Free Mystify by Artist Arthur Page A

distance.
    Clouds shift, and just before climbing into the car, I swear they form a letter, an M swirling on masses of billowy puffiness.
    We, now the four of us, are definitely more than friends. We’re the ones who need to be vigilant. The ones I suspect are supposed to stop whoever “he” is and the “everything” he’s coming back for.
    Question is, how are we going to do that?

nine
    Tony is a Jet. That’s a member of a group of white Americans who believe they are the “true” Americans.
    Maria’s brother, Bernardo, is a Shark. The Sharks are first generation Americans from Puerto Rico.
    The Jets and the Sharks don’t like each other.
    But Tony likes Maria. And Maria likes Tony.
    And that’s a problem.
    Man, can I relate to this. Sitting in Mrs. Copaceptic’s English II Honors class is more uncomfortable today than any of the days yet this year. Last year we read William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and watched the movie with Claire Danes and Leonardo DiCaprio. This year Mrs. Copaceptic—for reasons I’ll never understand—wanted to pick up on the same theme of star-crossed lovers, I suppose. We’re watching West Side Story , the 1950s musical that’s a remake of the way outdated Romeo and Juliet .
    I guess this is outdated too since it’s over fifty years ago. Still, I think I like this version better. Maybe it’s because I’m multicultural with my dad being what they’d call “white American” and my mom being Argentinean. I suppose I’d be considered a member of the Sharks.
    But then what would that make Antoine?
    He’s definitely not “white American.” African-American,yes. So he’d be a twenty-first century Jet. We’d be the new generation Tony and Maria.
    If I wasn’t so undecided about being with him.
    The thing is, it’s not all about the racial issue for me. My reason for hesitating where Antoine’s concerned is more about my parents. About what their reaction would be to me bringing Antoine over for dinner or even taking him to prom. Dad would flip and Mom would spazz for a couple of hours, then give me some long boring speech about my responsibilities, my duties to my father, my family. Which is all a bunch of bull, but she’s been brainwashed to believe it.
    Casietta says it’s because back home in Buenos Aires, my mother had nothing. My father was literally her knight in shining armor, rescuing her from poverty and hunger. You’d think that would make her more sympathetic to others less fortunate, instead of more judgmental. In return for my father’s rescue, she worships him, making every word that comes out of his mouth—and some that don’t—like a newly revised bible.
    Sighing, because that’s all I can do when I think about my home situation, I slouch in my chair. My chin’s leaning on my arm as I watch Maria singing on half the screen and Tony on the other.
    They’re so in love.
    My cell phone vibrates in my purse, so using very slow motions so as not to tip Mrs. Copaceptic off that I’m alive, I pull it free and look at it.
    Thinking about u
    The text from Antoine makes me blush. So with one hand attempting to cover the lower half of my face that’s heated and smiling, I answer with the other.
    Thinking about u 2
    A few seconds later…
    Meet me n hall B after class
    My heart’s thumping. Hallway B is on the other side of the building. It leads to the music room and the culinary classes. But those classes are only open Monday through Wednesday.
    Ok
    Suddenly I can’t wait until Bernardo finds out about Tony and Maria. I can’t wait until the big hand circles past three more numbers on the clock and the bell rings. In essence, I’m ready to go.
     
    Time works in my favor because before I can drift into another musical scene, the bell sounds. I gather my stuff up quickly and move through the rush of twenty or so kids trying to get as far away from English as they possibly can for the next few hours, until we’re forced to endure it all again