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Message-ID: <49087asstr$1094029806@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spitfire and Messerschmitt Ch 11 {Gina Marie Wylie} (teen, viol)
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Date: Wed,  1 Sep 2004 05:10:06 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Davey Ch 11.doc" begin>

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	The following is fiction of an adult nature.  If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read
this and I'd never have bothered to write it.  IMHO, if you can
read and enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my
part.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	Official stuff:  Story codes: teen, viol.

	If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2004, by Gina Marie Wylie.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots.  All comments and reasoned
discussion welcome.

Below is my site on ASSTR:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/

My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:
http://Storiesonline.net/

And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:
http://www.ewpub.org/

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Spitfire and Messerschmitt

Chapter 11 :: Hit and Run Play

I smiled at Mercedes as we started across the driveway, holding
hands.  I'd seen a car parked about fifty yards away, in the fire
lane in front of a store and thought nothing of it.  I saw the
car leave the curb, but for a second I was more interested in
Wanda ahead and the glory of walking hand in hand with a girl I
really, really cared about.

The sound clued me.  I turned my head to the left and saw the car
that had been fairly distant, was now much closer.  The engine
was racing, the sound it made was steadily rising.  It seemed
that the hood was aimed right at me.

And Mercedes.  I remember thinking about her, I remember worrying
about her.  I just didn't think after that.  I reached out and
pulled Mercedes a bit toward me, and then shoved her as hard as I
could, just after I'd pivoted sideways.  She moved about six feet
at maximum warp, stumbling.  I went the other way, and I
continued to move with my momentum.

The car swerved toward me, and at the last second, just before I
sprawled on the asphalt, I saw the man's eyes.  Black, pitiless
saucers, focused and intent, staring at me.

The car missed me by two or three feet.  It never slowed, in
fact, it continued to accelerate away.  I bounced up, desperate
to make sure Mercedes was safe.

She fared better than me.  Mercedes had been about to jump out of
the way herself, forward.  I'd just given her an unexpectedly
large impetus.

"Are you really sure your family is okay with us?" I asked,
concerned.  "That guy looked like he wanted to run me over."

"What?" Mercedes said.  "No!  I saw him, he was Jewish, not
Spanish!"

Time stopped.  I hardly heard her after the word "No!"

I was back outside the dumpsters, facing Mercedes, as Hannelore
hurried away.  "You were talking about what time the movie let
out," Mercedes words from then echoed in my ears.

Wanda came running up, grabbing me and hugging me hard enough to
nearly crack my ribs.  "Did you see that!" she exclaimed,
furiously angry.  "That bastard tried to hit you!"

She waved behind us where the car had gone.  "I saw a police car
start chasing him!  I hope they catch the bastard!"

My brain was sitting atop my shoulders, fizzing.  One thing after
another, like a row of dominoes falling over.  I'd seen a movie
once in junior high where someone had thrown a ping pong ball
onto a floor with literally a million mousetraps, each set with
two ping pong balls on the spring.  It was supposed to simulate a
nuclear detonation.  This was like that, one second one ball, a
few seconds later thousands, then a million.  Only these weren't
ping-pong balls, they were ideas, thoughts, and impressions.

I'd never been hurt, not really.  Sure, guys had beat me up, but
I understood it clearly now.  They had inflicted a little pain
and then they had quit.  The guys who had attacked Wanda and
Emily, they had meant to hurt their victims -- not just a little,
but unto death, if that was what it took to get their way.  I'd
never faced that until this moment.

My mind settled on one question with three answers.  "No
Surprises" and I needed to call Dad first.  "National Security"
and I should call Blade first.  Get that bastard who'd nearly
killed Mercedes and me, call 911 first.

Wanda's words decided me.  The police were already on it.  I
pushed the speed dial for Dad's office.

"Davey, I'm in a meeting," he said the instant he picked up.

"Someone just tried to kill me.  He tried to run over Mercedes
and me with a car, deliberately and on purpose.  I'm asking for
advice here, Dad.  I've never come to you for advice before, but
I'm doing it now.  Should I call Blade, then 911?  Or the other
way around?  Or just 911?"

"Tell me exactly what happened."

I explained, including what Wanda said about a police car chasing
after the car.

"Call 911 first.  Stay there, I'll be there in a few minutes. 
Are you sure you're all okay?"
"Nothing significant.  Mercedes and I are a little shaken, a
little scared.  Wanda is pissed."

"Call 911, then call Blade.  Then let Mercedes call home."

I'd forgotten that!  I glanced at Mercedes who was talking with
Wanda; there was already a small crowd of people standing around
who'd seen all or part of what had happened.

I called 911; I gave my name and address, home phone number, cell
phone number.  As a freebie, I told the operator who my father
was.  She didn't seem to care.

When I got done with that, I called Blade.

"This isn't amusing, Davey.  Don't keep calling me."

"You said I should.  Being nearly run over wasn't amusing either.
 Someone deliberately tried to run down my girlfriend and me as
we came out of the theater.  I told you earlier that Hannelore
heard me tell Mercedes what time the movie would be getting
out."

He sighed.  "Tell me exactly what happened."  I was going to hear
that phrase a lot over the next few hours.

For a second time I explained, trying to remember everything.  I
threw in the part where I thought at first the driver was Mexican
but Mercedes said he looked Jewish.

As I said that, once again it was like a chain of flash bulbs
going off in my head.  911, the emergency number.  9/11, the
date, and what happened on that date.  The man hadn't been
Mexican or Jewish, he was Middle Eastern.  And that was why Blade
was interested and why he'd invoked National Security.

"Well, stay there.  It'll probably be me that comes."

He hung up and I walked over to Mercedes and handed her my phone.
 "You should call home," I told her.  In the distance, I could
hear sirens.  A lot of sirens.  "I think this may take a while. 
My dad's coming, some others."

She looked at me.  "You think it's Fraulein Kimmel."

I nodded.

She reached out and stabbed her forefinger into my chest. 
Really, really hard.  I had a bruise there, later.  "I have
dreams, Davey!  Dreams!  No stupid woman is going to mess with my
dreams!"  For the next minute or so, Mercedes let me know just
what was going to happen to Fraulein Kimmel, if that's who it
was.  She really was a spitfire with a serious temper!

Two police cars pulled up and officers headed our way.  I stepped
in front of Mercedes thinking to shield her.  It was perhaps the
least constructive and most irrelevant thing I've done in my
life.

A nightmare.  If you've ever been involved in anything like this,
it's a nightmare.  Ten thousand people who ask the same
questions.  What happened?  Describe what happened.  Describe the
car driver.  Describe the car.  Describe Aunt Hattie's fanny.

Over and over again, always someone new, always the same
questions.  I'd tried to shield Mercedes, but I'd been wasting my
time.  They asked her the same questions.  They asked Wanda the
same questions.  They asked the same questions of the people
standing around.  When that started, the crowd melted away like
magic.

I was surprised my dad didn't intervene; Blade didn't either,
although I could see them both.  Mercedes' mother was there with
a man I was sure was her father.  Then there was a meeting
between some of the adults.  Chief Ortega was present as well,
talking to Dad and Mercedes' parents.

Then they came over to us.  Mercedes and I were, at that point,
standing quietly together, holding hands.  I saw her father look
at our hands, then at me.  Her mother just looked at me.

Chief Ortega did the speaking.  "Young Mr. Harper, we are going
to transport you and Miss d'Silva to headquarters.  You will go
separately and will be interviewed again, separately.  This will
be a formal, sworn affidavit.  Your parent or parents will be
allowed to be in the room and offer advice.  They may request
legal representation, but at this time I don't see any reason for
that, you aren't even liable for jaywalking.

"After that, we'll talk."

"My sister said that one of your cars started chasing the other
car.  Did they catch him?"

"That is a police matter, Mr. Harper.  Right now, let's deal with
the situation you find yourself in.  An interview, an affidavit,
then you'll be free to go."

I had my first ride in a police car; I don't think honored guests
go in the back.  There were a lot of stains on the seat; it
smelled a little.  I didn't want to know what I was sitting on or
what I smelled.

At police headquarters, I didn't see Mercedes again until much
later.  We arrived about 7:30 and I was taken to a room with two
men with badges and guns clipped to their belts, a woman with a
weird thing to type on was sitting at a small table in the
corner.  Dad was there, as were Chief Ortega and Blade.

One of the detectives started to speak, but Blade waved him
quiet.  "Before we start there is a formality," Blade said.  He
reached into an attache case and pulled out a number of pieces of
paper and passed out one to everyone present.

"These are security oaths.  Some or all of what will be discussed
may be classified.  Each of you will sign the oath; I will sign
and witness it.  I formally warn you all that failure to sign
means you go out the door right this instant.  That violation of
the oath entails a fine of a hundred thousand dollars and ten
years in jail, for each offense."

He passed the papers out.  There were two pairs of crossed
American flags at the top, in red and blue ink, the printing on
the oath was blue, and there was another pair of flags at the
bottom.  After we all signed them, we had to read the words
aloud, right hands raised.

Blade then nodded to the woman.  "I will give you my name
afterwards.  You will prepare two copies of the transcript with
my name as a person present.  One of those copies goes to me; one
goes to Chief Ortega.  Both copies will be stamped 'SECRET.'  If
you make any other copies with my name on them, or tell anyone at
all that I was present, you will be liable to the penalties under
the security oath.  You may prepare the requisite number of
copies without my name, without a classification stamp.  If there
is anything I deem classified, I will tell you so, and that may
only be noted in the classified copies."

The detective took over.  First he gave a brief summary of why we
were there, before stating his name.  One by one all the rest of
us gave our names and addresses, except Blade.  Then the two
detectives took turns asking questions about what had happened.

I was surprised when there were no questions about Hannelore.  I
looked at Blade and mouthed the name.  He chuckled and shook his
head.

The detective who'd been asking most of the questions asked me,
"Was there anything else, Mr. Harper?"

"Evidently not," I said wryly.  To my surprise everyone laughed,
even the woman taking the notes.

The detectives and the woman got up and left.  Blade came and
stood right in front of me.  "Have you thought of anything else
about your conversation with Hannelore this afternoon?"

I shook my head.

"Would you do us all a favor and try to calm your friend down?" 
Blade asked.

I shook my head, not understanding.

"Mercedes d'Silva has been a little, ah, positive, in her
opinions.  In spite of several reminders that there were things
she wasn't supposed to talk about, she wants to talk about them.
Now her parents are upset as well."

I started to nod, then looked up at him.  No one had come in; 
early on a couple of people had left, but none had come in.  I
started to talk and stopped.  I looked, I thought, pretty stupid,
with my mouth open.

"Are we safe?" I asked.

Blade looked me in the eye again.  "No."  He looked
uncomfortable.  "I could go on at great length about how
professional people conduct themselves.  However, even
professionals get upset.  Something irritates them personally,
and then, sometimes, their professionalism evaporates.

"I would like a couple hours of your time and that of your friend
tomorrow.  I would recommend either the hour before or after
lunch.  We'll send out for pizza.  I will give you the short
course in staying alive in the age of martyrdom operations."

Chief Ortega slapped his hand on the table.  "I don't care what
you want!  We're going to at least bring her in for
questioning!"

"Willy and a team served a Federal search warrant at her
apartment a little after 6:00 pm.  There was no one there; there
is no sign of anything missing, except Hannelore Kimmel.  A
Federal warrant has been issued for her arrest a short while
ago."

How did he know, when he'd never left the room?  Yet no one else
seemed to make an issue of it.

"Is she dangerous?" Chief Ortega demanded.

Blade gestured at me.  "Ask David.  I'd say so.  I would not
presume to direct your investigation, nor would I ever suggest
anything so crass as a mass roundup of everyone who looks Middle
Eastern, not that it would hurt if you did."

It seemed to be that they were going to go on and on about that
stuff, so I asked to see Mercedes.  They led us to another room,
where Mercedes was sitting, an angry look on her face.  Her
parents were standing on either side of her, both with a hand on
her shoulder.

Mercedes saw Chief Ortega and pointed at Hammer, who was standing
a few feet to one side.  "Please tell this goon to stop
interrupting me!  I want to go home!  This is stupid!"

I wasn't as surprised to see Hammer there as I could have been. 
He'd been at the poker game.  It was clear he was friends with
Blade and Willy Coy, who seemed to be their boss.

"Could I ask you official people to leave for a minute, and let
me talk to Mercedes?"  I asked, trying to keep my voice calm and
level.

They actually left, leaving Mercedes and her parents with Dad and
me.

I stretched out my hand to Mercedes' father.  "Sir, I'm Davey
Harper.  This isn't how I wanted to meet."

"Ruy Lopez d'Silva," he responded, taking my hand.  His eyes were
dark and angry, but nothing like the car driver's had been.

"What is going on?" he demanded, waving at the door behind which
the police, Blade and Hammer had left.  "They are ignoring what
Mercedes is trying to tell them about her teacher!"

I contemplated things for a moment and then asked a question. 
"Did they give you a piece of paper to sign?"

"A security oath!" he shook his fist.  Mercedes had inherited
some of her temper from him, I was sure.  "Someone tried to run
her over at the mall!  That was stupid and we didn't sign it."

I sighed, but my dad spoke first.

"I know what they are trying to do.  I don't agree with it, but I
can explain their thinking.  Miss Kimmel, one of your daughter's
teachers, overheard Davey and your daughter making plans to see a
movie.  Specifically she overheard what time the movie let out.

"Your daughter asked permission and, it is my understanding, told
someone in your family what time she'd be home.  My son called my
daughter and arranged to be picked up."

"I said she could go," Mercedes' mother spoke up for the first
time.  "She said it was a movie about the ocean.  If I had known
it was a surfing movie, I'd have said no."

Dad nodded, "The point I'm trying to make, though, is that
several people knew when they were going to be getting out of the
movie.  Any of those people might have communicated that
knowledge to yet another party."

"Do you really believe that?" Mercedes' father reminded me a
little just then of Wanda after sex.  His accent was starting to
slip, he was sounding very Mexican.

"Sir," I said, half pleading, "this isn't Mercedes' fault.  I
started out blaming myself, but now I understand that it's a lot
bigger than me.  Mercedes' German teacher is involved in a secret
Federal investigation; they don't want that mixed up in what
happened with Mercedes and I this afternoon... even if she might
have been involved."

"Miss d'Silva," Dad said, "you described the driver as Jewish."

She nodded.  "That's what he looked like."

"There's a name for the racial type of Jewish people.  Do you
know what it is?"

She thought for a second and then shook her head.

"Semitic," I said, interrupting.  "As in Arab or Middle Eastern.
As in terrorist."

"That's absurd!" her father said, angry again.

"All you need to do to get out of here," I told Mercedes, pretty
much ignoring him, "is explain what happened, leaving out Miss
Kimmel."

Mercedes' father was still fuming and fussing, but Mercedes
nodded.  "That's all?"

"That's all for now," I told her.  "Just tell them what you saw
at the mall.  Afterwards, we'll talk."  I sounded just like the
adults had a while before.  It was thought provoking.

We went back outside, the detectives and Hammer went back.  Five
minutes later, they were done.  I turned to Blade as they were
leaving.  "I want you to talk to all of us, my family and
Mercedes'.  I think Chief Ortega should be there."

Blade looked at me, his face in full poker mode, showing
absolutely nothing.  "And what would we be talking about?"

"About why you wanted to spend some time talking with Mercedes
and me tomorrow."

Chief Ortega came back and for a few minutes he and Blade
conferred, then we were back in the interview room.  I turned to
Blade when the door closed.  "You asked me about meeting with you
tomorrow and bringing along Mercedes.  Did you tell her about
it?"

Blade looked at Hammer, who shook his head.

"That's good," I told him.  "Because a while ago I agreed
unconditionally.  I'm taking that back.  Only if all of my family
is there as well, as well as all of Mercedes'.  All, as in all
who might be at risk."

Dad interjected again.  "I agree with David.  In fact, it
probably would be a good idea to have assemblies at the high
schools and the junior high schools.  Maybe do some public
service announcements on radio and TV."

"I can't believe a hit and run driver," Mercedes' father said,
"was a terrorist.  That's absurd!  That's not something a
terrorist would do!"

"Not as a terrorist," Blade agreed.  "Remember, there could be
any number of innocent explanations at this point for her
absence.  Miss Kimmel could simply be shopping or having her hair
done.  Visiting a friend or at the gym.  Having dinner in a
restaurant or watching a movie.

"No one thinks there was a terrorist attack on David Harper. 
You're right, that's absurd.  But a personal vendetta carried out
by a very arrogant woman, who happens to have assets who are
terrorists -- that's a different story.  That's what we think
happened here.

"Mr. d'Silva, it will do no one any good to cry wolf about this.
On the other hand, the reason I made the suggestion to David is
that a problem with personal vendettas is that they tend to
fester the longer they are frustrated, and if the worst case is
true, it is unlikely those people are here as civic boosters of
the City Of San Angelo, Texas.  David Harper is quite correct --
we should brief all of the immediate families."

He turned to the Police Chief.  "We both work for other people,
you and I.  But I think if we were both to recommend something
like this, through our respective administrative channels, it
might happen."

The Chief nodded, then looked at Dad.  "Phil, we found the car. 
It was abandoned on a residential street in the northwest part of
town a little before six.  Two different neighbors saw a man
fitting the description David gave us park and then get into a
white van that was there to pick him up.  Then the van drove off.
 One of the neighbors saw a news report on the 7:00 pm news and
called it in.  We got there about 7:15.  The State Police and the
Rangers have been called in.  I understand the FBI has sent out a
forensic team as well."

The Police Chief grinned wolfishly.  "I expect with the resources
about to be thrown into this they won't remain on the loose for
very long.  A town in West Texas isn't going to provide people
like these much cover."

"Mr. d'Silva," Blade went on, "it has long been the policy of the
government of the United States to downplay incidents like this
as much as possible.  We have foiled quite a few plots, ruined a
lot of planning.  This policy has been in effect since Nixon was
president, and it's been continued by all of the presidents since
then.  All the terrorists know is that their plans failed; we
have no intentions of letting them know how or why."

"Then why should we listen to a briefing on terrorism?" Mercedes'
mother asked.

"Because," Blade replied, "in spite of the best intentions of
everyone concerned, the people involved in this have not been
apprehended.  Even if they are apprehended here shortly, such
people do not operate in a vacuum.  It is possible their handlers
would know all or some of the details of whatever had been
intended.  It is better to be as safe as we can be, rather than
sorry that we didn't take the most elementary precautions."

There was more talk, but it didn't last long.  I waved a forlorn
goodbye to Mercedes, hoping I'd get to see her again, but fairly
sure I was now persona non grata with her parents.

Mom fixed us some chicken salad as a quick dinner; it was close
on eleven when I finally extricated myself from the well-meaning
concern of Mom, Wanda and Emily and flopped on my bed.  I didn't
bother to undress; I just kicked my shoes off and lay on top of
the covers.

When the sun was up, so was I.  I checked the pool, then showered
and came back.  Emily was already swimming; I'd not bothered with
the chemicals today.  I jumped in, and like the day before, I
swam really hard, pushing myself all of the way.

When I finally stopped, Emily rested her hand on my shoulder. 
"I'm glad you're okay."

I chuckled; there was okay and then there was where I was.  "The
first time I go out with Mercedes and this happens.  Her parents
are going to tell her not to see me again."

Wanda appeared, wearing absolutely nothing, and jumped in the
pool in front of us, in the "cannonball" position.  Emily and I
were soaked; Emily was shocked.  I knew my sister; the splash was
no surprise.  The nudity was.

"What," Wanda said, seeing Emily's expression.  "You think I
didn't take a shower first?  Of course I did!"

I laughed and even Emily smiled.

"More importantly, both Mom and Dad are up early.  A lot of stuff
is going on, that's for sure!  The phone has been ringing off the
hook, since six!"

One of those, I was sure, was Mr. d'Silva telling my father he
didn't want me to see his daughter, ever again.

Dad came out of the house.  His eyes paused when he saw what
Wanda was wearing.  "Glad you're finally making use of the pool,
Wanda.  Does this mean we can cut swim suits from your clothes
budget?"

She stuck her tongue out at him and even I felt better.

"You need to come in and get ready for school.  There are some
things we need to discuss."

Mom had stuck a mess of Eggo waffles in the oven; we munched
those, listening to Dad.

"First, old business.  Yesterday I sent our personal attorney to
visit your mother, Emily.  He got her signature on a limited
power of attorney, allowing us to sign for anything needed for
your school or your medical treatment.

"I want to be honest with you, Emily, I don't want you to think
we are going behind your back."

She shook her head.  "I wouldn't think that, Mr. Harper.  I'm
just really grateful for everything you are doing for me.  Thank
you very much."

"Good, remember that for a few seconds.  In exchange for her
signature, she got our attorney's signature on a document whereby
we assume responsibility for your living, medical and school
expenses.  This is not a problem, okay?"

"I don't know how I can repay..."

Dad reached out and touched her hand.  "You don't need to talk
about repayment.  Emily, this isn't like an adoption, or foster
care or anything like that.  Legally, your mother can cancel
those agreements with a single signature on a single piece of
paper.  Technically, so could I.  I won't; I don't think your
mother will.  But it could happen."

He turned to me.  "Margaret Feeney has decided not to make an
issue about the other night.  She agrees her daughter has a
problem.  She, your mother and a number of others are working to
see what they can do to help Irene.  It would be best, David, if
you didn't see Irene again."

"I'm sorry about what happened," I told him, and looked at my
mother.  "It wasn't what I intended."

"And I told you about guiltless sex and no regrets," Mom told me.
 "Well, it doesn't always work like I said."

"And now," Dad said, taking over again.  "We come to the events
of yesterday evening.  David, as of a short while ago, no arrests
have been made.  The police are still searching for the driver of
the car, but he hasn't been located.  The police have also
released the description of a possible female accomplice, with a
description that matches Hannelore Kimmel."

Wanda bristled.  "They're looking for the German teacher?"

"Wanda, hush!" Mom told her.

"Yes," Dad said firmly.  "If any of you should see her, unless
she's in jail and locked solidly away, turn and run as fast as
you can go.  Call 911 right away.

"Last, all of us, plus some others, will meet in an empty
classroom at the high school, at 11:20 this morning.  The exact
room is still to be determined.  You will not tell anyone where
you are going or why.  Just cut the class you would normally have
at that time.  You should be back in class by 1:15."

"That includes our lunch periods," Wanda told him.

Dad nodded.  "Lunch will be a choice of either sub sandwiches or
pizza, both will be delivered.  This is not optional, you will be
there on time."

"What is it about?" Wanda asked, "I'm going to miss a
cheerleading practice."

"Something more important," Mom said.  I saw her looking at Dad.
Mom nodded and so did he.  What had they just agreed?

"Wanda, Emily..." Dad paused, "you must not talk about this. 
It's really important.  Not just because it's juicier than the
usual run of the mill gossip, but because a lot of people could
get hurt.  Including all of us.

"Girls, there is a real chance that the woman the police are
looking for is a terrorist, that she was here in San Angelo with
some plot in mind.  Some of the government agents involved will
give us a briefing about terrorism."

"Can I ask Pammie to come?" Wanda asked.

"Wanda!" Mom barked at her, much louder than I'd ever heard her
speak to my sister.  "This isn't a joke!  This isn't something
you can talk about!"

"Well, not for a couple of weeks," Dad added.  "There will be an
assembly at school going over a lot of the same points.  Odds
are, they have foiled the plotters, but it doesn't hurt to take
due care anyway."

Later, as I walked towards the biology lab, I was both happy to
see Mercedes, and dreading it at the same time.  She saw me,
grinned and came up and hugged me.  An older male teacher, one I
didn't know, said, "No PDA's!" and we jumped apart, laughing.

"You're really okay, Messerschmitt?" she asked.

"Spitfire, I had a rough landing, but I was good to go almost at
once."  I found I didn't have the courage to ask where we stood.

"How about you?" I managed not to choke on the words.  "Are you
okay?"

"You're worried about my parents," she stated baldly.

"Yes."

"Actually, my mother got in worse trouble, for letting me go to
the movie," Mercedes said with a giggle.  "Dad told me I was
grounded for a month and I wasn't to see you ever again."

I cringed, I wanted to close my eyes and cry.

She laughed, "And I told him if he did any of that, I'd move in
with my sister in her apartment.  I would have, too.  He knows I
would."

If it was my father grounding me and I suggested something like
that, I knew in my heart of hearts I'd have had to move out and
plan on never returning.

Mercedes smiled at me.  "Then, a little while later your dad
called him to talk about today.  Dad is a little shell shocked;
he's been invited to the Saturday poker game.  I got an
invitation to go out with Wanda, Pammie and their friends to a
movie, while you will be certifiably under my father's watchful
eye."

"Mercedes...  I know it sounds stupid, but I really do love
you."

"And I love you too.  I refuse to be Juliet to your Romeo,
though.  Nope, we're in love, we're going to stay in love and
live happily ever after some place close to the ocean."

"Or in it," I said.  "An island some place."

"That would be so cool!" Mercedes enthused.  "In any case, you
are still invited to Sunday dinner after church."

Ms. Weaver showed up, a minute or so late, to unlock the door. 
There were quite a few kids waiting by then and we filed in.

The first order of business was Mercedes and me.  Ms. Weaver
looked at her seating chart and announced that Mercedes and I
were to exchange with another team equally close to the front of
the room, but on the other side.

Up until right then, no one had cared.  A lot of kids had heard
about me being involved in a hit and run, fewer knew that it was
Mercedes that I'd been with.  But Ms. Weaver, a sweet person I
liked, was apologetic when she asked us to move.  "Principal Ruiz
says that you two aren't supposed to sit near the windows, in
case there's more trouble."

Ms. Weaver was well-meaning, but she opened the gossip gates of
hell.  Mercedes and I had stood in the midst of thirty kids
before school started and no one had said anything to us.  By the
time fourth period rolled around, every other person we met
wanted to say something.  Worse, since there had been no 'T' word
mentioned, everyone was wondering if maybe it had been a gang
thing.  There were gangs, we all knew, mainly Mexican gangs.

We just wanted to get it over and done with, we agreed, as we
headed to the meeting.

<1st attachment end>


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