Romiette and Julio (4 page)

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“Romiette, I have
got
to get this!” cried Destiny. “Besides, maybe they will give you some answers to that dream you’ve been having. Maybe you’ll get a face to go with that voice.”

“Destiny, you are nuts! You don’t really believe this, do you?”

“Look, Romiette, if you lend me the money, you can come over and spend the night, and we’ll try it together. It can’t hurt. It doesn’t work as well if you don’t truly believe, though. I’ll pay you back next week when my dad gets back from his trip.”

“OK, let’s try it. You know I just got paid.”

“And you got money left over? Girl, it was meant to be! Here’s the address. Let’s go down to the post office and get a money order. I want to mail this today! Who knows—you may find your soul mate too. Maybe that voice you hear is your soul mate calling out to you.”

“I don’t need a soul mate yet. I have trouble enough dealing with just me—and keeping up with you!”

“But just suppose …”

“Yeah, suppose I dream about
your
soul mate. How are we supposed to know?”

“Gotta read the fine print on the instructions. We’ll figure it out. Let’s get going—post office closes in an hour.”

“I’m with you, girl. But I don’t know why.” Romi grabbed her purse, and the two headed out to Destiny’s car.

Julio sloshed through the wet and melting snow, up the unshoveled walkway of their apartment building. It wasn’t luxurious, nor was it raggedy; it was just so very ordinary.
Generic,
thought Julio.
Just like any other apartment complex in the United States.
He opened the door to the first-floor hallway and the warm smell assaulted him. It wasn’t an unpleasant odor, it was simply the shared smell of many people living under one roof—combined smells of food and fights and joy and tears. Julio felt alone in that symphony of odors. He wanted the familiar fragrances of his home in Texas.

Luis Montague, his dad, was trying to clear all the boxes from the living room. He smiled as Julio walked into the room. He was proud of his tall, brooding son, and understood his pain. “So how was your first day at the new school, son?”

“I hate it.”

“How can you know? You just got here. Here, help me move these boxes.”

“I hate the snow. I hate this city. I hate the kids here. I want to go back home.”

“This is our home now, Julio.”

“
Sí
, Papa, but I don’t have to like it.”

“Did you try to make friends today? A smile, perhaps?”

“Papa, nobody in the eleventh grade smiles.”

“I know. Terminal depression for a year. It will pass, my son. Give it time. It’s difficult for me and your mother as well.”

“Not like for me. You got each other. I got nothing. And there’s nothing Spanish here in Cincinnati.”

“We haven’t yet had the chance to investigate all the possibilities. We may be pleasantly surprised. There’s the phone, can you get that? My hands are full.”

“Yeah, sure, Papa. Hello?”

“May I speak to Julio Montague?”

“You got him.”

“This is Ben, the kid with the green hair and the red nose!”

“Hey, Ben, how’d you get my number?”

“I got friends in high places—like my sister who works in the office.”

“You know, I sorta looked for you today, but I didn’t see any green hair all day,” Julio admitted.

“I slipped out early. I used a broken nose as an excuse, but I had to go play in the snow. I need to sled on virgin snow. After school, all the little kids with runny noses will have tramped all over it. I had the whole afternoon on a clean slope of untouched snow. Awesome!”

“Sounds OK, I guess, if you like snow.”

“You don’t like snow?” Ben asked incredulously.

“Naw, not much. We never got much snow in Corpus Christi. Too wet. Too messy. Too cold. Gets in my shoes and under my shirt.”

“But have you ever sledded on virgin snow?” teased Ben.

“I can’t say that I have.”

“OK, next snowfall, I’ll take you and show you the glory of initiating a perfect hill on a cold, clear afternoon. What you doin’ tonight?”

“I don’t know. Chillin’, I guess.”

“It’s going down to five below tonight. You’ll be chillin’ all right.”

“It never gets this cold in Corpus Christi. My friends at home are out on the river with their sailboats.”

“Awesome. You got a boat?”

“Not of my own, but I can use my uncle’s any time I want. I’m a good sailor. Maybe as good as you are on a sled. You ever been sailing?” Julio asked.

“No, not really. The only boat I’ve been on is one of those tour boats on the river.”

“Well, if it ever warms up around here and that dirty thing you call a river downtown ever melts, I’ll take you on a virgin sailing trip.”

“Sounds good to me. I like virgin anything!” Ben chuckled. “So what’s it like in Corpus Christi?”

“It’s, well, different. Different colors, landscape, feels, smells. It’s hard to explain.”

“I feel you. It’s like me and my hair. Different. What kind of name is Montague anyway? You Spanish or Greek or what?”

“My family is from Mexico, but Montague is an Italian name. Some Italian count, hundreds of years ago, who was running away from trouble with some king, ended up in Mexico, got married there, and it has been our family name ever since.”

“That’s deep—that you can trace your family back that far. My dad passes through from time to time, so it’s just me and my mom and my sister and my jars of hair dye, which I do
not
let my sister use. Mom lets me do what I need to. She’s really cool, but I’d never tell her,” Ben admitted.

“My parents are great, but uptight. Rules. Manners. Proper ways of doing everything. Family tradition.”

“That’s gotta be tough. I don’t think I even know what’s a proper way to do anything.”

“Come to my house. My father will let you know,” Julio assured him.

“What would he say about my hair?” Ben asked.

“Oh, it would shock his socks off! It would be worth it just to see the expression on his face.”

“We’re going to have to do that one day. But wait till I make it bright red and put it in spikes!”

“Spikes? How do you do that?” asked Julio.

“It’s easy—Elmer’s glue! Washes out easy. Freaks out the adults.”

Julio laughed. “I like your style, Ben. Maybe you can help me find a job here.”

“What you want to do?”

“Anything for extra money, but I’d really like a job at a TV station or something.”

“Ladies and gentlemen: Here is the six o’clock
news. Nothing happened today, so tomorrow has been canceled. Film at eleven.”

“Ben, you’re crazy. No, get me straight now—I don’t want to be one of those cheese-grinning reporters—I want to be the man who makes them look good,” admitted Julio.

“Nice job, if you like cables and cameras. Then, when you get famous, you can make movies! Lights! Action! Quiet on the set! Montague is making another movie! A nine-hundred-billion-dollar blockbuster!”

“I like your vision, man. Hey, you got E-mail? I did get to bring my computer when we moved. That helps, because I can still talk to a couple of kids through the Internet.”

“Yeah, I love it, man! I love making up names and identities and telling strangers trash about me!”

“You make stuff up?” Julio asked incredulously.

“You tell the truth?” Ben responded with the same amount of surprise. Both laughed.

“Yeah, but I don’t have to worry about what I look like or what they think of me,” Julio added. “I can always erase what I type and do it over or make it right. In real life, there’s only one chance to make a good impression.”

“But, see, I don’t
care
if I make a good impression. Actually, I hope I don’t! It’s more fun that way!”

“You got spice, man.”

“And you got potential, Julio, my friend.”

“I hate being the new kid.”

“Hang with me, and you won’t be new for long. Might ruin your reputation, but since you ain’t got
one yet, who cares! Gotta go, dude. Check you out tomorrow!”

“Later, Ben. And thanks for calling.”

“Is that one of those proper things your parents taught you to do?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I really gotta work on you!”

“Remember I was the one who worked on you first! How’s the nose?”

“Black and blue. I’m dyeing my hair the same color tonight in sympathy! Later!”

“Peace, man.”

“So, Julio, was that a friend from school?” Luis asked with interest.

“Just a dude with green hair, Papa.”

“Green hair?”

“Only for today. Tomorrow it’s gonna be blue.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know, Papa, but that’s cool. I’m gonna go do some homework and maybe get on the computer before I turn in. Need any more help with the boxes?”

“No, I finished while you were on the phone.”

“Oh, sorry, Papa. I’ll help you more tomorrow.”

“Sure. Good night, son. Be sure to say good night to your mother, Julio. She worries about you.”

“I know, Papa. I will.”

Welcome to TEEN TALK, the best partying chat room on-line! TEEN TALK is open every day, 24 hours a day!

cookieman:
hey, gimme your age/sex check

bigmac:
HIYA

sweetthing:
16/f

becool:
17/m

afroqueen:
16/f

niobe:
15/f

oogaooga:
14/m

spiceboy:
17/m

afroqueen:
whatsup?

bigmac:
any girls from Boston here shout YEAH BABY

niobe:
who cares?

sweetthing:
no one wants to shout it

bigmac:
well whisper it then

cookieman:
my parents are gone 4 the weekend!!!

niobe:
party!!

afroqueen:
can I come?

cookieman:
yup just find me

becool:
I have this gum in my mouth that I have been chewing for five hours and I think I need

spiceboy:
lol :-)

becool:
to spit it out

niobe:
good idea

sweetthing:
a boy has been spreading rumors about me at school.

niobe:
same here

sweetthing:
what did you do?

bigmac:
what he said was probably true

afroqueen:
just shut up, bigmac. your breath smells like hamburgers!

becool:
lol

sweetthing:
what did you do, niobe?

niobe:
confronted him. told him to drop dead.

sweetthing:
did that work?

niobe:
he left me alone after that

cookieman:
any females here from CO? press 34

vanityfair:
I’m from CAL

bigmac:
he said CO, stupid

cookieman:
CAL will do. what’s your shoe size?

vanityfair:
why—you planning to buy me some shoes?

cookieman:
no, I just hate girls with big feet

bigmac:
go kick yourself

spanishlover:
who’s here?

afroqueen:
hey, spanishlover, welcome to the zoo!

sweetthing:
nice name, spanishlover, are you all that?

spanishlover:
all that and more, sweetthing!

sweetthing:
:-)

afroqueen:
state your stuff, spanishlover

spanishlover:
16/m and ready for action

vanityfair:
watch out!

niobe:
we got metal detectors put in at our school today

bigmac:
yeah, everybody and they daddy got one now

afroqueen:
I hate that. they treat us like criminals

becool:
some of us are!

oogaooga:
they do locker searches every week at my school

afroqueen:
what they looking for? lunch?

vanityfair:
lol :-)

spiceboy:
drugs

becool:
once they even brought in drug-sniffing dogs

sweetthing:
they treat US like dogs

bigmac:
they took all our pagers in a sweep once!

niobe:
yeah, like we all drug dealers!

cookieman:
my mama bought my pager. said
that’s the only way to keep up with me. she made them give it back.

bigmac:
yeah, they finally gave them back to us too. too many.

vanityfair:
I hate when they look in my bag and my purse. makes me feel cheap

spiceboy:
you ARE cheap!

vanityfair:
go bite yourself