Oh shit.
Marisol?!
HOW?
Marisol was standing with her back to him in a beautiful dress. It was white and frilly on top, and the skirt had vibrant yellow and red flowers. Her dark hair was in a tight bun. His tortilla chips fell to the floor with a soft "thud."
He held his breath. Wanted to flee, but he was pinned again, frozen in place.
"¡Alonzo llegó! ¡La fiesta puede comenzar!" Charlie heard Mallory, but he couldn't move.
"¡Fiesta nada! ¡Él es la frazada mojada, el sticko in the mudo!" Curtis, with his perfect curtain haircut, "Church Rocks" T-Shirt, and "WWJD" wristband, chimed in, mockingly.
Mallory brushed him away. "¡Ve a buscar algo de comer, Napoleón!"
Curtis scowled and headed toward the line snaking around the room. "Si, Shakira." She always took the stiff's side.
Marisol turned around. Charlie let out his breath. It wasn't Marisol after all, only Señora Smith, in the vestido she had told them she had bought as a missionary in Panama.
Too late to escape now?
Yup.
Señora Smith said something in Spanish, congratulating the class on a good year and promising a little surprise once they had settled in, then encouraged them to start eating. At least Charlie was pretty sure that was roughly what she said.
Mallory came back over. "¡Ven, Alonzo!"
Charlie sighed. Alonzo was fitting in so many ways. Of course, he'd originally chosen Carlos as his nombre, but when the class watched Man of La Mancha, Curtis had commented, "¡Carlos es Alonzo Quijana!" And it stuck. Charlie was kind of pleased, though he tried to act annoyed. He had taken a liking to the Don, but he never would have dared claim the name for himself.
Charlie glanced around for the chips, but they were gone, so he numbly followed Mallory over to the line, trying to block out Shakira's "Estoy Aqui." Marisol had sung that song softly to herself with a defiant look in her eyes when she thought no one was looking.
Charlie set his heavy backpack in an empty seat and looked around the room as he shuffled along the line. He glanced at the flags, trying in vain to avoid Colombia's yellow, blue, and red. His gaze fell on the Mexican flag.
Maybe if Marisol had been Mexican, the Eagle could have caught the snake before it was too late.
Charlie tried to look around the room more, but it was too much. Everything reminded him of her. The dresses, the palm trees, the fruit... So he stared at his feet and shuffled along with the line, trying to block out "La Bamba."
This damn music! I can't anymore!
Think of something else!
The cheerful strumming of guitars and banjos filled his mind as Tom T. Hall sang a playful warning to watch out for a sneaky snake who steals root beer.
Are you freaking kidding me? NOT THAT!
The lively tune of a remix of Ricky Martin's Maria started playing. Charlie could see Johnny's old pickup pulling in front of the school. Johnny got out, grinning. Marisol ran out of the school wearing a bright yellow shirt, her hair done elaborately, with her bright red San Joaquin slipping out. She embraced Johnny. He tenderly replaced the flower, and they kissed with a passion that made the girls swoon and the boys squirm. Then they started dancing, right there in front of the school. Johnny tried to lead, but his feet got all tangled up, so Marisol took over. Charlie had stared at them, mesmerized. He had looked over at Katie, who had been... blushing. He had wished he could have swept her up and started dancing with her as well.
Curtis brushed by him, grumbling something about Charlie holding up the line.
Charlie felt a chill run down his spine.
I wonder if he still has those magazines.
Stop.
We should have told Pastor Josh about them and taken that little hypocrite down a few notches when we had the chance.
I said stop!
Charlie's stomach started grumbling, too.
Charlie started. He was back in the sala. Mitch was standing behind him, peering around him at the food on the table.
He swallowed, grinned sheepishly at Mitch, and walked over to the table with the food.
Mitch just shook his head and muttered something under his breath.
Charlie's stomach dropped when he reached the food. Mangos, bananas, and.... arepas.
He stepped back, bumping into Mitch.
"Watch it, kid!"
Charlie muttered an apology as he headed toward the desks pushed against the wall, suddenly grateful he had skipped breakfast. He would have lost it on the arepas.
He slid through the desks, finding one near the small window at the side of the room, trying to stay calm as he slid into the seat.
Señora Smith turned the music down just a bit. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. That helped, at least.
She called attention to herself.
"¡Atención, por favor! Dije que habría una sorpresa debido a las buenas calificaciones en el examen."
The class cheered. Charlie bit his lip.
Now what?
"Dado que obtuvo la mejor puntuación en el examen, me gustaría que Alonzo me ayudara."
All eyes turned to Charlie. He sighed and stood, making his way to the front of the classroom, wishing he could crawl under a desk.
Señora Smith gestured behind her desk. Charlie hesitantly walked over and froze.
A brilliant red-and-yellow parrot was crouched in the corner, staring at him with its beady eyes. Charlie froze as it ruffled its feathers and opened its beak.
"¡Estamos esperando, Alonzo!"
He. Couldn't. Move.
He. Couldn't. Speak.
Señora Smith brushed by him with her vibrant dress, giving him the chills. When he looked, she wasn't Señora Smith anymore. She was Marisol again. Head held high, defiant, a brilliant red San Joaquim in her tightly braided jet black hair.
Everyone called her "La Princesa" her Senior year. And she looked the part.
He heard a laugh. "¡Es solo una piñata, Alonzo!"
Ricky Martin's "La Copa de la Vida" started blaring.
Señora Smith picked up the piñata, which was attached to a pole, and handed the pole to Charlie. Charlie held the pole numbly, unable to move. Unable to protest. Señora Smith adjusted Charlie and the pole so the piñata hung just over the heads of his classmates, then called Mallory up, since she had gotten the second-highest score. She blindfolded Mallory, handed her a plastic bat, and spun her around. Charlie watched in terror as Mallory started swinging wildly at the parrot. She clipped it, and the parrot swung wildly, fluttering its wings as it tried to escape.
A hot tear trickled down Charlie's face, and the stick slipped. Señora Smith caught it just before the piñata smashed on the floor. Charlie numbly shuffled back to his corner, trying to ignore the stares, as Mallory took the pole from Señora Smith.
Charlie put his head down on his desk and covered it with his arms as he started sobbing, trying to drown out the mariachi music, the thwack, thwack! of someone hitting the piñata, and the cheers from the crowd. In his mind, he could see a proud, beautiful girl in a vibrant dress, with a San Juaquim pinned into her jet-black hair, slowly stooping and fading with every "thwack." Her dress became more rumpled, her hair more disheveled, her posture more bent, until she had collapsed into a sobbing heap of black hair and faded flowers.
And he had set her up to take the blows.
When the cheering stopped, Charlie's head rose against his will as the song, "Ruiseñor, Ruiseñor," the Mexican version of "Little Bird, Little Bird," from The Man of La Mancha started playing. The parrot was gone, with nothing but papier-mache and bright tissue paper feathers remaining. He put his head down again and started sobbing harder.
Mitch rolled his eyes. Seriously? Did that kid have to ruin the fiesta as well as the earth science exam?
Charlie felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he came face-to-face with an arepa and a banana on a plate. He dove back under his arms.
Mallory stood there for a moment, hesitantly. Then she backed away slowly as everyone stared at her and Charlie.
Señora Smith cleared her throat. With what little enthusiasm she could muster, she announced, "¿Vamos... a jugar... a la escoba?"
Everyone split into groups, and Señora Smith started handing out as barajas.
"La cucaracha" started playing. Charlie moaned. He felt like a cockroach hiding in the corner, a lowly, despicable thing.
Charlie thought he heard the low rumbling of – a lawnmower? – over the guitars and trumpets of Ricky Martin's "Livin' the Vida Loca."
He looked up.
Not here. Not now. Please not now.
It was him. It had to be his old lawnmower. His jeans, torn at the knees. His worn, grass-stained tennis shoes. Charlie pictured the olive skin above those jeans. The dark hair flowing in the breeze.
Like her skin. Her eyes.
Charlie closed his eyes.
Stop it, damn it!
Charlie squinted his eyes harder, and the strange boy mowing the lawn transformed again.
This time, he became a tall, lean man, also wearing worn jeans and faded tennis shoes. Also shirtless, with the tan of a man who spent his days working outdoors and long hair pulled back in a ponytail that reached to his tattoo of a flying dove. A broad smile shone through his goatee. Charlie's breathing calmed down.
Charlie was tossing a tennis shoe to a crazy, three-legged black and white mutt, the sun warm on his bare back, the breeze ruffling his long hair. The man was digging for something in his truck.
The man emerged with his hand closed around something, which he quickly placed behind his back. "Pick a hand, little buddy!" He kept switching hands until Charlie tackled him, laughing, and the man "accidentally" dropped the green-coated rock. Charlie dove between his legs to grab it.
"Wow! You found me a wock with cwysto cowa?" Charlie hugged Wayne around the waist. "Thanks, Uncoh Wayne!"
Charlie opened his hand. There was his porphyritic quartz monzonite coated in turquoise chrysocolla.
As he stared at it, he saw a turquoise trailer, standing out like a gem in the dirty gray snow and among the faded gray and brown trailers around it. It was surrounded by faded, but still beautiful, red San Juaquims, and a vibrant, strangely both bright and melancholy, song was drifting from it. Charlie stood there in the snow, shivering, dreading the conversation he was about to have. Hoping that his Spanish was good enough to somehow explain what he had done. He sighed. He didn't know how to say what needed to be said in English.
He stared at that trailer for a long time, then turned and walked away. He couldn't go in and destroy that beautiful place. Not a second time.
The bell jolted him back to the sala de Español. He was free!