Chapter 7- Nick P.O.V

Nick did not go to the infirmary. He didn’t know where it was and he didn’t want to run into The Rock and his pals if he were able to find it. He took a shower instead and afterwards held a wad of toilet paper to the cut on his scalp. Eventually the bleeding began to subside. The resulting scar would be hidden under his hair, but because he had hit the mirror with the side of his head, and not the back, the flesh between his left temple and left eye had also begun to swell. He worried what his father would say if he saw it. His father had a violent temper.

Besides having given him walking orders to stay out of trouble, his father had also told him not to come home that afternoon without a job. Nick had figured his best bet would be the nearby mall. He knew roughly where it was and thought he might be able to walk there in less than an hour. He’d worked before, in his old neighbourhood, loading freight at the docks. He wondered if the stores in the mall would want him to fill out all kinds of papers before letting him show what he could do. He hoped not.

Before he set out for the mall, he stopped at the soda machines in the courtyard. He was disappointed to discover he didn’t have enough money to buy a Coke. He was standing there, fishing through his pockets for a possible hidden dime, when a small Hispanic girl came up at his side.

“May I?” she asked. He was blocking her way. He stepped aside hastily.

“I don’t have the right change” he mumbled. He’d seen the girl before, at lunch, sitting by herself beneath a tree hugging her knees. She had long black hair tied back in a ponytail that reached to her waist.

“Oh.” She put in her change, made her selection. A can of orange soda popped out below. “What do you need?”

“Nothing, I wasn’t that thirsty.” He was dying for a drink. “Thanks, anyway.”

“No,” she said, glancing gup at him with big, lustrous eyes, a serious, perhaps sad expression. “I have change.”

Nick shrugged. “I need a quarter.”

She reached in her tiny purse. “I have three dimes.”

He took out his dime and three nickels. This was all the money he had in the world. He’d gone without lunch. This was another reason he needed a job in a hurry. He had to boy almost all his own food. He took her dime and bought his Coke, giving her back the spare nickel. “Thanks,” he said opening the can, shifting nervously on his feet. She was staring at him.

“Do you know you’re bleeding?” she asked finally.

He touched the side of his head. It had started again. “It’s nothing. I cut it.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No. A little. It will stop in a minute.”

She went to touch the area. He recoiled automatically and she quickly withdrew her hand. “I’m sorry” she said.

“It’s really nothing,” he said quietly.

“You were in a fight, weren’t you?”

He began to shake his head, stopped. “Yes, I was.”

Her next question caught him off guard. “Did you win?”

“I don’t think he’ll want to fight me again.”

She offered her hand. “I’m Maria Gonzales. You’re Nick, aren’t you?”

He shook her hand briefly. Her skin was cool, very soft. “How did you know?”

“I’ve watched you this week. You walk from one place to another. You never talk to anyone. I did that when I first got here.”

She had a strong Spanish accent. He wondered if she had only recently come into the United States. He had experience with a variety of ethnic groups in his old neighbourhood. He suspected she wasn’t from Mexico, but from farther south, from El Salvador or Nicaragua. “I don’t know many people here,” he said.

“Do you know anybody?”

“I know the name of the guy who threw me into the mirror.”

She smiled faintly. She had deep red heart-shaped lips, smooth high cheeks untouched by make-up. Her pink dress hung loose and cool but he could tell she had a fine figure. She had freshness about her he had seldom seen in his old neighbourhood. She had probably led a clean life.

“And I bet he knows your name,” she said,

Nick smiled, too pleased with himself for having made a mildly funny remark, and happy to be talking to someone who was kind. Yet at the same time he felt the sudden urge to curtail the conversation. Perhaps he wanted to quit while he was ahead. Maybe he didn’t think he was good enough to be talking to someone like Maria.

“Nice meeting you,” he mumbled, backing up a step. “I better be going.”

“Do you take the bus home?”

“No.”

“Oh you have a car?”

He stopped. The truth sounded so poor. “Not really.”

“Where do you live?”

In a shack.

“Near Houston and Second.”

“I live over that way. You don’t walk home every day do you?”

“Sometimes I hitch a ride.” No one had picked him up so far.

“You should take the bus. There’s one coming in about ten minutes. You shouldn’t be walking home after getting hit like that on the head.”

The urge to get away intensified. He felt exposed as though any second this girl was going to see something repulsive in him. He took another step back. “I’ll be alright. I’ve got to go. Thanks again for the Coke.”

“Take care of yourself, Nick.”

He hurried off the campus, walking in the direction of the mall. He didn’t understand it. She had seemed concerned about him.