The Temptation of Demetrio Vigil (18 page)

“Okay.” I didn’t feel like talking about it, but I
did in fact think it a good idea for me to see a therapist about
the possibility of trauma and delusional thinking.

“After finals, on Friday afternoon. I’ll give you
the address and trust you’ll find it on your own.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I barely looked at her, and had to
avert my gaze.

She looked tired, worried, and sick about me. Still,
she was kind enough to say no more about it, other than, “I’m
always here if you need to talk.”

“Thanks. I’m okay.”

“Any idea what you’d like to do for winter break?”
she asked. “It’s next week.”

“I don’t know. Skiing,
maybe?”

“That’d be fun,” she said,
unconvincingly, as she was one of those people who preferred
talking about skiing to actually doing it. “Good idea.”

“Whatever you want. I don’t care.”

Mom’s mouth scrunched up on one side for a moment
before she forced herself to say, “You’ll be spectacular dancing
today.” I gave her an E for effort. She really did try to be an
understanding and supportive parent. A lot of my friends didn’t
have parents like this.

I looked at the clock. It was nearly six, the time
she usually went to a private Pilates lesson on Sunday mornings.
Given her outfit, I knew she was hoping to attend today.

“Go, stop worrying, get your Pilates on,” I said as
though I hadn’t a care in all the world, congratulating myself for
doing such a fine acting job.

“You sure? I’m happy to stay home with you if you
need me to.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be leaving in about an hour anyway,
to get to Highland for the competition.”

“I’ll be there at eight on the nose to see you
perform,” she said, tapping her own surgically reconstructed
nose.

“Okay.”

“And good luck, honey. You don’t need it, of course,
you girls have been working hard, but still.”

She grabbed her keys and purse off the table, kissed
the top of my head, and left.

I went to my bedroom, and found Buddy whining,
bumping himself into walls and furniture, excited by having heard -
and likely smelled - my return, but unable to find me. Poor thing.
He couldn’t see where he was going with the big plastic cone tied
around his neck. I shivered with recognition.

I stood in the center of my
luxurious room, which seemed absurdly overboard after seeing the
way people lived in Golden, and I realized that everything I had -
this house, my parents, my school, my life - all of it was my own
little Elizabethan dog collar. Both things were designed,
supposedly, to protect us from ourselves; but in the end, all they
seemed to do was make us dependent, clumsy, blind and
alone.

♦

The bleachers in the gym of Highland High
School were packed and abuzz with kids and parents from nearly two
dozen public and private high schools in the city. The cavernous
room smelled of wood varnish, school lunch, with the rubbery hint
of new sneakers thrown into the mix. It took me a moment to find my
team from Coronado Prep, but as soon as I did, I made a beeline for
the comforting familiarity of their faces.

Our coach, Amy Stern, was a perky freckled brunette
in her mid-thirties who had danced on Broadway and for the Phoenix
Suns. She smiled and waved me over. I found a spot on the bleachers
with a few of the other girls. We huddled together, excited and
nervous, and aware, in our own slightly ashamed, slightly arrogant
way that we were the team from the most elite school in the state -
and as such, we’d won this competition for the past five years
running.

“Pure hooch,” Amy said to us under her breath,
indicating the costumes worn by a couple of the other teams.
Indeed, those schools had opted for the “hoochie” look favored by
professional dance teams associated with sporting teams -
short-shorts with panty hose and sports bras, basically - our team
had gone with a look our coach assured us was pure artistry and
elegance. We, by contrast, wore black dance pants, slightly flared
at the ankles, with glittery red and white tank-type tops whose
collars were designed to look like tuxedo jackets. With this we
wore red jazz shoes, sparkly like the ones Dorothy wore in the land
of Oz. We were worlds removed from the other teams, and we smugly
knew it.

Kelsey came in shortly after I did, with Victoria
and Thomas, and they came to sit in the row behind mine, with hugs
and well wishes for me.

“This will be an excellent
exercise in
Verstehen
for me,” babbled Thomas.

“A what?” asked Kelsey.

“An exercise in
Verstehen
. It’s a German
word, used by sociologist Max Weber to describe sociological
positivism and economic determinism in analyzing social action. But
for my uses today, I use it in the anthropological sense, to mean I
feel I’m steeped in a moment of cultural relativism.”

“Meaning?” asked Kelsey, concentrating in an ironic
sort of way.

“Meaning
that as an outsider to the whole dance-team culture, I’m
going to try, in other words, to relate to the indigenous
population - aka the ‘dancers’ - on their own terms, from their
point of view, without judgment.”

Victoria rolled her eyes, even though they contained
traces of admiration. “I think what my annoying boyfriend is trying
to say is that even though he’d rather be home memorizing something
a dead German guy wrote, he’s agreed to come cheer you on in spite
of his initial misgivings about the value of dance teams in
general.”

“In that case, thanks,” I told him. “I think.”

“You’re welcome,” said Thomas.

A minute or two later, my mom surprised me by
showing up early, and sitting directly next to Kelsey, who sat
directly behind me. You don’t hope your mom will sit quite so close
at these things, but oh well.

Moments after the first team began their predictable
hip-hop routine at 9 a.m., I felt Kelsey’s fingernails bite into my
shoulder.

“Ow!” I turned to look at her, annoyed.

With a look of pure panic on her face, she pointed
discreetly across the gym, to where Demetrio stood against the wall
near the emergency exit, in baggy jeans and a hoodie sweatshirt,
watching me the way a lion might watch a gazelle. Victoria and
Thomas noticed, too, and looked to me for an answer.

“What? I have no idea.”

“What is he doing here?” she hissed.

I shook my head and shrugged to let them know it
wasn’t my fault.

“Maria’s a homie magnet,” said
Thomas.

“Seriously, Maria, this isn’t
good. That guy is
following
you now.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.” I tried to speak in such a way
as not to draw my mother’s attention, but failed. One look at my
mom revealed that her dog-cone instincts had already kicked in; she
knew we were looking at Demetrio. She stared him down, and sprouted
a line of worry between her eyebrows, looking quizzically at
me.

“Did you invite him?” Kelsey asked me.

“No!” I bit my lip for a moment.
“But I
did
tell
him about the competition, the day of the crash. I was worried
about my ankle. Any reasonably smart person could find it. He has
every right to be here. It’s open to the public.”

“It’s sweet he remembered,” Kelsey said.

“Sweet and stalkery,” said Victoria. “Sure. Sweet
like a 40-ounce.”

Coach Amy shot us a nasty look to try to quiet us. I
realized how rude we were being, talking during the performance. I
looked over at him again, and Demetrio waved, subtly, flashing me a
gorgeous, mesmerizing smile. Unfortunately, my mother caught this,
and grew rigid. She lifted a brow accusingly at me.

“I can explain,” I told her.

“You better.”

“He’s the guy who called 911 when I crashed,” I told
her. “He’s really nice. While we were waiting for the ambulance I
told him about his competition, just small talk. I think he’s just
here showing support.”

“Well, I don’t like the looks of
him,” my mother said snootily. “And I don’t think you should be
telling strangers where to
find
you. Honestly, I raised you better than that.
Sometimes I don’t think you’re very smart, Maria.”

I looked at him again, and felt a
strange peace and warmth come over me. There was no way the
beautiful boy smiling at me was
dead
. Or bad. Or anything my mom
thought of him. He was totally faking it to escape the gang, and
that was admirable.

I felt the phone buzz with a new text, and looked at
it, expecting something from Kelsey, but it was from “unknown
number”. I clicked the message open.

Unknown number: cool I’m here
mamita?

Me: hey! you have my #!! u saw grandpa!

Demetrio: itunes gift card rocked. thku.

me: r u gonna eat my soul, d?

Demetrio: WTF u talking bout now, loca?

I looked up at him, and he shrugged at me in annoyed
puzzlement, but he also cracked a grin to show he was amused by my
continuing (and, one presumed, cute) stupidity. My mother,
horrifyingly, watched this exchange, her lips growing thin and
white with suspicion.

“Maria,” she hissed. She motioned
me toward her with her finger. I leaned over, and awaited whatever
she was about to say in my ear. “Did you give that delinquent your
phone number?”

“Yes.”

She seemed ready to strangle me. “Are you out of
your mind? Don’t encourage him.”

“Mom, he’s fine. He’s actually really nice.”

“Shh,” said Coach Amy, her annoyance growing. My
mother put a finger to her lips as though I were the only one
talking, and scowled at me.

I settled down, and tried to focus on the
competition. The teams from the other schools were all very good,
but predictable. I began to grow excited about my team’s routine,
which was very hardcore and break-dancey, and not at all what
anyone would expect from us. My adrenaline began to flow as I
anticipated our performance. The judges for this contest always
appreciated the unexpected, well executed.

A few minutes before ten, Coach Amy directed the
team to the hall outside the side door that led to the performance
area, meaning I’d have to walk past where Demetrio leaned against
the wall on my way out. I got up, squeezed Kelsey’s hand, and
nodded my appreciation to Victoria and Thomas, who wished me luck,
and, accepting a blown kiss from my still simmering mother. I
glanced at Demetrio as I passed by. He gave me a supportive
fist-pump; my body reacted with adrenaline and blushing.

As soon as I got out into the hall, I heard a
familiar male voice call my name, cheerfully.

“Maria!”

I spun to look behind me, and was astonished to find
Logan trotting toward me down the hall, in his ski parka, jeans and
duck boots.

“Logan! What are you doing here?” I asked him.

“Came back early. I wanted to surprise you.” He
grinned gorgeously, healthy and strong as always, and held out a
beautiful bouquet of pink roses. “For you.”

“I can’t, I mean,
thank
you, they’re
beautiful, but I can’t hold them just now. We’re about to go
on.”

“Miss Ochoa,” barked Coach Amy.
“Information, please.”

“Go,” said Logan. “I’m glad I didn’t miss it. Break
a leg, babe.”

I gave him a quick peck on the lips, and joined the
team in line.

Moments later, the applause died down for the team
that had gone before us, and the announcer said, “Now, ladies and
gentleman, please welcome the reigning champions for eight years
running, the Lady Chargers from Coronado Prep, under direction of
award-winning choreographer Amy Stern. They’ll be performing to
‘Starstruck’ by Sterling Knight. Put your hands together!”

The crowd went wild as we danced our way to the
center of they gym floor, smiling and waving to the audience as
we’d been trained, and took our positions. I had mixed feeling
about the song, but Coach Amy thought it was just the right mix of
edgy sound with family-friendly inspiring lyrics. To my horror, I
now saw that Logan had taken a spot along the same wall where
Demetrio leaned; even worse, they were looking awkwardly at each
other, then trying to ignore each other to watch me.

With my heart pounding, I told myself to ignore the
men who were here to see me, and to focus on finding my spot and
waiting for the music. I remembered the words my mother had told me
so many times, about no man being worth losing your own dreams for,
about women having to make their own way and have things they were
good at and proud of on their own. I scanned the crowd for her
face, found her sitting attentively and proudly with the rest of
Coronado Prep parents, and smiled. She smiled back, and for a
moment, I felt like everything was going to be just fine. And the
music began.

Every girl every boy they got your posters on their
walls, yeah

Photographs autographs when you step out the door
you will meet the applause, yeah

Paparazzi’s hiding in the bushes trying to make a
dollar, dollar

Wanna be you, when they see you, they scream out
loud

Starstruck, camera flashes, cover of magazines

Starstruck, designer sunglasses, living the dream as
a team...

I leapt to life, lost in the heavy
pop beat, swiveling, shimmying, ponying, kicking, head-banging and
shaking my way through a complicated, athletic, elaborate popping
routine that Amy thought was street-meets-sweet. The crowd screamed
as we moved in perfect synchronicity. For three short minutes that
I wished could last forever, I danced, lost in my own world,
without a worry. For that small speck of time, I was
safe.