, tell me where’s your next class and I’ll show you the way.”
As I told him the classroom number of my next class, I tried to figure out why he was comparing me to a biscuit, and if this was a compliment or an insult. It was no wonder I felt so tired at the end of the day. Trying to think in English was exhausting.
“Hey? How’s it going? Daniela, right?”
I was walking to the bus and saw Jake, the guy who’d shown me to my locker on my first day of school.
“Oh, hi. You can call me Dani. And things are going…okay, I guess.”
“My buddy Brian said he’d bumped into you.”
“Brian Harrison?”
Jake nodded.
“Actually, I think I was the one who bumped into him.”
Jake laughed.
“Good one. So listen, I’m a member of the Twin Lakes Players, and I was thinking you should try out for the play we’re doing. There’s a part you’d be great for. I told the director I met you on the first day of school and he said you should definitely come to the auditions.”
“I…well…I don’t know. I’ve never…”
“It’s fun. Seriously. And you’d meet people. I’d introduce you to everyone. Tryouts are after school this Thursday.”
After school. When I was supposed to be at home, looking after Sarita.
“Ciertamente. I’ll think about it.”
“Cool. See ya!”
The whole bus ride home I was thinking about trying out for a play, imagining myself on stage, being a part of something, and best of all, having something to look forward to besides going to school and coming home to the apartment where Papá’s depression cast a pall over everything.
But when I told Mamá as we washed the dishes after dinner, she sat me down at the kitchen table and looked at me sadly.
“Dani, I would love for you to be able to do this, but at the moment I’m counting on you to look after your sister in the afternoons until I get home from work. Maybe eventually when…”
She wouldn’t say it, but I knew what she meant. When we could finally rely on Papá again.
“But it’s not fair, Mamá. I…”
I couldn’t say more because it looked like Mamá was about to cry, and I didn’t want to be the one responsible for her tears.
I stormed out of the kitchen, but I was so angry when I went to my room that it was hard to stay still or concentrate on anything. Just because Papá had put his life on hold, why did I have to put mine on hold, too?
I needed to get out. I wanted to be with my friends. Since I didn’t have any good friends in Twin Lakes, that meant going online, and since we couldn’t afford a computer of our own, that meant a trip to the library.
Slinging my backpack onto my shoulder, I walked back into the kitchen. “I’m going to walk to the library. I need to do some research for school.”
“Now?” Mamá said. “But it’s late…”
“The library is open until nine o’clock. I’ll be fine. It’s safe here.”
“Take some quarters and call here when you’re finished. Papá will come to walk you home.”
Perfecto. Here I was trying to get away from home, from everything to do with Papá, and now I was going to be stuck walking home with him?
“He doesn’t need to. I can walk back by myself.”
“Dani, if you want to go to the library, Papá is going to walk you home.”
“But, Mamá…”
“Enough, Daniela,” Papá growled from the living room. “Listen to your mother.”
My eyes began to prickle with tears of anger and frustration.
“Okay, okay, I’ll call. Hasta luego.”
I stalked out of the apartment, not quite slamming the door, but shutting it harder than usual.
It was a beautiful evening. It had cooled off from the intense heat of the day, and a breeze rustled the leaves on the trees that lined our street. The tips of some were starting to turn yellow, just a hint of autumn, which was strange for me to see in early September: a reminder that I was no longer in the Southern Hemisphere. I just wished I were walking down the street hand in hand with Roberto, instead of by myself. Or arm in arm with Gaby, talking about anything and everything, the way we always did. I tried to calculate the time difference between the United States and Israel—Gaby would be asleep for certain by the time I got to the library. I just hoped that I caught Beto online. I missed him so much.
Fortunately, I di
dn’t have to wait for a computer. I logged onto MSN and felt a rush of joy when I saw that Beto was logged in, too.
Hola querido!
Hola!
Miss U.
Miss U2!
Miss U more!
How r things?
OK I guess.
I wanted so much to talk to someone about how things were, about how angry I was at my father for not doing anything to get better, about how unfair life seemed. If it had been Gaby, maybe I would have, but I spoke to Beto so rarely, I didn’t want him to think all I did was complain.
What’s your new school like?
HUGE!
Mine too.
I need a GPS just to find my way around.
As I clicked SEND, I thought of Brian Harrison, my personal GPS, and the spine tingles he caused. My face flushed with guilt, and I quickly pushed him out of my mind and focused my thoughts back on Beto.
LOL.
How are things in Miami?
Good. School is easy. Nice beach. Pretty girls. JOKE!
I hoped it was a joke. I wished it were a joke he hadn’t made, because all I could think about was Beto on the beach surrounded by pretty girls. It wasn’t a pleasant image.
Ha-ha. Not funny.
Made friends yet?
Had I? I guess Jon. Sort of. And Brian. And there was a nice girl in my ESL class, Rosalia.
One or two. What about you?
Quite a few. But I’ve been here longer than you’ve been there. Give yourself time.
I suppose.
I kept seeing him on the beach surrounded by girls in bikinis. Stop, brain. Stop.
Life, After Page 10