The F Factor (7 page)

There were qualities in
all
his older siblings that he wished had been passed down to him.
Maybe the gene pool gets too shallow after a twelve-year gap
, he thought.

Suddenly he heard a
fwrapp
sound and saw the package of flour tortillas beside his bare feet.

“You were supposed to catch them!” His mom was laughing. “Heat those up, please. So, Javito, what else happened on your first day of school?”

Her question made him feel like he was still in first grade. Javier scooped up the plastic bag and walked toward the microwave. He wanted to say, “I'm supposed to go on school TV with the guy who sleeps in class. And his hot-looking sister almost got me killed today driving us home.”

Instead, he told her, “Not much to tell you, Mom, it was fine.”

“F
ind a good reason why you
can't
do announcements, Ávila.”

Javier turned from his locker to face Dylan Romo, one of the senior football players. The tall guy owned shoulders the width of three lockers. He glared down like Javier had tried to steal a girlfriend.

“I heard Seneca chose you sophomores to be on TV tomorrow. That's not the way we do things at Saint Pete's. Us seniors go first, got it?”

Javier's mouth went dry, but he forced himself to speak. He had faced his share of bullies, and knew he had to think fast. “We didn't ask for the job, Dylan. Seneca—uh, Mr. Seneca—chose guys who could practice after school. All the seniors—well, and the juniors too—have football practice.”

“Seniors do things first. That's how it is at this school. You tell him, Ávila.”

Javier frowned and almost said, “Tell him yourself,” but Ram Fierro and Omar Narsico, the other seniors in the broadcasting class, had suddenly materialized behind Dylan. Without Javier's friends behind him, it would be pointless to argue—and worse if he made a senior angry.

In a slow, steady voice, Javier said, “I'll talk to Mr. Seneca.”

“Do that.” Dylan pushed Javier aside and swaggered down the hall as if he owned it. Ram and Omar laughed together as they followed behind him. As they passed other athletes at their lockers, they slapped high-fives and made rude remarks. Most guys just backed against the walls and let them pass.

“What's it like to have that kind of power?” asked a rather sad voice on the other side of the locker door.

Javier stepped out and saw Pat Berlanga opening his combination lock a few doors down. Pat didn't look up. Perhaps he asked the question but didn't expect an answer—not that Javier had one to offer. “Did you hear what Dylan told me?”

Pat shrugged. “He's right. Seniors always do things first.” He jerked off the lock and hooked it on his shirt pocket. “Just let them talk on TV if that's what they want.”

Javier walked closer to where Pat stood unloading his backpack and grabbing books he'd need from the locker. “Mr. Seneca told you and me to do the job.”

“Yeah, well, Welita and I watched the TV news last night. Smooth and cool, those guys. No kidding, Javier. You and I would look more like Bugs and Daffy.”

Javier shook his head. “Not if we practice together. I watched the news last night too. I saw what the anchors did. Why can't we be like them?”

“Get serious.” His words dripped with sarcasm.

“I am serious.” A sudden anger made Javier's face feel tight and stiff. “You're the one who isn't serious. Nobody said talking on TV would be easy, but that doesn't mean
you and I can't do it well … or first. Don't you think we deserve our share of the power?”

Pat turned to face Javier. For the first time, Pat looked wide awake, his dark eyes shining with interest. “What about Dylan and the other seniors?”

“I don't know.” The itchy sting inside Javier's shoes pulled him back to the reality of being a sophomore. “This is the first time I've ever had seniors in a class. We sophomores need to stick together. That's all I know for sure, especially in a class where everything is new to both of us.”

Pat scratched his head. “Well, then, can I see your homework? There's still time if I need to write my practice announcements over.”

Javier's shoulders relaxed. He could always rely on schoolwork to give him focus, help him think better. Maybe if he concentrated on the assignments, he would find a way around the senior blockheads in the class. “Let's go over to Mr. Seneca's room early. We can talk about our homework there.”

“Maybe we could read what we wrote out loud to each other.”

“Good idea.” Javier turned to shut his locker door and quickly snapped the lock.

“Is that a new lock?” Andy grinned widely as he walked up. “Javier, can you give me the combination in case I need to borrow something?”

“Yesterday I stood here twenty minutes trying to get the stupid lock open, thanks to you.” Javier only pretended to be mad. The lock switch he had made yesterday would be sweet revenge, especially if it led to tardy slips and a face-off with Mr. Q. “My combination is off limits to you … forever!”

Andy laughed off Javier's words and rapidly thumped Pat on the shoulder. “Hey, Berlanga, how's your hot-looking sister? Did she ask about me?” He turned his back on Pat and said to Javier, “I wrote a great essay for English class. How you, me, and Ignacio are great friends, been friends since kindergarten. How we like the same movies, put the same stuff on our hot dogs, stuff like that.”

“Third grade crap,” Pat said, just loud enough for them to hear. He slammed his locker door and hung his lock into place. “You think Maloney wants to read that?”

Andy spun around. “If you ain't talking about your sister, keep it to yourself!”

When Pat's upper lip lifted in a snarl, Javier jumped quickly between them. He couldn't believe how quickly Pat changed moods. He made eye contact with his best friend and spoke forcefully. “Andy, lay off.” He used his shoulder to move Pat aside. “Come on, Pat. We need to go over our homework before class.” He called back, “See you in second period, Andy!” then yanked on Pat's shirt sleeve until the guy followed.

“Andy was just kidding around,” Javier said as they walked toward the side doors. “He's pretty harmless.”

“Andy's just like the rest of them, talking about my sister. Like she'd pay attention to a band geek,” Pat replied, a rumbling of anger between his words.

“She probably likes the Dylan and Ram types, huh?”

Pat glowered at Javier. “What's it to you?”

“I'm making conversation, Pat. Untie the knot in your underwear, okay?” Javier had made his own scowl. “And stop acting so defensive about your sister. If Feliz is anything like
my
sisters, she doesn't need you acting like her guard dog.”

Pat inhaled and exhaled slowly as they walked outside into the humid, sticky morning. “I hate this weather. I should have written an announcement declaring school cancelled until October fifteenth.”

“Wish I had thought of that.” Javier sighed, feeling the sweat rise under his collar. “The announcements I wrote sound so lame—ugh! I need to stop using that word! Could I act more stupid around Mr. Seneca?”

Pat stopped and grabbed Javier's arm. “Wait! There's our answer.”

“What?”

“We sit back and wait for those seniors to act stupid, say the wrong thing. It'll happen, trust me. Dylan, Ram and the others think with their shoulder pads.” Pat's eyebrows wrinkled together. “I played football last year. Got hurt in the first scrimmage, and I was done.” He lowered his eyes to the sidewalk. “All that stuff about teamwork they shove down your throats? It means nothing when you get hurt.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that, you're outside the circle, labeled a quitter for life.”

The bitterness in Pat's voice kept Javier silent. Some upperclassmen were jerks, true, but Javier figured it was just because they were on top of the food chain. The athletes in his classes usually treated Javier okay.

“You've got the rep for being a brain,” Pat said like he had read Javier's thoughts. “They're not going to mess with you because they might need help with their homework someday. I'm just the guy who sleeps in class.” He suddenly raised his head as if he realized he had just spilled his guts and regretted doing so. He walked faster and called out, “So how did you figure if your announcements lasts fifteen seconds?”

Javier raised his wrist and flashed him the black band and chrome digital face. “I used my watch. It has a stopwatch feature.”

“Woo hoo. Fancy. Does it chop meat and make margaritas too?”

He laughed and said, “I'm still reading the instruction book. I'll let you know.”

They were both chuckling as they walked up the stairs to the portable building where Mr. Seneca's classes were held. As soon as they walked inside, they heard their teacher's commanding voice from the back of the classroom. “Javier! Pat! I need you two to set up the desk area.”

Any thoughts that Javier kept about going over homework were immediately replaced by following Mr. Seneca's orders. Pat and Javier lifted the last row of tables and moved them in front of one side wall with the white-boards. They created a line of tables and put chairs behind them into what Mr. Seneca referred to again as “the desk area.”

Meanwhile, the other sophomores, Landry and Steve, untangled cords. Kenny followed Mr. Seneca's sharp directions about camera set-up in front of the tables.

Just as the warning bell rang, the three juniors came through the door.

“Do I need to remind all of you to arrive at seven-thirty? There's too much to do if we want to roll the cameras at first bell,” Mr. Seneca announced loudly.

“I can't get here any earlier,” the tallest one said. He nudged the boy beside him and said, “I take my little sisters to St. Vincent's before I come here.”

The one beside him grinned. “Yeah, me too.”

The third one chuckled beside them. “Me too—too.”

“Fine!” Mr. Seneca's face looked brick red and sweaty from the exertion of using crutches to walk around and direct the sophomores. “If you guys can't get here early to help with set-up, then you three are in charge of strike. Before first period ends, you three take all this down. You move the tables back and store equipment in its right place. Better be quick and efficient or you'll be late to your second-period class.”

Their grins melted into serious frowns and hard stares at their teacher.

Javier could only wonder what Mr. Seneca might have planned for the seniors if they showed up after the tardy bell. However, Dylan, Ram, and Omar wandered in just seconds later.

“Take your seats, gentlemen. Let's pay attention to announcements this time.”

Mr. Seneca slowly moved between the tables. His crutches and his legs followed their own creaking cadence to move him forward.

Javier glanced at Pat, who used his chin to point at the opposite direction from where the seniors sat. Pat sat down, and Javier sat in front of him. Just before the homeroom bell rang, Javier caught a scowl from Dylan. He ignored it and just pulled his homework paper from the small class textbook on his desk.

They all stood up for the morning prayers and Pledge, then sat back down as Mr. Domínguez began the announcements. Javier had never noticed what a monotone voice the vice-principal owned. Each word sounded dull and lifeless.
No wonder students tuned him out. He was boring like a rock
.

While watching the news the night before, Javier had noticed the way the anchors talked to their TV audience
as if they sat across the table listening. They used graphics, video clips, and even good-natured jokes to help keep the viewers interested.

The idea of delivering the announcements on school TV was slowly emerging from a frantic fear to a curious challenge for him; like the first time Javier saw an algebra equation—only this time the X variable involved Pat Berlanga. He didn't hear any snoring behind him, so maybe Pat was still awake.

As soon as Mr. Domínguez said his dull ending, “Have a good day,” Mr. Seneca immediately asked, “Anybody notice the tone of today's announcements?”

No one responded, probably because Kenny's answer yesterday had made Mr. Seneca mad. He must have guessed the reason for the silence, because he added, “Our job here is analysis, gentlemen. What did you notice about the way the announcements were presented to you?”

Javier raised his hand and waited for a nod from his teacher. “There's no difference in his voice. Whether it's ‘Pick up PE uniforms' or ‘The cafeteria is serving tacos,' everything sounds the same.”

Mr. Seneca's lip lifted with a slight smile. “Good. Anyone else?”

“I just have a question.” Kenny had half-raised and lowered his hand limply. “Does this mean Brother Lendell will be on TV too? He always does the morning prayer.”