Lessons I Never Learned at Meadowbrook Academy (8 page)

Annie gasped. “He didn't see you, did he?”

“No! I would have died!”

“What did you do?” Mervin asked.

“Frank walked me over to my dad's car.”

“Oh my God, the nerve,” Mervin said.

“They talked about the Yankees for a few minutes—I mean, he was our mechanic's son—but when we were driving away, my dad asked me why I had dirt on my jeans around my knees.”

“What did you say?” Annie asked.

“I said…” And a tinge of sadness came over me. “I said I had fallen while I was roller skating.”

“Intense,” Mervin said.

“Yeah, the funny thing is, I've never even kissed anybody. I guess it's just kind of weird, you know?”

I saw a flicker of something sad in Annie's eyes as she nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “Sometimes life doesn't feel very fair.”

A few minutes went by, and I found myself not wanting to eat anymore. We all went to throw out our trash. Annie chucked her stuff into the garbage chute and then watched me and Mervin as we scraped our plates and put away our trays.

“Do you want to do something fun?” she asked us, breaking the silence.

“Fun, how?” Mervin took one last sip of juice before he threw his cup away. “Like
ha-ha
fun or
oh-boy-wasn't-that
fun?”

“I don't know which category of fun it is, Mervin. It's just fun.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“I had this awesome idea. I mean, I think it's the best idea I've ever had.” Annie used the tip of her foot to draw circles on the ground. “Just think about it, okay? Don't shoot it down right away.”

“My time is precious, Annie, and now you're wasting it,” Mervin said.

“Promise you'll think about it first?”

“Okay. I'll think about it first,” he said mechanically.

“Sure,” I chimed in. “Me too.” To be honest, outside of Christine, no one my age ever asked me to do anything, so the prospect of something fun on any level sounded fantastic to me.

Three kids dressed all in black moved toward us. We scooted over to let them throw out their garbage.

In a secretive tone, Annie said, “I think it would be really amazing to break into the reservoir today, after school.”

“Are you insane?” Mervin backed away, practically screeching.

Annie very calmly crossed her arms. “No, I'm not insane.”

I watched the two of them like a tennis match.

“Well, why in the hell would you want to go and do something like that unless you were insane?” Mervin was all kinds of flustered.

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because I want to see where Warren Schrimmer died.”

Without saying another word, Mervin started to walk away, but Annie grabbed hold of his backpack, which stopped him. “You promised you would think about it—”

“Yes, I would think about partaking in something that was normal, but this is not normal; this is totally morbid and weird.”

“You're being unreasonable.” Annie turned and looked at me. “What about you, Roberta? What do you think?”

I had to admit, although I didn't know why, that there was a part of me, a big part of me, that was intrigued. “Well, what would we do? Just break in and leave?”

Annie's face lit up. “No, see, this is the best part: we can raft across it! This weekend, I saw inflatable rafts at the toy store across the street at the mall. They can hold up to four people, and it even comes with oars. We can raft across the reservoir. How great is that?”

The bell rang, ending lunch.

“Don't decide now…think about it and tell me later.”

“I've already decided,” Mervin huffed. “And it's absolutely no!”

Annie leaned in and kissed Mervin's cheek. “A promise is a promise. Live a little, Mervin. You might actually like it.” She smiled and ran off.

A bunch of kids and teachers walked past us, out the cafeteria doors.

Mervin rubbed his head like he had a migraine. “She's certifiably crazy.”

“You know her better than I do.”

“Just crazy,” he repeated.

On our way out of the cafeteria, Mervin and I passed by what seemed to be the “football table.” The “football players” were finishing the obscene amounts of food that were still on their trays.

I heard one of the guys, with a mouth full of ravioli, say, “I swear I would…I'd go down on that.”

I glanced over at them and saw a big, beefy boy with no neck say, “Dude, she's like totally a dike, but who cares? I'd bang her.”

A tall, kind of lanky boy sitting next to beefcake boy said, “Whatever, dude. Ms. Dalton is nasty. Ten bucks she's got some kind of STD.”

And then the blond, Adonis-like, football team captain, vision of J.Crew perfection, who I remembered from being up on stage during morning meeting, said with complete and utter arrogance, “I'd screw her straight.”

Everyone at the table burst out laughing.

I was enraged at how horrible and hurtful these assholes were being. I quickly looked over to where Ms. Dalton had been sitting. Thankfully she was already gone, but Twiggy was still sitting at her table, and by the expression on her face, it was obvious she had heard every word. I waited for Twiggy to jump up and punish them, but instead she just sat there completely frozen. And my heart broke for her.

For a split second, I caught Twiggy's eye. I could see how hurt she was, and I just couldn't stop myself from what I was about to do. My father always taught me to fight for what was right, even if it meant you were wrong in doing so.

I walked away from Mervin, took a few steps closer to the football table, and said as obnoxiously as I could, “You're such pathetic losers. Why don't you all get a life?”

The table instantly fell silent, and all eyes turned toward me. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion. Kids had started to pile into the cafeteria for second lunch.

“Adonis” aggressively pushed himself up and walked over to me. There was a certain kind of guy that got off on intimidating girls, and he was definitely one of them. His chest was within inches of my face. He was glaring down at me. I could feel his stank, heavy breath pounding on the top of my head. He was like an angry, misogynistic bull, and I was the red flag.

My heart was racing and I was scared, but I defiantly lifted my head so that I was staring right back up at him. I got ready to kick him in his balls. Anthony taught me that technique. I was ready. This guy had nothing on me.

The second bell rang. Next period had started.

“What did you just say?”

“I said, get a life, asshole.” I spoke slowly and deliberately, like I was speaking to a child.

He laughed at me. “You-dirty-little-piece-of-shit-ugly-dirty-Guinea-Wop,” he said mockingly.

At this point, I guess Twiggy snapped out of whatever trance she was in because she came rushing over and got in between us. “Enough! Stop this behavior immediately!”

Even though Twiggy's hand was up against Adonis's chest, he still made a lunging motion forward, trying to intimidate me. He pointed his crappy little finger right at me. “You better watch it, little girl.”

I guffawed at his attempt at assaulting me. And then proceeded to spit a big wad of phlegm right in his face.

Perhaps this wasn't the
smartest
thing I could have done, but it was damn well effective. A male teacher must have seen what was going on because he ran right over.

“All right, that's enough!” Twiggy yelled again. “That's enough! You will both get detentions, and you will stop this behavior immediately!” Twiggy's calm, cool exterior was unraveling all over the place.

The male teacher stood between me and my imminent death. Adonis wiped my spit off his cheek and kept his beady eyes locked on me, but I didn't budge, not one inch. Twiggy pulled out her detention pad and madly scribbled down our detentions. “Here.” She handed us each a folded slip of paper. “Now get to your next class, or you'll be facing immediate suspension and possible expulsion.”

Adonis crumpled his detention slip and shoved it in his pocket. “You better watch it,” he said again as he pushed past me. His entourage followed close behind, all shooting me evil looks.

Twiggy thanked the male teacher for helping. He told her, “It was no problem,” adjusted his tie, and left. She smoothed out her skirt, bent down to pick up her small, grey purse, and walked away without saying another word to me.

I turned back to look at Mervin, who was frozen in fear. The cafeteria was now completely bustling with the next period lunch.

“Why did you do that?” Mervin stammered. “That was the captain of the football team.”

“I don't care!” My anger had nowhere to go. I shook my head. “I don't know, Mervin, they were being mean about someone I like.”

Mervin nodded, but I knew he didn't understand.
How could he?
He didn't know about the secret relationship between Twiggy and Ms. Dalton. And he also had no idea how kind Twiggy was to me earlier.

“I better get going. I'm really late for Bio,” Mervin said.

“No, that's cool, go.”

But he just stood there.

“Really, Mervin, go…I don't want you to get in trouble.”

“Okay, yeah…” And he ran out of the cafeteria.

I slowly walked down the hall toward Spanish.
Great, I had gotten another detention.
This school just sucked. It sucked. I could feel myself starting to break down. I wanted to crawl into some tiny dark corner somewhere and just cry. But I knew I couldn't. If Adonis or any of his stupid friends saw me crying, they would tear me apart.

Stay strong
, I kept telling myself.
Don't cry.

Defeated, I opened the detention slip Twiggy had given me. It was blank. Surprised, I quickly turned it over and saw that the other side was blank as well. A slight grin crept across my face. I guess Twiggy had been on my side for being on her side after all.

I folded the slip back up and walked into Spanish.

A few years ago, our house burned down. Well, it didn't really burn down, but my family had to stay in a hotel for a month while our house was being repaired. It was Memorial Day weekend, and our next-door neighbors, the Putzios, had recently bought a state-of-the-art barbecue grill from Sears. They were nice enough to sponsor a block party for the entire neighborhood and, of course, the main event was the spankin' new grill.

It seemed that there was something about grills that made men feel complete. They could stand around, drink beer, talk sports, and nourish their loved ones all at the same time. When Mr. Putzio revealed his new grill to the neighborhood, a silent hush worked its way through the crowd of testosterone, followed quickly by whispers and rumors.

“How could they afford such a grill?”

“That grill was bought with blood money.”

“I heard Vinnie Nunzio sold it to them out of the trunk of his car.” And so on and so on.

It was a perfectly beautiful Memorial Day. Mr. Putzio had an unlimited supply of burgers, dogs, and Good Humor Chocolate Éclair ice cream bars. Music was playing and people were dancing in the street. The next thing I recall was that Mr. Putzio set fire to his backyard and his house, and then our backyard and our house. The Putzio's house was toast, but luckily for us, the fire department arrived just in time to save our bedrooms and the kitchen, but the living room was burnt to a crisp. That night, thanks to our insurance and the fact that all the cheap hotels were booked, we moved into the very ritzy Claremont Suites for an entire month while our house was being repaired. And that's where I met Carlos.

I saw him for the first time standing at the edge of the pool. He was a young boy, around my age. His skin was tan, and his hair was black and curly. His eyes were a shade of brown that I had never seen before, almost like caramel. I was very heavy, and I looked like a round beach ball in my bathing suit. Even though I felt horribly insecure, I didn't want to leave the pool.

When he dove into the water, I would imagine living at the bottom of the pool with him. I could be a mermaid and he could be a merman and we would live in a castle. He would bring me flowers and put them in my hair, and I would find precious pool jewels and make him a necklace. He would tell me I was beautiful, and I would believe him. When he came up for air one time, he noticed me staring at him. And I quickly turned away.

I looked for the boy from the pool for the next couple of days, but couldn't find him. I thought about him, dreamed about him, and even wrote in my diary about him. Then one night, my mother gave me and Anthony five bucks each to go to the arcade and get out of her hair for a few hours. Anthony took off, and I decided to bypass the arcade and do a little exploring instead. I loved sneaking into places where I wasn't supposed to be. My father always said he thought I'd wind up working for the FBI one day.

I turned a corner to a long hallway, where all the hotel's ballrooms were set up for the next day. There were two weddings, a conference meeting for some pharmaceutical company, and “Bill's Eightieth Birthday.” I looked around and quickly opened the door to the Grand Deluxe Ballroom. It was pitch-black inside. I found a light switch and turned it on.

The room glistened and glittered with gold and crystal and what seemed to be diamonds. I had never seen anything so beautiful before. All the tables had elegant white linen tablecloths that draped to the floor and gigantic silk flower arrangements that soared up toward the ceiling. I walked over to one of the tables and looked at the flowers. They were cream with just a hint of pink. It almost looked like the flowers were blushing. I couldn't help myself, and I reached out and touched one. It was soft and silky and expensive. I got up on a chair and reached for an inconspicuous petal just as I heard, “Cuidado!”

Startled, I quickly looked over in the direction from where the voice was coming. It was the boy from the pool.

He took a few more steps closer to me. “Tu hablas Español?”

I shook my head. “I don't know what you're saying.”

My heart was racing. I couldn't believe I was actually talking to the boy from the pool. He was
so
cute, standing there in a pair of faded jeans and a green-and-white soccer jersey. I was waiting for him to make fun of me, call me fat, or throw something at me, the same way all the kids made fun of me, but he didn't. He just stood there. Looking at me.

Finally he said, “You no speak Spanish?”

“Oh…no, I don't. I speak English. Do you speak English?”

“Un poquito.” He smiled. “Who you are? I Carlos.”

Realizing how silly I must have looked standing on the chair, I hopped down to the ground. “I Roberta. I mean, I am Roberta.”

“That good.”

I just stared at him, searching my brain for something to say. “I know, hola?”

“Hola! Yes, hello! That good.” He smiled again as we stood in silence.

“Well, okay. I guess I should be going. My brother is going to kill me.”

“Tu hermano.”

“What?”

“Hermano, it mean brother.”

“Oh, that's cool. Hermano.”

“Where live you, the hotel?”

“No,” I giggled. “I live in a house in West Orange. Do you live in the hotel?”

“No, no. Me padre…me father and me go to Mexico, mañana.” He thought for a second. “Me llamó Roberta. When someone Spanish say what name you are, you say, Me llamó Roberta.”

“Me llamó Roberta,” I said back.

“Good, that good.” Carlos walked over to the light switch and turned it off. The room was in darkness once again. In shadows I could see him move toward the back corner of the room. I had no idea what he was doing.

“Here, come here,” he finally called out to me.

I felt really nervous, but I decided to follow him. He got down on his knees, lifted up one of the tablecloths, and climbed under. I contemplated it for a second, but decided to climb under after him.

Carlos had a flashlight, which he turned on, to reveal his secret hideaway. He had sodas, bags of chips, Hersey bars, a couple of books, and a pillow from the hotel. He handed me one of the books, and the title read:
La Rojo Cabreza
. I opened it and flipped through the pages; it was written in Spanish.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I don't know how to read Spanish.”

Carlos took the book from me and pointed to the title. “It say,
The Little Girl With Red Cape
.”

“Like
Little Red Riding Hood
?” I asked.

“I no understand.”

“We have a girl who wears a red cape and gets eaten by a wolf, wait…no, she doesn't get eaten by the wolf, but other people in her life do, like her grandma and stuff.”

“Sí, sí. A wolf. Me madre…me mother, give to me.”

“Is your mom here, with you and your dad?”

“No. She in Mexico. We go tomorrow.”

Carlos looked away, and I felt like I had said something wrong, which was not uncommon for me to do. There was an awkward pause and then he said, “I see you and you mom…at the aqua…the water?”

“Yeah, the pool. She doesn't let me go alone. She's a drag.”

“What drag?”

“Never mind.”

“You and you mom. The same. You eyes and you…” He pointed to his nose and his mouth. “How you say?”

“Nose and mouth.”

“Sí, eyes and nose and mouth. The same.”

“I guess,” I said.

From outside the room, I could faintly hear Anthony calling my name.

“Oh no. That's my brother. I have to go or I'll get in trouble.”

“Here, you have.” Carlos handed me the book about the girl in the red cape.

“I can't take your book. Won't your mom be mad?”

“For you and you mom.”

“Okay,” I said with some hesitation. “Thank you.”

“De nada.”

I got up from under the table and worked my way out of the dark room with the book under my arm. I opened the door and saw Anthony turning the corner. When I caught up to him, he assured me of how much trouble I was in and how badly I was going to be punished. Sure enough, my mother threw a fit and my father grounded me for disappearing.

I hid the book Carlos gave me under my pillow. When everyone was asleep that night, I snuck into the bathroom and flipped through
La Rojo Cabreza
. Somewhere toward the end of the book, a thin slip of newspaper fell out. I picked it up and noticed it was in English, not Spanish.

It read:
In loving memory of Maria Suzette Gonzalez. Mrs. Gonzalez peacefully died in her New Jersey apartment after losing her fight to ovarian cancer. She is survived by her husband, Esteban Gonzalez, and her only son, Carlos Gonzalez. She was a valued housekeeper at the Claremont Suites in Fairfield, New Jersey, where she worked for ten years. She also met her husband at the Claremont Suites, where he has worked on the janitorial staff for fifteen years. Mrs. Gonzalez will be buried in her hometown, Rosarito, Mexico. The family requests that in lieu of flowers, donations be given to the “Maria Gonzalez Ovarian Cancer Fund,” which has been set up by the Claremont Suites Hotel in Fairfield, New Jersey.

I read the newspaper clipping three more times before I slipped it back between the pages of the book. It made me sad, really sad, to think of Carlos living without his mother. Everyone should have their mother. I crawled back into bed and held the book in my arms. I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn't stop thinking about Maria Gonzalez.

The next morning, I searched for Carlos, but he was nowhere to be found. I waited until the wedding in the Grand Ballroom was over and then snuck back inside. I looked under the table that Carlos and I had sat beneath the night before, but there was no trace of him at all.

I raced back up to our room and searched through my suitcases. Finally I found my “Miss Piggy” bank. Fortunately the bank, which contained my life's savings, had survived the fire. I dumped its contents out on the bed and counted $62.53.

I shoved all the money inside a hotel envelope and took the elevator back down to the lobby. I handed it to the lady in a pretty floral dress standing behind the front desk.

“This is for the Maria Gonzalez Ovarian Cancer Fund,” I said.

“Sure. No problem.” She dumped out the wad of singles and mess of change onto the counter.

“There's $62.53. I counted it twice and wrote it on the envelope.” I pointed to the top corner, where I had scribbled the total with a red pen.

“Oh yes, I see. Well, thank you very much.” She used the edge of her hand to push the coins back into the envelope.

I started to walk away.

“Just one sec, hon,” the lady called out. “Who should I say has made this donation? The family would like to receive a list of all the people that have donated.”

“Oh, uhhh…” I really thought about it. And I know this was probably silly, but somewhere in my heart I believed Carlos would know that it was me. “Could you say it was from the mermaid?”

“The mermaid?” she repeated.

“Yeah. If that's okay?”

She smiled. “Of course it is, sweetheart.”

That night, when my mother tucked me into bed, I studied her face. “Did you know we have the same eyes? And the same nose and mouth?”

“Of course I do. You're my daughter.” She leaned down and softly kissed my forehead.

There were no other seats, so I was forced to sit in the front row of Spanish class. I was expecting some kind of retribution for being late, but my Spanish teacher, Mr. Riveria, didn't seem to care.

Mr. Riveria was a super-hot, twenty-something Latin guy, with spikey black hair and a navy blue dress shirt. He looked like he belonged on a daytime soap opera.

The afternoon sun pierced through the window, blinding everyone.

“Bienvenida a la classe de Español,” he said with a big smile as he walked over and pulled the shade down. “Mi nombre es Señor Riveria. Como te llamas?”

I hesitated, but then raised my hand. Mr. Riveria pointed at me.

“Me llamó Roberta,” I said.