Romiette and Julio

  “Don’t get carried away, Destiny,” warned Romi. “I’m not sure if I believe in all that stuff you do about soul mates. All I know is … he’s really … really … I can’t put my finger on it, but he makes me feel special.”

  “Uh-oh! The special finger feeling. I sure hope that Scientific Soul Mate System package arrives soon. Looks like we’re gonna need it!”

  “Maybe not …,” mused Romi.

  “Girl, I may have to get my cards out for you. You’re movin’ into serious territory awfully quick. You eating with him again tomorrow?”

  “I think so. I hope so.” Romi could feel herself blushing.

  “Oh, no—now she’s hoping! I hate that I have to make up that test at lunch tomorrow. Meet me at my locker after school. And find out his birthday!”

  “For sure, I will,” Romi promised. “Hey, Destiny?” she added.

  “What it is?”

  “Do you realize that when we’ve been talking about incompatibility and stuff, we’ve only been talking about sun signs?”

  “Yeah, so what’s your point?”

  “He’s Hispanic.”

  “So?”

  “And I’m black.”

  “So?”

  “Neither one of us noticed.”

  “Good, that’s the way the world ought to be.” Destiny had her own sense of world order.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” agreed Romi. “I’ll wait for you after last bell tomorrow.”

  “OK. Later, girl.”

  Romi hung up the phone, thinking about what Destiny had said.

  15.

  Julio and Ben

  Julio bounded into the band room, jumped over a music stand, and grabbed a bass viol and started to dance. Mr. Barnes, the teacher with the dreadlocks, just grinned. Ben, who was on the floor under the snare drum looking for his drumsticks, glanced at Julio with amusement.

  “So who put ants in your pants and made you want to dance, Señor Julio?” Ben asked as he slid from under the drum. His hair was bright orange today.

  “Hey, Ben, my orange-haired amigo! Today I had lunch with a girl that at my old school, I never would have even noticed, but yes, I would have had to notice her. She’s so pretty. She’s brown, golden-crispy … like … like … I sound like I’m describing fried chicken, and that’s not fair at all.”

  “Who is this foxy babe?”

  “Her name is Romiette Cappelle. She is the prettiest girl I’ve ever met. That orange sweater made her brown skin and hazel eyes seem to glow. Or maybe it was her smile. When she smiled, she was like sunshine or something.”

  “Yeah, I know Romi. She’s cool. But I’ve never seen her shine like that. Sounds like you’re the one who was glowing!”

  “Why is this coming out all wrong? I can’t find the words to describe how I feel. I feel stupid and silly.”

  The rest of the class straggled into the room, and the bell rang. Everybody ignored it, however, including the teacher, who was helping students get their instruments tuned or tightened. Julio took out his saxophone and rubbed a soft cloth over it lovingly. He wasn’t thinking about music, though. His mind was at lunch.

  Ben added, “I’ve known Romiette since seventh grade. She is a class act. Smart. Pretty. And proud.”

  Julio mused, “You know what, Ben? I stood on a chair in front of the whole cafeteria and handed her a rose. I didn’t care who saw me, or what they thought. I would have tap-danced on the table in a bowl of mashed potatoes if she had asked me to.”

  “You got it bad, Julio. Dancing in mashed potatoes?”

  “All I know is she is the funniest, smartest, prettiest girl I’ve ever talked to. She made me laugh with her descriptions of her father on TV and his unbelievable news partner. I’ve got to watch the six o’clock news tonight.”

  “Oh, yeah, good old Nannette. The whole town watches the news just to watch her mess up.”

  “And Romiette seemed really interested in my stories about my old school, and all my lies about Texas.”

  “You lied? I’m proud of you, Julio. You’re such a quick learner.”

  “Naw, man. We just talked about stupid stuff—like teachers and homework. We talked as if we had known each other forever. She likes music and sports and books.”

  “Does this perfect woman have any faults?”

  “One weakness—she can’t swim—but that’s OK, I can teach her! Listen to me—I’m thinking about teaching a girl I just met how to swim.”

  “This is something really new for you, I guess.”

  “Oh, sí! She’s not like any girl I ever met before. She’s got class and style and a kind of spark. The girls back home just didn’t have it. She makes me feel comfortable and relaxed and natural. We’re going to talk tonight at nine on-line after we do our homework. I can’t believe this. For the first time since I moved here, I feel alive!”

  “I’m glad for you, man. Go for it!”

  The band teacher tossed his dreads, rapped on the podium, and started warm-ups. Band class was the last bell of the day, and they were all tired, so he tried to make it upbeat and fun. He grinned at Julio, as if they shared a secret, and led the group to a march beat. Julio, excited yet relaxed, grinned back and played like he was Kenny G.

  16.

  Computer Chat

  Dear Romiette:

  Meeting you and talking to you was the high point of my day. You can make a cold day sizzle and a gray afternoon burn bright red. I know that you know everybody at that school, and that you’re really popular. It was nice of you to spend time with a new kid.

  Julio

  Julio:

  If you think the only reason I ate lunch with you (we never did get around to eating, did we?) was because you were the new kid and I felt sorry for you, you’re dumber than I thought you were. And quiet as it’s kept, I’m not Miss Popularity. Sure, I have friends, but I’m no showstopper. I sat with you today because I wanted to. I’ve never met anybody like you before. You were so much fun to be with and to talk to. It must be the Texas hot sauce, because nobody around here even comes close to you in how you make me feel. I guess I shouldn’t say that, or admit that you make me feel different from any other boy I’ve ever met, but I don’t feel up to being shy and playing those boy-girl games. Or maybe it’s because we’re not exactly face-to-face and I can write what I’m feeling easier than I can say it.

  Romiette:

  I know exactly what you mean. All day I’ve been thinking of you. I feel like I’ve known you forever and I want to know you forever more. When I’m old and wrinkled and eighty, I want to be able to talk to you. Does that sound stupid? I’m not afraid to tell you that I like you. Tomorrow when I see you, I have a surprise for you.

  I love surprises. Just no hot sauce, OK? And call me Romi.

  Romi. What a nice nickname. No hot sauce. I guarantee you’ll like the surprise. Tell me, if you could win a million-dollar lottery, what would you do?

  I wouldn’t do anything stupid like buy a million new outfits, I know that. Maybe just a thousand. Seriously, I don’t know. I’m pretty happy with my life as it is—my friends and family, the sunshine, and my golden retrievers. Our dog just had puppies a few weeks ago. Want one?

  I’m like you. There’s lots more that I think is important besides money. Puppies for one. I would love to have a golden retriever puppy. If my mom will let me. I’ll ask—but I’m sure she will. She knew how much I hated leaving my dog behind, but she was a German shepherd and she was old, so we left her at my grandpa’s ranch, where she had lots of kids to play with and lots of space.

  I hope you can have one of the puppies. Now you answer this one for me. If you had to die by fire or by water, which would you choose?

  If I had to die—and I don’t plan to anytime soon—I guess I’d choose to die by water. Fire hurts. Water is cool and soothing and at least will comfort you before you get swallowed up in it. Why do you ask?

  No real reason. I think you can learn a lot about a person by their answer. Me, I’m
scared of water, so I guess I’d choose fire. But you’re right—fire hurts. Maybe I’ll just die in bed when I’m ninety-nine. Hey, when is your birthday?

  March third. Why?

  My friend Destiny is into astrology. March third—that makes you a Pisces, right?

  Does that mean anything?

  Destiny will know. She won’t even look at a boy unless he’s the right sign.

  So what sign are you?

  I’m a Leo: bright, sunny, cheerful—also regal and dominating, if you want to know the rest.

  Lions are my favorite pets! I can handle it! See you tomorrow. Gotta go—bye!

  Peaceout. Bye for now.

  17.

  Conversation

  Julio turned off his computer and smiled. For the first time since he had moved from Texas, he looked around his small room with contentment. His room back in Corpus Christi was huge with a large window that he liked to open at night to let in the fresh evening breezes. This room barely had space enough to turn around in, but his bed and desk and other furniture fit neatly into each corner. The walls were freshly painted, but bare. So Julio dragged one of the unopened boxes out of the closet on which his mother had neatly written Julio’s room. He opened it slowly, trying not to remember the feeling of loss and anger that he had felt when he packed away the life he knew.

  Rolled on the top were his posters. The first one he tacked to the wall next to his bed was a purple-toned photo of Louis Armstrong playing his trumpet. He always liked that poster because it seemed to Julio that Louis Armstrong really enjoyed playing his horn, that he was happy just to be making music. The other poster was of a sailboat on a lake. The sky was bright with sunshine and promise, the boat dipped with confidence on the deep blue lake, and the sailor, a small figure on the deck, grinned with confidence that same smile of satisfaction and peace.

  Near the bottom of the box were other items that Julio no longer needed but refused to give up yet, reminders of his childhood.

  —A baseball card of Hank Aaron. Probably not worth much since it had been ripped and taped together. That fight with Diego when they were seven was not over the card, but over the bubble gum inside. It was much later they realized the value of the card, but it was too late.

  —His rock collection. His fifth-grade teacher had made the class collect one of each kind of rock or stone. Julio had searched for weeks, finally finding just about all of them. Igneous rocks, sandstone, granite. He loved the cool smoothness of them, their quiet strength. Everybody else had tossed or lost their rock collection. Julio kept them in a small plastic box. He knew the name of each one.

  —His books. The one he read for a book report last year in school that he was sure he would hate, but ended up loving. His book on music. A book he had read from cover to cover several times about television and film making. A dictionary. A computer manual. He set those on his desk.

  —His video games. He hadn’t set the machine up yet because he had no TV in his room here. Back home, he had never been upset when his mother sent him to his room because he had a TV, a stereo, a video game player, and a phone. She finally figured it out and after that sent him in the backyard to cut the grass or clean the gutters when she wanted to punish him.

  —He had unpacked his CDs on the first day. He couldn’t live without music. But in the box were tapes that he had liked a couple of years ago. He got those out and tossed them in his desk drawer.

  —A small stuffed lion. He plumped it up and looked it over. He had won it tossing baseballs at the state fair last year. It looked at him with a silly grin. He could never explain why he had kept it, but now he was glad. Romiette will love it, he thought.

  Just then his father knocked on his door.

  “Hi, Papa. Where’s Mom?”

  “She went to the grocery store. How was school today?” Luis Montague was a tall man, with broad shoulders, a huge mustache, and slightly graying hair. He had served in Vietnam for a year, then finished college and started in the insurance business. He looked at his son with pride. Julio would one day look just like his father, but he carried his mother’s spark and sensibility. Julio would choose to fight when confronted with a problem, where his father would try to talk his way out of it. Luis admired that, but he often feared his son’s leaps would lead him into trouble.

  “It was better, Papa. Much better.” Julio couldn’t tell his father why, at least not yet.

  “Good. Are your classes difficult?” Luis asked with interest.

  “Not really. I like band.”

  Luis grinned. “Of that I have no doubt, but what about the academics?”

  “No sweat, Papa. I’ll be able to handle it. It’s just hard coming here in the middle of the school year.”

  “I know, Julio. I understand how rough this is. Are you making any friends?”

  “Well, I met a really nice girl.”

  “A girl? Now that’s a good sign that things might be looking up. Is she pretty?”

  “Yeah, Papa, she’s really fine. She’s smart and funny and she makes me smile. I like talking to her. We met on the Internet. It’s funny—I was on a chat line in a room with a bunch of people, and she was in the room too, and I said something about hating it here and missing Texas. Somehow she stood out in that crowded room. It turned out she lives here in Cincinnati, and before we knew it, we were in a private chat room, zipping messages back and forth.” Julio’s face was animated and excited just talking about Romiette.

  “You spend too much time on that computer.”

  The smile on Julio’s face dimmed. He grew sullen and much quieter. “You want me to have friends, don’t you?”

  “Yes, son, but real people, not voices on a computer screen. You need to get out in the world more.” Luis just couldn’t understand Julio’s fascination with the chat rooms. Computers were for calculations or file gathering—for work. Chat rooms were a waste of time, as far as Luis could tell.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Papa! You don’t ever listen to me! This girl I met on the Internet is a real person. She goes to my school. And I like her! Is that real enough for you?”

  “I’m sorry, Julio. I’m glad you’ve found someone to take away the loneliness.”

  “Papa, she has some golden retriever puppies. She’s giving them away. Do you think maybe … since I had to leave King …”

  “Perhaps. Ask your mother. Our place here is so small. What is this girl’s name? You brighten up when you speak of her. She must have made quite an impression in so short a time.”

  “Yeah, she did. Her name is Romiette.”

  “Is she … ah … French?”

  “No, Papa. She’s black.”

  “Black?”

  “Black. African-American. Black.”

  “Oh. Uh, is that … wise?”

  “Wise? What do you mean?” Julio felt his jaws begin to tighten.

  His father sat down on the bed and sighed. “Well,” he said slowly, “we hear so many terrible things on the news, and you know what problems we had back in Corpus Christi with the black gangs, and it seems like we just escaped from all those problems, and now, the first person you hook up with is some black kid.”

  Julio’s anger erupted. “She’s not just ‘some black kid’! She’s smart and nice, and she’s one of the few people in that whole school who’s been friendly to me since I’ve been there. Have you forgotten that gangs of Mexican kids roamed our school and were fighting with the black kids back home? And on the news at home, who were the bad guys, Papa?”

  Julio’s eyes were challenging and fiery. His father decided not to push the fight. “You’re right, son. I’m sorry. I overreacted. It’s not as if you’re going to marry this girl. I’m glad you’ve found a friend. And sure, let’s get a puppy. Perhaps it will make this place feel like home.” But his father sighed once more as he left Julio’s room, as if he sensed trouble ahead.

  18.

  Romiette’s Journal

  I met Julio at lunch yesterday
again. He wasn’t standing on the table this time, but he was there before I was. He grinned and looked really glad to see me, and suddenly, I felt shy. I wondered if my hair was smooth, or my breath was smelly, or my shirt was wrinkled. But as soon as we started talking, I forgot all that. His voice has a soft lilt to it that makes me feel comfortable and safe. He told me all about his home in Texas, and his grandfather’s ranch, and his friends there.

  I found myself wondering if he had a girl back in Texas. Surely someone as good-looking as Julio would have a girlfriend. But he never mentioned it, and I didn’t have the nerve to ask. I wonder why I even care. He’s just a guy at school, but he’s so much more than that. I look forward to seeing him, talking to him, being with him. I think about him when we’re not together and wonder what he’s doing. This is not like me, and I don’t even mind.

  All through my morning classes I found myself thinking about that stupid surprise he talked about. When I got to lunch, I found on the table a small stuffed lion. It was furry and soft and the color of caramel pudding. I looked at him hesitantly and smiled.

  “For you,” he said simply. “Keep it close to you, and think of me when you touch it.” He looked suddenly embarrassed and pretended to be fixing the bright orange bow around the neck of the little lion. I’d never been given a gift that was so thoughtful and wonderful. I felt all shy and embarrassed again, like my thoughts were naked or something.

  “I love it,” I said quietly, hugging the little lion close to me. “I’m going to call him Pudding.”

  He said, “Keep him in your book bag, and when you reach in to get a notebook, or lunch money, or a peppermint, I’ll be there with you.” How did he manage to make a stupid piece of golden fuzz seem like a million-carat diamond?

  I wanted to give him something then—something to show I was interested, but not too personal. I dug down in my book bag and came up with my little gold key chain. It had my initials—RRC—engraved on it. I got it for my birthday last year. I wanted him to have it. I told him as I gave it to him, “Hang on to this until I get some car keys, OK?” He rubbed it shiny with the tail of his T-shirt, hooked it onto a loop of his jeans, and said he’d be glad to be “the keeper of my keys.” Somehow he made that sound sexy.