To be Maria (5 page)

test. She just wants to take her under her wing and teach her a few important life skills, including

her sense of fashion. "Okay,” she says, drawing out the word, “I really have to run. I'll catch up

with you guys later."

"Ciao," Carly says with a small wave of her hand.

            "Well, this should be very interesting,” Matt says once Maria is out of his earshot. Anya chilling with the coolest kids in the school. How bizarre can things get?”

            "No kidding! What is Maria thinking," Kirsten says.

            "Anya will never make it as an actress. She's too dull and lame and awkward," Shondra echoes.

            Carly shoots her friends a sharp look. "Look you guys: I totally agree with everything you say, but I happen to adore Maria, so we'll give Anya a chance. If she fails, then that proves that we were right about her all along. If not," the wily smirk reappears on her face, "she'll have the time of her life. She may enjoy it now, but that'll change when she finds out she's not the recipient of Mr. Hawthorne's sponsorship."

            Angela Newman and her husband, Greg, sit on hard, wooden chairs in Principal Mansfield's office, across from him and Mrs. Cummings. Both parents stare at the two school administrators as if they do not know why they had been called into the office. They do not even know how to deal appropriately with the uncompassionate look in the eyes of their daughter's educators. While Greg tries to show some empathy for the teacher and principal, Angela is not inclined to show them any humility, especially with Mrs. Cummings. She will not leave the office until the young hot-headed teacher admits Carly back into her English class.

            Angela leans forward in her seat and shoots Nadia an irate look. "My daughter has as much right to graduate as every other student in this school and I will not let a teacher, who is only a few years older than her, take away that right."

            The look she receives from Mrs. Cummings is unflinching.

            "Mrs. Newman, let's get one thing straight here: I am eight years older than your daughter. Secondly, your daughter--"

            "Mr. and Mrs. Newman, we have already come to a conclusion," Mr. Mansfield interjects, casting the teacher a warning look. "This school has a zero-tolerance policy for bullying, which means that any student caught in the act of bullying another student will be penalized."

            "Well, Carly did nothing to hurt this other girl, and I believe her. Carly has never ever hurt anyone intentionally. She is perfectly happy and she has a lot of friends, so it's completely unfair to punish her for harassing this other girl when you haven't even seen her do it," Angela says, surveying them coldly.

            Carly's English teacher picks up a folder, opens it, then tosses Anya's torn notes onto the table in front of Angela. "Then explain this," she says, pointing at them. "And look at them very carefully."

            Angela and Greg stare at the shredded notes, both wide eyed and speechless. The silence in the small room is almost deafening. Finally, after a few painstaking minutes of silence, Angela looks up from the torn notes and scowls at Nadia.

            "Mrs. Cummings, what makes you think my daughter did this when you have no proof? Anyone could have ripped these notes," she says through clenched teeth.

            Mrs. Cummings sets both of her hands down on the office desk. "As I approached my classroom, I almost ran into Anya. She was absolutely distraught. Never before have I seen her that upset. Then, as I walked into the classroom, I saw your daughter giggling with her friends, and that was just before I found these on the floor."

            Angela's face turns bright red. "Did you not even consider that it could have been one of Carly's friends who did this?"

            "No. Not after the way I've seen your daughter treat Anya in the past!"         

            "This debate is over," Mr. Mansfield says, raising his left hand high in the air. "Mr. and Mrs. Newman, our decision is final. Your daughter will not be re-admitted into Mrs. Cummings's English Twelve class. However, there is still an opening in Mr. Yoko's Communications Twelve class."

            Angela folds her arms across her chest. "And what time is this class?"

            "The class starts at quarter past one, right after lunch break," Mr. Mansfield says.

            Angela narrows her blue eyes into slits. "No. Carly will not--"

            "Angie dear, I'll handle this," Greg says, placing his hand on her leg. "Mr. Mansfield, our daughter will not be able take this class because her acting class is at the same time."

            Mrs. Cummings and Mr. Mansfield breathe out a frustrated sigh at the same time. Twice, the teacher runs her slender fingers through her thick, shoulder length hair.

            "Mr. Newman, if your daughter wants to graduate in June, she will drop her acting class and take Communications Twelve," she says.

            "Or she could take English Twelve through the community college and we would transfer the credits," Mr. Mansfield says. "That is, if Mr. Hawthorne's acting class is that important to her."

            "That sounds like a good idea," Greg says, looking at Angelia for approval.

           
No, that's not good enough. I want Carly back in your class where she belongs
,
woman
, she wants to say. But instead, she gives the teacher an icy look.

            "Then I suggest you enroll Carly tomorrow morning. The cut-off to enroll in classes at Peach Valley Community College is this Wednesday. That is two days from now, and Carly must complete the course by June 24th, or else she will not graduate this year," Mr. Mansfield says.

            "Okay, we have a deal," Greg says.

            Angela's stiff jaw begins to ache.
It's not a good deal to me, but whatever. Have it your way.

            "Yes," Mr. Mansfield says with a curt nod of his head. "Mr. and Mrs. Newman, I sincerely hope that this is the last time I see you in my office."

            "I hope so too," Greg says.

            Angela sniffs.

            Mr. Newman gives them a severe look. "If one of us catches Carly in the act of bullying once more, the consequences will be more severe."

            With no response, Angela and her husband saunters out of the office. She doesn't say anything to him because she is too enraged to speak.

            Maria digs her fork into the spaghetti noodles on the plate. She keeps her head bent low to avoid the severe looks on her parents' face and the gleeful look on Juan's face.

            "We haven't been in Canada a month and, already, you have gotten into trouble," Enriquez says.

            "It wasn't my fault," Maria says, keeping her eyes fixed on the food.

            "Maria, your
Madre
and I are beyond tired of hearing that phrase."  

            Maria sets her fork down on the table and shoots her father a defiant look. "You weren't at school with me when I got the detention, so you have no right to get mad at me."

            Enriquez furrows his brow. "Maria, I don't care what you did. You are grounded for two weeks: no friends, no television, no phone! The only comfort you will have is your room and your homework."

            Maria glowers at him. "Hello, I'm almost eighteen."

            "Well, if you didn't act this way, I wouldn't have to treat you like this."        

            Maria sighs and rolls her eyes skyward at the same time. Her father's stern voice snaps her attention back in his direction.

            "Start acting like an adult and I will treat you like one."

            "Whatever," she says while she picks her plate off the table.

            "Pardon me," Theresa says with raised eyebrows. "You do not talk to your father like that."

            Maria narrows her eyes. "You know, if you would take some interest in me, maybe you would understand what I'm going through. But no, your careers are way more important, and you expect me to be just like you; a high achiever stuck in a high-paying job I hate doing."

            "Don't you speak that way, Maria! Your
Madre
and I enjoy our jobs very much," Enriquez says.

            Juan shifts his eyes away from his empty plate. "
Madre
, I'm done eating. Can I go upstairs?"

            The look on Theresa's face instantly softens. "Of course you can,
querido
. Just put your glass and your plate in the sink before you leave."

            "Thank you," Juan says. Within seconds he is gone. All they can hear is the faint thump of his footsteps on the staircase.

            "Yes, you both enjoy your jobs," Maria continues, breaking the momentary silence, "but I don't want what you have. I don't want to go to school for ten more flippin’ years to get some job I know I will hate. I want to be a hair stylist; I don't care if I don't make a ton of money. That's what I want to do with my life."

            "You still have to go to school for that, Maria," Teresa says.

"So, one year is way better than ten years."

            "Well, I strongly believe that you should become a lawyer or a teacher, or some kind of therapist. I will not have my daughter waste away at some low-end job for the rest of her life, hanging out with trouble makers and dependent on us for everything. So Maria, you have a very short time to improve your grades. If you fail to achieve any kind of scholarship, your
padre
and I are not going to pay a cent for your post-secondary education. You are on your own and you are not living here."

            Enriquez nods his head in agreement.

            Maria bites down hard on her lower lip.
God, I hate my parents. I don't even know why I came to this country with them when I had a good job, and friends and relatives who actually care about me. Maybe I should go back to Madrid, get back into waitressing at Castillo's Bistro and finish high school when I feel like it
. "I hate high school! I hate it with a passion! The people are great, but the work sucks. And FYI, I don't want to live here anymore. Once I graduate, I'm getting a full time job and I'm moving out." She spins on her heels, then runs out of the kitchen, giving her parents no chance to snap back at her in their all-too-familiar condescending manner.
It's my life and I can do whatever the hell I want!
Tears sting her eyes, Maria forces them back. No way is she going to cry. She is much stronger than that.

            Once she reaches her room upstairs, Maria flings the door open, causing it to bang against the wall. She steps inside, grabs the doorknob and shuts the door without slamming it. Her eyes dart from one end of the spacious room to the other. The moment her gaze connects with the large, half-unpacked duffel bag, she thinks about Madrid and of all of the good times she had with her friends and cousins.
I'm gonna call Carly; I'll get her to pick me up and take me to the airport as soon as she can. It won't take me long to pack my bags and I have enough money left over to buy a one-way ticket…Oh shit!
Maria looks around, forgetting that there is no phone in her room. It is downstairs in the living room, next to her parents' bedroom. "Damn!" She sinks to the floor, burying her head in her hands, allowing her long curls to fall in a disorganized fashion over her shoulders.
I guess I'll have to get Carly to drive me there tomorrow afternoon
.

Then, Maria remembers the conversation she had with Carly after English.
Oh right. Anya
. Maria groans.
Darn it all! If Anya fails to step up to the plate, I’m gonna…I will never speak to her again. I will treat her like a complete loser, just like everyone else does. Anya will have a very lonely graduation, and that sure as heck won't give her a good start in her acting career
.

            Maria rubs her temples. "I need a smoke really bad." She gets herself up off the floor, then walks over to the oak dresser beside her bed. She jerks open the top drawer, then rummages through her pantyhose until she feels the cool surface of the small Players Light box against her warm finger tips
. Good. Now, I'll have to make my way over to the park without being caught by my parents. Later, I will pack my things
.

            Maria cradles her head in her hands and groans. She hears a sudden loud knock on the window of her silver Honda Civic, but it doesn't shock her because she knows that it's from Carly. Slowly, she rolls down the window.

           
Time to pop the question.      

            "Maria, what's wrong? You look sick…What is that?"

            "I'm moving back to Madrid, and I need you to take me to the airport."