When I get to my locker, Juanita and Rina are already there waiting for me. Juanita races up to me and gives me a giant hug.
“Maya, I’m so glad to see you!” she tells me. “Your hair really got long over the summer.”
I can’t believe Juanita likes my hair. It’s long and stringy and the color is a dirty brown, while hers is jet black, thick and wavy. “Hi. I missed you, too,” I answer, trying not to sound depressed. “And you’re still a chaparrita !” Juanita’s face breaks into a big smile, revealing two large dimples. I suddenly realize how much I’ve missed talking with her. Juanita has been my best friend since I first came to Roosevelt. And last year, when the School Board kicked Juanita out of school for fighting, I was the one who stuck by her, helping her until the school administration finally reinstated her.
“Hey, Maya,” Rina says, interrupting my thoughts. “You got any classes with me this year?”
“I’m not sure,” I tell her, pulling out my schedule card. We huddle together so we can compare our schedules, and Juanita squeals with joy when she finds out we have first-period English class together. I can tell Rina is jealous, but she feels better when she notices that we have two classes together in the afternoon. Rina is my second-best friend-although sometimes she gets on my nerves because she likes to pick on all the guys.
The first bell rings, so Juanita and I quickly say bye to Rina and hurry down the hail to Mrs. Rafter’s room. Everyone calls Mrs. Rafter the “Colonel” because she’s the strictest teacher at Roosevelt. She’s been teaching here for about thirty years. That explains why she looks so ancient.
Mrs. Rafter spends the first fifteen minutes seating us according to her new seating chart. I end up in the back of the classroom in row six, and poor Juanita gets stuck right up front. Then Mrs. Rafter orders us to take out pencil and paper and write a short composition about how we spent our summer vacation. I take out a sheet of paper and stare at it for the longest time. When I look around, I notice everyone is busy writing. My eyes start to fill with tears, but I hurry and blink them back. Finally, I decide to make up a story about how Dad, Mom and I spent the summer camping in New Mexico. I describe in detail how we spent hours hiking in the Sandía Mountains. After a while, I find myself believing it all and I start to feel better.
At lunchtime, Juanita and I head for our old spot near the football field to meet Rina and the rest of our friends. There aren’t many Chicanos and African-Americans at Roosevelt, so we all hang out with each other. Ankiza and Tyrone are African-American and Rina is Puerto Rican. But Tommy and Rudy are Chicanos. When we first started hanging out together at school, all the other kids used to stare at us, but now I guess they’re used to it.
When we get to the football field, Tommy, Rudy, and Tyrone are all standing next to the bleachers. They whistle at us as we sit down on the grass next to Rina and Ankiza. Tyrone keeps staring at me, but I pretend not to notice. I’ve been avoiding talking with him since the beginning of summer. I know he’s wondering why I haven’t returned his phone calls.
Tommy is the first to speak to me. “Hey, Maya. We heard you went to New Mexico? How was it?”
Now everyone’s looking at me. I know I have to make something up. I can’t possibly tell them the truth. “It was okay,” I shrug.
“Just okay!” yells big-mouth Rina. “Girl, you’re so lucky. Your mom and dad take you everywhere. Not me. I get stuck at home all the time. My step-dad won’t take me nowhere.”
“Cállate, Rina,” Tommy tells her. “Don’t be a crybaby!”
Rina goes over to Tommy and slugs him. We all start to laugh. Then Tyrone mentions that Public Enemy is giving a concert next month in Santa Barbara. I’m relieved when everyone starts talking about music and forgets all about summer vacation.
When the warning bell rings for fifth period, I quickly grab my backpack and head toward campus before Tyrone has a chance to follow me. Juanita is right behind me.
When we get to our lockers, she says, “You’re acting weird, Maya. Did you break up with Tyrone or what?”
“Don’t be silly, Johnny,” I answer, sharply. “We were never going together. We’re just friends.”
I can tell by the injured look on Juanita’s face that I’ve hurt her feelings. But I know she’s too good a friend to say anything mean to me.
“Well,” Juanita says, “I know Tyrone still likes you. I can tell by the way he was looking at you.”
This time I don’t say anything. I grab my books and walk away, wishing Juanita would stay out of my business. Tyrone is the least of my problems. I don’t really care what he thinks. For that matter, I don’t care what any of them think. They’re all so immature, joking around and acting like babies. Don’t they know there are more important things to think about?
My fifth-period class turns out to be the worst class of the day. I can’t seem to concentrate and I’m so glad when it’s finally over and it’s time for P.E. Mrs. Irving makes us run some laps around the track, and I feel the tension in my body start to disappear. Then we play tennis. I pair up with Rina and we spend the rest of the period playing doubles with some of the other girls.
After school, I walk over to the tennis courts for the first meeting of the Junior Varsity tennis team. I recognize the same girls from last year, with the exception of a few new freshmen. The coach is happy to see us. He gives us a big welcome and tells us that this year we’re going to have a winning year and go all the way to the championship game. For the first time, I don’t care about playing tennis or about being on the tennis team. I don’t pay attention to what the coach is saying. I find myself thinking about Dad. He always used to come to my tennis matches. What will I do without him this year? How can I even play tennis, knowing he won’t be there to watch me? I feel so empty now. I miss Dad more than ever. But maybe he’ll call me tonight. Then I can tell him all about my first day as a junior.
When I get home, Mom’s Volvo is in the driveway, but I really don’t care. The house seems empty now. Big and empty. As I step inside the living room, I can see Mom’s feet propped up on the coffee table. She’s sitting in her favorite chair watching Phil Donahue. Mom’s feet are always aching. She says it’s from standing and lecturing to college students all day.
When she hears me, she quickly turns her head to greet me. “Hi, m’ija. How was your first day as a junior? Did you go to your tennis meeting?”
“It was fine,” I answer cooly, heading straight for my bedroom.
“Wait a minute, Maya,” she calls after me. “I want you to sit and tell me all about your classes.”
“Later, Mom. I’m really tired,” I holler, slamming the bedroom door behind me.
I drop my backpack on the floor, turn the radio on, and let myself fall onto the bed. I wonder why I’ve been so rude to Mom? She was just trying to be nice. Maybe she’s lonely, too, like me. I bury my head in my pillow, hoping Dad will call me tonight. Then I can tell him how much I miss him.