While Libby’s talking to herself or expressing her disappointment with God, it’s beyond awkward as the guys stand in front of me, probably not remotely interested in me, and certainly not fighting any urge to get closer.
“Hola,” says the second one with a black waterfall of sexy curls. “Jose Palovar from Chile. I apologize for not being female. I’ll talk to my parents about it.”
I smile at his comment. “You do that. I also think we can manage to keep our hands to ourselves, but I know I’m a lot to take in.” I laugh, but I’m not sure he understands that I’m joking. My humor doesn’t translate, apparently.
I realize the scent of oatmeal isn’t all that welcoming. It smells a bit like stale cheese in the makeshift cottage. For me, it brings up too many memories of welcoming people into my mother’s messy, craft-making lair. I feel that same sense of shame wash over me. I realize that shame shouldn’t be mine, but I’m embarrassed all the same.
Just once I’d like to “meet cute” instead of the series of humiliating introductions that happen to me. Just once, is that too much to ask?
The third guy follows after the other two, and my breath catches at the sight of him. He has those ice-blue eyes that I’ve seen only on models in perfume commercials. The eyes combined with jet-black hair give him an almost inhuman look. He’s the kind of person you can’t help but stare at, and I’m sure for him, that’s disconcerting. But dang! I wonder what that’s like to hover so far above the normal human fray.
“Leo Cristal.” He stretches out his hand, but I’m too mesmerized to reach for it. It’s not even that I’m interested. He’s way too out of my league, but I’ve never seen someone like him in person. He should be carved into marble and preserved.
“You’re a translator?” I say this as if I’m asking him if he can talk too. I try to recover some semblance of dignity. “You look like you should star in vampire movies.”
So much for dignity.
“Not much call for that down here.” He laughs. “Are you saying I look like a vampire?” He lifts his hands into claws.
How does one explain as a Christian that vampires are very popular right now? That it’s a compliment that I think he wants to suck someone’s blood?
Vampire movies. Is there really any recovering from that comment?
“Where are you from?” I ask Leo.
“Transylvania,” one of his friends answers with a laugh.
Leo is flushed, but his eyes soften as he acknowledges my humiliation. “Believe it or not, I’ve heard that before, so don’t feel bad. You’ll have to trust me that I make a better translator than a vampire. A better Christian too, and I’m a vegetarian.” He grins. “I’m from right around here. Just a few miles up the road.”
“Daisy, what are you talking about vampires for? What do they teach you in that Christian high school of yours? It’s like I say, America is on the fast track to trouble.” Libby stops and stares down at the stove. “Get to that oatmeal before it bubbles over,” she says, and I suddenly feel like Cinderella.
I walk to the stove and the giant metal pot and begin to stir the thick, bubbling brew. With both hands on the long wooden spoon, it does seem like I could make an incantation over the oatmeal, but I think that would be the final straw for Libby and my dark American ways. I’m on shaky ground as it is. I wish I understood why everyone assumes I’m such trouble before giving me an opportunity to prove myself a nuisance.
Libby climbs down the ladder from her loft. Her hair is straw-colored and without life. She’s wearing beige cotton pants and a billowy, shade-of-wheat shirt. In a country full of color, Libby takes bland to an art form. She walks straight up to the three young men and stares them down as if they’re all guilty of something.
“I specifically asked for female translators. Does your mission service have trouble telling the difference?”
“The mission group had a shortage of women this month. They figured males would be better than no one,” says Oscar, the tallest with the bad mustache.
Libby groans. “It would have been nice if they’d warned me. The accommodations aren’t really set up for both male and female workers.”
Oscar stares at me. “That won’t be a problem if there’s only Daisy, right?”
Libby focuses her laser glare on me. “I suppose I can send you back to the hotel with your parents. We can make do with one less.”
“But Libby, I came all the way from California to fulfill my scholarship requirements.”
She gives me a cursory glance and goes back to speaking. “As I was saying, I guess God has decided the team will be all male this time.”
“Libby, you don’t need to make Daisy leave,” Oscar says. “I’m certain we can all control ourselves. She’s like our little sister. Right, guys?”
I realize they are trying to stand up for me, but to be so quick to call me a little sister isn’t doing anything for my already bruised ego. Is it wrong to wish they had the decency to pretend that they’re salivating and will control themselves no matter how hard it is?
Libby purses her lips. “If we’re going to be male this week, maybe you should go and stay with your parents, Daisy. That would be the sacrificial thing to do.”
“It totally would be, but then I don’t meet my scholarship requirements and have nowhere to go in the fall. I think you’ll agree college is something I can’t forgo, no matter how generous I’m feeling.”
“Why didn’t you think of all this ahead of time?”
“I did!” I say with too much force. “But the letter didn’t arrive until late, and by then my summer was already planned. We got out of high school fairly late, and college starts early, so there wasn’t a lot of time. Do you want to sign off on the paperwork?”
“Not if you don’t meet the requirements. Are you asking me to lie for you?”
“No, of course not. But I’m anxious to help here, and I’m not sure what else to do. It’s hardly my fault the team turned out to be male.”
“Life is never fair, Daisy. The sooner you learn that lesson, the easier your life will be.”
“Please, I need the credits for school!”
This is my punishment for wanting a luxurious vacation rather than simply taking the time to work at my church’s food bank. I know it is. If I hadn’t wanted it all and just accepted the scholarship and been content, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have wasted a trip halfway around the world to be dumped by Max and put my scholarship at risk.
“That’s unfortunate, but Daisy, you understand I’ll have a hundred children here this week. They have to be my first priority.”
“Naturally, but Libby, I think you’d be surprised how well the guys and I could work together, and we might change your mind about mixed teams. You might see an advantage to them.”
“I doubt that.”
“My parents can come stay and chaperone if you’re worried about that.” I regret this the second it pops out of my mouth.
“There’s no room for your parents, Daisy. That’s why they left in the first place.”
“Not even out in the classroom?”
“No.”
Feeling more desperate, I start to panic. “Leo, you’re not going to be overcome by passion for me while you translate, am I right? Couldn’t I just sleep on the porch?”
Leo laughs. “You’re a beautiful girl, but we’re here to work.”
“Do you see?” Libby says. “He acknowledges you’re beautiful, and the fact that he notices renders you useless.”
“He was being polite!” I counter. He’s so out of my league, can’t she see that? If not, I suggest she get thee to an optometrist. “I need this, and I’m good with kids, Libby. I’ll be too busy to think about guys. What can I do to prove it to you?”
She stares at me, her beady eyes calculating all that I’m capable of doing with my pure animal magnetism. Ha!
“Every summer these kids rifle in here for the free food and plastic toys at the end of the day, and
we’ve got that one chance to hit ’em with the gospel. I don’t want the leaders being sidetracked by any Latino love moves, you got it?”
“We want the same thing!” I say. And to their credit, the guys nod. I’m just praying no one announces they wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole. That’s a truth I can do without, even if it does spare me my scholarship.
She invades each guy’s space and looks directly into their eyes, mere inches from their noses. “Do any of you have divinity school experience?”
Leo, the vampire, nods. “We’re all in theology school. We’re all about self-control, Libby. I assure you.”
“Then I suppose I have no choice but to trust you, but Daisy, if you want to stay, you need your mother or another female here. I’ll be too busy to keep an eye on you, and I’m not going to risk my funding by running a Christian dating service by night.”
“Can’t I just stay in the house like I did last night?” I ask. “I can’t cause any trouble that way, right?”
“I’m sorry, did I stutter?” Libby asks me. “My husband doesn’t want to sleep in the car again.”
“Your husband?”
“Everybody decent?” Hank, the man who drove my parents to town, sticks his head in the house.
“You’re married?”
“That’s my husband, Hank.”
Hank is a middle-aged man, wide in girth, with a baggy face and a permanent look of worry. I imagine that comes from being married to Libby.
I reach out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Daisy. Thanks so much for taking my parents to the hotel last night. I had no idea I put you out. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s no problem, sweetheart. I’m only glad we had a place to put you. Your parents sure are proud of you. A full-ride scholarship. That is really something!”
“She can’t have her scholarship if she doesn’t complete this mission trip,” Leo, my vampire hero, says.
“Good thing you’re here then.”
I run to the stove to check the oatmeal and turn off the heat. The last thing I need to do is come between Libby and Hank and then, on top of it, burn the oatmeal.
“Hank, Daisy is the only girl on this crew. You know we have no place to house her.”
“I’ll call my best friend. The two of us can sleep in Hank’s car!” I offer, thinking there is probably no chance of Claire checking out of her luxury suite to sleep in a car in the barrio. But I’m desperate.
Libby puts a finger to her chin. “That would work. You know how to reach her?”
“I just have to put a call in at her hotel. She can most likely be here by the end of the day.”
And at the same time, we might want to look out for the pigs flying by.
J.C. appears behind Hank in the doorway. “Brrr. Anyone mind if I come in? That classroom is freezing out there. Should I get a fire going?”
“There’s no wood for the day,” Libby says. “When the kids are here tomorrow, the room will be warm enough from body heat. Daisy, are you watching the oats?”
“I just turned off the heat and stirred them again.”
“That’s tomorrow. I’m cold now,” J.C. says.
“You American kids. All you do is complain. When you see how the kids down here have it, you’ll sing a different tune. Put on a sweater.”
J.C. opens his mouth—I assume to explain his ministry background—but he shuts it quickly. I think that was the right move. Libby is one of those people who doesn’t invite freedom of expression easily.
“May I use the phone to call my friend and see if she can stay?’
“Hank, how do you feel about the girls in your car?”
“Well, terrible. I don’t want them to sleep in the car. I can sleep out there. It’s only a week.”
“No, I want these kids to learn what sacrifice is, and I think it’s important that things aren’t always done to make their life easier. We have rules here at the mission and they’re always the same rules. I can’t go changing them because my college roommate’s daughter is here.”
I stammer a bit and then stand back and point to the phone. “I need to run up to my backpack and get her number.”
“You can do that after breakfast. Let’s get breakfast cleared up and get on to the day’s planning. J.C., I suppose you’ll have to lead with the translators, seeing as how we didn’t get enough women. I suppose that means you’re on cook duty, Daisy.”
“Cook duty?” Have mercy. I came down to help, not harm. The one time I could really use my parents’ help, they are nowhere to be found, and Claire’s experience is relegated to calling for takeout. Not that she’s going to agree to this fiasco. But one can hope. And pray.
“This may be the only meal those kids get today. It’s important work.”
“No, I know, I just—” Can’t . . . cook.
“Everything is simple enough, you’ll be fine. Boys, eat up, we need to get out to the classroom. We’re going to have five stations set up when the rest of the local students get here.”
“Are they women?”
“It doesn’t matter, Daisy, they don’t spend the night.”
“Maybe I—” I shut my mouth at her expression.
“If we run low on translators, the craft station is the easiest to explain without words.” Libby opens a cabinet and pulls down six wooden bowls, then she opens a drawer and takes out mix-and-match spoons. She places them on the table. “You, the tall one—”
“Oscar,” he says.
“Oscar, I want you as a witness to what I’m about to say to all of the volunteers this season, and I’ll repeat myself, but I run a tight ship.”
“I can see that,” Oscar says.
“Serve up the oatmeal, Daisy. We have a long day ahead of us.”
Some of us longer than others. I pick up the giant spoon and begin serving the bowls of what I imagine to be crunchy oatmeal. Or maybe just chewy, like wet sawdust. Either way, I think this group of boy band members is not going to be bowled over by my culinary skills, nor excited about a week of eating my cooking, but it’s a job that fulfills my requirements and that’s all that matters. Now I just have to get Claire or my mother to have mercy on me and join me as Cinderella.
Libby clears her throat. “As you can see, we will probably be shorthanded this week. That means that I expect everyone to pull their own weight, and if you’re here for any type of school or community service credit”—she looks right at me when she says this—“I am not a pushover when it comes to signing paperwork. If you want the credit necessary for school, you will do the work, and you will do it to my specifications. Is that clear?”
“She ain’t kidding,” Hank adds.
She rambles on for some time, and we sit down to eat while she takes Oscar out to the classroom building to get something down for her. I breathe a sigh of relief just by her leaving the room—the air suddenly feels lighter. Hank follows her outside.
“She’s a piece of work,” J.C. whispers in my ear.
“Shh. She’s probably got the place bugged.”
“Did you ever hear from your date?”
I shake my head. “It seems coming to Buenos Aires may have been a bad idea all around. I should have stayed home and worked in my church’s food bank. Not only could I have been dumped stateside, but it seems I could have gotten my college credits a lot easier too.”
J.C. puts his arm around me. “It will be over before you know it, and we’ll be learning to surf in Malibu. Because you know we’re just spoiled Americans, might as well live up to our stereotype.”
J.C. makes me smile. He hears Libby’s voice and drops his arm immediately.
“I hope Max is all right. It’s not like him to just disappear without a word.” But maybe it is and I haven’t faced reality. Maybe I’m meant to be single for the rest of my life, and this is the time to face it so I can concentrate on the life God has for me.
“Really?” J.C. says as if he doesn’t believe me, and for a moment I have to wonder.
&nbs
p; “I didn’t think so. He picked my parents and me up at the airport.”
“That was seen.”
“Pardon?”
“When people do nice things and it’s only stuff that’s seen by others? You have to wonder if that’s who they really are or if this is who he really is.”
“I’m not following.”
“My mom’s a psychologist, so she talks about this stuff all the time. Maybe Max is really a jerk, but he doesn’t want your parents to think that, so he acts right when they’re around. Any reason he needs to impress them?”
“Not in the least.”
J.C. shrugs. “So maybe I’m wrong. All I can say is that I wouldn’t do that to a girl I liked. Maybe to a girl I was trying to lose, but not to a girl I liked.”
“So what does that say about you and your girlfriend? Aren’t you going to Pepperdine when she’s going to ASU? Are you trying to lose her?”
“No comment, as I fear it might get a cereal bowl thrown at me.”
I pick up my bowl of flavorless oatmeal and put it on the table. If this mission trip’s aim was to make me feel useless, worthless, and humbled, I think my work is done here. And it hasn’t even begun.
7
My Life: Stop—July 7
Factoid: My internship is “illegal,” or unregistered, as they call it here. To work legally, I needed to have temporary residence, but because of the short time frame, I was assured this wouldn’t be necessary. Well, that and the fact that there’s no pay, so what’s to quibble about, right?
I’ve never worked so hard to stay on a vacation in my life, and I’m not even wanting to be on this vacation. My mother’s college roommate is a piece of work. Even as I write this, I’m afraid she’s looking over my shoulder and looking for an excuse to send me packing.
I left a guilt-ridden (worthy of my mother!) and pleading message for Claire at her hotel, but no doubt she was off learning the tango with some of Argentina’s sexiest teenagers and then soothing her tired muscles with a hot rock massage back at the hotel spa.
I also left a message for my mother asking for money. I figure if I can hitch a ride back to their hotel or pay for a closer one, I’d be considered local and Libby would have no choice but to reinstate my missionary status.
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