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.
Chapter 9
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
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.
Chapter 9
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
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