Accidental Love

by Gary Soto

  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?"

  Chapter 4

  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.

  The first morning at her new school, Marisa maneuvered herself down the hallway, searching for Rene. She was nervous and on any other day would have snarled when a boy bumped her backpack. But this new school was unfamiliar territory, not the place to holler "Watch where you're going, pendejo!"

  She spied Rene tying his shoes in the courtyard. She made a face at the white socks—she would have to talk to him about those socks and the high-water pants. She would have to tell him that he had to dress with the times.

  "Hi Rene," she said as she approached him. Her voice, she sensed, was flat. She had been happy to get Rene's call three nights ago, but now was different.

  He stood up, waving an arm bearing an oversized watch.

  "It's good to see you, Marisa," Rene said brightly. "How do you like it here?"

  "I guess it's okay. But I don't know anybody except you."

  "Nine hundred students." He gave a honking laugh and said, "Nine hundred and one students now."

  "Rene, are you being funny?"

  He nodded and honked his laughter again.

  Marisa scanned the school yard. She told him that she had an appointment with a counselor before classes.

  "Hope you get Mr. Laird. He's real nice."

  Marisa noticed his pants cuff caught in his sock. "Oh, god," she moaned, but admonished herself for thinking of the N-word—nerd.

  "Rene, we're going to have to talk," Marisa remarked as she nudged him away. "But first, I'm hungry." Her eye had caught sight of a snack bar with a fluttering neon light.

  "Talk about what?" He produced a cleanly folded handkerchief from his pocket and began to clean his eyeglasses. His eyes were beady as a salamander's.

  "Stuff," she answered vaguely, aware that the time wasn't right. She prodded him toward the snack bar, where she eyed the doughnuts and the array of pies, apple being her favorite though chocolate was way up there, too. Her gaze floated up to the bananas speckled with dark spots. She debated whether to enjoy a true sugar rush or the much healthier banana. Last night, while eating a bowl of ice cream—her last, she'd promised—she had decided to stay away from cookies, ice cream, sodas, and potato chips. She was determined to shed a few pounds.

  "Give me...," she said to the student behind the screen window. "Give me an apple—no, no, a banana." She turned to Rene. "You gonna get anything?"

  He wagged his head no. His eyeglasses were crooked on his face.

  "That's sixty cents," the girl said through the screen.

  Marisa let six dimes roll from her palm and slapped one before it fell off the counter.

  The two sat on a bench away from the milling crowd. She peeled back her banana and offered a bite to Rene.

  "No, I had some in my Wheaties," he said.

  Marisa laughed and nearly dropped the banana. She was thinking, He eats Wheaties? The "breakfast of champions"? Then how come he's so ... weak? But she admonished herself for the second time within ten minutes. She was no better than he, a fourteen-year-old girl with her own problems. She didn't want to be stuck-up.

 
; "What's funny?" Rene asked.

  "Nothing's funny," Marisa finally answered after clearing her throat of the first bite of overripe and mushy banana. "It's just kind of weird being here."

  "You'll like it," Rene said. "I'm glad you're here. There's lots to do."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Like clubs."

  "You belong to a club?" Marisa had never belonged to anything except Girl Scouts for a month. She would have stayed longer except she had eaten six boxes of Girl Scout Cookies and didn't have the means to pay for them—the thin mints were irresistible.

  "Yeah, I belong to the science club."

  Marisa stuffed the banana in her mouth to keep from laughing.

  "And chess team. Plus thespians. Though I have never been in a play. But I like to read them in bed. I used to be able to recite some of Hamlet. 'To be, or not to be—that is the question; / Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer / The slings...' I learned it when I was in sixth grade."

  Marisa let the banana stay in her mouth. Her stomach was convulsing with laughter.

  "Are you okay?" Rene asked as he jumped to his feet. "I know the Heimlich maneuver." He moved behind the bench and embarrassed Marisa, who couldn't help but think, He's so cute. He's trying to save my life!

  Then there came a shout from one of four girls passing by. "Is that your girlfriend?"

  Marisa broke out of Rene's grip. She had already swallowed the mouthful of banana and her mind was assembling words to throw like daggers at the girl who had taunted her—no, taunted Rene. But she thought better of the situation. This was her first day. Plus, she had promised herself not to get so angry.

  "Are you better now?" Rene asked. "I took a first aid class at the YMCA and know quite a bit about saving people." He said this with his arm hooked in hers.

  Marisa met with Mr. Laird, a counselor, who sat behind a paper-cluttered desk pulverizing one breath mint after another as he examined her transfer papers. He offered a mint to Marisa, who declined.

  "Your test scores are good," he reported as he closed her file. "But your grades from your last school..." He sighed and tapped his pencil against her file.

  "I know," she agreed. She had been examining some of his awards on the wall behind him, but now her attention was leveled at him. "But I'm going to do better here."

  "I want you to," he remarked.

  "I want to, too." She was serious.

  "Good," he said, and stood up, pulling a sweater off a hat rack. He walked her to her American history class and said, "Let's have lunch together later."

  Marisa was baffled. Lunch? With an adult? But she accepted his offer and held her breath as she entered her new class.

  American history was not unlike history class at her old school, except most of the students were listening. When the bell rang, Mrs. Webb called Marisa to stay behind.

  "Did I do something?" Marisa asked as she approached the teacher's desk.

  "No," Mrs. Webb said with a kind radiance in her eyes. "I just want to welcome you to our school. If you have any questions about the material, please see me." Mrs. Webb pulled a book from a shelf, wrote the identification number in her roll book, and handed the heavy tome to Marisa. She informed her that they were on chapter four.

  "Thank you," Marisa said in a near whisper.

  Mrs. Webb patted Marisa's shoulder. "I'm so glad you're here."

  By third period Marisa had learned the names of some of her classmates. She had thought she would be treated like an outsider, a chola girl with brown lipstick. But she was wrong; she was glad to be wrong. At lunch she found Rene sitting in the cafeteria, where they had agreed to meet.

  "I bought you milk," Rene said. "It's chocolate. You like chocolate, don't you?"

  "Rene, are you trying to spoil me?" She could chug chocolate milk all day. "I was in such a rush that I forgot my lunch."

  "I could share mine. And if I wanted to spoil you, I would have bought you two chocolates." He laughed like someone in the fit of an asthmatic attack.

  They went outside to sit on the grass and drink their cartons of milk. Rene offered her one of his two peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. Marisa took the sandwich from him while staring at his white socks. She debated whether she should tell him or just shut her big mouth. She almost got the nerve to pull off his shoes and strip him of those socks.

  In the end she decided to stuff her mouth with a large bite of sandwich and to say nothing. Rene brought out a Ziploc bag full of animal crackers. She took a hippopotamus and nibbled at its stubby feet.

  "You want to try out for the play?" Rene asked. He was eating an elephant animal cracker.

  "What play?" The entire hippo was settled on her back molars. Her tongue began to work it loose.

  "Romeo and Juliet."

  She almost spat out the cookie.

  "You're joking?" Marisa asked.

  "No, I'm not. Auditions are this week."

  "I never been in no play." Marisa chuckled. She fit another animal cookie into her mouth and asked, "What, am I going to try to be Juliet? In case you haven't noticed..." Without hesitation, she pinched at a layer of fat.

  "You don't have to try out for her—" Here he stopped. "You can try out for the nurse."

  "Who's the nurse?"

  Rene plucked a handful of grass and tossed it into the air. "It's a real meaty part—you'll have to learn lots of lines, but I can help."

  Marisa was touched and caught some of the grass as it came down. She slapped the grass from her palms and scratched her nose.

  "Or there's a musician." Rene raised his arms and pretended to be playing a violin.

  "Do you play violin?" she asked.

  "I used to. Now I'm concentrating on piano. And I have a recorder, but I hardly ever practice."

  She scooted closer to him. She peeled a crumb of animal cracker from his cheek and wondered why she felt so comfortable with a boy she hardly knew.

  Rene took her hand. His thumb rubbed her thumb.

  "A penny for your thoughts," he said.

  She was thinking: A boy had never called me before. A boy is feeding me cookies on a damp lawn. A boy is wearing white socks and I refuse to call him a nerd or anything mean. What's going on with me?

  "Yeah," she answered, and would have followed her simple yeah with more explanation except she caught sight of Mr. Laird, the counselor, walking toward them.

  "Dang," she muttered. "I forgot I was supposed to have lunch with him."

  Rene released Marisa's hand. He stood up, swiping at the grass on the back of his pants, and announced, "Sir, I have good news."

  The good news was that Marisa and Rene were going to audition for parts in Romeo and Juliet. She lay in bed that night, glowing with happiness. She had the urge to call Alicia and tell her about Rene, but she held back because of Roberto—Alicia, heartbroken and now saddled with crutches, was hurting in a big way. Plus, Alicia was still acting mad at her. Was it because Marisa had knocked her boyfriend around? Or was she upset—or was it sad?—that she had moved to a new school?

  "I'm going to lose weight," she muttered. "I really, really, really mean it." For dinner she had no second helpings and only two dinky scoops of ice cream, though she savored the flavor by keeping the spoon in her mouth like a thermometer.

  "We're like Romeo and Juliet," she told herself with a chuckle. She pressed a pillow into her face and through the darkness could see Rene with his white socks and his bent eyeglasses on his cute face. She could help him change, and—Yeah, I know, she thought—he could also help her change.

  Chapter 5

  During her first few days at Hamilton Magnet, Marisa felt like she was on audition among her classmates. They kept looking at her—the new girl with brown lipstick and teased hair—and some would smile and others would just stare at her with flat, uninterested eyes. A few of the Latinos gave her looks that said, "I know you, girl," and she would return the stare at them until they turned away. Her chewing gum—Juicy Fruit, her favorite—would snap lik
e a whip when one of them stared too long. Mean thoughts surfaced like a shark. If anybody had looked at her like that at her old school, she'd have slapped them.

  But she struggled to remain cool.

  "It's different," she told her mother one morning as they drove up north through the suburbs.

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "It's so ... white." She then asked, "Mom, you ever eat tofu?"

  "Eat? Isn't tofu a martial art?"

  "Nah, Mom, it's some kind of food. They serve it at school."

  Later Marisa learned that tofu was a soy product, which she tasted in a veggie burger. Her tongue registered a simple description: tasty. She also learned that Rene was a vegetarian and avoided most milk products, though he would chug his favorite chocolate milk when he could.

  "Milk isn't good for you," he announced. "At least the way the dairies keep cows. Most dairies are really filthy."

  "What are you talking about? Like Milk Duds aren't good for you?" Marisa refused to believe that Milk Duds were unhealthy.

  Rene nearly doubled over in asthmatic laughter. Finally he said, "No, Milk Duds aren't good for you, but I like them." After he controlled his laughter, he remarked, "And I like you."

  "Get out of here, homeboy." Marisa was suddenly shy as a pony.

  "But I do. Right now I'm missing a chess club meeting because of you."

  Marisa was touched. "You're missing chess club for me? That's so sweet."

  He pulled on her arm saying, "Come on."

  They headed for the gym, where boys were playing basketball in street clothes—their pants precariously low on their hips. They hurried through the gym, where their classmates cast momentary glances at them, then dropped their interest immediately.

  "Where we going?" Marisa asked as they walked quickly down a hallway.

  "You'll see."

  Soon Marisa stood in a darkened room where ancient weights lay dusty and forgotten. The boxing bag was deflated, and the wrestling mat was cracked. Football helmets lay like skulls against the wall.

  "They don't use this part of the gym anymore," Rene explained.