The F Factor (14 page)

Javier carried Pat's backpack in one hand. It wasn't very heavy—not like the full load Javier had brought home every weekend. Usually he could just walk from the bus into the buildings and the extra weight on his back wasn't too bad. But this morning, he not only walked over to help Pat, but also around the school buildings to the other side of campus where Mr. Seneca's portable building was located. By the time Javier walked up the stairs and opened up the door to the classroom, his back and shoulders felt like he had carried bricks up and down a ladder at one of his dad's job sites.

Inside the room, Landry and Steve were already at the computers. Mr. Seneca sat in his wheelchair, pulling out equipment from the closets. “Good! Two more hands! Pat, put that thing in the corner, and we'll look at it later. No time right now. Javier, come get these mikes. Pat, get the new announcements from Brother Lendell off my desk.”

Javier walked to the nearest desk and put Pat's backpack on top. He took a moment to slide his own pack off his shoulders. It dropped to the floor with a loud
clunk
. He turned to his teacher. “Mr. Seneca, can I go to my locker first?”

“Aren't you carrying your whole locker right there in your backpack?” He held out the microphones. “Really, Javier, who studies
that much
on a weekend, huh?”

Javier's face sizzled with embarrassment. What could he say.
I'm a nerd with no life?
He walked to the cabinets and took the microphones from Mr. Seneca and was grateful his teacher didn't say anything else.

When Javier set them down on the desk, he noticed a serious look on Pat's face.

“What's wrong?”

Silently, Pat handed him the paper to read for himself:
We'd like everyone in the school to remember Kenny García's uncle in our prayers. During Saturday's football game, he had a heart attack. He's still in intensive care at Santa Rosa hospital. The doctors are hopeful he will recover soon
.

So Pat and Javier set up the camera as well as the desk area. He was reading over the script that Pat had typed up about the first loss of the football season when all six football players came into the classroom at one time.

Each one moved in a sullen silence, each pair of eyes narrow with a threatening glare. With tense shoulders and a stiff walk, it appeared that any of them would jump the first guy who said
anything
about the game.

Javier glanced at Pat, who shook his head and pulled that sheet of paper from Javier's fingers. He wadded up the paper and shoved it in his pocket.

Pat leaned close and whispered, “Let's just forget to mention the game.”

Mr. Seneca was back on his crutches, walking toward the upperclassmen. “Kenny's absent today, so I need someone to step in. Ram, you need to do it.”

“Me?” Ram took a step away from the others. His face opened up in surprise. “You want me to work the camera?”

“You aim, you focus, you keep it on the speaker—either Javier or Pat. You've seen a week's worth of shows now. You can handle it.” Mr. Seneca turned slightly toward Dylan and Omar. “I want you two to stand behind Landry and Steve this morning. I'm going to put you two on the computers starting next Tuesday.” He nodded toward the three juniors. “You managed to get here
early
this morning. What? No little sisters to drive to school? Is there a chicken pox epidemic at St. Vincent's this week?”

The three juniors shifted their feet, their eyes lowered to the floor.

“When you learn to trust me and the other guys trying to put on a good show, maybe you can get promoted from janitor to announcer. In the meantime, one of you will stand with Ram in case he needs direction. I need one of you to stand by the door and turn off the air-conditioner as Ram signals the countdown. Ms. Maloney told me there is a humming in the background, and we think the AC is the problem. And the last guy can study the monitors and decide where we should hang the backdrop later.” He swiveled on his feet and called out, “Javier, Pat, ready for a sound check?”

As the football players got busy for the broadcast, Javier noticed how quickly the tension in the room had dissolved. He nudged Pat. “Get that announcement out of your pocket. I think the players would like to know we're always behind them, win or lose.”

A
fter a broadcast that was shaky but not disastrous, Mr. Seneca didn't play back the program. Instead, he announced, “Okay, Pat, let's see the backdrop.”

“Sure.” Pat walked to the corner and carried it closer to the desk area. He unfolded the cardboard and leaned it against the wall by the door.

At first, there was dead silence. Pat's black eyebrows creased together as if he was worried no one liked it.

Javier stared with eyes wide open. Who would have expected a refrigerator box could be transformed from a white, flat surface to a detailed painting of the San Antonio skyline? What stood out most was the center image of the school. Pat had used various shades of gray to highlight and shadow the building to give it depth and dimension.

“Wow! Who painted this?” Landry asked.

Dylan shook his head. “Definitely not Berlanga. Javier, you did this, right?”

Javier had to smile. “I painted the base color and some of the blue sky. Pat is the real talent here.” He gave Pat a low thumbs-up that nobody noticed.

“Unbelievable,” Omar said. He turned to Pat, who grinned with pride.

One of the juniors said, “This will look great on camera, right, Mr. Seneca?”

Mr. Seneca, who had been standing near the cubicles, nodded his head. He moved on his crutches a few steps and then said, “Alright, you juniors, let's put your long arms to good use and hang this backdrop behind the desk area.”

He directed Ram back to the camera and ordered Pat and Javier back into the desk area. They did some practice footage and tried to place the artwork in such a way that it didn't distract from the two broadcasters. Everyone got so involved in positioning the artwork just right, first period seemed to be set on fast forward. Luckily, Steve noticed the clock and all the equipment was quickly taken down and stored because each boy in the room
stepped up to help. Except for the backdrop hanging on the side of the room, the classroom was back to normal as the bell rang to end first period.

“I know you worked on a backdrop this weekend. Why wasn't it on TV?” Ignacio asked Javier as they walked toward history class later that morning.

“There wasn't time to hang it until after the broadcast. You'll see it when we get to Mr. Seneca's room,” Javier told him.

He enjoyed watching his friends and classmates' expressions when they saw the drawing. And each time someone asked, “Who did this?” Javier found himself grinning as he said, “Pat Berlanga.”

The reply was always the same. “You mean the guy who sleeps in class?”

When Pat came into the classroom, Ignacio, Andy, and Bryce started clapping. He looked at the backdrop and then broke into a wide grin. Who wouldn't like so much positive attention?

Unfortunately, Mr. Seneca started history class and explained a short research project due on Tuesday that ruined everybody's good mood. Javier and his friends were still grumbling about the particulars when they met up for lunch.

“What a perfect way to mess up a holiday weekend!” Andy griped as he drummed a beat with his fingers on the cafeteria tabletop. “I'm all set to party at Javier's house, and now I got to research Egyptians.”

“Hey, you're lucky! I'm researching Assyrians,” Javier replied. He looked at Pat. “And what ancient civilization did Mr. Seneca give your row?”

“I got baloney or something,” Pat replied before he scooped beans into his mouth.

“What!” Ignacio started laughing. “Baloney? Don't you mean Babylonians?”

Pat shrugged as everybody joined in the laughter. He swallowed and said, “It's all baloney to me.” They all repeated “baloney” again and laughed some more.

“I'd like to know why teachers think Labor Day weekend means more time for homework,” Ignacio commented as they continued eating lunch. “We have two essays by Emerson to analyze, and I have a Bible test too. We already have the game on Saturday night, and then the big party at Javier's house on Sunday.”

Javier slowly looked at Pat. Even though he had spent all day with Pat on Saturday, Javier hadn't said anything about his party. Ignacio and Andy had come to Javier's birthday parties since they were in kindergarten together. By now, the family treated his best friends like two more
primos
.

He felt he should extend the invite now that Ignacio had mentioned the party, so he slowly said, “My birthday party is Sunday around four. Would you like to come, Pat?”

Andy pointed a fork across the table. “The bigger question is, can you bring your sister to the party?”

“Yeah, right!” Javier quickly glared at Andy. “You know how crazy an Ávila birthday party can be—little kids crying over piñata candy, my uncles arguing about the Cowboys, my sisters and
tías
singing to
Tejano
tunes after they drink margaritas.”

“Yeah, but your dad barbecues three briskets,” Ignacio replied. “It's so good!”

“And your Tía Celia makes
aguas frescas
and—oh, man—your mom makes that chocolate cake of hers!” Andy waved his fork like he was conducting an invisible
band. He stopped and gave Pat a wicked smile. “Every year, I hear Javier's Uncle Willie say eating the chocolate cake was better than having sex. Of course, the man's in his seventies, so I'm sure he isn't getting much sex anymore.”

What if Uncle Willie says that in front of Feliz?
Javier thought. Could he take back the invitation? Maybe Pat wouldn't want to come, and surely a girl like Feliz had lots of plans on a three-day weekend. When he looked again at Pat, the guy was smiling, something similar to the expression when everyone liked his painting.

“Yeah, Javier, I'll go to your party. And I'll ask Feliz to come with me.”

J
avier adjusted the driver's seat in his mother's car to leave more leg room. He positioned the rearview mirror and then glanced at both side mirrors. The only thing he didn't check was the expression on his mother's face so he wouldn't get nervous. He backed the car out of the driveway, grateful that her constant questions were often silenced when they drove together.

“You're a good driver,” she said after he had made the tricky left turn onto the busy intersection toward the grocery store. “Eric and Leo were so impatient. Every time your dad drove with either of them, he came home and asked for a beer.” She laughed. “And your sisters! Oh, don't get me started on
their
driving. Your Uncle Willie had to hammer the dents out of the car bumpers at least once a month!”

He immediately thought about Feliz. With the way she liked speed and got so close upon the car in front of
her, did she ever cause an accident? Pat didn't drive like a demon, but he also played loud music that interfered with conversation. They made him wonder about his own driving habits once he would drive alone.

Javier glanced at his mom and said, “Mom, it's not a problem if I invite a couple more friends to my party, is it?”

“Who's coming? Do I know their parents?”

“No, not the parents, but you met Pat and Feliz last week.”

“What about contact lens girl? Don't you want to ask her?”

“No way,” he said. If Feliz had Brittany with her, she'd totally ignore Javier. When it had been just the three of them working on the backdrop, Feliz had acted very friendly. Not that he expected anything to happen at the party with
la familia
watching, but at least he wouldn't be competing with one of Feliz's girlfriends for her attention.

“Javier, you know two more people won't make a difference to me. Besides, I like meeting your friends.” She pulled her purse onto her lap and started looking for something inside it. “But with so much family around, I probably won't have much time to talk to them.”

“That's okay, Mom.” Javier said, relieved. The last thing he wanted was his mother's FBI questions to scare away Feliz.

T
hat night he waited for Feliz's phone call. No luck. As he fell asleep, Javier repeatedly called himself stupid for not asking Feliz for
her
number. Extra chances to see her evaporated quickly when his dad said at breakfast,
“Son, I'll pick you up after school this week so you can get more driving practice. I'd like to see how you handle the downtown traffic before I let you drive to school by yourself. ”

A sharp itch stung the top of Javier's feet. He wiggled his toes inside his shoes. “Dad, don't you think it's time to park Uncle Willie's truck at our house? I'd like to practice driving it. I know it will handle differently from driving Mom's car.”

His father looked over at his mother, who quickly picked up her coffee cup, rose from the table, and said, “I need to get ready for the office.” She left the kitchen.

Javier's dad reached for the sugar. “It's time to live in the real world, Son. That old truck couldn't make it around the block. Uncle Willie was nice to make you the offer, but your mom and I don't think it would be reliable transportation, especially getting on and off the express-way and driving it in downtown traffic.”

Disappointment stuck to his body like a wet towel. “Dad, please don't tell me I'll be riding the school bus the rest of the year.” He looked at the breakfast cereal floating in the bowl in front of him. For the past two years he had told his friends he would have Uncle Willie's truck to drive. Sure, it was old, but Andy's cousin ran a body shop. Andy and Javier had been looking at paint books since last summer, planning how they might fix up the truck. Javier had saved his money to buy new tires. All that time they had spent imagining ways to improve the look of that truck. Now nothing! Gone!
¡Nada!