Model Ricans

Marga Nieves: Model Rican 8.0

Note to readers: We are switching now to Marga's POV. I hope the last chapter made this shift clear. My first attempt was clunky and my beta reader objected, so if it's still clunky, please add your comments here, and mil gracias to anyone who is still reading!

When I get to the door of Desiree's classroom, I see her slumped into her seat. The classroom buzzes with different conversations at each cluster of desks. It's loud. Everyone is always loud on the first day of school, catching up on summer gossip, but it looks like the only news is Desiree Sanchez and Sky Bowman. I wave at her from the doorway, trying to get her attention, but she is in that weird zombie state. It's clear she is time traveling somewhere. Kids squeeze past me into her classroom saying things like, "Did you hear about Desiree and Sky?"

"I know, what a slut."

"I can't believe she took a cab to his house in the middle of the night, like a total prostitute."

It's shocking. Pobrecita, Desiree. My hand immediately covers my mouth as if I'm the one spewing these chunks of gossip. It's a symphonic cacophony, especially when I hear Mrs. B out in the hallway, talking to another teacher, telling kids in between classes to hurry before the bell rings. Hurry. Hurry. Bell ringing. Should I go over to Desiree and hug her? Should I try to time travel with her? While I watch her sitting at her desk, my mind clunkily attempts to process Bobby's words.

"You'll have to pay your own cab fare."

When Mrs. B slips past me, I realize I'm late for my own class. I do my best to block out Desiree's drama. Ay. Que pena.  I'll have to check on her after class. I try to focus on The Uninformed Teacher's droning about the Civil War. "There are many reasons the war began – it wasn't just about slavery."

He's obviously following the state-approved textbook. I take notes dutifully, as always, transcribing every word verbatim so I can memorize it perfectly for the test on Friday even though The Uninformed Teacher is indoctrinating all of us with total bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

I imagine myself raising my hand and Mr. B allowing me to stand on my desk to inform everyone that yes, of course the Civil War was about slavery. Without slavery, the white people wouldn't have generations of wealth, but I say nothing, keep my mouth shut. My GPA needs a boost if I am going to get into an Ivy League and land a scholarship. 

"If I work hard, I will be free," I tell myself, staring at a picture of a slave in my history book, while suspicion invades my mind. Other people's expectations may enslave me for the rest of my life, same way Desiree is a slave to what everyone thinks about her jumping out of a bedroom window in the middle of the night to go see her boyfriend, or whatever he is. Or was. 

It's like a totally wild, radical thing for a girl our age to do. 

After class, I hurry to meet up with her, but she's already gone. I check her locker. The band room, even though she quit playing saxophone and she's not in my class this year. She's gone. I am wondering if I should tell someone. But what am I going to say? "Desiree is time traveling, and I am worried about her."

Science is my jam, not paranormal brujeria, regardless of the things Tia says.

I find myself looking out my own bedroom window that night, wondering if I could do it, but the darkness outside and the solitude consume me with fear. Where would I go? I can't think of any boy worth meeting in the middle of the night. 

Better to stay inside, especially now that Desiree has a reputation. I wonder if the other kids will think I am slutty, too, just by hanging out with her. Is there such a thing as slutty-by-association? I pull out my psychology book from my massive backpack. Flip to that one chapter about sexuality, but it focuses on abuse and Sally Field in that movie Sybil when she develops multiple personalities. Was Desiree abused as a child? It seems so extreme, so I close that book and look around my bedroom. No posters on the wall like a normal teenager.