Accidental Love

by Gary Soto

  Without answering, Marisa led Rene to the curb, where he sat, head back, the blood staining his throat. A coin of blood fell and splashed onto his wrist.

  "How did it happen?" she asked again, this time sternly.

  Rene shrugged.

  Marisa had got into fights and had won some and lost others—one of the losses showed in a faint jagged scar under her chin, which at night in bed she would trace with her finger. She'd bloodied noses and had her own nose blossom with blood from roundhouse punches. It didn't matter to her—life, as she had discovered so far, was mostly knocks and punches. But she felt rudely offended that her boyfriend—he was her boyfriend, wasn't he?—would be smacked around. He was so sweet. Who would hurt him?

  Right then Roberto showed up, driving his parents' car. Marisa watched him emerge from the car, hugging friends and giving peace signs to those who were too cool to step forward. He jumped when someone sprayed him with the hose.

  "Wait here," she instructed Rene. She got up and approached Roberto.

  "Hey, girl," Roberto greeted.

  "Hey yourself. She's not here."

  Roberto slammed the car door.

  "Who?" he asked, owl-like.

  "You know who." She stared at him until he looked over her shoulder and sneered at Rene, who was standing up. "I'm going to have to smack that swanson again," he said.

  Marisa bristled. "So it was you who hurt Rene?"

  Roberto gave a ratlike smile. "Ah, I was just playing with him."

  "You mean like this?" Marisa hauled off a punch to his shaved temple and a second punch that brought a flow of blood from his mouth. Even though he was an eleventh grader, Roberto wasn't that big—a little taller than she—and she had arm wrestled him before and knew what he could do.

  "I don't want to hurt you!" He backed up, holding his lip. "You're a girl."

  Some girls, wet from being sprayed with the hose by boys, pulled Marisa away.

  "I had to do it because he didn't want to tutor me no more."

  "You're hella freaky! So what!"

  He backpedaled when Marisa, like a bull, started toward him. He shoved her with a straight arm and struck her in the face with the heel of his palm.

  "You ain't gonna hurt me!" she bellowed. But she sensed by the taste of blood that he had cut her lip.

  More girls pulled Marisa away, a loop of blood flying from her face. She stood breathing hard and hands shaking from the rush of adrenaline. By then Rene was at her side, pulling on her arm and begging, "Come on—let's go." To Roberto he yelled, "You better not hit her again."

  They left the high school car wash, walking up the street, both feeling their injuries.

  "He's the swanson, not you," Marisa growled. "My ex-school's stupid. You should have seen the principal's car—nasty!"

  "Violence doesn't get you anywhere," Rene commented.

  Marisa mumbled for him to be quiet.

  "If he touches you like that again, I'm going to hit him back," Rene blubbered.

  "You just said you're against violence."

  "That's because I usually get beat up. But I don't care anymore."

  Marisa hooked her arm in his. "We're messed up. Your nose is all red."

  They continued down the street, kicking through the fall leaves. Rene stopped and patted the bar of his bicycle. "Get on."

  Marisa hopped onto the bar and Rene straddled the bike, gripping the handlebars tightly. He kicked off, straining as he tried to pick up speed. He was pedaling for his girl, and Marisa was touched by his courage. With the two of them, the bicycle could crash to the asphalt street and rough them up even more. Could they stand two embarrassments in a span of ten minutes?

  Chapter 7

  Marisa fabricated a story of how she had hit her face on the shower nozzle—her uncle Pedro, a small man no taller than a boy, had done the remodeling on the bathroom several years before and assumed everyone was his height. The nozzle was positioned low.

  Marisa vowed to stop fighting. She would stand by her nerdy boyfriend and learn to play chess, Rene's favorite pastime. She would come clean about her new life and learn chess in the presence of her mother and father. Rene, only slightly scared of meeting her parents, biked over on Sunday afternoon with the chessboard and pieces rattling in his backpack.

  Marisa's mother had been ready to go shopping when she opened the door to a young man who, she would later tell Marisa, resembled a clean-cut, young religious type going door-to-door handing out pamphlets.

  "Mrs. Rodriguez, I'm Rene Torres, a classmate of Marisa's." He extended a hand and asked permission to leave his bike on the porch.

  "Of course," she remarked without looking at the bike leaning on the rail. She let Rene pass, holding the door open for him. "Who is this skinny boy?" her face was asking. Marisa's father muted the television just as the Raiders, down three points, were attempting a forty-eight-yard field goal. He stood up to shake hands with Rene.

  "Don't let us disturb you, sir," Rene said. "We're going to play chess."

  Her father and mother gawked. Was this boy here to court their daughter? Why did the boy have a red nose? Did it have anything to do with their daughter's cut lip?

  "Mom!" Marisa called, embarrassed by her mother's jaw hanging open.

  "What?" she asked.

  "You're staring."

  Her mother's gawk reshaped itself into a smile. "I guess I am." Her mother clipped away into the kitchen, where, Marisa figured, she was leaning against the sink and pondering the meaning of a boy showing up at their door.

  They played on the table in the den. Marisa's mother brought them cookies and milk, and her father, hiking up his pants, would enter the den periodically to report on the score between the Raiders and the Broncos.

  "I can't believe my dad," Marisa muttered. Her father had left the television muted so that he could hear them—he'd given up his Sunday football to eavesdrop. Marisa could make out her mother tiptoeing from room to room—she, too, was trying to listen.

  "They're concerned for your safety," Rene said. He moved a bishop and took a pawn from Marisa. "I might maul you any second."

  Marisa wagged her head. "No way, homeboy."

  "That was the first fight in my entire life." Rene moved his queen. "How did I do?"

  "That wasn't your first fight—you lie!" Marisa exclaimed. She remembered fighting in kindergarten, when she had had an argument over a red crayon. "You must have had another one."

  "I explained I'm against violence. And why's that, you might ask?"

  Marisa remembered very clearly. "Because you usually get beat up." Her hand crept over Rene's like a tarantula. She told him that her parents were funny, the way they were worrying about her. She giggled and moved her bishop two spaces.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

  "I can do what I want. This is my house."

  Rene slid his rook six spaces and took her queen. Marisa surveyed her lost pieces. Then she counted the pieces she had taken: one pawn. Even with Rene coaching her on her moves, she was headed to defeat. "I'm better at Candy Land."

  "Candy Land!"

  "I would slaughter you, buddy boy." Her smile hurt her cut lip and forced her to emit a faint "Ouch."

  "Does it hurt a lot?" Rene asked.

  "Only when you say something silly. And how's your nose?"

  "Sore," he answered. Rene pushed Marisa's pieces back to her side and said, "Let's play again."

  They played six games, and each one got easier for Marisa, who suspected that Rene was losing his pieces on purpose.

  They were going to start a seventh game when Marisa's father stepped into the den, smiling. "Raiders won in overtime, 21–19." He hiked up his pants and asked, "Who's winning here?" Her mother then appeared from behind her father, "You want to stay for dinner? I'm defrosting some tamales."

  "That's very nice," Rene replied. "But my mom expects me home for dinner."

  Marisa turned and saw that it was still daylight. Sunlight spilled in from the window.<
br />
  "What's your last name again, Rene?" her father asked.

  "Torres."

  He pinched his chin. "Torres, Torres. I used to know a Manuel Torres from high school. Is that your father?"

  "No, he's Ben Torres."

  Marisa's father lowered his head and had the appearance of someone thinking deeply on a game show. "No, I don't know any Ben Torres."

  "I know a Rebecca Torres," her mother cut in. She had brushed her hair and reddened her mouth with lipstick.

  Marisa thought, This is enough! We got to bounce out of here. "We're going to go for a walk," she said.

  Rene looked puzzled.

  Marisa raked the chess pieces into his backpack and fit the board in carefully—she peeked in and noticed a dog-eared copy of Romeo and Juliet.

  "Don't be long," Marisa's mother sang sweetly.

  The two stood on the porch. Although sunlight still flickered off what leaves remained on the sycamore tree in the yard, Marisa shivered from the cold. But she hesitated over going back inside. Her parents would press her against the wall and begin to interrogate her. Just who was this chavalo?

  Rene rolled his bike off the porch and Marisa jumped down the stairs. She was sure that her parents were peeking from the front window—she turned and caught sight of them ducking behind the curtains.

  "They're nice," Rene said.

  Marisa said nothing.

  "You get on." She took the bike from Rene's grip.

  "Me?" He stabbed a finger at his chest.

  "Yes, you!"

  When Rene hopped onto the bar, the bike nearly tipped over. But Marisa gripped the handlebars, kicked a leg over the seat, and pushed off, wobbly at first, then straightening and picking up speed as their shadow pursued them along the black asphalt.

  "My, you're strong," Rene said.

  Marisa had to laugh inside: My, you're strong. She had a boyfriend, and so what if he was a nerd?

  They rode to the public playground, which was gated closed on Sunday, and sat on the grass.

  "Watch this." Rene got into push-up position and did twenty-five shaky push-ups.

  "You're gonna have some serious swolles in a month." She clapped her hands and pulled off a piece of grass stuck to his chin.

  "I liked your parents," Rene said after he caught his breath. "They seemed so compatible."

  Marisa didn't want to discuss her parents. No, she wanted to hear about his secrets—anything!

  "I have no secrets. I'm an open book." With the word book, he rifled through his backpack and brought out his copy of Romeo and Juliet.

  "You got to have a secret."

  Rene touched his chin and looked skyward dramatically. He then shivered once as his gaze leveled and directed a soft kiss on her lips.

  "I like that," purred Marisa, who had accepted the kiss with her eyes open.

  "That was one of my secrets. That was the kind of kiss I used to plant on my pillow."

  "You kissed your pillow?"

  "I slobbered all over it." He laughed with his hand over his mouth.

  After his giggling subsided, he opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet and said, "Let's practice."

  So they sang, out of tune,

  "That fair for which love groan'd for and would die,

  With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.

  Now Romeo is beloved and loves again,

  Alike bewitched by the charm of looks..."

  They sang the long chorus three times, and before the fourth time Rene brought out his recorder from his backpack.

  "With music," Rene suggested. He licked his lips and began to play.

  "I'm in love," Marisa told herself. Poetry and music! Her life had changed all because of Alicia and Roberto. If they hadn't got into the car accident, none of this would have happened. This was one of her secrets. Another was that she had liked Roberto a lot, but that was a long, long time ago.

  Aunt Sara came over for dinner. She arrived lugging a bag of oranges from the tree in her yard. Marisa gave her aunt a kiss and pried the bag from her.

  That night they ate the tamales Marisa's mother had defrosted.

  Her mother couldn't help saying, "A young man came by to see Marisa today."

  "Mom!" Marisa scolded. She felt her cheeks burn.

  "But it's true," her mother remarked.

  Marisa's father shook his head at his wife, who grumbled, "Okay, I won't say anything." She parted her tamale and pretended to be hurt.

  They ate in silence for only a few minutes before Marisa said, "He's a boy from school. We're in a play."

  Her aunt's eyes shone. "That's nice."

  "We're going to be in a performance at school. You should come and see it."

  "I will." Her aunt reached for the basket filled with tortillas wrapped in a dish towel. "What play, sweetheart?"

  Marisa pinched up a glob of frijoles in a piece of tortilla and shoved the untidy portion into her mouth. She chewed and chewed and wondered whether she should tell them—they were all waiting for her answer. She swallowed, drank from her water glass, and answered, "Romeo and Juliet."

  "Oh!" her mother squealed. "How romantic!"

  When Marisa's mother said she didn't have to go to work the next day—something about the office building being fumigated—Aunt Sara suggested that her niece stay with her overnight. This way her mother wouldn't have to get up early and drive across town. Marisa could wake up and walk the three blocks to Hamilton Magnet.

  "That'll be fun," Marisa said, and ran to her room to get her things. When she snatched her cell phone from the chest of drawers, she saw that she had two messages. She pocketed the cell phone and went to the bathroom for her toothbrush and brush.

  Aunt Sara didn't risk asking about Rene, whether he was a friend or if their friendship had advanced to the level of boyfriend and girlfriend. She drove her Volvo station wagon with both hands on the wheel and her eyes flitting up to the rearview mirror every few seconds. She was a cautious driver.

  "His name is Rene," Marisa braved.

  "That's a nice name. I knew a girl from school named Renée."

  They drove in silence for two blocks before her aunt said, "I saw you had a lot of grass on your sweatshirt."

  "We were sitting on the grass." Marisa relived the two kisses and had to smile at the image of Rene playing the recorder. "My mom is so embarrassing."

  Aunt Sara chuckled. "She is funny."

  Marisa reached into her front pocket and brought out her cell phone. She had two more messages.

  "But he's your novio, qué no?"

  Novio. Marisa hadn't applied that Spanish-language distinction. But, yes, she answered her favorite aunt, he was her novio.

  "And you're really going to be in this play, verdad?" Her aunt braked as the light turned yellow.

  "Yeah, but we don't have any lines. We just sing in the chorus." She shoved her cell phone back into her pocket.

  '"Just sing'? Singing is everything." She gunned the engine when the light turned green. Aunt Sara began to sing a Mexican song, and Marisa was lulled by the song of a young woman who loses her boyfriend to another girl.

  That won't happen to me, Marissa thought. Rene will always be mine.

  At Aunt Sara's house, Marisa showered and then put on her jeans and a T-shirt with the Simpsons on the front. In the steamy bathroom, she checked her messages.

  "It's me," the first one said. "Me" was Alicia, asking why Marisa wanted to keep fighting Roberto. The second was from Alicia, too, saying she was sorry for the first phone call.

  "Oh, god," Marisa moaned. Couldn't Alicia see that Roberto was no good?

  She checked the third message.

  "It's me!" It was Rene, who told her about a PBS program on television about volcanoes until his mother's voice—the voice was harsh—told him to get off the phone.

  The fourth message was Rene, too. He was singing a made-up tune for "Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite."

  Marisa clicked off the phone feeling h
appy. But she had to wonder about Rene's mother, a dragon by the sound of her voice. Was this his secret? She played back the last message of Rene singing, and then she joined her aunt in the living room for an evening of chess—Marisa was determined to learn a few moves to improve her game.

  Chapter 8

  Because they didn't have speaking parts in Romeo and Juliet, Marisa and Rene didn't have to show up at many rehearsals. Rene introduced her to chess club and science club meetings, where she clamped her mouth shut and tried to keep from yawning. Bored, she did her homework during the meetings and started a journal that she kept for three days. One day she wrote, "I'm hungry, I mean, really hungry." She mused about food all day. She sensed weakness in her fingers when she wrote that line and later used her famished state as an excuse to give up her journal. She just couldn't write. She was delirious from hunger. How she would have loved to poke a straw into a thick strawberry shake and suck to her heart's content.

  She had gone on a diet of fruit and cereal, though when her mother served heavy dishes like lasagna, her nostrils flared and her mouth watered. She would ask her mother to serve her a small portion, and then complain that she meant small but not that small. She avoided potato chips and cookies, two temptations that appeared in her dreams. She avoided that tub of chocolate ice cream in the freezer and the crumbly Mexican queso de cotija. Instead, she ate apples and oranges, and cracked open pomegranates full of jewels that bled bittersweet juice as she chewed. She bought an overpriced bag of unsalted sunflower seeds, ate a portion of its contents, and threw the rest to the sparrows.

  She was losing weight, but her resolve to stay on the diet was tested when Rene suggested trick-or-treating together. She had given up that fall ritual two years ago—too babyish. But she missed dressing up in costumes that she assembled from boxes of clothes in the garage, and missed the sound of candy falling into a grocery bag.

  "I'm going to go as a nerd," Rene said, straight-faced, before he erupted in laughter.

  "But, Rene, you're a nerd all the time!" Marisa laughed and begged him to please keep his cell phone in his pocket, not on his belt. She hugged him, called him "my precious nerdito," and told him how proud she was that he had retired his white socks.