Elvis's many years before, when I was in the eighth grade, struggling with the English language and trying to fit in with my classmates. Miss Ehlis, our homeroom teacher, asked us to come up with a skit to perform in front of the class. I saw this as my opportunity to be accepted by my classmates who were rock 'n' roll fanatics, and I volunteered to lip-synch Elvis Presley's "Treat Me Like a Fool." I was a hit, and so was Elvis for me from then on.
"Hey, the place looks great," Smokey said as he entered the room, soaked in sweat, after playing a pickup game of basketball.
"Looks like you could use a cleaning yourself."
"What I need is rest." He sat down in his desk chair to take off his grimy clothes.
"There's no rest for the wicked. Remember our deal?"
"What deal?" he said, glancing at me and throwing his sweaty and grimy socks on the floor.
"We agreed that if I went to the Santa Clara-St. Mary's game, which I did, you'd go with me to a dance. There's a dance at Cervantes Hall."
"The name sounds more like a library," he said. "You're not trying to trick me, are you?"
"No, I am serious; I heard it announced on the radio. It sounds like fun."
"What's gotten into you?" he said, looking puzzled.
"I feel like celebrating. I got an A-minus on my English paper."
"Wow! You did better than me."
"Better than 'I,' you mean," I said.
Smokey and I got ready for our adventure. I put on a pair of black polyester pants, a white shirt, and black pointed boots. The trousers fit a bit tighter than they had a few weeks before, because I was eating more than I did at home and not doing any physical work. And the food in the cafeteria was all you could eat for the same price. I rubbed on 3-Roses hair tonic, which my brother and I used at home whenever we went out, I then splashed on Old Spice aftershave lotion and put on my tan corduroy jacket. Smokey dressed in tan pants, a white and blue striped shirt, a navy blue sport coat, and a pair of brown shoes.
"Wow! Those are mean-looking boots," Smokey said, scanning me up and down and lightly scratching his head. I was not surprised by his reaction.
After a quick supper in Nobili, we hurried to the bus stop on the El Camino, the main road that cut across the campus and ran from San José to San Francisco. We knew Cervantes Hall was in Sunnyvale, but we did nor know what bus to take to get there. We asked the driver of each bus that stopped if it was going north to Sunnyvale. After waiting and waiting and seeing several buses stop and go, we finally got the right one and arrived in Sunnyvale after traveling for more than
half an hour. "What's the address?" Smokey asked as we got off the bus.
"I got it here." I reached into my shirt pocket, "Oh, no! I left it in my other shirt!"
"What! You forgot? How could you?"
"I am sorry." We wandered around the city, asking for directions to Cervantes Hall. No one had heard of it. Smokey began to doubt its existence and was ready to quit and go back. "Let's not give up," I insisted. "Someone has to know."
"Sure, the radio announcer."
"If we can't find someone who knows in the next fifteen minutes, we'll go back," I said, trying to appease him. Luckily, after four more tries, we finally ran into a young man who knew where it was. When he heard me say Cervantes Hall, he asked me if I spoke Spanish. When I said yes, he gave me the directions in Spanish. It was his native language, too.
"We're in luck," I said to Smokey. "Follow me; I know where I'm going."
"You'd better."
The sky was dark and cloudy. We walked for several blocks, away from the center of town, until we spotted the green and white neon sign of CERVANTES HALL on the side of the large barnlike building. Outside the double-door entrance, a large, muscular man with long, thick brown wavy hair stood guard. He wore a black T-shirt bearing the name
of the dance ball and had a tattoo with a skull and crossbones on his forearm. Guys dressed in jeans and white T-shirts hung around
"Hey, the place looks great," Smokey said as he entered the room, soaked in sweat, after playing a pickup game of basketball.
"Looks like you could use a cleaning yourself."
"What I need is rest." He sat down in his desk chair to take off his grimy clothes.
"There's no rest for the wicked. Remember our deal?"
"What deal?" he said, glancing at me and throwing his sweaty and grimy socks on the floor.
"We agreed that if I went to the Santa Clara-St. Mary's game, which I did, you'd go with me to a dance. There's a dance at Cervantes Hall."
"The name sounds more like a library," he said. "You're not trying to trick me, are you?"
"No, I am serious; I heard it announced on the radio. It sounds like fun."
"What's gotten into you?" he said, looking puzzled.
"I feel like celebrating. I got an A-minus on my English paper."
"Wow! You did better than me."
"Better than 'I,' you mean," I said.
Smokey and I got ready for our adventure. I put on a pair of black polyester pants, a white shirt, and black pointed boots. The trousers fit a bit tighter than they had a few weeks before, because I was eating more than I did at home and not doing any physical work. And the food in the cafeteria was all you could eat for the same price. I rubbed on 3-Roses hair tonic, which my brother and I used at home whenever we went out, I then splashed on Old Spice aftershave lotion and put on my tan corduroy jacket. Smokey dressed in tan pants, a white and blue striped shirt, a navy blue sport coat, and a pair of brown shoes.
"Wow! Those are mean-looking boots," Smokey said, scanning me up and down and lightly scratching his head. I was not surprised by his reaction.
After a quick supper in Nobili, we hurried to the bus stop on the El Camino, the main road that cut across the campus and ran from San José to San Francisco. We knew Cervantes Hall was in Sunnyvale, but we did nor know what bus to take to get there. We asked the driver of each bus that stopped if it was going north to Sunnyvale. After waiting and waiting and seeing several buses stop and go, we finally got the right one and arrived in Sunnyvale after traveling for more than
half an hour. "What's the address?" Smokey asked as we got off the bus.
"I got it here." I reached into my shirt pocket, "Oh, no! I left it in my other shirt!"
"What! You forgot? How could you?"
"I am sorry." We wandered around the city, asking for directions to Cervantes Hall. No one had heard of it. Smokey began to doubt its existence and was ready to quit and go back. "Let's not give up," I insisted. "Someone has to know."
"Sure, the radio announcer."
"If we can't find someone who knows in the next fifteen minutes, we'll go back," I said, trying to appease him. Luckily, after four more tries, we finally ran into a young man who knew where it was. When he heard me say Cervantes Hall, he asked me if I spoke Spanish. When I said yes, he gave me the directions in Spanish. It was his native language, too.
"We're in luck," I said to Smokey. "Follow me; I know where I'm going."
"You'd better."
The sky was dark and cloudy. We walked for several blocks, away from the center of town, until we spotted the green and white neon sign of CERVANTES HALL on the side of the large barnlike building. Outside the double-door entrance, a large, muscular man with long, thick brown wavy hair stood guard. He wore a black T-shirt bearing the name
of the dance ball and had a tattoo with a skull and crossbones on his forearm. Guys dressed in jeans and white T-shirts hung around
Similar Books
