The F Factor

by Diane Gonzales Bertrand

  THE F FACTOR

  ALSO BY DIANE GONZALES BETRAND

  Alicia’s Treasure

  Close to the Heart

  The Empanadas that Abuela Made /

  Las empanadas que hacía la abuela

  El dilema de Trino

  Family, Familia

  The Last Doll / La última muñeca

  Lessons of the Game

  El momento de Trino

  Ricardo’s Race / La carrera de Ricardo

  The Ruiz Street Kids / Los muchachos de la calle Ruiz

  Sip, Slurp, Soup, Soup / Caldo, caldo, caldo

  Sweet Fifteeen

  Trino’s Choice

  Trino’s Time

  Uncle Chente’s Picnic / El picnic de Tío Chente

  Upside Down & Backwards / De cabeza y al revés

  We Are Cousins / Somos primos

  THE F FACTOR

  Diane Gonzales Bertrand

  The F Factor is made possible through grants from the City of Houston through the Houston Arts Alliance and by the Exemplar Program, a program of Americans for the Arts in collaboration with the LarsonAllen Public Services Group, funded by the Ford Foundation.

  Piñata Books are full of surprises!

  Arte Público Press

  University of Houston

  452 Cullen Performance Hall

  Houston, Texas 77204-2004

  Cover design by Mora Des!gn

  Bertrand, Diane Gonzales

  The F Factor / by Diane Gonzales Bertrand.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Javier Ávila, a smart but clumsy sophomore at St. Peter’s High School, thinks it is a mistake when he is placed in the new course, Media Broadcasting, but over the course of the year, he discovers self-confidence, the value of extracurricular activities, and a talent for broadcast journalism.

  ISBN 978-1-55885-598-4 (alk. paper)

  [1. Television broadcasting—Fiction. 2. Self-confidence—Fiction. 3. Stereotypes (Social psychology)—Fiction. 4. Catholic schools—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction. 6. Hispanic Americans—Fiction. 7. Family life—Texas—Fiction. 8. Texas—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.B46357Faf 2010

  [Fic]—dc22

  2010000645

  The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984.

  © 2010 by Diane Gonzales Bertrand

  Printed in the United States of America

  April 2010–May 2010

  Versa Press Inc., East Peoria, IL

  12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For

  Suzanne and Nick

  and

  to my students

  past, present, and future

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Finale

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  Flashing lights roamed the neighborhood like red ghosts. Emergency vehicles blocked the street. Thick drizzle made for a messy rescue. The crackle of radios, men yelling orders, and the quick appearance of neighbors staring from their porches and standing in their front yards made Javier Ávila think he was watching a movie. But when the emergency technicians placed a mask over his friend’s face, Javier knew he wasn’t looking at a screen with carefully edited images for dramatic effect. This crisis was in-your-face reality.

  “Why don’t you open your eyes? Can’t you hear all the noise?” Javier whispered. He stood a few feet away, living the surreal experience of watching an EMT pressing his fingers against pulse points, his friend lying in the wet grass, unresponsive.

  Someone tugged Javier’s arm. A young policewoman tried to pull him toward the ambulance. He jerked his arm out of her grip. “No,” he told her. “I want to stay—” He started coughing and gasping for air. His raw throat, the throbbing in his head; he bent over, gripping his hands on his knees, hoping he wouldn’t pass out again.

  The woman took advantage of his weak moment and pulled Javier firmly across the yard. Too miserable to fight her, he stumbled toward the ambulance. He looked over his shoulder one last time. Two men were lifting his friend onto a stretcher.

  A thin black man wearing an EMT uniform helped Javier climb into the ambulance and gently placed him on a side bench. In moments, Javier was wearing a plastic mask over his mouth and was told, “Breathe easy. Relax.” The technician went on to check his pulse and blood pressure.

  Javier saw the old woman sitting across from him, her face streaked with black, her dirty nightgown ragged at the hem. Someone had wrapped her in a blanket and given her slippers that looked way too big for her feet. When she saw him looking, her brown eyes filled with tears. Tears trickled down her weathered dark face. She made the sign of the cross over herself and prayed, “El Señor es mi luz y mi salvación.”

  Witnessing this act of faith made Javier’s breathing easier. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. God, please help my friend.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Javier’s itchy feet always warned him when something was going to change. He never called himself psychic, but he could trust the itch for what it was: an annoying reminder that he had little control of his own life.

  That humid August day of tenth grade orientation at St. Peter’s High School, his itchy feet practically forced him up on tiptoes when he stood in the library before the Dean of Students, Mr. Roy Quintanilla. Javier pressed his heels into the carpeted floor and tried not to look surprised by the sudden irritation. He was a sophomore, back for another year in a familiar all-boys environment. Upperclassmen swore sophomores were nobodies; sophomore year was so dull that even the teachers got bored.

  Why would Javier’s itch start now when orientation day was almost over?

  Mr. Q. glanced up and handed Javier a half page with columns and words in computer print. “Ávila, here’s your schedule.”

  Javier looked down, scanning the paper quickly. The first-period class looked unfamiliar. “Uh, Mr. Quintanilla?”

  “Yes? What!” He crossed through Javier’s name on the list in front of him.

  Javier hesitated. Any extra contact with the big man was scary. Roy Quintanilla had been a basketball super-star when he was a student at the school twenty years earlier. Now Mr. Q. owned the reputation of being visible and invisible at the same time, and those who crossed the man either changed their ways or filled out transfer forms.

  Javier’s voice squeaked slightly when he said, “Media Broadcasting. I have it first period. Sir, I didn’t choose this class.”

  “New elective. You’re one of the lucky ones. Now move along, Ávila,” Mr. Quintanilla answered with a wave of his hand. The line of sophomores behind Javier grumbled, coughed, and shifted around him. They all wanted to get through the line and go home.

  Javier’s itchy feet prickled inside his black dress shoes as he moved to a side table to pick up the sophomore supply list. He felt a rap of pencils on his shoulder and turned to see his friend Andy Cardona grinning at him. Andy always heard a beat in his head. He drummed on anything and anyone around him.

  “Hey, did you get that new elective first period?” Javier asked.

  “Get real! It’s always band first period for us.” Andy glanced from his schedule to Javier’s. “We got E
nglish, History, Chemistry, and Algebra together. That’s good!”

  Ignacio Gómez wandered up to where they stood. The guy was a one-man sweat machine. Since they were all in ties and long-sleeved shirts, the sweat poured down his chunky brown face in rolling drops that he wiped away with his thick fingers and swiped across his dark pants. “Andy, let’s go over to the band hall and see if Mr. Henley’s there. I need to talk to him.”

  Javier decided to follow his friends out when someone grabbed his arm. “Javier Ávila, here you are! I want to talk to you.”

  He turned back and saw the school counselor. Brother Calvin wore his usual uniform of a white shirt and thin black tie with black slacks. Behind his back, the boys called him “Brother Calavera” because he looked like a skeleton. His long face and light blue-gray eyes seemed to disappear in his pale white skin.

  “Gotta go!” Andy and Ignacio said together and quickly hustled out of the library.

  Cowards! Javier thought as his friends left him alone with the skeletal counselor. He tried to sound relaxed, even though every conversation with the man left Javier feeling irritated. “Do you need something, Brother?”

  Brother Calvin released Javier’s arm. “Come with me, Javier. There’s someone who needs to meet you.”

  If only the words had come from anyone else but a middle-aged teacher! In an all-boys school, everybody wanted “someone” to be the good-looking sister or pretty friend of a girlfriend. In this case, a new student probably needed a tour or something.

  Reluctantly, Javier followed Brother Calvin out of the library and into the hallway of the main school building.

  Paper banners decorated the walls above the lockers with colorful proclamations: “Go Guardians! All the way to state! Guardian football players are winners!”

  Regardless of the school spirit around them, walking in the empty halls left Javier feeling uneasy. He started a conversation just to break the silence. “So, Brother, what’s the mystery? Who are you taking me to meet?”

  Brother Calvin pointed the way out the side door. “Saint Peter’s got approved for a grant last spring that comes with a brand new program.”

  Javier stepped on an uncomfortable itch under the soles of his feet. “And this involves me because?”

  “Because I told everybody you’d be good for the job.”

  “What job?” Javier pushed away the urge to stop and scratch. “Brother Calvin, I don’t have time for anything else on my schedule this year.”

  He just replied, “Follow me, Javier.”

  A wide portable building now sat where an empty lot used to be. The guys called it “Q’s Graveyard.” Students who got into trouble would spend their Saturdays cutting the lot with a push mower.

  There was little grass left around the building, a one-story structure the color of faded bricks. Just below the roof ran a series of six narrow windows, each one no bigger than a shoebox. There were two doors, both wider than regular doors, and both had wooden access ramps in an L-shape. They met up with brand new sidewalks that reached from the new building to the school cafeteria.

  The building looked similar to the portables where the computer classes were taught. Javier asked, “Is this a new computer lab?”

  The old man didn’t answer.

  Javier followed Brother Calvin up the four long steps between the ramps that gave the building a front porch with railings. Brother reached the wide door and opened it. “Step inside, Javier.”

  Javier shivered from the unexpected cold air against his sweaty skin. He walked inside the door and looked around. Unlike other classrooms, this one had short tables with chairs in three neat rows to replace the typical school desks. The tabletops look shiny and unmarked. Four computers were set into individual cubicles near the teacher’s desk.

  “Mr. Seneca? It’s Brother Calvin, and I’ve brought along Javier Ávila,” he called out. Then he gestured for Javier to walk further into the room.

  Two large black cabinets faced each other along the side rear walls. One of the black doors was open. Slowly, a motorized wheelchair backed out and the door swung closed. The man in the chair shifted the stick on the right and moved forward until the door was closed and the keys in the lock were turned and taken out. Thick brown fingers on his left hand formed a tight fist over the keys while his right hand worked the stick shift. His chair backed up, then swiveled around. Quickly, he moved forward.

  He sat tall in his chair and looked directly at Javier as he rode up. His dark eyes were set deep in his brown face. His long nose and high forehead made Javier wonder if he was from an Indian tribe. His black hair was streaked with gray, and he wore it cut close around his head. Once the chair stopped, he extended his right hand. “Good morning, Javier. I’m Winston Seneca.” His handshake gripped hard around Javier’s fingers. They shook twice before he released Javier’s hand. “Brother Calvin said I can count on you to help me out.”

  Javier stared at Brother Calvin. Now he knew! The counselor was going to make him help the teacher in a wheelchair—probably like an aide or something. And Brother knew Javier couldn’t refuse without looking like a selfish loser.

  “I’ll leave the two of you to talk. Good luck!” Brother Calvin slapped Javier’s back with a firm hand.

  Surprised, Javier flopped forward. Mr. Seneca’s hands jerked up.

  He was going to fall on a man in a wheelchair! Javier swallowed his breath, fighting against his own clumsy self. He twisted away, his flaming itchy feet tripping over one wheel of the chair.

  “’Ss—scuse me,” came stuttering out as Javier tried to stand up straight. He stumbled sideways from Mr. Seneca’s chair.

  He couldn’t believe how bad it looked! This teacher barely knew him and would tell everybody, “Oh, yeah, I know Javier. He’s supposed to be my aide, but I have to help him walk on two legs.”

  “You should be more careful, Javier,” Brother Calvin muttered before he walked out with rapid steps.

  “Your face is red,” Mr. Seneca spoke, as if Javier wouldn’t feel the obvious.

  He resisted the urge to rub his cheeks. They felt plenty hot, but he didn’t want to bring any more attention to them. Instead, he gave a half-shrug and stared up at the ceiling like he had never seen electricity at work.

  “Javier—just so you know—you wouldn’t have hurt me. Do you think you’re the first person to trip over me? There are worse klutzes than you, trust me.”

  Javier could have laughed, but he didn’t. His arms and legs felt like somebody had strapped him up with duct tape. He tried not to stare at the teacher’s thick legs and firm black shoes, but he had never been so close to a disabled person in his life.

  Mr. Seneca casually said, “I’m usually on crutches, but my favorite pair cracked at the cuffs, and my back-ups somehow lost a screw. When I set up a new classroom, though, I get more done on my wheels. I’ll give you and your compadres the gory details on Monday.” He clapped his hands together. “So, Javier, have you ever had the desire to be on TV?”

  Javier took a step back, remembering the day his dad had entered Javier’s name in a grocery store contest to sing a baloney commercial tune. Javier was only six. He ate so much free baloney that he vomited on the camera man. “Umm, no, Mr. Seneca.”

  “Not a spotlight-grabbing guy, huh?” Mr. Seneca replied as he shifted the wheelchair and turned it toward one line of tables and chairs. He pulled out a chair and twirled it on two legs in Javier’s direction. “Here, Javier. Let’s talk.”

  Javier pulled the chair closer and sat down. He thought, This man doesn’t seem to need any help from me, that’s for sure.

  Even though they should have been at eye level, Mr. Seneca still appeared taller as he steered his wheelchair closer and then sat back comfortably. “We now have the equipment to televise morning announcements here at St. Peter’s.”

  “Nobody ever listens to announcements, Mr. Seneca.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time to change that?” He stared hard at Javier. “Our
first broadcast goes into every classroom on Wednesday morning.”

  Javier clutched both sides of the chair. A terrible itch slithered up and down his legs. “You don’t mean me, right? Talk on TV and … me?”

  The door to the building opened suddenly. Javier turned to look at the woman who stepped inside. She wore dark slacks and a red blouse and carried an armful of newspapers. “Sorry to interrupt, Win, but I have the front sections from the last two weeks like you wanted. I’ll just leave them on your desk.” She turned away before Javier could see her face well.

  Mr. Seneca looked over and said, “Could you stay a minute, Frances? I have a couple questions you might be able to answer.” In the next breath, he said, “Okay, Javier, we’re done. I’ll see you first period on Monday. Goodbye.” He suddenly reversed the wheelchair and started moving toward the teacher’s desk at a brisk speed.

  Javier stood up. He left without looking at Mr. Seneca or the woman; he just walked out of the building.

  The August heat rapidly melted Javier from the inside out. His thoughts still smoldered like burning coals. Why didn’t anybody ask him if he wanted a new elective? Why would anybody choose to look stupid in front of the whole school every morning?

  The trip around the building left him soaked and thirsty. The gel in his hair mixed into his sweat. As it ran down his face, his skin felt sticky and stiff. He wanted to remove his tie, unbutton his blue, long-sleeved shirt, and push his feet out of his dress shoes. He never understood why students had to get so dressed up for orientation.

  Javier’s grumpy mood matched his body’s misery as he joined other students in front of the main building. He felt stupid, still waiting for a ride home. He counted the days until his September fifth birthday, his permanent driver’s license, and the promise of his uncle’s old truck to drive to school.

  About a dozen students were scattered over the cement steps leading up to the tall steeple above the front doors of the school. Luckily, the building was positioned so that the steps were shaded at this time of day.