“I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do first.”
“Just tell me whenever you want to, you know, talk about things,” Brenda says. “And whatever happened with Alan, I know he just wants you to be OK.”
“I just need to think.”
“Sometimes you think too much, girl.” Brenda slides her hands around the steering wheel and finally backs out of the apartment complex.
I stare out the window, squinting in the too-bright morning light. Everybody at school is going to take one look at me and know. Slut! Cheat! Liar! And then the thought of seeing Alan—I can’t. I’ve got to keep him away, at least for now. I pull out a piece of paper and write a note.
“Do me one favor,” I say a few minutes later as I fold the note. “Give this to Alan for me?”
“Give it to him yourself. You know he’s going to be waiting for you in the cafeteria.”
“I can’t, not today. Got to go straight to the calculus sweatshop.” I try to sound like the same old Marisa.
“Fine, I’ll give it to him.” Brenda holds out her hand and takes it. For once, she doesn’t press for more information.
When we’re pulling into the student lot, I grab my bag and start to open my door before she parks.
Brenda pulls over to the curb. “OK, eager beaver.” She smiles at me, but her eyes are worried.
“I’ll be in Ms. Ford’s room.” I shrug my backpack onto my shoulders and swallow back the sick taste that comes up in my throat.
Ms. Ford frowns as soon as I walk in and points at one of the chairs by her desk. “Go ahead and sit down. You need to see your score from Friday’s practice test.”
Perfect. The last thing I need is more bad news.
“You’ve got to know, it’s awful.” She sighs and hands the test to me.
I unfold it slowly. Before my brain can process what’s there, Ms. Ford starts laughing. “Awfully amazing!”
Across the bottom of the exam, it says in huge letters, “YOU PASSED! THIS WOULD BE COLLEGE CREDIT ON THE REAL AP EXAM!”
“You’re sure?” I turn the test over like it might have a failing grade on the back.
“Sure as sure.” Ms. Ford takes a powdered donut from a box on her desk and offers me one. “You’re a little weak on the multiple choice section, but you and Julio aced the open-response questions. I knew you could catch up.”
I blink, thinking of the T-shirt from Alan. Butterfly Brand Catch-up. I don’t think I can ever smile again. I hand the test back to her.
“So, uh, I—I just want to know what I missed yesterday and Monday,” I say. My face feels hot, and there’s not enough air in this room.
“Only a review of the exam. I’ll give you a copy of the answer explanations. What’s wrong? You should be proud.” Ms. Ford comes to my side of her desk and studies my face.
“Your sister?” she asks in a you-can-trust-me voice.
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” I say. I can’t look her in the eye, so I stare at her pale, freckled arms.
“Sometimes not talking just makes things worse.”
She wants a story, I can tell, but there’s no story for me to tell. Just black feelings balled up inside me.
“Excuse me, miss.” I don’t wait for her to say goodbye. I have to get out the door before I start crying.
When the first period bell rings, I’m still hiding in the last bathroom stall. It’s the closest thing to privacy in a building with three thousand other people.
Somebody bangs on the stall door. “What the hell are you doing in there? Painting your toenails? I got to piss.”
I clear my throat. “Sorry, not feeling too good.” I hold my breath until the tardy bell rings, and the bathroom empties out.
I slide down the wall and pull my knees up to my chest. My head aches, and my breathing is ragged and full of tears. I press my cheek against the cool tiles, not even caring if they’re dirty.
I don’t want to think about anything, but when I close my eyes I see the note I wrote to Alan.
————
Alan,
Sorry for Sunday night. Please don’t call me. I know you’ll understand. You always do.
—Marisa
————
chapter 24
“Seriously, I’d let you stay longer,” Cecilia says, flattening her hands against the kitchen counter, “but the last thing I need is one more strike against me, sabes? Papi’s had time to cool down. He probably doesn’t even remember what happened.”
“Yeah, right.” We both know that Papi holds grudges like they’re gold.
“Well, anyway, Ma misses you mucho.”
“Don’t worry about it. I understand,” I say. For once, Cecilia’s in the position I usually get stuck with: trying to help without getting pulled down into the mess.
“I called Gustavo, and he’s going to pick you up from work tonight.”
“OK.” I focus on the sandwich and spread the mustard all the way to the edge of the bread. Just like in the commercials. I stack the turkey and cheese on top.
“Look, I hate to bring this up, but can you keep Anita tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I say. “Thanks for letting me crash here and everything.”
“What matters is that it’s all OK now. And no more fights with Papi. I’m telling you, you will be jodida if you don’t get your little butt into college. I will personally kick your ass.” She grins and takes a bite of my sandwich. “But it’s kind of cool to know you’re not a total saint.”
I have to close at work, so it’s already late when I walk out into the parking lot. Gustavo’s truck is in one of the first spaces. I open the door and climb in.
“Hey, sis,” he says. “How are you?”
“How do you think? Sunday was rough.”
“I know what you mean,” Gustavo says.
Like hell he does. He fiddles with his stereo, rolling through all the FM stations before sliding in a Tejano CD I hate.
“What are you waiting for?” I ask because I don’t know what else to say. But if he wants to sit in the parking lot all night long, fine by me. I’m in no hurry.
“Just wanted to talk. Pops, uh, he hasn’t said a thing since you’ve been gone. Just been hiding out in the bedroom and staying late at work.”
Staying late means drinking at the bar next to the welding shop where he works.
“And Mami?”
“She told me about the fight. It sucks, but you know how Papi is. You’ve just got to do what he says. Give him a little more money if that’s what he wants.”
“Easy for you to say. I can’t help it if I haven’t been able to keep the same hours at work. My free time goes to taking care of Anita. By myself. Don’t get me started on that, Gustavo. You haven’t exactly been my hero lately.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says. “That thing about not working Saturdays, just so you can go to school even more, it’s ...”
“Not something you would do, I know. But I actually care about school. And I am working Saturdays, pendejo, just not in the morning.” I cross my arms.
“You make such a big deal about that stupid math class. You graduate in a month. Why sweat it?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” I stare out the window and wish I could just zap myself straight into bed. I don’t want to face my mom, or worse, my dad.
“Don’t be pissed at me, Marisa. I’m just your tonto Tavi.”
I bite my lip. I haven’t called Gustavo “Tavi” since we were little. I swear I’m not going to cry.
“We kind of figured something out, Mami and me,” he says. “I’m going to give you forty-five bucks a week to give Papi with your check. I already worked it out in my head. I just have to do one extra transmission a week. No big thing.”
“You’re serious?”
“I mean, it’s weird to care so much about school, but you’ve always been weird. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Anyway, after you graduate, you can fend for yourself. But for now,
Ma’s going to help, too. Remember those napkins she used to make with Tía Elena? Para bodas? So there’s this wedding planner that buys cakes from the bakery, and she said she’d pay Ma twenty bucks for cada set of eight. That extra money goes to you, too, so you can pay Pops more without giving up your school stuff.”
“But Mami never goes against him.”
“She wants you to come home.”
I stare at him because I don’t know what to say. Then I lean over and hug him like I am five again.
“Familia takes care of familia. We’re going to make it,” Gustavo says.
“Here, mija, your favorite,” Mami says the minute we walk into the kitchen. She puts a pineapple empanada on a plate and motions me to the table. I thank her, but I sit for a long time just staring at the pastry. The only sound is Mami sliding her crucifix back and forth on its chain.
“Mira,” she says finally, “your papi is not a bad man.” She leans toward me, and the shadows under her eyes seem darker than usual. The whole kitchen looks dingier, too. Then I realize it just seems that way because Gustavo finally replaced the burnt-out lightbulb over the table.
“I know he’s not.” I break off a piece of empanada and nibble it. The sweet filling turns my stomach, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
“Sometimes things from his past make it so that he acts bad sin querer. He doesn’t mean to hurt us, it just happens.”
“It sure felt like he wanted to hurt me,” I say to the empanada.
“Gustavo told you about our plan?” Her voice brightens.
“Sí. Gracias, Mami. It means a lot that you want to help me. Makes me proud to be who I am.” I talk fast because I don’t feel proud at all. But that isn’t her fault.
“It will get us through for a while, pero I’ve been thinking maybe being around your father is not so good for you.”
“What do you mean?” I study her face. All I see are worry lines and the tiny hairs growing out of the mole by her ear.
“Your papi, he’s not going to change,” she says. “You are a good daughter, mija, but ...”
“I don’t know what else to do, Ma. I just want to pass my AP calculus exam and graduate ready for college. Pero después, I can work sixty hours a week if he wants. I can . . .”
“You won’t need to. You won’t have to worry about your papi anymore,” Mami says. She lets go of her crucifix, and her fingers drift to the wedding band on her left hand.
“Mami?”
“Sí, mija?”
“Are you . . . are you thinking of, you know, divorcing Papi?”
“Por Dios, no!” She crosses herself. “La iglesia nos enseña—”
“I know what the church says. I just thought—OK, forget I said that. So how are things going to change?” I pick at the empanada a little more.
Her voice comes out soft and low, almost pleading. “You need to settle down with that Alan. Es un buen hombre, mija, a really good man.”
The bit of pastry in my mouth turns to chalk.
“He’s ready, mija. He just wants to take care of you. You finish school soon; you could have a summer wedding, start your own life. Imagínate, you won’t have to be here with your father anymore.”
“Where’s this coming from, Ma? He’s not— We barely started dating!”
“The best for you is to be away from here a little. Your father will always be too hard on you.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Ma. No way we’re ready to get married. Alan doesn’t even . . .”
“He’s ready, mija.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He came here Monday. He said you didn’t come to school. Ay, cariño, he was so worried about you.”
What am I supposed to do with this? Now I find out that when I thought he never wanted to see me again, he was here making plans with my mom? Why didn’t he come find me, come tell me that everything was OK between us? Why didn’t he come to Ceci’s instead of Pedro? But these questions are pointless because I’ve already screwed everything up. Nearly got screwed. There’s no way for things to be OK now.
“If you stay here, your father will keep making things hard for you. No es justo, but that’s how he is.” She’s talking fast now, like maybe she can tell I’m getting lost in my own thoughts. “Just hang on a little, and then Alan will be the one in charge.”
“Come on, Ma. He only thinks he means it. And anyway, I’m the one who’s in charge of me.”
She gives me this sad smile that says she’s sorry I’m so confused about the world and why can’t I see the solution in front of me? She puts her hand on my arm. “OK, mija. Eat a little more and go to bed. You’ll see things different tomorrow.”
“Maybe,” I say. I just want to go to my room. I force another bite of empanada and kiss her good night.
I thought I’d feel better back in my own bed, but instead I feel like there’s a giant pit inside me, and I’m about to get sucked into it. I get up and pick Paco up from where Anita left him in the corner last time she was here. I lie back down and wrap my arms around his soft teddy-bear belly. The dizzy, sick feeling comes back, and I squeeze my eyes tight against it. I try to pray for sleep. And when sleep doesn’t come, I pray for forgiveness. And when the guilt doesn’t go, I pray to forget.
April
chapter 25
“You’ve got to take it,” Brenda whispers. “He made me promise I’d put it into your hands.”
I shake my head, but I let Brenda slide the envelope over to me. I can’t open it. Alan thinks he knows what happened, and maybe he can forgive me for the way I acted at his house, but there’s no way he can forgive what I did with Pedro. It would only hurt him to know.
I scribble across the envelope and pass it back to Brenda.
She stares at the block letters of my one-word reply: SORRY. Our government teacher starts giving instructions for a project, but Brenda snaps her fingers until I look her way. She points at the letter and mouths, “What the hell?”
“Later,” I mouth back.
“You can’t expect me to give him this,” Brenda says after class.
“Please, Brenda.”
“I’m going to open it if you won’t.”
“If it’ll make you feel better,” I say.
“What would make me feel better is for my best friend to tell me what’s wrong! The boy you used to be crazy about has been trying to talk to you, but you just push him away. You won’t respond to his texts, you ignore his calls, you return his notes without reading them. So you didn’t want to spend the night at Alan’s after the fight, whatever. But what happened?”
“Sometimes things happen that are better not to talk about,” I say. I want her to understand that I don’t want to hurt anyone, that I’m trying to hold back the hurt.
“I love how you trust me so much to help with your problems,” Brenda says. Her sarcasm feels like a slap.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Stop saying that! You’re always sorry, but never sorry enough to do anything. It doesn’t make sense. What’s up with you?”
When I don’t say anything, Brenda grabs her bag and throws it over her shoulder. “I guess I’ve got to give this ‘treasure’ to Alan. Awesome. You know that Jimmy benched him because he can’t think straight enough to play baseball? He’s going nuts over this. Look, don’t expect any more favors from me.” She turns away from my desk and walks out of the room without looking back.
I just sit there. I should be running after her, trying to patch things up, but the thing is that I’m scared to be in the rush of people in the hall. I can’t stand to feel all those bodies move against me. I don’t want anybody to touch me. Because there’s no way to know what they’re thinking, what they would do to you if there was nothing to stop them.
“Can I stay here for lunch, miss?”
“Again?” Ms. Ford looks up from her desk. “Don’t you ever eat in the cafeteria?”
“Please,” I say.
“You know wher
e the problems from old exams are. But you can’t hide out here forever.”
I don’t need forever, just until school is out. She can’t say no today, anyway. I’m not the only one coming for extra help during lunch. Everybody’s cramming for next week’s AP exam.
I pull a problem sheet from the table scattered with handouts and sit down at a desk by the wall. I put a hand on the window. Everything is green and new outside, but I don’t feel anything. There’s the warmth of the glass against my skin, but it can’t get inside me where everything is frozen. Mrs. Garza made us read this poem in class that said “April is the cruelest month.” Everybody else thought that was stupid, how was a month going to be cruel? But to me it makes perfect sense. It’s cruel because the whole world turns pretty and green while everything in your life is going sour. And you can’t blame anybody but yourself.
Calculus is the only thing that can make me forget how messed up I am. The numbers are always the same, always predictable, always safe. The magic works until the bell rings.
I’m gathering up my books when Ms. Ford points to the door. “Somebody’s waiting for you.”
“You can’t keep doing this to me,” I say.
“Can you hear yourself? What about what you’re doing to me? You’ve got to talk to me. Please, Marisa.” Alan reaches out for my hand, but I take a step back.
“You only think you want to talk. Shit’s happened that you can’t even understand. It’s—”
“Who says I won’t understand? You’re the one who doesn’t understand. I’m ready to support you.”
“I’ve heard all about how ready you are,” I say. I guess I’m really loud because a couple of people down the hall turn to stare. I lower my voice a little. “My mom told me about your little visit. Don’t you know me better than that? I don’t want to get married, not right now.”
He puts his hands up. “I know that was a bad idea. I just felt so freaking useless seeing you get torn up by your dad again. I wanted to help.”
What Can't Wait Page 11
