The F Factor (8 page)

Mr. Seneca adjusted his weight on his crutches. “Let's talk about what we want on Guardian TV. This is a brand new program for our school. Do you want Brother Lendell in here every morning, or should we all share a
role in finding and reading a prayer to start the day in a traditional fashion?”

“I volunteer Ram to find prayers,” Omar said. “His mom's a Guadalupana. They pray in his house all the time.”

“Dylan can do announcements. He knows better than anybody what goes on in this school,” Ram said. “Even Mr. Quintanilla asks Dylan Romo for news.”

“Kenny'd be good at saluting,” Dylan said and ignored the profanity Kenny mouthed in his direction. “Kenny should always lead the Pledge.”

Mr. Seneca lowered his head and stared at them. “Do you think this is a show on the comedy network? I don't attach my name to anything that isn't professional in quality, and if Guardian TV becomes a school joke, it'll be worse than the football team losing every game this season.”

“Hey! Don't say that. You'll jinx us!” Dylan growled his words. “Nobody talks about us losing, especially not some new teacher.”

Mr. Seneca took one step forward. His pit-bull expression didn't change. “You're right, Dylan. I
am
a new teacher. I'm a new teacher who has an attitude about teamwork that doesn't involve passing a ball or wearing a cup.” He looked over the class. “Our first broadcast is tomorrow morning, gentlemen, and we have a lot of work to do.”

Dylan suddenly raised one long, muscular arm. “Mr. Seneca, Sir, Javier Ávila and I were talking before class. Javier has something important to tell you.”

Everyone turned toward Javier. Mr. Seneca raised an eyebrow as he stared purposefully in his direction.

Slowly, Javier straightened up in his chair. He saw Dylan's sneaky grin, Kenny's smirk, and the trio of juniors sizing him up. Mr. Seneca was a man who hated contradiction, and if the seniors made him mad, Javier couldn't help but wonder if the fallout would crack across his head too.

Just as he was about to say something totally vague, Pat's fist pressed firmly between Javier's shoulders. He didn't turn around, but he did remember what Pat had said about the football players. He looked up at Mr. Seneca and said, “Pat and I can stay after school and practice. Why not let the seniors work on presenting the announcements during class time? We should all be prepared to do announcements just in case someone is late or sick.”

“Or dead,” someone murmured.

Javier kept his eyes focused on Mr. Seneca. It felt like everyone was dumping more and more rocks on top of an already heavy load. How to please a teacher, satisfy egomaniacs, and work with a sleepy sophomore weighed him way down.

“Actually you've given me a good idea, Javier,” Mr. Seneca said, his voice sounding relaxed for the first time that morning. “Why don't we try everyone out? I have a couple of things we need to do during this short home-room period, but as I take roll and let you pass out a few forms to the others, we can take care of business and get started at first period.”

Javier started to stand up but felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. Pat had stood up. He was already walking toward the front of the room. “I'll pass out the forms, Mr. Seneca. It'll help keep me awake.”

Some of the guys snickered, but Javier felt relieved that Pat volunteered. The last thing Javier needed was for one of the football players to
accidentally
trip him.

A
s first period began, Mr. Seneca directed all the students to turn their chairs so that they faced the desk area. He explained that the students doing announcements would read as if they were behind the desk of a real news station. The camera would film in front, and two other students would feed graphics from the computers across the room. Other students would be assigned technical positions to check sound, keep time, and write copy. “We will keep it very simple this week, but we'll have more options this semester if you guys use some creativity and plan well.”

Mr. Seneca sat down in his wheelchair located in front of one of the rear black cabinets. He settled in comfortably before he said, “Let's see what kind of novice broadcasters I have. Let's try it. Omar, Dylan, you too. What kind of newsteam will you two make?”

“The best kind,” Dylan said and smiled widely when all the class chuckled. Even Mr. Seneca gave an uncharacteristic grin as the two boys took their places in the chairs behind the desk area.

Omar held up his notebook paper and read slowly. “The following students should report to Mr. Quintanilla's office … Javier Ávila, Pat Berlanga, Kenny García, Dylan Romo, and Ram Fierro.”

“That's really boring!” Mr. Seneca had folded his arms across his chest.

Omar shrugged. “It's announcements. It's always boring, but I got something else.” His eyes searched over the paper, and then he said, “Uh, the seniors will have a bake sale on Friday. Our moms cooked good stuff to eat. If you're not there, you're square.” He grinned as he looked up from the paper. “Good rhyme, huh?”

“Not really. Read it again, and this time try to sound like you actually want students to come to the bake sale.”

Omar frowned then read, “Uh … the seniors will, uh … have a bake sale … ”

“No ‘uh' sounds! Just the words on the paper.”

“Uh—no—uh—sorry, okay—okay—uh—ugh! The seniors—uh—”

“Stop, stop, stop!” Mr. Seneca waved his hands. “Forget it.” He sighed. “Dylan, let's hear your announcements.”

Dylan had been laughing silently during his teammate's performance. When Mr. Seneca called on him, his face still looked amused, but he read out, “The Quad dance … happens Saturday night … eight to twelve … five dollars … to get in.”

“I didn't say write a telegram. Is that the best you could do?”

Dylan flipped over the page. “No problem. You want to hear the next one?” He looked down and read quickly, “The Guardians play the Angel sats eventhirty at cathedral field Friday Dylan Romoat defensiveend Omar Narsico attightend with Ram Fierro playing quarter back.”

“Wait! Stop. You didn't even write complete sentences!” Mr. Seneca told him. “Again, Dylan, slow, steady, and with some enthusiasm.”

Dylan squared his shoulders and said in a strained voice, “The school football team has its next game—”

“Which team?” Mr. Seneca's voice snapped like a whip.

“What?”

“Which team? Varsity? JV? Freshmen? Be specific.”

“I meant the varsity.” Dylan's dark eyes glowed. “Who cares when the freshmen are playing?” The paper in his hands shook. “Okay, fine! The varsity squad will play the Angels—”

“From what school? What sport?”

“Okay. The varsity—Guardian football team plays the Saint Gabriel Angels on Friday night at Cathedral field. Tickets cost five dollars.”

“You sound so mad, Dylan. Do the students want to watch an angry football player doing announcements?”

Dylan tossed the paper up in the air. “Mr. Seneca, just let the sophomores do this job first. They got the extra time to practice it like you want it. I'll just watch 'em and then I can have my chance on TV when football season is over, okay?”

Javier rolled his lips inside his mouth to keep a smile off his face. He didn't dare look at Pat Berlanga for fear they would both jump up and high-five.

But happiness at this small victory fizzled out quickly as Javier watched the juniors roast under the harsh spotlight of Mr. Seneca's criticisms. They also begged for the sophomores to go first. That's when Kenny García volunteered to work the camera. “My dad has a digital camera and I used it all summer,” he said. Landry and Steve wanted to work the computers and stay behind the scenes.

That left Javier and Pat as the first broadcast team on Guardian TV Wednesday morning and probably for the next week. Javier only wished a vote of confidence had
gotten him the job, not the fact that nobody else wanted to do it. He saw Pat staring at the desk area. Was Pat picturing their practice session, or was he sleeping with his eyes open? How would they make the first broadcast exceed everyone's expectations, particularly Mr. Seneca's?

As they gathered up their books after the bell rang to end class, Javier said to Pat, “Do you think we can get it all together by tomorrow morning?”

“Who knows?” Pat zipped up his backpack. He yawned and blinked his sleepy eyes. “But no matter what happens, you and me, we'll just roll with the flow.”

“Yeah,” Javier muttered, “roll with the flow.”

“F
irst-period is
so
annoying,” Javier told Andy and Ignacio as they pushed through the side doors and walked toward the portable building for third-period class. “And it's not just during class. Now I have to stay after school to practice.”

“Welcome to our world,” Ignacio said, tugging on the front of his white shirt to pull it away from his sweating body. “You've gotten spoiled by going home at four o'clock every day. If we make it out of here by seven, we're lucky.”

Andy had a pencil in each hand and played a drum-beat in the air. “If Mr. Seneca keeps you late, you can grab a ride home with me.”

“Javier needs to get a ride home with Pat and Feliz—a sweet ride home in that luxury car she drives.” Ignacio swatted at Andy's pencils. “Who wants to ride home with
your
mom when a guy can find something much, much better?”

“Don't talk about my momma!” Andy purposely rapped the pencils across Ignacio's hand. “And you know how much I've been dreaming about Feliz Berlanga! Just the two of us on a
smooth
ride.”

Javier merely smiled. There was nothing smooth about a car ride with Feliz, but he said instead, “In two weeks, I can drive myself to school.”

“Cool! You can give us a ride home after band practice.” Ignacio led the way up the steps to the portable building. “My dad told me he'd buy your gas once a month if he didn't have to drive downtown to pick me up.”

“My mom would probably pay the rest,” Andy said.

Javier would like to drive with his friends, but he knew it wasn't going to happen. “Did you forget those annoying license rules? Just one passenger if you're not related.”

“Then it needs to be
me
.” Ignacio pointed back at himself with his thumb. “Andy doesn't carry drums home every day. I've always got my trumpet case.”

“Ignacio gets his license before I do,” Andy replied. “Besides, I live closer.”

They walked inside Mr. Seneca's classroom to see it half-filled with third-period students. The teacher had his back to them as he stacked papers on his desk.

Javier walked over to the spot where he sat in first period. His backpack thumped on top of the table. Pat sat at the next table behind it. He glanced up and nodded at Javier.

Ignacio slugged Javier in the shoulder with his backpack. “Too close, Jack. I was forced by Maloney's stupid seating chart into a front desk.” He brushed past Pat to claim a table closer to the rear.

Andy followed Ignacio. Javier looked down at Pat. “Want to move back?”

Pat raised an eyebrow. “You're kidding, right? We both know Mr. Seneca's radar for guys in the back. I'm safer here. Always sit in the same place up front and teachers
ignore you.” He rested his elbow on the desk and planted his cheek against his hand.

Javier heard the creak of Mr. Seneca's crutches behind him and quickly pulled out the chair to sit down. He feared his teacher's impatience more than his friends' annoyance any day.

Other students rushed in. The bell rang. Mr. Seneca took roll and then motioned to Bryce Thayer, another sophomore. “Pass out the papers on my desk, will you? Okay, gentlemen, I'm giving out a quiz. It'll give me an idea of what you already know. If you're totally ignorant, I'll start with assignments like memorizing world capital cities and lessons in latitude and longitude.” He said quite calmly, “You have ten minutes.”

Row by row, Bryce left stacks of the quiz with each guy in the front table. Javier slipped one off the top and passed the others behind him. If Pat had planned to sleep, it wouldn't happen today. Javier looked down and saw twenty-five rows of multiple choice questions typed in small font.

He heard the shuffle of papers behind him and Pat's pained whisper. “He can't be serious.”

Javier felt the same way. He grabbed a pen and started reading. The questions grew more difficult until by the last ten, he was making guesses about conservation efforts in Africa and terrorist activities in Great Britain.

The quiz was all they could talk about as they stood in the lunch line.

“Can a teacher make a guy feel more stupid?” Ignacio complained as he squeezed ketchup across the top of his hamburger patty. “Why didn't he ask more questions about Mexico or South America? I know about those places.”