Free Love & Lies: Marisol's Story by Ellen Wittlinger

assignment for the following week: to describe a place we knew well. Olivia begged us to give not merely the kind of description a tourist brochure might—no warm, sunny beaches or quaint little cottages or majestic mountains. She hoped we would search more deeply for our sense of place and find the way in which the setting gave additional meaning to the story. She left us with this thought:“It is thefunction of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and as if by magic we see a new meaning in it.”
    Gio waited for me by the door after class. “Wow, she really loved your dialogue!”
    I glanced back at Olivia, but she was surrounded by the English majors, and Mr. Hairdo was waiting his turn too. “I know,” I said. “I’m kind of amazed.”
    We headed for the outside door. “It was really good—the best one of all. I bet you will write a novel this year.”
    I basked in the additional praise. “I hope so. I mean, that’s why I took this time off.”
    Gio pushed the door open, and there, sitting on a bench reading a book and twirling her hair around her finger, was Diana Tree. He was obviously not surprised.
    “Hey!” he called.
    She bounded toward us like a lanky colt. “Hey! Hi, Marisol! Wow, I’m so glad to see you again. I couldn’t believe you and Gio were taking the same class.”
    It was strange seeing her again. I knew she must know all about what happened between Gio and me last spring—she’d been there for some of it. And I’d known, even then—anybody with eyes could have seen—that she had a crush on the boy herself, which made it pretty likely that she wasn’t actually all that happy to see me again. But she was one of those people who just don’t have any meanness in them, or much of a protective coating, either, and I had no intention of getting in her way or screwing up whatever might be going on between her and Gio. Even if it meant dragging myself downout of the clouds of conceit and acting like a regular human being.
    “Hi, Diana,” I said. “Good to see you, too. Are you here for the weekend?”
    “Yeah. There’s this Arts Festival thing going on this weekend, and Gio thought I’d like to go to it.”
    “Right. Down at the river. I was thinking of going too.” I realized too late what Diana would feel she had to say then.
    Her smile drooped just a tiny bit, but she pushed it back into place. “Oh, do you want to come with us? We were going to get something to eat first and then—”
    Think fast. “Thanks, but I can’t. I promised to meet a friend of mine . . .” I gestured vaguely into the distance as if there were an actual meeting place where my imaginary friend waited impatiently. I didn’t like lying to her, but in this case it really was for her own good.
    “Marisol just knocked it out of the park in class,” Gio told Diana. “She read this incredible piece, and now the teacher is in love with her.” He was kidding, but I knew my face flushed anyway.
    “No surprise. You’re such a good writer,” Diana said.
    “Thanks.” I glanced at my watch. “I really should get going. Maybe we’ll run into each other later at the festival.”
    “Good!” Diana said. They both waved and wandered off in the direction of the river—not, I noticed, touching each other in any way. Damn, Gio, get a clue. I began to walk purposely in the opposite direction, but then realized there was nothing I wanted over there, so I just ducked into a doorway until they were out of sight. Now what? I had been thinkingthe lunch-with-Gio thing might be a regular occurrence, and I was disappointed, not only because I couldn’t continue to wallow in my classroom victory, but also because I enjoyed talking to the guy as much as I ever had. Could we really not be friends just because he’d once declared his inappropriate love for my lesbian self?
    I was back in front of the Center for Adult Education again, trying to