“Good morning,” Mrs. McDaniels says to Papi as she walks past him. Maybe she’s not so observant after all. Roli is standing right there. You’d think she’d say hello to one of their A students, but maybe she doesn’t recognize him in overalls.
She throws open the door for us and switches on the overhead lights. “Be sure to mark the work area. We don’t want any of the students tripping on a drop cloth and having an accident.” I can practically see the thought bubble over her head. Paperwork.
She turns on her heels and clicks away up the path.
“Who’s here?” I ask after she’s gone. It’s not like Seaward Pines has summer school. There’s no such thing as failing here. Roli told me you’re just “disappeared” back to your home school. I picture kids vaporizing, leaving behind their red blazers in heaps.
Roli shifts on his feet and points across the fields. Beefy football players are doing drills. Nearby, the girls’ soccer team is practicing their passes. If you listen hard, you can hear the coaches’ whistles, the grunts as the teams knuckle down.
I inch up the path a bit. I love soccer—and I’m good. Papi taught me most of my moves. He plays on a Sunday fútbol league at the park when his knees aren’t bad—and thanks to the dads on the team, I know how to dribble and stall the ball on my ankles like a pro. Every once in a while, if they’re short, they let me play keeper. I’m almost never stuck on the sidelines blowing a stupid vuvuzela.
Maybe we can sit in the shade and watch for a while to see if they’re any good? All employees are entitled to breaks, aren’t they? But when I turn to ask Roli, he’s gone.
“Get to work,” Papi says. He’s already inside, spreading the drop cloths.
—
Seaward’s school colors are red and gray, so all the doors and baseboards are the searing color of a fire engine. Every time I shift my eyes to the floor, I see globs of blue and green floating in front of me, like levitating beach balls.
“Hey! I’m having those afterimages,” I say to Roli. He’s the one who explained to me how the cone cells in your eyes work. It’s kind of cool to be blind for a few minutes.
“Hurry up, Merci. I want to get out of here.” He dips his roller again and turns back to the wall. His muscles strain against his T-shirt as he rolls faster and faster. “It shouldn’t take forever to paint a stupid door.”
“It does if you’re doing a good job,” I say.
I stand up and look over at Roli. What a disaster. When Papi sees this, he’s dead. Papi says a good painter can work without splatters or drips. Roli has sloshed paint all over the place, and there are streaks and drips on the walls where there shouldn’t be any. No quality control, that’s the trouble. I’ll have to discuss this with Papi as we determine Roli’s future with us.
“You guys ready to take a break?” Papi calls. He’s across the gym, patching a hole in the drywall. “We can take a ride to Burgers and Shakes.”
We usually pack our lunch and dine “alfresco,” as Papi calls it, which just means we picnic under a tree. It’s too hot today, though, and a chocolate shake sounds like heaven.
I’m about to put down my brush when the door I’ve been painting swings wide open. Light floods inside and makes me squint. A group of upper-school girls is clustered outside. Their sweaty faces are almost as red as the paint. Grass clippings cling to their shin guards.
They’re jostling and shouting.
“It’s boiling!”
“Go in already.”
“Stop shoving!”
“I have to pee!”
A tall girl stands in the lead. She’s probably the team captain, if that C on her jersey means anything. Plus, she looks the part, with muscular legs and hair piled high on her head like a lopsided doughnut. Before I can stop her, she reaches her arms wide and grabs the wet doorframe as if she’s trying to keep her flock from moving forward.
She pulls her hands back when she realizes what she’s done.
“Damn!” She stares at her palms, then gives me an ugly look, like it’s my fault.
One of the girls next to her giggles. “Oops.”
I rub my eyes with my forearm, trying to see them better around the big green globs that still linger before my eyes. I’m positive I stuck a sign in the grass outside, just like Papi said. WET PAINT. USE OTHER DOOR. But even if they missed it, couldn’t they see that the surface is shiny? Can’t they smell the fumes or see me standing here with a paintbrush? Hello?
I’m furious, but my tongue goes thick in my mouth. Maybe it’s the girl’s bright eyes on me or maybe it’s that they’re all older. You have to be in high school to play on the varsity team, right? Or maybe it’s really because Roli doesn’t turn and come to help me. He keeps his back to them and keeps painting.