by Maggie Allen
“It’s not just the shot put. All your events have been dropped.”
Marisol’s eyes pleaded with him. “But they have to count mine. If they don’t count my scores, we lose.”
The coach nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“But why? I’m eligible. I’m not too old. My grades are good. I’m in the district. You know that.”
“It’s none of those things, Marisol. It was the blood test. It’s standard procedure when a record’s at stake.”
“The blood test?” She’d had her thumb pricked before the match like all the competitors; it was just one of those things you did. Did anyone even look at the little cards they put the blood on? “Coach, it must be a mistake. I don’t do drugs. I swear it. They must have mixed up my blood with someone else’s.”
“Not drugs. Marisol. The other thing.” Marisol looked confused, so the coach continued. “They test for the mutant gene. It’s usually just a formality. Only this time, you tested positive.”
Marisol looked at him in horror. “I’m a mutant?”
The coach nodded.
Marisol’s chin began to tremble. She started talking faster. “No, that can’t be true. No one in my family is a mutant. I trained hard. You know that. You know how hard I worked. I don’t have super strength or anything.”
“Probably not,” the coach admitted, “But the rules are the rules. Anyone with the mutant gene, even if it’s not activated, isn’t allowed to compete in interscholastic meets.”
Marisol felt like she’d caught a shot with her stomach. It wasn’t fair. She’d trained so hard, worked so hard. She was the best athlete on the team because she deserved to be, not because of some stupid mutant gene. Coach Abrams was still talking, but she couldn’t hear it through the ringing in her ears. All she could hear was her heart pounding. Her vision filled with black spots as her world crashed in around her.
The trip back to Ruidoso in the school van was the longest ride of Marisol’s life. Win or lose, the return home was usually filled with animated gossip about the day’s meet, the next meet and the boys’ team. This afternoon, however, the silence was so thick a javelin couldn’t pierce it.
Marisol’s disqualification had dropped the team from first place to fourth. The coach hadn’t told the team exactly why she had been disqualified, but there were only a few possibilities, none of them good.
Marisol curled up in the back corner of the van and looked out the window. She could feel the other girls looking at her, wanting to know what had happened but unsure how to ask. Marisol wished she had died out there on the track, maybe had an aneurysm like that kid from La Cueva at state last year. Her life was over, anyway. No track meant no scholarship, meant no college. She’d even dared to dream of competing in the Olympics. Now she could only see herself working at Dairy Queen. If she was lucky, maybe Coach Abrams would roll the van, and she would die in the accident before they got home. Then again, if she had any luck at all, she wouldn’t be some kind of sick mutant.
Marisol’s mother was waiting in her car when the van pulled into the school parking lot. Marisol grabbed her bag out of the back of the van as soon as the coach opened the door. She walked to her mother’s car as fast as she could without actually running. She didn’t want to endure one more minute of her teammates’ accusatory glances and whispers than she had to.
Marisol tossed the bag into the back seat, then threw herself into the passenger seat.
“Aren’t you even going to say hello?” her mother asked as Marisol buckled her seat belt.
“Hello,” she said flatly. She stared straight ahead. If she looked at her mother, she was afraid she might start crying.
“Meet didn’t go well?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Can we go?”
Her mother started the car. “I’m supposed to remind you to be careful if you go out running tonight. The coyotes have been coming down out of the hills again. They might be hunting in packs. Last night they got the Barries’ Maltese.”
“I don’t think I’m going to go running anymore.”
“Did the coach change your program?”
“No, I got kicked off the track team today.”
Her mother hit the brakes and slammed the car back into park. “Marisol Alvarez-Fuentes. What did you do?”
“It wasn’t my fault, Mama.” She could feel the tears start to come. “Please, just drive.” She didn’t want to start crying here where the team might see her.
“Marisol, you must have done something. You’re the best thrower and the third best runner they’ve got. The coach told me he thought you might make all-state in the heptathlon next year. He wouldn’t cut you for no reason.”
Marisol clenched her hands. “There’s something wrong with my blood.” Her voice got softer, almost a whisper. “They said I’m a mutant, and mutants aren’t allowed to play sports.”
“Oh.” Her mother put the car back in gear and pulled out of the lot. They drove in silence for a few minutes. Finally, they pulled into their driveway and rolled to a stop under the carport. Marisol’s mother turned off the car, but didn’t unlock it. “Marisol, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, whatever. It’s not your fault. Can we go inside now?” She wanted to go to her room and sleep, maybe for the rest of high school, maybe for the rest of her life. She tried to open the door, but her mother had the child safety lock on.
“Marisol, there’s something I should tell you.”
Marisol crossed her arms over her chest. “Is there a special track league for mutants? Otherwise, I don’t see what difference it can make.”
Her mother sighed. “We hoped this wouldn’t happen, your father and I, but we knew it was possible. It’s why our parents – your grandparents – didn’t want us to get married, but we were young. Your grandfathers, both of them, wore masks back in Mexico.”
Marisol stared at her mother. “You never told me that.”
“I don’t remember all that much. I was younger than you are now when your nana brought me and tió Pablo across the border. She wanted to get us away from the violence and fighting before we were kidnapped by some old enemy with a score to settle or stuffed in a refrigerator to make our father angry.”
Marisol tried to understand what that meant, but she ended up just shaking her head. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I’m sorry, mijita. We should have told you sooner, but neither of us wanted to think about it. Your father saw some pretty bad things before he came north. You were born, and you were normal. Then your sister Anna came, and she was normal, too. We thought we’d dodged the bullet. Maybe we weren’t carriers after all. We didn’t see the point of burdening you with a lot of painful family history. ”
“Only I wasn’t normal. Not really.”
“No, sometimes the gene waits till puberty to express itself.”
“Fine,” Marisol said sharply. “I come from a family of freaks. Got it. Can I go now?” She returned her gaze to the windshield, pointedly not looking at her mother.
“Mija, it’s not the end of the world. You’re not wrong, just different. If Coach Abrams doesn’t see that—”
“It’s not him, Mama. It’s the NMAA, and the NCAA, and the Olympics, and everybody. Mutants aren’t allowed to run track. They aren’t allowed to compete in anything. They say it’s not fair to the other athletes.” Marisol had to stop to catch her breath. She was almost shaking. “Please, Mama, can I just go to bed? I don’t want to talk about this.”
Her mother sighed and unlocked the door. Marisol threw the door open and jumped out. Somehow she made it inside the house and up to her room before she started sobbing.
Marisol spent Sunday in her room, lying in bed. Her mother came in once to ask if she wanted to go to Mass, but Marisol frowned and turned over in the bed to look the other way. After that, her mother left her alone to mope.
Marisol turned her phone and computer off. She didn’t want to explain to her disappointed teammates why she’d cost
them the meet. She was sure the rumors were already flying, anyway. She didn’t know which was worse, being a cheater or a doper or a mutant.
She thought about going running, but honestly, what was the point? It wasn’t like she was going to be allowed to compete again.
She was still lying on her bed feeling sorry for herself when her little sister burst into the room, as usual without knocking. She was out of breath. “Marisol, have you seen Gordita? She’s missing. I can’t find her anywhere.”
Gordita was an eight pound, long-haired stray cat Anna had adopted. She smelled like she’d lost a fight with a litter box and looked worse. She also liked to pee behind Marisol’s bed if she didn’t keep the door closed. “No, Anna, I haven’t seen your stupid cat. Have you looked in the back yard?”
“Mama said she’s not supposed to go outside. It’s too dangerous with the coyotes.”
“I don’t think your cat knows that, Anna. Did you leave the kitchen door open again?”
“No,” her sister said, but the rest of her face said yes.
“Go look in the back yard. Maybe she went out to hunt for lizards and fell asleep in the shed again.”
Anna’s face brightened. “OK. Thanks Marisol.” She ran out.
Marisol flopped over in the bed. Was her sister was going to be a mutant, too? If she was, her superpower would be annoying people until they killed themselves to get away from her.
Monday morning her mother breezed into Marisol’s room and flicked on the light at 6:30 A.M. on the dot. “Time to get up, dormilona.”
“Mama, let me sleep.” Marisol tried to hide her head under a pillow.
Her mother grabbed the pillow away from her and threw it on the floor. “No, you’re going to school today. Just because you lost a meet, doesn’t mean you get to stay home.”
Marisol pushed herself up. “I didn’t lose. I was disqualified.”
“Either way. You’re going to school.”
“What’s the point? I’m never going to get out of this hick town. I might as well drop out now and get a job at the Dairy Queen. It’s all I’m going to be allowed to do, anyway.”
Her mother sat down on the bed and put her hands on Marisol’s ears so she was looking straight into her eyes. “Marisol, you listen to me. You’re going to college, mutant gene or no mutant gene. If you can’t get a track scholarship, you’re just going to have to study harder, and that’s all there is to it.”
“But Mama—”
“No buts. Get up and get dressed. You’re going to school. The bus will be here in thirty minutes. Get moving.”
Marisol groaned and pulled herself out of bed. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to go to college if she couldn’t run track, but college or no college, she knew she didn’t want to go to school today. By now everyone at school knew she’d been disqualified, and they were going to pester her until they found out why. If she didn’t tell them, they were just going to make something up.
As she got dressed, she pondered whether it would be smarter to tell the truth or lie. Maybe she should tell them she flunked the drug test. Some of the boys used steroids. Why shouldn’t the girls? By the time the bus came, she still hadn’t made up her mind.
Marisol waited outside the school until the last possible minute, trying not to be noticed. She slipped in right before the bell. Jenni, a senior and the team captain, spotted her, but Marisol ran to Physics class before Jenni could ask her what had happened Saturday. Since Marisol was the only sophomore on the varsity team, at least she didn’t have classes with any of her teammates.
Physics had been Marisol’s favorite class. She loved how gravity, momentum and energy determined how balls would move under different forces. Most of the students thought it was pointless, just formulas to be memorized for an exam and then forgotten, but Marisol had loved it ever since she realized Mr. Bloomfield was talking about what happened on the track. Today it just reminded her of what she’d lost.
She thought she heard somebody whispering about her, but Mr. Bloomfield shut them down fast. For once she was glad he was so strict about talking in class. She wanted to put her head down and pretend she was invisible. Maybe that was her mutant power? That could be useful. She looked at her hand and imagined it going transparent, but it stayed annoyingly brown and opaque.
Marisol’s luck ran out at lunch when Jenni and Sara found her in the girls’ room. Jenni was first off the mark. “What happened at the meet on Saturday, Mari?”
Sara jumped in before Marisol had a chance to reply. “Yeah, we’ve been texting you all weekend, but you aren’t answering your phone.”
Marisol turned to the sink. Did she really have to tell them? “Guys, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“No way,” said Jenni. “You’re not getting off that easy. We practiced really hard for that meet, and if we lost it, I want to know why.”
“I’m sorry, Jenni. Really, I am. I wanted to win, too. And it’s not my fault. I can’t say why. Please don’t ask me to.” Marisol could feel the tears building up behind her eyes.
Sara took her by the shoulders, while Marisol stared into the sink. “Mari, it’s OK. You can tell us. We won’t tell anyone, at least not anyone who isn’t on the team. But I think we have a right to know, you know? Is it drugs? Are you taking steroids? or HGH?”
“If it is steroids,” Jenni piped in, “it’s not the end of the world. Some of the boys use them. There are ways you can hide it. You just have to stop taking them a few days before a meet. It might be good to give your body a break, anyway. You’ve been looking kind of beefy lately.”
Marisol twisted out of Sara’s arms. “Are you calling me fat?” Jenni was a twig. It was a miracle she could throw a javelin, much less a shot. She was only on the team because she ran fast.
“Geez, Mari, don’t bite our heads off. We care about you. If you’re having trouble we can help.”
“It’s not steroids, OK?”
“Then what is it?” Jenni asked. “It’s good for the team that you’re so — ” she paused to find the right word “ — muscular, but you’re bigger than rest of the sophomores. You’re bigger than most of the seniors. There must be a reason.”
Marisol’s face contorted in anger. “You want to know what’s wrong with me? You want to know why they disqualified me? Fine. I’m a mutant, OK? Are you happy now?”
Jenni’s eyes opened wider. “Wow, a mutant. I had no idea. Are you like, going to grow wings or something?”
“Or maybe be superfast?” Sara added.
“I don’t know. It’ll probably be something stupid, like turning myself purple or talking to squirrels.”
Jenni put her finger to her chin and pretended she was thinking. “I can see it now. You’ll be the Amazing Squirrel Girl, scaring evildoers with your super squirrel powers.”
“Yeah,” said Sara. “You can tickle them to death with your super squirrel tail.”
“Or stare them into submission with your super beady eyes,” added Jenni, and then she scrunched up her face and twitched her nose. Marisol couldn’t help herself. She laughed.
Jenni took Marisol’s hands in hers and looked into her face. “So, you’re really not going to run track anymore?”
“I want to, but I can’t. It’s against the rules.”
“What if we get you a secret identity?” Sara asked. “You could be the Masked Runner.”
“I don’t think masks are allowed, either,” Marisol said.
“That’s OK,” said Jenni. “We’ll figure something out. Com’ere.” She pulled Sara and Marisol into a hug. “It’s tradition, anyway. The wallflower on the sidelines is always the superhero who can outrace everyone. It’s going to be all right.”
Marisol snuggled up to the two girls. She smiled for the first time since the coach had told her. It felt good to know that even if she couldn’t be on the team, she still had friends.
When Marisol came home from school, Anna was sitting on the shag carpet in the living room watching TV. Gordita
was purring in her lap. The show was some Japanese cartoon about three mutant girls in pink costumes who fought mad scientists and giant lizards. Marisol had always thought the show was stupid, but now it seemed mean, too. “You’re home early,” Anna said without taking her eyes away from the TV.
“I don’t have to practice anymore. No reason to stay late.”
“Are you going to be on TV now?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I thought all mutants got to be on TV, like the Danger Damsels.” She pointed at the TV. “Are you going to be a Danger Damsel?”
“That’s not how it works, Anna. I don’t even know what my powers are yet. Sometimes it’s just something silly like stretching your arms a few inches or being really good at counting things. Some mutants don’t get any powers at all.”
Anna stroked Gordita, and wrinkled her brow. Finally she spoke. “So if you don’t have any superpowers, why won’t they let you run track?”
Marisol looked at the carpet. “I wish I knew.”
Marisol stood in front of the bathroom mirror. She was wearing her track and field uniform. It was the closest thing she had to a costume. “OK,” she said out loud even though no one else was in the room. “If I have to be a mutant, at least I can see what my powers are.”
Flying would be cool. She squinted and thought hard about leaving the floor, but her feet stayed firmly planted on the ground. She lifted herself up on her tiptoes and tried again. Still nothing. With an increasing degree of self-consciousness, she tried hopping, then jumping, but every time she came back to the ground with a powerless thud.
Not flight then. What else? Telepathy? She closed her eyes and tried to hear the thoughts of someone else in the house. She thought she heard something in the kitchen. Her mother was chopping onions. Marisol could almost smell them.
The bathroom door flew open. “Marisol, have you seen Gordita?” asked Anna.
“Get out!” screamed Marisol. “Don’t you ever knock? I don’t care about your stupid cat!”
