Accidental Love (3 page)

Marisa shook his hand, which appeared to have just enough strength to lift pencils and pens but nothing heavier. She was mystified. She had shaken hands with adults but never with someone her own age, and it felt strange.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, his head bowing slightly.

She gawked at him. This guy didn't talk like a kid. She sensed that her mouth hung open, but she couldn't help herself.

"How was your day?" Rene asked.

How was my day?
she thought.
This boy is
muy
wimpy.
Still, she answered without a hint of sarcasm, "Okay, I
guess,
" and quickly added, "How come you're tutoring Roberto?" If he was going to try to make conversation, she might as well do her part.

"Because he needs help," Rene explained. "I like it and I get paid. He plans to go into ROTC in college and then into the army, but he needs to retool the mechanical side of his brain."

"Roberto has a brain?" Marisa almost blurted out. Instead, she asked, "How come you were hanging with him?"

"He was going to give me a ride to Office Depot."

More pens for this guy's shirt pocket,
she thought snidely. She caught herself being mean and didn't like it.

Rene stuffed his handkerchief into his front pocket. He shifted his gaze from her face to the front of the school. Two boys were digging their hands into a bag of potato chips. A girl on her cell phone was yelling, "You lyin', girl! You snatched it without paying a damn dime!" Sneaking a quick smoke, a janitor had his hands cupped around a cigarette.

Marisa could tell that the nerd wasn't familiar with her kind of school, one with security guards who themselves looked like thugs. She felt a little embarrassed at the yellow lawn, the torn blinds in the front window, and the steps splattered with old gum. The American flag was hoisted only halfway—due to a problem with the broken chain that hauled it up—and gave the impression that the school was in mourning. Someone or something had died, perhaps something called hope.

"Roberto wants to be an army officer?" Marisa asked. If he was such a good guy, why did he cheat on Alicia? She would have thrown out the question but heard someone shriek from the front steps, "Who's that? Einstein?" A crew of girls bent over, holding their sides laughing.

"Come down here and say that! We can chunk right here!" Marisa barked. Her hands curled into fists and then uncurled, each of her long fingernails like daggers.

None of the girls moved, but none stopped laughing. They guffawed and did a dance around the backpacks at their feet.

"My school is sick," Marisa grumbled. "I wish I went to a different one." There, it was out. She had thought it often but never said it.

"Don't worry about me," Rene said. "People are always picking on me."

Marisa winced at his admission. "They wouldn't pick on you if I was around. They would show you some respect." She was surprised by her proclamation. She hadn't known the nerd more than five minutes and yet she was defending him. She could tell that he was shorter than she by an inch or two, and certainly a lot skinnier. The buckle was on his belt's last hole.

Rene was touched. "That's very nice of you."

"Come on." Marisa beckoned. She was curious about Rene. He was so different from the homeboys she knew.

Rene turned his bike around and walked it down the street, where potato chip bags, smashed
paper cups, and hamburger wrappers scuttled in the wind. Cars passed with radios blaring and the drivers shouting over the songs. Marisa led Rene to a small park, where they sat on the grass. A woman bundled up in three sweaters was feeding pigeons. A sea of pigeons the color of cement followed her as she tossed seeds to the left, then the right.

"Here, before I forget." Rene brought out her cell phone from his fanny pack. "You got a couple of calls, but I didn't answer them. I believe strongly in privacy. That's why I'm so against the policies of our country. Privacy is becoming scarce."

What's he talking about?
Marisa wondered.
Does he always talk like this?

"Like right now, we assume we have privacy, but if the Secret Service wanted they could listen to our conversation."

"We ain't said anything," Marisa argued. It was usually she who was the chatterbox, but she found herself growing quiet. A leaf floated down from the maple tree and settled on her knee. She flicked the leaf from her knee, stood up, and brought Rene's cell phone from her pocket. "What's so important about privacy, anyhow? My mom doesn't give me privacy. She'll come in and check my drawers to see if I have drugs and stuff."

Rene looked disbelieving. He licked his lips, assembled some nerve by puffing up his muscle-depleted chest, and started to ask, "You don't do..."

"
¡Chale!
I don't do drugs. All I'm saying is..." She thought,
What am I saying? Why are we talking about stupid stuff?
Suddenly her anger began to cook inside her, but was that heated cauldron going to spill onto a boy who wore white socks and carried a handkerchief? He didn't deserve it.

Another leaf floated downward in a seesaw motion and settled on Rene's bony kneecap. Rene took the leaf between his thumb and index finger and twirled it. "It's the end of life for this leaf."

Marisa seized the leaf from Rene and was about to crumple it when she was struck by the cruelty of her thoughts.
He's so skinny, skinnier than Roberto. He should eat more. Work out with weights. Man, this guy's a genuine nerd.

"You think I should go?" Rene stood up and leaned over to pick up his bicycle.

Another leaf slowly descended from the tree and hooked itself in Rene's curly hair.

"You're kinda silly, you know," Marisa remarked. Her anger had disappeared and so had her brooding thoughts. She had had a hard day at school—a C on a math quiz, and a C minus that was almost a D on a history exam. She had figured that
this was the source of her grumpiness and that it had nothing to do with the boy sitting next to her.

"I would describe myself as occasionally preposterous, but never silly," he countered. "I know people laugh at me ... Are you laughing at me?"

"No way!" Marisa crowed.

"It's okay if you are."

"I'm straight-up. I ain't laughing!"

The woman with the pigeon feed passed them with the pigeons parading behind.

They twirled leaves and Marisa, pulling her hair back behind her ears, scooted a little closer to him. She would later debate with herself what that little gesture meant. But for now she was enjoying the presence of this boy, whose bicycle was too big for him and whose eyeglasses were crooked on his cute small face.

That night her father wolfed down his dinner—a second evening of
albóndigas,
but this time with a salad drenched with bottled blue cheese dressing—and hurried out the front door with his bowling ball. It was Wednesday, when he played in a thirty-five-and-older league. There was a whistle on his lips.

"Mom," Marisa said after she had done the dishes and returned to the living room wiping her hands on a dish towel. She could tell that her
mother was in a good mood, because she was listening to her favorite CD: Linda Ronstadt's
Canciones de mi Padre.

"What?" her mother asked. She was seated on the couch with a blanket over her knees, reading an old
People
magazine.

"Mom, I want to go to a new school." She had made this decision when she watched Rene ride away in an awkward crooked path. He had no leg strength, no way to protect himself. True, she had Alicia to protect, but Rene really needed help or he might be squashed like a bug.

"Did you see Ricky Martin's mansion? He's got seven bathrooms." Her mother's eyes were lit with excitement. "I wish we had two bathrooms. That wouldn't be asking too much."

"Mom, I don't like my school."

Her mother turned a page of the magazine and whistled at the sight of a blue pool overlooking the sea. "I wish he would invite me over for a barbecue and a swim." She licked a finger and turned another page.

"My grades aren't so great and I was thinking that if I used Aunt Sara's address, I could go to Hamilton. I could get a transfer." She pointed northward, where Hamilton Magnet High School was located among nice homes. "It's a much better school."

Her mother put down her magazine and sat up. Ricky Martin's seven bathrooms went down the toilet in a large surge. "What are you saying?"

"About going to a new high school. I hate mine. Everyone's into drugs and stuff. There's this freshman girl named Jasmine who even got pregnant."

"And you?" The question was calm, yet serious. Her mother sat up straight with the magazine on her lap.

"Nah, Mom," she replied. Although she could see Ricky Martin's perfect smile on the cover of the magazine, Marisa couldn't share in his happiness for his seven bathrooms or the pool that could probably fit all of her ninth-grade class. His smile seemed completely fake.

"Then why?"

"I don't know. Maybe I could do better." Marisa imagined herself sitting up in class and really listening to her English teacher. She could see Rene in the corner, his hand up, because he was the one with the mouthful of answers.

"How are you going to get to that school from here?"

Marisa was prepared. "You can take me when you go to work."

Her mother worked part-time as a receptionist at a real estate office. It was a job that required her
to spend her hours in front of the photocopy machine. She was the one who cradled a phone receiver in her neck and greeted, "Green River Realty. How may I help you?"

Her mother's gaze wandered over the soft landscape of Marisa's young face, searching for clues of mischief.

"I don't understand you," her mother tried.

"There's nothing to understand, Mom. We can use Auntie Sara's address to get a transfer. Our drinking fountains don't work and almost none of the toilets flush." Marisa was shivering slightly, though the living room was anything but cold. It was the shiver of something close to fear, yet not fear.

"Are you in trouble at school?" her mother asked.

"No, Mom, there ain't no drama."

"Is it because of Roberto?"

"Hecka no," she told her mother, bristling at the mention of his name.

"Then what,
mi'ja?
"

She sat next to her mother but didn't unbutton her heart. She squeezed her mother's hand. "Please. You'll see. I need to go to a better school."

Marisa's mother brushed her daughter's hair with her fingers. "We want you to do good in life."

"I want to do good, too. What do you think?" Marisa asked with a begging quiver in her voice.

"I think we can give your
tía
a call," her mother finally said.

Marisa hugged her mother, crushing the face of Ricky Martin in the magazine. "You're the best, Mom!"

Marisa was going to explain to her mother her strategy about becoming a better student when she heard her cell phone ring in the bedroom. She found herself jumping up and running to get it, hoping to answer before her abrupt recorded message came on.

"Hey," she greeted.

"This is Rene."

"Rene who?" Marisa asked roughly. Her front teeth bit her lower lip. She'd sounded cruel. "Oh, god, I'm sorry for sounding so, so..."

"So forthright," Rene completed for her.

"So what?"

"Oh, you know, direct and honest." Rene giggled and jokingly announced, "I'm looking for new students for my tutoring business. You want to hire me? It's two lessons for the price of one this week."

Marisa pictured the two of them hunkered together over a large math textbook.

"You think I'm dumb, huh?"

"No," Rene protested. "I just wanted to call."

"Oh," she mumbled.

Silence.

"Are you done with your homework?" Rene finally said.

Done?
She hadn't even pulled it out of her backpack and wasn't sure if she would bother since she was going to start a new school.

"Oh yeah, it's almost done," she lied. She was nervous, aware that this was the first time she had ever got a call
from a
boy. She nibbled on her hair, spat it out, and blurted, "Guess what school I'm transferring to?"

Hamilton Magnet High School was located far up north where the Sierras peeked through the valley smog. Marisa was unfamiliar with her new school, though she suspected that most of the students came from homes where money grew on trees. But she had to admit that she might be wrong. Maybe those money trees were bare and fruitless, and maybe the students had their own fears.

What was certain about Hamilton Magnet? Every fall when Washington played Hamilton in football, her former high school crushed them under their grinding cleats. Her new school was also smaller—nine hundred students—and whiter. Washington was mostly Latinos and blacks, with whites and Asians who acted Latino and black. The shaved-headed Asians with bluish skulls would holler in the hallways, arms flailing, "
Chale, sapo,
I can't lend you
mi ranfla
for the party.
Mi jefita
took
mis llaves.
"

The transfer took only three days—one day to convince her father and two for her high school to do the paperwork for the transfer—by which time Alicia was out of the hospital. Now Alicia was home in bed with get-well balloons that floated to the bedroom ceiling but in time would sink down to the floor. There was a problem between the friends. Alicia had found out about her fight with Roberto at the hospital. Marisa couldn't believe Alicia was mad about that. Didn't she realize Marisa had been defending her?

"Please call," Marisa had whined. But Alicia didn't call.

Marisa's aunt Sara was happy about the transfer—she lived only three blocks away from Hamilton Magnet and looked forward to her favorite niece staying over some nights. Her aunt was a nurse and wanted to encourage Marisa toward this profession. Marisa, out of respect, could only nod when she spoke to her aunt on the telephone and respond lamely, "Sounds fun,
Tía.
Sounds like you can make a lot of money." In truth, Marisa was leery of hospitals. Isn't that where you went when you were hurt
or ready to die? Or to get in a fight? She had only to think of that two-faced Roberto. Then she remembered Rene. Maybe that's where you can meet—she gulped at this—a boy.