Throw. Rubén Degollado

touching. Bell didn’t move away from me like the other two would have.

      “I think I had you for art. Did you have Ms. Fields last year? Yes, yes, you did! I remember! You won that award in class!”

      “Yeah, that’s right, I did,” I said. Bell looked good still even if she was wearing all the preppy clothes like you see in the magazines. I remember thinking that with the way she sometimes wore dark lipstick and nail polish, the way she wore her hair up, this girl wanted to live the life, at least once in a while. Looking back, maybe she did her makeup like that for me, thinking that was what I liked. Bell didn’t look like that now. Her new friends wouldn’t allow anything like that. She was a born-again prep. I hoped Bell was still the girl that talked to other kids who weren’t like her, like she had talked to me, not scared of my shaved head, my baggy pants and the rosary I wore underneath my shirt.

      “I’m sorry, I’m so stupid, but I don’t remember your name.” Me lying was all part of the game. You could meet some of these girls four or five times and still act like you never could remember their names. This was the way the preps played it. I knew the rules from when I was at OLL and was good at them.

      She looked a little hurt that I didn’t remember her name. I had judged her wrong, and she hadn’t totally gone to the prep side of thinking. “You don’t remember? Bell, as in ‘campana.’ Why did he call you ‘Güero’ when I remember your name was Cirilo?” She pronounced Güero like Where-o, like gringos did, but had pronounced Cirilo like she learned how to, saying See-ree-lo. At least Bell was trying in front of me. And the thing was she had said these Spanish words without sounding sarcastic at all, like some girls who were trying not to be Mexican did and didn’t care if her friends looked down on her for it.

      “I got the name Güero from my friends. They call me that because of my skin and my eyes, which are lighter than theirs. I’m so sorry I didn’t remember your name.” Here I looked down and acted shy.

      Bell said, “It’s okay.” To change the subject, she said, “Hey, look up. I want to see your eyes again.” Bell touched my chin with one finger and lifted my head. “They are lighter. I forgot how different they were.” Her fingers smelled sweet and clean.

      “They call you Bell, but I remember your full name was Maribel. You have two names too. I always thought Maribel sounded like a song to me.” It wasn’t the greatest I had ever come up with, but it was enough to make her smile.

      “I never thought of it that way.”