The F Factor (2 page)

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.

He found a step near Pat Berlanga and sat down. They had been in a couple of freshmen classes together. Pat
often napped in class, so they didn't talk much. He was a big guy with nut-brown skin and a short, spiked haircut. He stood tall and husky like a football player, but Pat didn't play any sports. Javier had heard the talk about Berlanga's hot-looking sister, but he had never seen her.

“Hey, Pat,” Javier said, easing his back against the stone steps. “How's it going?”

“Huh?” Pat said, shaking his head slightly. He blinked at Javier like he was trying to focus. “Whad'ya ask me?”

Javier smiled. “I've never seen anybody who can sleep like you do.”

Pat shrugged. “I can sleep anywhere. Always been that way.” He turned toward the street that ran in front of the school. “There's my sister. It's about time!” he growled and stood up.

Javier saw a sleek sports vehicle pull up to the curb. The windows were tinted, so he couldn't see the driver.

“See ya,” Pat said and yawned widely.

That's when Javier saw his dad's work truck not far behind the Berlangas' vehicle. Despite the earlier energy drain from the hot day, Javier jumped up and caught up with Pat. Javier couldn't wait to get out of his tie and go home.

“Hey, did you get that new elective on your schedule?” Javier asked, walking down the last two steps with Pat.

“Yeah … media something. Doesn't matter. School is school,” Pat replied. He reached for the handle of the black vehicle and opened the door.

The car's air-conditioning felt like a cool breeze across Javier's face. He stepped a bit closer to Pat and said, “I'm in that media class too. I'll—” His words stopped when he saw the pretty driver inside the car—a girl who belonged
on a tropical island sunbathing in a bikini, not driving Pat Berlanga home from school in Texas.

She removed her sunglasses before she turned toward her brother. Her light brown eyes shifted to Javier. “Hello! Do you need a ride?”

When she smiled at him, Javier forgot about itchy feet, new teachers, and an elective he didn't ask for. He saw her bare brown legs, white shorts, and yellow tank top. He admired her small, straight teeth, twinkling eyes, and wavy brown hair that spread over her tanned shoulders like a cape.

“Javier doesn't need a ride,” Pat said. His tone was abrupt, his words sharp. He moved his body, using his wide back and shoulders to block Javier's view.

“My name is Feliz,” she called out loudly. “Hello!”

“I'm sure he knows your name. Everybody does,” Pat grumbled before he slid into the front seat. “Just leave Javier alone.” And with that, he grabbed the inside handle and pulled the car door toward him.

For the second time that morning, Javier stumbled over his own feet. This time he tripped over the curb before Pat smashed his head in the car door.

Javier toppled back with several wobbly steps before he found his balance. He heard cackles of laughter from the other guys on the steps behind him, but Javier didn't turn around. Surely they all knew it was Berlanga's sister in the car, and Javier had just joined every other guy in her St. Peter's fan club.

Get real, J ack. How does a klutz like you even stand a chance with someone like Feliz Berlanga?
Still, it was great to imagine getting to know Feliz better, to call her on the phone and maybe get a chance to … His fantasies were rudely interrupted by a loud honk from his father's
truck. The noise made him jump, and he nearly fell off the curb.

Javier caught the grin on his father's face as he parked the green Ávila and Sons Construction truck right in front of him. Javier braced himself for some kind of joke. His father noticed everything and loved to tease others about their faults or mistakes.

Javier slid into the bench seat and just said, “Hey, Dad.”

“Can't walk on two feet anymore, Son?”

“I just lost my balance, that's all,” Javier said, pulling his tie loose and unbuttoning his shirt.

“And what was so interesting inside that black car that it knocked you off your feet?” his father asked, driving his truck away from the school. “Was the driver some-body's good-looking sister?”

“Something like that,” Javier answered, slouching down in the seat.

“Only a beautiful woman makes a man lose control of his feet that fast. Ask your mother! She can make me trip just by asking me to take out the garbage!” He laughed so easily that Javier had to smile too.

He looked at his father and noticed again their physical resemblance. Even though his dad's hair was gray, it still favored Javier's wavy brown hair. They had the same thick eyebrows and the same straight nose. They were the same height now, almost 5'9”.

But while his father could effortlessly make and take a joke, Javier never had such an easygoing personality. He wondered,
Is self-confidence something that grows on a person like facial hair, or is it something you have to dig out of yourself like a splinter?

Javier leaned forward and unlaced his dress shoes. Whoever said nothing happened during sophomore year didn't own a pair of itchy feet.

W
ith his fingers gently searching for a bump on his throbbing forehead, Javier walked into the kitchen. He went straight for the ice bags his mom always kept in the refrigerator. He didn't comment to his older brothers or to his father. They sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee after their Saturday breakfast of pancakes and
chorizo con huevo
that his mom had cooked before she left to run errands.

“What happened, Javito?” his big brother Eric asked, but he was already chuckling. He leaned back in the chair. “Don't tell me my seven-year-old scored a goal against your head again?”

Javier yanked one of the canvas ice bags from the freezer section. He wanted to make a joke, but truthfully, it was
always
Javier who needed ice bags, Band-aids, or had the stitches to show for his clumsiness. Even his little nephews and nieces were sure-footed, natural athletes like their fathers.