When Monday morning rolls around, I make sure to leave early so I can avoid walking to school with Rudy and Tyrone. It only takes about twenty minutes to get to Roosevelt from our apartments. I guess you could say we live in one of the crummiest neighborhoods in Laguna. Tyrone calls it the projects. When I was younger, I used to get embarrassed telling my teachers where I lived, but I don’t anymore.
After I drop off some of my books in my locker, I go straight to the library where I sit and wait for the first-period bell to ring. Mrs. Meeker, the librarian, is always happy to see me. Everyone likes to make fun of her because she’s almost six-feet tall and has the broadest shoulders. They call her the Amazon Queen. I think Mrs. Meeker’s pretty nice, but I wonder what she would say if she knew that the library has become one of my favorite hiding places.
In my first two periods, I have the hardest time concentrating on what the teachers are saying. By the time I get to my third-period Math class, I find myself sketching comic book characters instead of listening to Mrs. Allen’s lecture. When the fourth-period bell finally rings, I’m relieved that it’s time to go to Art class. I don’t know why, but drawing makes me forget about all my problems.
As soon as I walk into Art, Maya signals across the room for me to sit by her. Even though Maya is someone I really enjoy talking to, she can be a real pain sometimes.
“Look, Tommy, isn’t she cool?” Maya says as I come up to her side. She’s pointing to a picture in an Art book of some weird-looking woman who has the thickest eyebrows I’ve ever seen and a monkey wrapped around her shoulder. “It’s Frida Kahlo,” Maya proudly explains. “My mom says she’s Mexico’s most important female painter. I’m going to sketch her.”
“Oh, yeah?” I mutter, trying to act as if I’m the slightest bit interested. Before Maya has time to say anything else about the hairy-looking lady, Mrs. Grant orders everyone to sit down and get busy on their art projects. I have no choice but to sit next to Maya.
“What a dorkhead,” Maya whispers to me.
Ignoring Maya’s comment, I take out my drawing pencils and a blank sheet of paper. Then I stare aimlessly into space until Maya starts to bother me again. “Whose portrait are you going to draw?” she abruptly asks.
“I’m not sure,” I answer, wishing that Maya weren’t so nosey. I don’t know why I let her corner me into sitting here, but then again, the class is filled with kids I hardly know.
“Mrs. Grant said we can do a self-portrait if we want,” Maya says.
“I don’t know why she gave us such a stupid assignment,” I tell her.
Maya smiles at me. “I love drawing people. I think they’re the best subjects.”
“Well, I hate portraits,” I say, folding my arms and putting my head on the desk.
All of a sudden, Mrs. Grant is standing next to my shoulder. I instantly jerk my head up, hoping she won’t lecture me about slacking off during class time.
“What have you chosen as a subject, Tommy?” Mrs. Grant asks, peering over my shoulder at the blank sheet of paper.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I answer, quickly picking up one of my drawing pencils.
“Better get started. This is only one project that’s due before the semester ends.” Then Mrs. Grant turns to talk to Maya, who has already started sketching the strange lady. “That’s a great picture, Maya.” Mrs. Grant leans closer so that she can examine the picture in Maya’s art book. “Who’s the artist?”
While Mrs. Grant is busy listening to everything that Maya knows about Frida Kahlo, I sketch a few lines on my paper. Maybe a self-portrait wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I could give it to my mom for her birthday. But I don’t know how I can possibly draw myself. I have such a boring face compared to other people. My cheeks are thin, my nose is pointy, and the only thing that stands out about me are my green eyes. When I was little, my mom used to call me güero ’cause I’m so light-complected. I always hated being called that.
“Hey, that’s starting to look like you,” Maya says, examining the outline I’ve drawn of my face. “Except I think your nose is pointier than that.”
When I don’t respond to her comments, she turns back to her own drawing and leaves me alone. But a few minutes later, Maya looks over at me and says, “I think Kizer likes you.”
I feel my face start to burn, but I don’t look up from my drawing, hoping Maya will get the hint.
“I think she likes your body,” Maya adds, teasingly.
This time I look up at her and say, “Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not kidding. Ankiza’s all excited about going to the movies with you on Friday night. You’re still coming with us, right?” Maya insists.
I feel a sense of relief when the bell suddenly rings and the room is filled with the noise of students getting ready to leave. I quickly stuff my drawing into my backpack and then race toward the door, hoping to get away before Maya has time to follow me. But as I head down the busy corridor, Maya runs and catches up with me.
“Wait up, Tommy,” she says pleadingly, grabbing me by the arm.
I slow down, realizing that there’s no way to escape Maya. What Maya wants, Maya gets.
“Tommy, please have lunch with us today,” she begs. “It’s no fun without you.”
I shrug my shoulders and say, “Sorry, I can’t.” Then I take off in the direction of the next building, but Maya doesn’t give up. She follows me as I head toward my locker. “Come on, Tommy. Don’t be like that. Look, here comes Johnny.”
As I walk up to my locker, Juanita comes over to join us. I say hello to her while Maya explains that I’m joining them for lunch today. For an instant, I feel like grabbing Maya by the shoulders and shaking her, but I don’t. Instead, I have no choice but to grab my sack lunch and follow them out of the building toward the football field.
Ever since we were Freshman, we’ve been eating out by the bleachers. About the only time we eat inside is when it rains. But it hardly ever rains in Laguna. Sometimes we walk down to the 7-Eleven or Foster Freeze to get a soda or some junk food, but walking there takes all our lunch break, so we don’t do it that often.
When we get to the football field, Rudy and Tyrone are already sitting on the bleachers eating their lunch. A few minutes later, Rina and Ankiza show up. I start to feel a little nervous because every time I look up, I catch Ankiza staring at me, but I act as if I don’t notice.
Maya gets the conversation going when she starts talking about this new rap group that came out on MTV last night. Then Rina starts badmouthing poor old Mrs. Plumb, the Spanish teacher. We all laugh when Tyrone finally tells her to shut up. Then Ankiza looks straight at me and asks me if I can help her with her Algebra homework tonight. Before I have time to answer her, Rudy says, “Are you sure it’s math you need help with?” Everyone laughs and I force myself to join in, hoping that no one notices that I’m feeling embarrassed. I’m glad when Maya and Rina start talking about music again.
After a few minutes, Rudy says, “Hey, Tyrone, did you check out David J. in P.E. today? He not only talks like a fag, he plays ball like a fag.”
I feel my stomach muscles tighten, but I know I have to maintain my cool. When Tyrone laughs out loud, everyone joins him, even me. The only one who doesn’t laugh is Maya.
“Shut up, Rudy,” Maya says. “I like David and I don’t care if he is gay.”
Rudy stands up, flips his right hand down, and says, “Are you a joto-lover or what, Maya?”
Everyone laughs at Rudy’s impersonation, only this time I don’t.
“You’re so damn ignorant,” Maya shouts at Rudy. “My mom has a lot of gay friends. They’re people just like you and me.”
“Chill out, Maya,” Tyrone says. “Everyone knows David’s queer.”
I’m starting to get angry, so I look down and pretend that I’m eating my Fritos. That’s the bad thing about being a güero: my face turns red so easily when I’m upset. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Maya glaring at Tyrone. But before she has time to tell him anything, the bell rings, signaling that lunch period has ended. Juanita stands up and says, “Come on, Maya. I don’t want to be late for Spanish. Mrs. Plumb will have a fit.”
Before any of them have time to follow after me, I take off in the opposite direction toward the gymnasium. I hear Ankiza call out goodbye to me, but I don’t bother to answer her.
The rest of the afternoon, I’m too upset at myself to concentrate in my classes. Instead of listening to the teachers, I daydream about my comic-book heroes. If only I were like Batman, then maybe I would have the guts to tell Rudy and Tyrone to go to hell. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to lie and pretend that I’m something I’m not.