Accidental Love (8 page)

Marisa was sensitive to criticism and she knew that at times she imagined things—a mere glance from someone on the street caused her to roll her hands into fists.
Is it me?
she often thought, and she thought it at that moment:
Is it me? Or is it this new school?
Her mood was dark. She wanted to kick something.

"Maybe I am negative," she muttered. "But I don't care. I don't belong here."

Marisa walked down a hallway plastered with signs for the school clubs—science, vegan, bisexual, poets for the world, thespians, Latinos in business. She sneered at the posters. At her old school the walls were tagged with graffiti.

"I know they're fakes," Marisa said. She boiled
with anger and ventured into the restroom. With a fingernail, she dabbed at something in her eye, which could have been dust, an eyelash, a windblown speck from a tree. She blinked, but her eye still felt scratchy. She closed her eyes and reconstructed the image of Rene asking her, "What's wrong with you?" She could have asked him the same, "What's wrong with
you?" Sure,
she thought,
he's changed his socks and pants, but not that stupid laugh of his.

A girl entered the restroom, observed Marisa, and went into a stall, where she started crying. Marisa was going to tease her hair, but she put her brush back. She listened as the crying eventually subsided into a sob, then tiptoed to the stall, knocked, and asked, "You okay? What's wrong?"

There was silence before the girl replied, "Everything."

"What do you mean?" Marisa asked after a long minute.

The girl unlocked the stall and came out. Her eyes were runny with tears and her nose was red.

"This boy I like...," the girl began softly. "He walks past me like he doesn't see me." Tears began to leak down her cheeks.

"Boys!" Marisa growled. "They ain't nowhere like us girls."

Marisa opened her arms and the girl took baby steps into Marisa's embrace. Marisa let her sob on her shoulder and began to think that maybe this touchy-feely approach of her classmates could be real.

"What's your name?" Marisa asked when the crying slowed down.

"Priscilla," the girl sobbed.

"Mine's Marisa," she volunteered, and released the girl from her embrace. She pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and handed it to Priscilla, who blew long and hard and tossed the wadded-up paper towel at the garbage can. She missed by a foot.

They left the restroom, arm in arm, and Marisa couldn't believe the change in herself. Less than an hour before she had been brooding about the actors and their fake expressions of love. Now she could see how she might have been wrong.

"Boys...," Marisa grumbled. "We just got to depend on ourselves."

Whatever had been in her eye was gone. She could see clearly in the late afternoon sun. She realized that it was okay to hug. There was nothing fake about it if it felt right.

The next morning Marisa spotted Rene slurping from a water faucet. She was shocked to see that he was back to wearing white socks and high-water pants. His hair was uncombed. His large watch was like a handcuff on his skinny wrist. He was carrying a small briefcase that Marisa knew held his chessboard and pieces. He stood up, wiping droplets from his mouth, and turned away.

Marisa was hurt. How could he so cruelly ignore her?

"So what if he thinks he's better than me?" she muttered as she bumped along a crowded hallway, like a fish swimming against the current. "I don't care about no stupid boy."

But she did care. In history her mind floated
over battle scenes from the American Civil War. In biology she peered into a microscope and attempted to sketch the cells of dead leaves. In English she scrawled on her binder and studied her classmates, some of whom were listening to the teacher discuss a Robert Frost poem about walking through snow. What did she know about snow? She had seen it in calendars, but had never scooped it up and patted it into a ball. She wanted to return to her old school.

But her doubts left her when at lunchtime she saw Priscilla seated alone at a rickety wooden table. When she plopped down opposite Priscilla, she noticed the table was scarred with names of couples:
Terry & Jason, Seth & Brittany, Laura & Rafael, Ryan & Derek.

"How do you feel?" Marisa asked when her gaze lifted from the table.

Priscilla was eating a large sugar doughnut. She offered half to Marisa.

"Better," Priscilla answered. She nibbled her doughnut and asked Marisa if she was new to the school.

"Yeah, I am. I got tired of all the jargon at my old school." Marisa told her that she had transferred two weeks before because her old school was messed up. She recounted the story of Alicia and Roberto, the accident, the photo that popped out of
the glove compartment, and Alicia's broken leg. But she didn't describe the two fights with Roberto—Marisa didn't want to come off as a hothead. She told Priscilla that she moved to the new school to get away from trouble and to get better grades and—she slowly peeled a sliver from the wooden table—because she wanted to be with her new boyfriend.

"Who's he?" Priscilla asked.

Marisa hesitated, swallowing twice as she debated whether to describe Rene, a confirmed nerd. She held the sliver of wood between her thumb and index finger, and slowly applied pressure until a spark of pain ignited against her skin. "It's a guy named Rene."

"Rene Carey?" Priscilla asked.

"No, Rene Torres," Marisa answered without looking at Priscilla. She wanted to give Priscilla time to wince, smirk, or throw up at the mention of Rene the nerd. But she didn't spew to Priscilla that they had just broken up.

Priscilla remained silent. A sparrow landed near their feet in search of crumbs. The bird pecked at something on the ground and flew away.

"He's nice," Priscilla said.

She's so polite,
Marisa thought, and laughed. "It's funny how we met." Here Marisa became honest. "You know how I mentioned Alicia and Roberto?"

Priscilla nodded.

"Well, I got in a fight with Roberto."

"You mean like—" Priscilla lifted up her two dainty fists.

"Yeah, like that." She told Priscilla how the cell phones had been mixed up in the scuffle.

"Life's weird, huh?" Priscilla remarked. "But how did Roberto know Rene? They go to different schools."

"Rene was tutoring Roberto in math. Roberto has to be better at it to get into the army." Marisa peeled another sliver from the tabletop. "Then we got together to get our cell phones back. I could see that he was a nerd."

"Yeah, he is."

"But he was sort of sweet."

"Sweet matters. That's what I found out when I liked this other boy who turned out to be mean."

"And that's how we started. That's why I'm here." Talking about Rene made Marisa realize that she missed him.

Priscilla and Marissa punched each other's number into their cell phones. The bell rang, and lunch was over for them but just beginning for the sparrows. The birds swooped down from the bare trees to feast on the crumbs students had dropped thoughtlessly to the ground.

***

"Rene!" Marisa yelled as she pushed through a crowd at the end of the school day. He was hurrying away from her. "I'm going to get real mad if you don't stop. Rene! Rene! Do you hear me?"

Rene stopped, turned, and asked, "What?" One of his pants cuffs was hooked on his sock.

With long scissoring steps, Marisa closed in on him and pulled up within inches of his face.

"How come you're cold to me? Just because I said those people were fake?" She pointed in the direction of the auditorium.

"It's complicated," Rene answered vaguely.

"Complicated!" She breathed in and out like a prizefighter. "Listen, Rene, I was wrong. I was stupid, you know. But it doesn't mean you have to dump me."

"I'm not dumping you." He let his backpack slide from his arm. "It's just that my mom found out about you. And she doesn't want me to see you." His lower lip dropped, as if he couldn't believe what he had just admitted.

"Your mom! What does she have to do with us?" If Marisa were a dragon, smoke would have billowed from her nostrils. "Aren't you a man?"

"No, not yet."

¡Chihuahua!
Marisa thought. Of course he wasn't—but still! Then she remembered his mother's unpleasant voice on the telephone. Maybe she was mean as a snake. She risked asking, "You got issues with your mom, huh?"

Head bowed, he answered, "Sometimes."

Marisa's lips rolled and puckered, opened and closed, as anger brewed inside her. When she sighed, some of the anger escaped. She felt sorry for Rene. He had been trying to change, with his clothes and by lifting weights.

"Listen, I have to go," said Rene. He cut a glance at the student parking lot jammed with cars.

"You didn't bring your bike?" Marisa asked. "No, your mom's picking you up. Rene, you're like a little kid!"

Rene squeaked a good-bye, turned, and hurried to the parking lot, where he got into a white Toyota.

"He's not going to just drop me like that!" Marisa ran after the Toyota creeping through the parking lot. Other cars were slowly exiting, turning right because if they went left, a motorcycle cop parked at the corner would twitch his mustache and get them.

"Hey!" She knocked on the window. "Rene, roll down your window."

Rene glanced at her briefly and then stared straight ahead. His hands were fidgeting on his lap. His mother, Marisa guessed, was a control freak.

"Come on—roll it down, Rene." The Toyota slowly advanced toward the exit—the parking lot was crowded with cars trying to get out at the same time—and Marisa kept pace as she considered the dramatic action of leaping onto the hood. But she didn't have to. The window slid down noiselessly.

"My mom says what do you want?" Rene asked meekly.

"What! Rene, you're talking to me—your girlfriend!" Marisa cut her attention to Rene's mother, who was a little older than her own mom. Her hair was stiff with hair spray, and her small mouth held back large white teeth. The dress was too short for a woman her age—the hemline revealed two knobby knees.

"Your
what?
" Rene's mother barked. She braked the car, an action that made Rene's head sway forward and his arms rise up against the dash.

"
Mi novio!
You know, like we hold hands," Marissa blurted out. Her temper flared. What was the big deal for Rene to have a girlfriend?

"He is no way your
novio\
He's my son!" She bared a set of shark's teeth.

"Wow, girl," Marisa sang. "Don't get so blown up. We're not getting married or anything."

"I'm not a
girl,
as you say!" She snarled something in Spanish that Marisa couldn't make out. Nor could Marisa make out a phrase shaped on Rene's lips—
I love you? I like you?
Or was it
I leave you?

It must have been the last phrase, because when the Toyota pulled away with a screech, Rene, apparently loyal to his mother, didn't turn back like a little boy for even one last look.

Marisa rode the city bus home that day. At red lights she peered out the window, greasy with fingerprints, and observed the drivers, men and women, some adolescents a year or two older than she, all going somewhere, all with their own cargo of problems, and maybe joys that brought light to their eyes. Marisa wished she could write a song to explain her feelings—a nerdy boyfriend gone, a new school, a new friend named Priscilla with her own issues.

"Is there anything wrong?" an elderly woman asked. Her eyes seemed moist.

"No, not really," Marisa answered. She could sense the woman had been watching her, a kind woman with her coat buttoned all the way up. Her
grayish hair was tidy, and the cat pin on her lapel sparkled every time the bus hit a pothole. She was squeezing a sheer silk handkerchief. Marisa recognized that the woman was trying to be nice.

Marisa got off the bus two stops early and kicked through the leaves. When she arrived home, tired and heavy at heart, she discovered Alicia waiting on the porch. Her crutches were leaning on the rail. Two cold sodas, both unopened, stood sweaty at her feet.

"Alicia!" Marisa called happily. She was glad to see her, this old friend who was like a new friend. They had known each other since second grade, and wasn't it true that they had traded sandwiches? Wasn't that the sign of true friendship, the sharing of food and the ritual stomping of empty milk cartons?

"I heard what happened at the car wash," Alicia said, and pouted. She rose stiffly, one hand on the porch rail.

"Stop bothering me. It's over," Marisa said. "How did you get here?"

"Mom brought me. I told her you and me had some studying to do." Alicia said that she and her mother had had a long talk about boys. Her mother told her she trusted her to use her head and said that
the episode with Roberto was a learning experience.

Marisa didn't relish talking about Roberto. She said, "Let me have one of those sodas."

"Cream or root beer?" Alicia asked.

"
La crema,
girl."

They drank their sodas on the lawn. Alicia's blue cast attracted two boys riding their bikes down the street. They stopped and asked about the cast. Alicia, straight-faced, said she'd got into a skiing accident. The boys looked at each other.

"What's snow like?" the taller of the two asked. Marisa and Alicia could see that he must have been eating a lot of candy, because his tongue was coated. He had sucked something sweet and blue, and the corners of his mouth were still stained. He was a kid living through the sense of taste.

"Like real cold fire," Marisa answered for Alicia.

Alicia nodded. "That's right. That's why if you stay in snow too long, it makes your skin all red."

The boys rode away. Marisa knew that the boys—
chavalos,
as her father would call them—were built for play and didn't want to stand around discussing fiery snow. They were gone, weaving down the pitted road, where dogs lurked beyond rickety fences.

The girls laughed and clinked their soda cans
together. Neither had ever seen, snow, but they imagined that it was like a cold fire. They had imagined a lot of things
when they were really young, but never a fight that could end their friendship.