Opciones

By Wanda Richards

Linda wants to go to college, but that's not what her boyfriend and her mother want. If she really wants to study after high school graduation, she'll have to rebel. Will she be successful? Will her friends help her or hinder her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387714698

Book preview

Opciones

Opciones

Second in: The Latina Series by Wanda Richards

Be sure to read summer of dolores, first in: The Latina Series on amazon.com

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my students at F.C. Hammond in Alexandria, Virginia.

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely

This book may be copied and reproduced by English as a Second Language teachers.

Chapter 1

For me, the first day of school meant not having to work ten hours a day. I should have been anxious to get back to school, but I wasn’t thinking about seeing my friends. Instead, I was nervous about starting my last year of high school. I dreaded graduating. Unlike my friend Ilse who knew all she wanted was to marry her boyfriend and, unlike Wendy, who had already been accepted to The College of William & Mary, I had no idea what I’d be doing next year. If you talked to my mother though she’d tell you I’d be married to David Alfaro as soon as school was out, or before.

That was her dream, not mine. Mom said she didn’t want to be with Mauricio; although you never could tell she didn’t love him madly if you saw her with him. She hangs all over him and fixes him his favorite foods and he’s devoted to her until she leaves the room. That’s when he saunters over and asks me how I’m doing. I hate his smell even when he cleans himself up. He makes me want to vomit, vomit, vomit. As soon as he walks into the door of our apartment, he has a beer in his hand and a gleam in his eye for me.

I always wondered if Mom knew about Mauricio’s come-ons to me. Didn’t she notice I locked my door every night? Didn’t she think it was strange that he’d be standing so close to me whenever she’d come back in the room? 

I never dwelled on her betrayal. In my mind, she wasn’t my real mother. I didn’t even meet her till I was thirteen. Before that I’d lived in El Salvador with my grandmother who’d loved me and treated me like a real mother should. I was happy there and would always call Chirilagua, El Salvador home, but as much as I looked back on that time with fondness I’d never willingly go back to the poverty.

In front of me Jefferson High glistened as the sun hit the tall slender windows over the principal’s office. As I climbed the stairs up to the main entrance beside students with empty backpacks soon to be laden down with books, I consoled myself that I had a whole year to decide what I’d do next September.

As usual, the first day consisted of getting our schedules, being assigned lockers, and the teachers introducing themselves. Finally it was time for lunch and I headed toward the cafeteria. Ilse Rodriguez, my best friend since I arrived in this country, was talking to some of the Hispanic girls in the hallway.

Ilse, I said.

She turned around. "Hola, Linda." She moved her head forward to give me a peck on the cheek. 

I responded, but I didn’t like her doing that here in school. It made it so obvious to the Americans that we were different.

"Como pasaste this summer? Ilse was dark-skinned with long straight black hair hanging to her waist and little bangs that curved around her eyes. She was so chubby her skirts always rode up on her thighs making the boys poke fun. The truth was she couldn’t afford to buy clothes that fit. She gave me an inquisitive smile.  Well, you showed up so I guess you and David didn’t get married."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. No, of course not. I worked all summer.

Girl, you better not wait too long, David will find someone who’ll give him a baby right away.

The girls with Ilse snickered. "David es bien guapo," one of them said.

It was true. David, pronounced ‘Dahbheed’ in Spanish, not the American way that made his name rhyme with ‘baby’, was handsome. I’d been madly in love with him when we first met. In the beginning, I thought we’d be married when I turned sixteen like most of the El Salvadoran girls but somewhere along the way I decided staying in school would be better. At first I wanted to learn English then after, I began to understand more of what the teachers were saying. I began to dream of graduating from high school. 

As we stood in the hallway Ilse and the other girls looked at me as if I were a fool. One of the teachers hollered, break it up and move it down to the lunchroom!

Ilse took my arm and walked me toward a table. "Be serious. You know David’s un papacito and some other chica is going to hook up with him."

How’s Nestor? I said hoping to get her off the David subject.

Her chubby round face turned into a frown. He loves me, but he wants to bring his little girl here from El Salvador before we get married. She sat down across from me.

I nodded not knowing what to say about that situation. 

That’s enough about me. I’ve got it together. Ilse took her gnawed off fingernail and pointed it at my chest. Girl, if I were you, I’d marry David right now and forget about this school stuff.

That’s you and not me. I said quietly. 

Hands covered my eyes. Guess who-o-o. A crystallike voice said.

Wendy. I screamed. I stood up and hugged her. It’s so good to see you.

She sat next to me. How was your summer?

I tried not to frown. Oh, you know, working. I said trying not to sound too serious. And you?

I did it. I finally got up enough money to go to Spain to study in that language school over there.

You went to Spain? I practically drooled.

Ilse leaned her head across the lunch table. "La gringa quiere aprender Español."

Wendy put her hands on her hips. "Esta gringa ya aprendí Español. Y ahora te entiendo." 

Laughter erupted in my stomach and soon I was giggling uncontrollably. I didn’t know which was funnier, Wendy’s exaggerated Spanish accent or Ilse’s face when she realized Wendy understood what she’d said.

I studied in España this summer. Wendy bragged then leaned toward Ilse. What did you do, wash toilets?

Ilse’s beautiful vanilla-colored skin dimpled up in anger. She sprang to her feet. I’m getting something to eat.

Wendy smiled at Ilse’s defeat. I understood why Wendy thought Ilse deserved to be insulted, but I knew the other reality - she had so much more than Ilse or me. Wendy wasn’t rich by American standards. Wendy worked hard all year at the mall last year to pay for her trip to Spain, but she could never fathom the idea that I actually had to use my money to pay rent and buy groceries. That concept was outside of her realm of understanding.

I liked her in spite of our differences. She was beautiful in that very American way with pale skin, blue eyes, and straight brown hair that curved just at the ends, right below her shoulders. We met in tenth grade when she participated in a program where they paired up a native Spanish speaker who needed to learn English and an American who wanted to learn Spanish. We were instant friends. I’d been to her house many times, a comfortable brick townhouse with a garage for her parent’s two cars underneath. 

Of course I’d never invited Wendy to my house. She must have picked up on my discomfort since after the first few months she stopped asking to visit me.

Linda, you have Honors English, right? Yes. I said.

Great. See ya there. She flitted off.

Hastily I downed my sandwich, then headed off to my next class.

* * *

That afternoon I headed to Maxwell’s convenience store where, as usual, I’d work till ten tonight. Today for the first day in a long time I hadn’t started at dawn and worked till closing. The store sits behind our apartment complex; people come to buy everything here – batteries, tortillas, cigarettes, toilet paper, and lots more. There is a Mr. Maxwell, but I’ve only seen him once in the two years I’ve worked here.

As usual, Mr. Patel worked the register. When he saw me come through the door he gave me a dirty look. He hadn’t been happy when I informed him school was starting again. You’re here. He said in his overly-pronounced English he’d learned in India.

I ignored the fact he didn’t even say hello. Good afternoon, Mr. Patel. Where do you want me to start?

There’s a lot to unpack in the storeroom.

I just nodded and headed to the door that led past the bathroom to the area where the trucks dropped off the new goods.

When you are finishing there, come here and run the register I am needing a break.

He wanted to go home is what he really meant. I retreated to the dank dark room with a single light bulb overhead. But as I closed the door, I enjoyed the solitude the storeroom gave me. Even though I didn’t care for Mr. Patel at least I didn’t fear him like Mauricio. I slit the boxes open, stacked the cans, and put candy bars neatly in the boxes we’d use for display. When I finished, I opened the door to the alley and was assaulted by the stench of the dumpster. I held my breath and threw the empty boxes in a pile beside the garbage.

Mr. Patel was reading the paper when I came back. Oh, you’re done. Good I must go. My son is playing in a soccer game today and I want to see him kick that ball. He grabbed his keys and hurried out.

I gritted my teeth as I saw him get into his car. Some day I’ll be the manager of something I consoled myself. But, I won’t be like him, I vowed. I’d be fair.

Before I could get my key in the register, I heard a noise outside. Then I saw who it was - the same boy that always wanted to buy cigarettes. This would be once more I’d have to say no. The problem was when I was new I sold cigarettes to some of his friends. That was before I realized it was against the law. Back home in El Salvador we have nothing like that. If you’ve got the money you can buy it no matter what it is. Of course nobody ever has any money in my country. That’s why we’re here.

He laid his bike on the sidewalk and entered the store.

Immediately his smile radiated toward me.

No. I said wagging my head exaggeratedly

Aw, come on. The dark-skinned black boy smiled showing off his perfect milky teeth.

When I came to this country I’d never seen someone from Africa before. In the beginning I was scared of black