Cubanita (2 page)

It's not even 7:30 in the morning, but the heat's already burned the mist off the swamp's surface. A single egret greets me at its edge, eyeing me closely as I approach the camp's main building. Maybe it remembers me from last year. Maybe it's the same one from my blue-ribbon painting I exhibited at the Youth Fair, asking to pose again in exchange for a brown snail. Okay, maybe not.

Two steps behind me, Susy flutters like a big, grinning moth. “Did you see him?”

“See who?” Mystery Man. Of course I saw that chiseled perfection.

“You're kidding. Did the split with Robi impair your vision as well as your judgment?”

“Ha, ha, very funny.” Another person who thinks I was warped when I cut the guy loose a month ago. “Susy, the whole
reason for breaking up with Robi was to clean the slate before leaving for U-M. I'm not looking at another guy this summer. I don't want to be involved with anyone right now.”

“Involved?” She snorts. “Who said anything about getting involved? I was only asking if you saw that ass. You know exactly who I'm talking about. Your eyes went superwide. And by the way, you might want to stop saying U-M. Everybody thinks you mean University of Miami.”

“Whatever.”

There he is again. Weird, his face isn't that good-looking, not pretty boy anyway. More serious, rugged, with piercing dark eyes. Still, he'd qualify as good-looking in that ugly sort of way. You know exactly what I mean. This time he's trying harder not to stare at me, but quick glances escape him, as Susy and I go by.

“Ladies,” Jonathan booms in a voice full of upper hierarchy. “Come hither.” If only our real director would come out of his office every now and then, we wouldn't have to deal with Dorkus Erectus here.

We head up the sidewalk. On a cypress branch, about fifteen yards behind Jonathan, there's an anhinga drying itself off after a morning fish, its wingspan extending against the pink sky. But as we get closer, it also looks like it's sitting right on top of Jon's head. A glorious crown to an unsuspecting, doofus totem pole.

“What is it?” Jonathan asks, noticing my smile.

Mystery Man doesn't get it either. He's kind of scowling, although I'm starting to think maybe that's his normal
expression. The frown brings out his eyes, deep brown, rimmed with dark long lashes—lashes I'd kill for. Why do men always get the Cover Girl look naturally, when I need mascara? I tell you.

“Nothing,” I say. Like I'm about to tell Jon there seems to be a huge wading bird perched on his head. Too bad it's not really sitting on him. I'd give anything to see it poop on the King of Control Freaks. “What's up?”

Beside me, Susy's zeroing in on Mystery Man. She straightens herself, puffing up her chest, doing her best to show the new guy what a real woman's made of.

Jonathan gives us a forced smile. “Just wanted you to meet Andrew Corbin.”

Andrew. Great name. I bet I could count on one hand the number of South Floridians who don't cringe at the mention of it. Even though it's been eons since the storm tore through here.

“Coach Andrew,” Mystery Man kindly interrupts, finally breaking out a weak smile.

Ah, coach. Hence the underwear ad physique. “Cool,” I say cleverly. Wait, I thought we already had an activities coach. Coach Ig was at the first meeting last week, and this guy wasn't. “Iggy's gone?”

“Yeah, he left. Found something better, I guess,” Jonathan scoffs. “So the field belongs to Andrew.”

“Really?” Susy tucks her tongue into her cheek, and her eyelashes sweep over Coach Andrew like some huge plumy feathers. “That's exciting. Awesome, really.”

I look at her with golf ball eyes, and if she pays close attention, she can see
clueless
written all over my face. But she doesn't. Because she's clueless.

Andrew grins like he's comfortable with this dumb display of raging estrogen. I guess the girls-gone-gaga thing happens to him a lot.

“So, ladies…make sure Andrew's up to speed with all the house rules, all right?” Jon spots the parade of yellow and black swamp buggies starting to invade the parking lot. “Buses are here. Gotta go.” He trudges off to exercise his control freakiness at the registration desk.

Andrew, Susy, and I stroll toward the entrance of the main house. They'll need us to take our groups in about fifteen minutes.

“Yeah, this is awesome.” Andrew picks up on Susy's unabashed enthusiasm. “Iggy's been talking about this camp for a while now. Said I could probably hook up here for the summer.”

“Excuse me?” Susy asks, lusty fog obviously clouding her judgment.

“Work here. I meant hook up, as in ‘work here.'” He smiles.

“Oh.” Susy meant hook up, as in “find a piece of ass,” but whatever. I guess she's smitten, even if his face
does
fall within the intimidating-ugly-yet-somehow-attractive category.

“You know Iggy?” she asks.

“Ig? Yeah, we were roommates last year, but I got my own
place now. He's working at the bookstore this summer.”

Ohhhh, Andrew knows Iggy from UM. The other UM. The one my mother would rather I go to, the one only a few miles away, not as far up the continental U.S. from her as possible.

I try to catch Susy's expression. She dated Iggy for a month, and obviously never learned about Andrew, judging from her clucking tongue. Let's get this ball between them rolling already. “Andrew,” I say cheerfully, “this is my friend Susana. She teaches science.”

He looks at her like she's nothing more than a little old lady or an office buddy of his father's. “Hey, Susana,” he says, offering his hand.

“Susy,” she replies breathlessly, taking it in hers.

“Susy.” He smiles at her again, but it's a polite smile, not a how-you-doin', wanna-shag-now-or-shag-later smile. His gaze keeps flitting over to me. “And you're…?”

“Sorry. Isabel…Isa. Nice to have you along for the ride.”

Susy coughs into her fist and smiles, no doubt envisioning Coach Andrew as a wild ride.

“Along for the summer,” I correct. “That's cool. Good luck.” Whew.

I leave them both and head for the buses. One by one, the little darlings jump off the bottom steps, toting their cute backpacks, eager to learn about Everglades ecology. One of them, a teeny girl with a long swishing ponytail decorated with a green ribbon, bounces to the ground and spots Andrew. “Andy! Andy!”

Coach Andrew turns around, a silly grin materializing on
his face, lighting up his whole being. “Hey, chicken-chickee!” He crouches low, and the flying child comes swooping in, landing beautifully in his open arms.

She hugs him close, smiling into his shoulder. Then she plants a sweet kiss on his cheek and coos, “Where's Iggy?”

“Iggy's not here anymore. But I am,” he says softly, tickling her ribs until she squeals in delight. “Ig's niece,” he offers to Susy as an explanation, then takes off with Chicken-Chickee to the registration desk.

I'm completely stunned. Not sure why. It's just that I don't know anything about this Andrew. I guess because of his hard stare, I thought he was the serious type, a jerk even, into his own ego. But if a little girl with a swishing ponytail and ribbon in her hair can run up to him the way this one did, and smother him the way this one did, and laugh all bubbly with him like this one did, then he can't be all that bad. In fact, he's gotta be pretty great, right?

As they enter the building hand in hand, I catch myself smiling openly.

 

I stroll around the art room, helping my seven-year-olds draw monarch butterflies. One of my students, a stocky little girl with shiny blond hair, tugs on my shirt. “Ms. Díaz?”

“Yes?” I smile.

She points her black crayon at a wide-eyed boy next to her. “He's bothering me.”

I can't possibly see how this poor boy can be bothering her. He looks like Bambi, for Christ's sake. But there—it took
a whole twenty minutes for the kids to start telling on one another. That's the only thing I don't like about this job.

“Bothering you? Why…” I look down at my clipboard. “Yessica, he's just sharing the crayons with you. You have to share, sweetie.”

Yessica looks about as thrilled at hearing this as, say, a cat going in for a flea bath. She sighs. “Fine. But only because you knew my name. And because you're pretty.”

“Oh.” I touch my hair for some reason.

“You look like that lady with the brown hair and brown eyes from that commercial about the shampoo that they play when my mom is watching that program she watches.”

No clue what she's talking about, but if I look like anyone in any hair product commercial, that's good, I guess. “Well. Thank you. Yessica. That's very nice of you.”

Now, why didn't Robi ever tell me things like that?

 

During lunch, Susy's baffled. “Why didn't Iggy ever mention Andrew? I mean, hello, they were roommates.”

“Why are you surprised? Don't you think Iggy knew what he was doing by not introducing you two? You would've traded him for Andrew in a heartbeat. He knew that.” I guess Iggy wasn't as dense as I thought. “Besides, you guys only went out for a month.” Sex. That's all Susy wanted from him anyway.

No answer, as she bites into a bologna and cheese sandwich.

At 4:30, the first day wraps up smoothly. No accidents,
tantrums, or barfing. No children eaten by ferocious alligators. Mami will be disappointed. My afternoon kids worked with watercolors wonderfully, better than I expected. Minimum spillage and a surprising sense of impressionism for second graders. Best of all, it's been a peaceful day away from home.

But every time I turned a corner today, walking the kids to their next activity, I felt a presence. As much as I tried to avoid it, I knew that Andrew's gaze was fixed on me from the PE field, dark eyes following me from underneath his baseball cap.

Though it should feel a bit creepy, a part of me is satisfied that someone actually bypassed Susy's “take me, I put out” antics and noticed me instead. For once. So I find myself smiling for the second time today.

 

Home less than a minute, I already hear the kitchen radio blaring the daily specials at Sedano's supermarket, and my mother begins invading my personal space. “
¿Ey, casi las seis? ¿Cómo te fue? ¿Qué hicieron?
” She heaves a basket of laundry onto the living room sofa. She's trying hard not to be intrusive, asking only three questions rather than the usual twenty.

“I'm late because there was traffic, it went fine, and the kids loved my lessons. How was
your
day, Mami?”

She sighs heavily and drops next to the basket to begin folding. “You didn't call, Isa.”

“Sorry, Mom. It was a busy first day.” I plop down next to
her and begin matching socks.

She whips a T-shirt into shape, then transforms it into a perfectly folded rectangle. “
Stefanito se fue a la playa con Oscarito
. He hasn't called all day either.”

Stefanito. His friend Oscarito. My mother must make everything diminutive. It can't just be Stefan…no, it's gotta be Little Stefan. Not Oscar, Little Oscar.

“Yeah, but if Stefan's been at the beach all day, he should've called you. It's not like he's working. I mean, at least
I'm
working.”

“
Sí, mi vida
, but he's a man,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Huh?” I blurt, as if I'm not used to this double standard by now. “What's that supposed to mean? Because he's a guy, he doesn't have to call you? Besides, Stefan's hardly a man, Mami. What does he do all day? Go to the beach? Shop? That's being a man?”

She flips up a palm. “
Mi hija, no empieces
.”

Don't start
, she says. Here I am, using my precious time to make something of myself, working for a living, preparing for college, only to get Mami's grief for everything I do. But Stefan! Stefan takes two classes a week at Miami-Dade and earns her respect anyway, just because he's got testicles? Please! My brother's a bum. Mami should be giving
him
grief, but she doesn't because he's Prince Stefanito, the prized boy in the family, the spicy ham neatly sandwiched between two unappreciative slices of white bread.

Speaking of which, my sister hasn't written me in a few days. “I'm gonna go change,” I tell Mom, heading to my
room to check e-mail.

In the solace of my four walls, I look through messages and find one from my sis. Carmen's twenty-five and managed to escape my mother's talons by going to Valdosta State, marrying a non-Hispanic American, and working as a nurse
waaaay
far from home in Virginia. How she did it, I'm not sure. Probably because my dad vetoed Mom's suggestion that Carmen stay home to sew underwear.
Go
, he said,
dream and pursue happiness
. Mom wasn't as happy after that. Not that I enjoy my mother being unhappy, but Carmen is my hero. Go, Carmen!

 

From: C. Díaz-Sanders

To: Isabelita

Subject: Congratulations!

 

Hi, baby girl! It kills me that I couldn't go to your graduation, but since I just started at St. Jude's, I couldn't take any days off. I'll be sure to use my first vacation days visiting you at school. Did you get the graduation card I sent? There's a check inside. Use it wisely. Like I even have to tell you that.

 

Ready to leave? Don't worry, August will be here before you know it, then you'll be free! Yay! God, I can't believe my little sis is going off to college! That's awesome, mamita. Good for you. Bueno, hang in there. Love Mami and Papi, but be yourself. Don't give in to ancient notions.

 

Love you,