Big Chicas Don't Cry(18)

When I didn’t answer, he shook his head and sighed. Then he said he had to leave and walked out through the backyard gate, leaving me alone to wonder if he had been talking about the fountain at all.





Chapter Nine


GRACIE


I sat in the cafeteria of St. Christopher’s Academy desperately wishing I could die.

Dear God, I take that back. Of course I don’t want to die. But could there be a small earthquake or a random fire drill at least? Amen.

Wishing for small disasters normally wasn’t on my to-do list. In fact, I’d woken up that morning fully intending to have a pretty good Friday. Then I walked into our weekly staff meeting and everything changed.

Perhaps an act of God wasn’t necessary. At this point, I would’ve settled for a nosebleed or emergency phone call. Anything to get me out of having to stand up in the next five minutes or so and introduce myself—or rather reintroduce myself—to Tony Bautista.

“Hi, Tony. I’m Kevin Donald, and I teach seventh grade. Welcome,” Kevin said.

He still looked the same. His dark wavy hair was cut shorter, and there were fine lines now in the corners of his eyes, but everything else was the same. His light eyes, the dimple on his chin, and his beautiful, beautiful smile. He had aged well.

“Hi, Tony. I’m Linda Johnson, and I’m the choir director, and I also teach sixth grade. Welcome,” Linda said.

Tony Bautista was the prince of St. Christopher’s back in the day. And every girl had wanted to be his princess—including me. From the first day he’d transferred into Mrs. Warren’s fourth-grade class, Tony Bautista was my secret crush.

“Hiya, Tony. I’m Randy Richards, and I teach eighth grade. So glad you’re joining us. Welcome,” Randy said.

And he was responsible for the best and worst day of my life.

I could still see the striped shirt and black jeans he wore that day in the eighth grade when he walked over to my desk and grabbed my hand to lead me to a table in the back of the classroom to work. We’d been randomly paired up to do some type of project that I’d long since forgotten. Tony, however, was unforgettable. He was charming, funny, and nice. At the end of the period, he told me how much he was looking forward to working with me, and maybe we could even get together after school at McDonald’s to brainstorm. I was on cloud nine that entire morning. And then the lunch bell rang.

“Hello, Tony. I’m Mrs. Gosling, and I’m the art instructor for the seventh and eighth graders,” Mrs. Gosling said.

I had been in one of the stalls in the girls’ restroom when Tracy Kellogg and Luz de la Torre walked in. They were giggling. “So, he really asked you out?” squealed Luz. “Yep,” Tracy responded. “I mean, I figured he would eventually, but I have to admit I was kinda worried once I saw how he was acting with that Gracie.” I froze at the mention of my name. Slowly, I placed my ear against the stall’s door. Tracy continued, “So I told him that if he wanted to ask out Gracie, then that was totally cool because Brian wants to ask me out. You should have seen the look of absolute horror on his face! He went on and on about how he was just being nice to her so he could sweet-talk her into doing the project all on her own . . .”

“Hello, Tony. I’m Sister Claire, and I teach fifth grade. Welcome,” Sister Claire said.

I ended up staying in the restroom way past lunch and then went to the nurse’s office and told her I had a stomachache—which was true. I didn’t go back to school for the rest of the week (I was so sick with embarrassment my mom really thought I had some type of flu). By the following Monday, the teacher had paired up Tony with another group, and I ended up doing a make-up project all on my own anyway. I managed to stay away from him—and Tracy—for the rest of the school year.

“Hello, Mr. Bautista. I am Sister Patricia, and I teach computer science and the fourth grade. Welcome, sir,” Sister Patricia said.

Still, I kept tabs on him throughout high school, even though I attended St. Francine’s all-girls school and he went to Trinity—the all-boys school across town. He was Trinity’s star baseball player, so it was easy to hear about what he was up to. He ended up getting a full scholarship to one of the UC schools, but then he tore some type of muscle in his leg, and his college career was over. I lost track of him after that.

“Hello, Tony. My name is Sister Elizabeth, and I teach the second grade. Welcome!” Sister Elizabeth said.

And now I’d found him. He was right here at St. Christopher’s, standing by Sister Catherine. She had just made the announcement that Tony Bautista was joining the faculty as the substitute PE teacher and basketball coach. The rest of the staff had just finished introducing themselves. Now it was my turn.

I slowly stood up from my chair. My cheeks burned, and my legs shook underneath my long flowered skirt. I gripped the edge of the table so I wouldn’t lose my balance.

“Hi, Tony. My name is Gracie Lopez, and I’m in the first grade—er, I mean I teach the first grade. Welcome,” I said.

He smiled just as he had smiled at everyone else he’d just met for the first time.

A wave of relief traveled down my body. I didn’t want him to remember me, or rather, the girl I had been. I immediately began thinking of ways I could become invisible and avoid him the rest of the school year.