The F Factor (3 page)

“Face it, Eric, your son kicks like a wild man,” Leo remarked. He was the oldest Ávila brother, and like Eric, he worked with their father and uncles in the construction business. They were both tall, muscular men with round faces. They wore their black hair cropped short like the days when they had served together in the Marines.

“Hey, what happened this morning is nothing new, right, Javito?” Eric grinned. “It's a good thing my baby brother has all the brains in the family.”

“He won't have any brains left if Trey doesn't stop aiming for Javier's head,” their father joked as he stood up to get another cup of coffee. As he passed his youngest son, he squeezed his arm. “Javier, are you okay?”

“I'll survive.” Javier wore the humiliation like an old jacket.
Why can't I be like the rest of this family?
he asked himself for the zillionth time. He sat down at the kitchen table, and then pressed the ice bag against his head. “Ouch!” he groaned.

“Everybody knows Javito can't hit, run, or throw,” Eric continued. “He spends more time on the sidelines or holding a bag of ice. But … ” He turned to Javier. “… if there's a school project my kids need help on, my super smart little brother would be my go-to guy. You've got the best book smarts in the family.”

Javier said nothing. All his life, his family excused his clumsiness by over-exaggerating his academic skills. In fifth grade, he started to bring home
all
his textbooks every day, read ahead, and study hard so he would always get As. He wanted to prove he could be more than the “book smart” guy they all expected. In elementary school, it was easier to be top student because he loved to read and liked to build science projects. In middle school, his classmates cared more about “who liked who” than learning new algebra equations. But when high school started, Javier's insecurities began to nag at him from all directions.

First, the St. Peter's High School acceptance letter arrived in the mail, stating Javier had earned a partial scholarship because of his entrance test scores. Everyone
thought it was so great, but Javier knew he wasn't a student who had earned a
full
scholarship.

“The Guardians have one of the best football teams in the city,” Eric had told him then. “It's too bad you can't throw or hit. I'd go to your games if you played ball!”

Second, the letter arrived inviting Javier to attend a preparatory science program for freshmen and sophomore students at St. Mary's University. His big brother Leo had told the family, “Our baby brother's so lucky! When we were in high school, Eric and I worked our butts off in the hot sun building houses with Dad. Javito's got it way too easy!”

Now, Javier adjusted the ice bag and sighed. Those summer programs at St. Mary's University were never easy, in spite of what Leo thought! That summer before high school he met others who were genuinely “smart.” They had plans to be engineers, do medical research, or become surgeons. They were competitive and confident—not like Javier. At fourteen, he didn't have his life mapped out like those prep kids. He always wondered if something was wrong with him.

And then Ignacio, Andy, and all the guys from their elementary school had immediately spread the word around St. Peter's campus that Javier Ávila was “the smartest guy ever.” He felt so much pressure to keep up his reputation that he did nothing else but study his freshmen year. Ignacio and Andy constantly gave him a hard time for not going to the football games to see them perform. Brother Calvin had called Javier to his office once a month to discuss joining a club or working for Student Council. “There's more to life than studying twenty-four-seven, Javier,” Brother Calvin would say.

Javier had politely said, “Yes, Sir,” but never did what the counselor wanted.

The summer before sophomore year, Javier had to deal with students at prep camp again. They came up with quicker answers, better results, and higher test grades than he did. He also took driver's education classes at night with Ignacio and Andy. All summer, the pressure to keep up and look smart filled up every waking moment.

The ice bag did little to relieve the headache Javier had felt since he first saw his school schedule. Even if his nephew Trey hadn't kicked the ball off the back porch without warning anybody, Javier might have still needed an ice bag that morning. He left his father and his brothers discussing the upcoming Dallas Cowboys pre-season game, and went to inspect the damage in the bathroom mirror.

Javier hated the row of bright lights his father had installed so his mom could easily put on her makeup. The yellow globes only magnified the red blotch that spread over his forehead. One eyebrow looked higher than the other. He noticed the scar under his eye and the brown fuzz above his lip. Pimples dotted his chin. The only thing missing was a frantic movement in his eyes, but that would reappear as soon as school started on Monday.

Wasn't it enough that he was a sophomore taking junior classes like Algebra II and Chemistry? And what about those four honors classes also on his schedule? And now he had to be on school TV too?

He stared hard at his own reflection. When the guys at school looked at the classroom monitors, would they realize they were watching the face of a fraud?

“F
eliz Berlanga?” Ignacio slammed his metal locker shut and stared at Javier. His brown eyes were wide open under his raised black eyebrows. “You talked to Feliz Berlanga? What did she say?”

Javier half-smiled at his friends. “She offered to give me a ride home.”

“And you said yes, right?” Andy poked his drumsticks into Javier's shoulder. “Tell me you said yes, Jack.” He jabbed Javier again, a little harder.

“Hey!” Javier stepped back and rubbed his shoulder. “Stop it with the sticks, man. And, no, I didn't say ‘yes' because Pat jumped between us and said ‘no'. Besides, my dad was in the truck right behind her car ready to pick me up.”

“Ugh!” Ignacio groaned and slapped his sweaty forehead. “You blew it, Jack! Shot down before you ever got the launch sequence.”

“Hey, I didn't get shot down. Circumstances weren't good, that's all.”

“Circumstances? Yeah, right,” Ignacio said. He shook his head. “You can be so pathetic, Javier.”

Javier couldn't argue because the first morning bell clanged in the hallway. As if a stink bomb were dropped
in a crowd, everybody rushed around and pushed along to get to his assigned homeroom where attendance was taken and announcements were made.

Javier headed out to the new portable building on Q's Graveyard. A handful of guys stood in front just staring at it. “What's up?”

Kenny García, one of the taller sophomores who had made the varsity basketball team as a freshman, untwisted his lips long enough to reply, “When did they build this?”

“Over the summer, I guess. Didn't you notice it when we came for orientation?” Javier acted matter-of-fact, but he also wondered if he should tell him the teacher inside was in a wheelchair or if he should let Kenny and the others find out that little surprise on their own?

“Get to homeroom, gentlemen,” barked Q's voice. It came out of nowhere, but no one stopped to see where the Dean of Students stood.

They quickly climbed up the steps and went inside the portable building.

Kenny muttered “What the—?” under his breath and stopped where he stood. Javier nudged him from behind, and the athlete stumbled forward.

Mr. Seneca wasn't in his wheelchair this time. He stood by a television cart near the teacher's desk. His forearms were balanced inside the metal cuffs of his two-piece steel crutches. His silver crutches looked heavy but they'd have to be made like that to hold up a man over six feet tall.

Javier realized the guys inside the classroom were dead quiet. There wasn't any of the usual before-class talking and kidding around. Six guys had filled the back
chairs. Only Pat Berlanga sat behind the third table by the whiteboards, not much closer than the others.

Javier was about to follow Kenny and the others to the middle of the room when Mr. Seneca spoke up. “Javier, you and your crew need to fill the chairs up front. And you dawdlers in the back, I need you to move up too! There are only eleven students in this homeroom. Besides, I like you guys close by, where I can whack you if you fall asleep. This crutch only reaches the length of my arm, you know.”

Would Mr. Seneca really “whack” a student? None of them were stupid enough to find out on the first day of school. Every guy shuffled forward without comment.

Javier seated himself at the second table, not wanting to look like a teacher's pet. It was bad enough the new teacher already knew his name.

The bell rang again, and like robots, everybody stood up even before the school Principal, Brother Lendell, said, “Good morning, students. Welcome back to a new school year. Please stand for the morning prayer and our Pledge of Allegiance.”

Javier followed along then sat back down as Brother Lendell spoke a couple of minutes about working hard in academics and showing the Guardian spirit both on and off the athletic field. Then Vice-Principal Domínguez, droned on about rules and regulations everyone had already heard at orientation.

After Mr. Domínguez said, “Have a good day,” Mr. Seneca quickly took attendance.

Just as Landry Zúñiga replied, “Here,” the bell to end homeroom period sounded, but no one left for their first-period class because they were already in it.

Javier glanced around. It was weird that his home-room and his first-period class was a mixture of sophomores, juniors, and seniors. Usually homerooms were alpha order by grade level.

“Good morning, gentlemen. I'm Mr. Seneca.” His deep voice broke the awkward silence after the bell rang. “You! Sitting there across from Javier, what's your name?”

“Uh—Pat—Patricio—uh, Sir.” Pat straightened up in his chair, and blinked rapidly as he stumbled over his words.

Mr. Seneca gave Pat a stern look and said, “Uh-Pat-Patricio-uh, Sir, please tell me one thing you heard on today's announcements.”

Pat's fingers rubbed through his thick hair. He looked around at the rest of the students. His face turned darker as he said, “Uh, Sir, I don't … can't think … sorry!”

Mr. Seneca shook his head. “A remarkable answer. Are you always so articulate?”

Pat's dark eyes grew wider. “Huh?”

The teacher nodded. “That's what I thought. How about you, tall boy?” He used his chin to point in Kenny's direction. “What do you remember from this morning's announcements?”

Kenny slouched across the row from Javier. He half-sat on the chair, stretching his long legs in front of him. He gave a slow smile, like he knew the perfect answer. “I remember the Pledge of Allegiance.”

The other guys chuckled. Javier hid his grin under his hand.

Mr. Seneca didn't smile. He shifted his weight on the crutches, glanced down at his footing, then looked back at Kenny. “I'm going to make you Number One Pledge Man, tall boy. When you have to stand in front of a
camera, with everyone in the school watching just waiting for you to mess up and make just one little mistake so they can tease you about it all day long, will you still be laughing?”

Dead silence ensued. Kenny slowly straightened up in his seat.

“Does anyone sitting in this room know why this new elective was put on your schedules?” Mr. Seneca asked in a voice that bellowed with such an unfriendly tone that no one wanted to answer.

Javier wondered what had happened to that nicer guy in a wheelchair he had met the previous Thursday. He kept his eyes forward, staring at some invisible spot behind Mr. Seneca, praying the teacher wouldn't call on him.

“Javier! You want to tell your
compadres
about this class, or shall I?”

“You can.” Javier's voice squeaked like his seventh grade hormones had returned. He cleared his throat and tried to sound like a sophomore. “Mr. Seneca, you can explain it better than I can.”

“Good answer.” He walked forward slowly. Each step carried a creak of metal and a
thud
from his solid black shoes. His hips rolled to adjust his balance in an awkward waddle as he moved to the center of the room.

Javier tried to push the image of Frankenstein's monster out of his head. He couldn't imagine what it was like to have legs that didn't work. It pained him just to look at Mr. Seneca, so he stared at the wheels on the TV cart instead.

The teacher's voice commanded Javier to listen to him though. “Gentlemen, this class is called Media Broadcasting. In two days, we are going to start doing
announcements on the new monitors. The system is called Guardian TV. Every morning, a pair of you will become the St. Peter's version of anchormen, and the rest of you will run cameras, write scripts, and do all the grunt work to put on a program during homeroom period that better be good—real good, gentlemen.”