Teófila’s Guide to Saving the Sun Page 2

  I’ve always been shorter than everyone else, something this idiot wants to exploit because I’ve embarrassed him in front of Elijah. I don’t bother standing. I only lift a brow and roll my eyes in response.

  “You think you’re so smart ‘cause you read these books.” He’s aiming to throw the book when Elijah speaks.

  “Give her the book back.” His tone is bored, but his hands are in his lap.

  I’d bet they’re clenched there, his right leg bouncing.

  I lean back and chance a glance.

  Yep.

  “She called me a moron.”

  “And?”

  Terrence and Elijah stare at each other in silence.

  But Terrence’s ego is already bruised so he tosses the book on the floor. “She’s just a stupid girl.”

  Elijah is up and in his face before the book has even come to a stop, sliding into the next table.

  Before I can stop anything, Terrence and Elijah are on the ground and everyone is crowding around, pushing me from my seat and onto the floor.

  My curls cover my vision for a moment. Someone steps on my hand and I cry out.

  Hands reach under my arms to lift me. The principal sets me on my feet just as they break the fight up.

  Terrence is bleeding from his cheek and Elijah is staring at him angrily as he’s being dragged away by the PE teacher. Just before they reach the door, he starts to scan the area frantically before his eyes settle on mine.

  Everyone is moving around us, but I watch Elijah until I can’t see him anymore.

  Once I’m alone, I grab my book from under the neighboring table.

  I’m on the ground, dusting the cover off, when a few girls walk past.

  One of them is Vivian. I’ve always loved her long brown hair, the way it hangs as straight as can be down her back. Sometimes I wonder if she accidentally sits on it.

  Other times, I wonder what it’d be like to be so pretty.

  “Elijah’s so cute. Have you heard him sing?” she asks.

  I roll my eyes.

  They’re so engrossed in their conversation and agreeing, that they don’t see me.

  “I don’t know what he sees in that T girl. She’s so weird.”

  One of them laughs.

  “She doesn’t even know how to brush her hair,” Vivian says, and it knocks the breath from my body. “I don’t think they’re together, anyway. I keep catching him staring at me in English class.”

  “You gonna talk to him?”

  Her laugh is so light and airy, and it makes me want to tell her he’d never like someone like her.

  “He gave me a note with his number on it. I’ll probably call him later.”

  I stay hidden until I can’t hear them anymore.

  With my now damaged book in hand and backpack on, I rush out of the cafeteria, tears in my eyes and tired of the war that is middle school.

  4

  SOME TROUBLE STAYS WITH YOU

  Elijah doesn’t come back from the principal’s office. I wonder about him for the rest of the day, even as I eat dinner with my family later that night.

  “Teófila,” my dad says, his voice commanding.

  I look up from the white rice I’m poking at and give him my attention. “Hm?”

  He’s chewing, stern eyes on me, and I wonder what I could’ve done wrong.

  “Heard Elijah got into some trouble today,” he announces after he’s finished swallowing. And then he’s shoving some more pollo guisado in his mouth.

  My eyes linger on my mom for a moment as she eats her food and doesn’t meet my probing gaze.

  There are no such things as secrets in this house. At least, not when I share them with my mom.

  “Some guy was picking on me.” I mumble the words at my food, not proud at sounding so weak. So unlike my father.

  He nods and grunts with approval as he chews.

  I am the only child my parents have. They don’t talk about wanting another, but in our culture, the children always outnumber the parents. I have too many cousins than I know to do with.

  “He’s a good boy,” my dad says. Not the words most would use when it comes to Elijah. “You’re smart. But he’s a different kind of smart.”

  These are the moments that I’m reminded of the kind of life my dad had way before I came along. It’s written all over the faded tattoos under his shirt.

  “He has to be more careful,” my mom says before she grabs her glass of wine. “Some trouble stays with you for longer than you know.”

  Something about what she says, even though it’s said casually as she sips her wine, makes me pause.

  “He isn’t always in trouble,” I insist.

  And my father, for all his understanding, sets his fork down, wipes his face with a napkin, and shakes his head. “He may have a good heart, but these people around here don’t care about that, mija. If it doesn’t look like a duck, or quack like a duck, they couldn’t give a fuck.”

  I snicker as my mom swats at his arm.

  “What?” he asks over a chuckle. “I’m telling the truth.”

  He sets his elbows on the table and just beneath the short sleeve of his polo, I see the tail end of the snake he has tattooed on his bicep. I traced it so often as a kid, I know exactly where the snake starts to wrap around a skull.

  About a half an inch higher…

  “Just be careful, T. We don’t want to have to worry about you getting into anything,” my mom warns.

  “You just keep your head in those books and go to college,” my dad tells me as he gets up.

  My mom doesn’t hesitate to take his plate and hers to the sink.

  My dad never finished middle school and my mom got her GED, dropping out of high school because she got pregnant with me when she was seventeen.

  I am their hopes and dreams wrapped in flesh and bone.

  My mom is washing dishes when I walk up behind her and set mine in the sink.

  “Mami, can I use the phone to call Elijah?”

  She peers around the corner, then checks the clock above the stove. “Wash your dish first. And don’t be on it all night like the other night.” She points her finger at me. “You think I don’t know?”

  That finger flicks my nose and she walks off.

  “Pedro,” she calls out and I don’t bother waiting to hear what follows.

  I know she wouldn’t approve of the quick rinse I give the plate and fork but I’m on a mission as I snatch the cordless phone and run up to my room.

  “Goodnight,” I yell as I head up the steps.

  I’m dialing his number before I’ve even shut my bedroom door.

  He answers on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “What happened today?”

  His sigh isn’t an answer but I’m at least glad his mom didn’t take the phone away like she did last time he got into a fight at school.

  “Suspended for three days. My mama’s pissed. Not as bad as last time, but I can’t go anywhere for a while.”

  I sit on my bed, the turquois bedsheet soft under my bare thighs. “School’s almost over,” I remind him. Soon he won’t have to worry about this suspension or getting into trouble and getting grounded.

  “I gotta make sure I pass, or it isn’t over for me.”

  He’d had to do summer school last summer. It put a damper on a lot of my sunny days. I’d ended up spending the majority of my free days home alone with my books.

  “How can I help?” The question tumbles out of my mouth without thought.

  This is me: The one who worries.

  “Nah, I’ll figure it out.”

  And that is him: The one who wings it.

  “I can’t go to high school without you,” I say, not feeling as bad for sounding weak like I had earlier. Because it’s true.

  Elijah is my only ally.

  “You can do anything, T.” The words sound so big, and then, “You’re gonna be bigger than anyone else around here,” he mutters.

  “Not bigger t
han you,” I insist. I’ve heard him sing.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “I believe in you,” I whisper. “You can pass all your classes as easily as you can sing your favorite songs.”

  “Yeah?”

  I nod, even though he can’t see it. “Yeah,” I say, before clearing my throat and speaking again, an idea popping into my head. “Hey, my mom bought the new Pirates of the Caribbean. Wanna watch it? I’m sure my parents will be asleep soon.”

  Elijah hasn’t snuck over in a while. My dad wouldn’t think he was such a good boy if he knew.

  “I don’t know…my mama’s working overnight but I don’t want her to come home on her break and see that I’m gone…”

  I know what being in trouble with his mom means. It means I don’t see or speak to Elijah until he comes back to school. She’ll take his cell phone, even take the house phone off the hook and lock it away. It means he can’t come over and I can’t go to his house, so I don’t push.

  “I get it,” I tell him.

  “Someone’s at the door.” I hear rustling on the other end of the line. “Might be my dad. I’ll call you back.”

  “I don’t want you to wake my parents up, so I’ll call you in fifteen minutes.”

  It’s early but I don’t want them complaining about me still having the phone in my room.

  He says okay and hangs up.

  While I wait, I turn on my TV and set up my DVD player. It was a Christmas gift and I remember the way they smiled as I opened it.

  “I never had anything so nice when I was your age,” my dad had said.

  It makes me a little sad, every time he mentions his childhood. He has scars that tell more than he ever really does.

  Most kids my age are getting cell phones, Elijah included. But I still feel a surge of gratefulness every time I turn on my TV.

  I check the time and dial Elijah’s number again.

  He doesn’t answer.

  I start the movie and fall asleep watching Johnny Depp, with the house phone next to my pillow.

  THE SOUND of my window sliding open has me sitting up, my breath caught in my throat.

  “T?”

  Elijah’s voice is quiet, and I sit back, my hand over my thumping heart.

  “You scared me,” I whisper.

  “Sorry,” he says.

  The movie menu plays over and over, and it casts a dreary light across my bedroom, covering his back so I can’t see his face.

  “Was it your dad?”

  He shakes his head and takes off his shoes.

  “Who was it?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer, just sits on the opposite end of the bed. Still silent, he reaches for the remote and starts the movie over.

  The scene opens and he snags one of my pillows, stuffing it behind his back.

  “It was Vivian,” he tells me.

  “Please don’t tell me you actually like her,” I hiss, looking at the door, knowing my parents could walk in any moment.

  “Come on, T. You hated Summer. Vivian, too?”

  “It’s not my fault your taste is questionable. You want me to lie and say she’s awesome and nice and smart?” The words, meant to sound light and joking, leave my mouth in a rush, syllables nearly tumbling over one another.

  “Maybe I do,” he tells me, and it’s a little loud. A little forceful.

  My eyes go to my bedroom door for a moment. When I look at him again, he’s watching the movie. “If you like her, okay.”

  “What has she ever done to you, anyway?” Now he’s staring at me, face-on.

  Part of me wants to hide and never feel the shame and embarrassment Vivian’s words made me feel again.

  Do I tell him?

  Or do I let him end up with someone who isn’t right for him?

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say.

  “Yes, it does.”

  “If you like her…”

  “You’re my best friend.” He sits back and smiles. “I just got suspended for punching stupid ass Terrence in the face because of you.”

  “You think I don’t know you’ve been wanting to do that? I was just the final straw.” I chuckle but Elijah doesn’t budge. “Fine. I just heard her making fun of me. That’s it.”

  “What did she say?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. I’m not bringing that into my space,” I tell him, in lieu of an actual answer.

  I look across the room, at the shelf lined with books. They don’t deserve to have any mean things said in here. And those people at school don’t exist in here.

  It’s just Elijah and me right now.

  “Whatever it was, you know it isn’t true, right?”

  I nod but I’m a liar.

  I don’t know that I’m not a mess of curly hair that’s sometimes a little dry and frizzy. I don’t know that I’m not just this weird girl with no friends other than the one sitting on my bed.

  And I wonder what this friendship will be like if every girl Elijah likes is like Summer or Vivian. As unkind as they are beautiful.

  “If you like her, don’t worry about me,” I tell him. It tastes bitter to even say, but I can’t be the reason he doesn’t experience what he wants to.

  “Nah.” It’s his turn to shake his head. “Let’s just watch the movie.”

  I settle back into my pillows and try, in vain, to stay awake.

  5

  STRAWBERRIES AND MEAN GIRLS

  Sometime before dawn, I woke up alone, no sign of Elijah ever having been in my room. So, I took a long shower and gave myself a mental pep talk.

  Elijah won’t be at school, but you’ll be perfectly fine.

  I stand in front of my mirror after my shower and stare at the mass of dark curls.

  Some of them didn’t curl with the rest of them. Instead, they frizzed, or they weren’t as curly. My hair is a mop of unevenness.

  I grab a brush and get to work on it. Once I’m done, my arms ache, but at least it’s pulled back.

  “Do you want any…” my mom’s voice trails off as I come into view. She clears her throat and tries again, a bowl in her hand. “Cereal, míja?”

  “No, thank you,” I tell her. I can feel her eyes on me, but I don’t give in to the curiosity I see in them.

  My head feels freer as I walk to the bus stop.

  All day in my classes, I wonder what it would be like if this weren’t temporary and I really didn’t have Elijah in my life. And I start to think about making more friends, just in case.

  But as I eye my peers from the top of my book during lunch, I start to feel heat climb up the back of my neck at the thought of introducing myself to any of them.

  Vivian comes into view and I duck a little more behind my book. As they pass, I pick my head up again, just in time to see her look at me and laugh. I can’t look away as she nudges her friends and tips her chin toward me.

  I roll my eyes and pick my book back up.

  But they don’t see the tears that build up.

  They don’t see when they fall.

  Or how red I know my face has gotten. My dad used to make fun of my face after I cried, calling me his little fresa and giving me a hug.

  But there aren’t enough strawberries in the world that will make mean girls nice and make me not want to go home and hack my hair off.

  By the time the last bell has rung, I’m rushing through the halls, fiddling with my locker combination because I’m sick of being here.

  I have to take a breath and try the combo again before it finally opens. I grab my things and run out of there.

  The bus is in my line of vision and I’m rushing toward it when I see Elijah standing off to the side. He isn’t supposed to be on school property, so I look around before I run to him.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, looking around again.

  His smile is so easy-going, it’s infuriating. Am I the only one who cares about rules around here?

  “Missed me?”

  The words that I swore were going to come
out of his cocky little face, came from behind me. I turn and there, standing taller than me with her perfect little smile, is Vivian.

  “I’m here for T, actually,” he says and grabs my elbow to bring me closer.

  My eyes fall to our feet. He’s got white sneakers on again, but this pair is cleaner. So clean, I wonder if they’re new.

  “What, are you two together or something? That wasn’t what you were saying last night.”

  She doesn’t know that I don’t care.

  I don’t care. I don’t care.

  I have to chant it to myself, so I fully believe it.

  “Last night was last night,” Elijah says, and it makes me feel weird in my gut that something happened between them and he’s being so dismissive of her right now.

  My dad always says not to fight fire with fire.

  “We’re just friends,” I say.

  But Elijah doesn’t break his gaze from hers, doesn’t move, doesn’t sway.

  And Vivian’s eyes look a little too glassy for my liking.

  “Hey…” I start.

  She glares at me and steps back. “I don’t need pity from you,” she says, and I know whatever comes next will be like a wrecking ball in the chest. “Just look at you.”

  And before she can continue, Elijah puts his arm around me.

  “I know. She’s beautiful, right?”

  Strawberries and mean girls.

  What do they have in common?

  Elijah doesn’t like either of them.

  6

  FUCK BURNT HAIR

  P eople, I notice, will fit you into whatever mold it is that they can, just so they can try to understand you.

  And if they don’t understand you, if you don’t fit their mold, then comes the fear.

  Most times, fear comes out in the form of hate.

  But for every person who hates the misunderstood, there are the few and favored allies.

  My sixteen-year-old mind ponders this as I stare at Miley.

  Her once long blonde hair is now black and just below her ears. She’d started out our junior year wearing a lot more than what she’s wearing now. Tight jean shorts with a top that hints at her belly-button ring and sandals are all that adorn her. I don’t know how she gets away with it, but I’d have to constantly pull at my shorts to keep my thighs from chafing.