This story is part of a story that I wrote as an assignment for a MOOC Class I took at University of IOWA.
The class was called, Power of the Pen: Identities and Social Issues in Fiction and Nonfiction. The classes are taught online and people from all over the world participate. This was the second time I participated, and again I learned a lot. Here you can read the second part.
… (Read Part 1 here)
Manuel Part 2
…
Two hours later, I sit in the cafeteria at a table near the entrance. All my friends have other lunch periods this year. So I often sit alone at lunch.
Starving teens are like a bunch of vultures fighting for the last piece of carrion. And teens are always starving. That’s, what my mother says. She thinks I am no exception. The cafeteria is loud and busy. It reeks of burnt food, grease and sweet potatoes. Students balance their trays and backpacks through the tight spaces between the tables to find a place. The lucky ones already have a seat and munch on their pizzas or muffins, or whatever they brought or bought.
Against my mother’s predictions, I am not hungry. My thoughts are still dancing around the restroom scene. Would David really show the video to Sheila’s father? Would he show it to someone else? Chip and Jeff have seen it for sure. And I’m certain he’s gonna terrorize Sheila with it. And she’ll be so mad at me, she’ll never talk to me again. And, where would I get 200 bucks?
Trish, a girl from my biology class shoves her tray next to mine. “Hi Manuel, you don’t mind, do you?” I do mind, but before I can answer, another girl, throws herself next to Trish, moaning, “What a chaos.”
The second girl is the spitting image of Trish, same brown hair, same face. The hairstyle is different, and…
“Never heard of twins? Stop staring,” The second girl hisses in my direction. “Man, is everybody like that, Trish?”
“Manuel, this is Inka, my sister, she’s new. She didn’t grow up … Ouch!” Trish turns to her sister, “Why are you kicking me? What’s wrong with you? He’s in my bio class.”
“He doesn’t need to know everything!” Inka is furious.
“Never mind, Trish.” I turn my attention back to the green enchiladas my mother had packed for me.
Inka hisses something in Trish’s ear. It sounds like, “he smells angry, desperate and…” Trish glances over and catches me staring again.
“Inka, you have to stop. Someday someone will hear you and they will find out about us,” Trish whispers back.
“You are such a chicken, Trish. I don’t care, if they find out. Then what? You think, they are shipping us off to some mental hospital, because of our ‘skills’? Besides, doesn’t everybody know about your special skill already? After you dragged that girl over the diving board? Uuh, I can’t help it, … the smell is so strong.” Inka answers and rolls her eyes. “Definitely, anger, desperation, and a pinch of love-sickness.”
“Shhh.” hushes Trish.
My ears feel warm. Are they talking about me? How can someone smell anger? I must have misheard. I glance over again.
Inka is now staring at me.
“Sorry,” she says, but she doesn’t look a bit sorry. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just don’t like … smelly strangers.”
Anger rises inside my chest. “Smelly strangers? What’s your problem? Don’t like Mexicans? Guess what, I ain’t none.” I pack up my lunch. How does she dare to call me a smelly Mexican?
“Manuel, she didn’t mean it like that,” Trish says.
I shrug, turn and walk away.
On my way to the exit, I pass David Goldman. He whistles. “Hey, Broki, that girl has guts. She didn’t want to pose for you?”
His laughter still rings in my ears when I reach the class room.
The next day, I’m at home, on my way down the stairs, when I hear the key turning in the lock. Mom! Oh shit, she is home early.
“Yes, Mr. Goldman, I’ll get it for you right away. Please give me a minute.”
I hate when she uses this subservient voice. She often does, especially when she talks to men. Mr. Goldman is our landlord and he wants the rent. My mother rushes inside and closes the door.
I press myself against the wall. She cannot see me right now. Fight or flight mode kicks in.
“Manuel? Are you home?”
I tiptoe into my room, open the window, climb outside, and take my usual escape route down the big maple tree. Running through the backyard I wonder what Mom will tell Mr. Goldman.
Two blocks from the house, I come to a halt, panting. She’ll be furious that I took the money.
**************************************************************************
Please, leave a comment if you like the story. Part 3, is coming soon …