Lessons I Never Learned at Meadowbrook Academy by Liz Maccie Page B

Suites in Fairfield, New Jersey, where she worked for ten years. She also met her husband at the Claremont Suites, where he has worked on the janitorial staff for fifteen years. Mrs. Gonzalez will be buried in her hometown, Rosarito, Mexico. The family requests that in lieu of flowers, donations be given to the “Maria Gonzalez Ovarian Cancer Fund,” which has been set up by the Claremont Suites Hotel in Fairfield, New Jersey.
    I read the newspaper clipping three more times before I slipped it back between the pages of the book. It made me sad, really sad, to think of Carlos living without his mother. Everyone should have their mother. I crawled back into bed and held the book in my arms. I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Maria Gonzalez.
    The next morning, I searched for Carlos, but he was nowhere to be found. I waited until the wedding in the Grand Ballroom was over and then snuck back inside. I looked under the table that Carlos and I had sat beneath the night before, but there was no trace of him at all.
    I raced back up to our room and searched through my suitcases. Finally I found my “Miss Piggy” bank. Fortunately the bank, which contained my life’s savings, had survived the fire. I dumped its contents out on the bed and counted $62.53.
    I shoved all the money inside a hotel envelope and took the elevator back down to the lobby. I handed it to the lady in a pretty floral dress standing behind the front desk.
    â€œThis is for the Maria Gonzalez Ovarian Cancer Fund,” I said.
    â€œSure. No problem.” She dumped out the wad of singles and mess of change onto the counter.
    â€œThere’s $62.53. I counted it twice and wrote it on the envelope.” I pointed to the top corner, where I had scribbled the total with a red pen.
    â€œOh yes, I see. Well, thank you very much.” She used the edge of her hand to push the coins back into the envelope.
    I started to walk away.
    â€œJust one sec, hon,” the lady called out. “Who should I say has made this donation? The family would like to receive a list of all the people that have donated.”
    â€œOh, uhhh…” I really thought about it. And I know this was probably silly, but somewhere in my heart I believed Carlos would know that it was me. “Could you say it was from the mermaid?”
    â€œThe mermaid?” she repeated.
    â€œYeah. If that’s okay?”
    She smiled. “Of course it is, sweetheart.”
    That night, when my mother tucked me into bed, I studied her face. “Did you know we have the same eyes? And the same nose and mouth?”
    â€œOf course I do. You’re my daughter.” She leaned down and softly kissed my forehead.
    There were no other seats, so I was forced to sit in the front row of Spanish class. I was expecting some kind of retribution for being late, but my Spanish teacher, Mr. Riveria, didn’t seem to care.
    Mr. Riveria was a super-hot, twenty-something Latin guy, with spikey black hair and a navy blue dress shirt. He looked like he belonged on a daytime soap opera.
    The afternoon sun pierced through the window, blinding everyone.
    â€œBienvenida a la classe de Español,” he said with a big smile as he walked over and pulled the shade down. “Mi nombre es Señor Riveria. Como te llamas?”
    I hesitated, but then raised my hand. Mr. Riveria pointed at me.
    â€œMe llamó Roberta,” I said.

Biology
12:30 p.m.
    After Spanish, I ran into Annie out in the hallway. She had pulled her red hair up into a ponytail, which made her freckles really stand out. We both had Biology next, so we started up the stairwell to the science lab.
    â€œHow was gym?” I asked her.
    â€œLame, but at least I didn’t pass out like Mervin. How was Spanish?”
    â€œGood. I think that’s my favorite class so far.”
    â€œWhy, because Mr. Riveria is a piece of ass?”
    I could feel my face instantly flush