outside the hall, eyeing the girls and trying to decide whether or not to spend the money to go in. They laughed and joked and swayed to the music that blasted through the doors. Their shiny, long black hair combed back on the side made them look like some of my friends and neighbors in Bonetti Ranch. I felt at home. We bought our tickets and walked in.
The loud, vibrating music and dancing reminded me of the vets dances my brother and I went to in Santa Maria. The live band played rock 'n' roll music nonstop. The lead singer jumped around the stage and gyrated. Screams punctuated the music. Smokey seemed nervous at first, but once he started dancing, he did not stop. And neither did I. We competed with each other, trying different dance moves. We did the Twist, the Mashed Potato, the Locomotion, the Watusi, and many others. We were having so much tun that we forgot we had to be back in our room by one o'clock, and it was close to midnight before we checked the time. Rushing out in a panic, we traced our route back, through empty and dimly lit streets, to the bus stop on the El Camino. We waited at the bus stop for several minutes, but no bus came by. It was beginning to drizzle.
"We're in deep trouble," Smokey said, glancing at his wristwatch and pacing up and down.
"We sure are." I craned to spot a bus. No luck. Only cars
and trucks drove by once in a while. We decided to hitchhike down El Camino. Since he was easier to see, Smokey followed behind me as we walked backwards, holding out our hands with the thumb up. When no cars were in sight, we jogged. The faster we ran, the wetter we got. Every time we saw two headlights approaching us, we would get our hopes up. Finally a red sports car passed us, slowed down, and stopped. Smokey and I raced to it, looking like two wet, shaggy stray dogs. The driver rolled down the window and asked, "Where are you guys headed?"
"The University of Santa Clara," Smokey and I said in unison.
"Get in. I'm headed that way."
We crammed in, shivering and wiping the rain from our faces. "So, you're at Santa Clara ... You guys don't have many girls there; too bad. I'm at Stanford," he added. I did not know anything about Stanford, but he sounded like he was boasting. He was stocky with short blond hair and small, plump hands. "I'm on my way to a party at San Jose State. The girls are more fun there than at Stanford," He continued talking and looking straight ahead, not giving Smokey or me a chance to say anything. His superiority bothered me. He came to a screeching halt at the entrance to Santa Clara, "Here you are." We hurriedly climbed out and thanked him. The ride lasted a few minutes, but it seemed like an hour. I was glad to be back and on time for room check.
Reaching Out
At the end of my long and stressful freshman year, I was thankful for many things. I had learned a lot, made new friends, and had received A grades in English and Spanish, Bs in Military Science, and C-pluses and Cs in my other courses, with an overall B average. However, I was not satisfied and was determined to do better my second year. And now I was going home.
I had not seen my family since Christmas, so I was excited to spend time with them that summer. I returned to Bonetti Ranch having gained knowledge as well as weight. I left for college weighing 129 pounds and returned home thirty pounds heavier.
"What happened to you!" Trampita exclaimed. "Did someone mistake you for a tire and blow you up?"
"It's all muscle." I flexed my forearm.
"Sure, Panchito. You mean love handles." He grabbed both sides of my waist and gave me a light punch in the stomach. Torito, Rorra, and Rubén, who had grown some, laughed hysterically and took turns hugging me.
"Welcome home,
mijo,
" my mother said, caressing my face. "Your cheeks are so..."
"Chubby?" Trampita chimed in.
"No seas
malcriado, mijo,
" my mother said. Don't be impolite. "Rosy," she said, completing her sentence.
From the corner of my eye, I saw my
The loud, vibrating music and dancing reminded me of the vets dances my brother and I went to in Santa Maria. The live band played rock 'n' roll music nonstop. The lead singer jumped around the stage and gyrated. Screams punctuated the music. Smokey seemed nervous at first, but once he started dancing, he did not stop. And neither did I. We competed with each other, trying different dance moves. We did the Twist, the Mashed Potato, the Locomotion, the Watusi, and many others. We were having so much tun that we forgot we had to be back in our room by one o'clock, and it was close to midnight before we checked the time. Rushing out in a panic, we traced our route back, through empty and dimly lit streets, to the bus stop on the El Camino. We waited at the bus stop for several minutes, but no bus came by. It was beginning to drizzle.
"We're in deep trouble," Smokey said, glancing at his wristwatch and pacing up and down.
"We sure are." I craned to spot a bus. No luck. Only cars
and trucks drove by once in a while. We decided to hitchhike down El Camino. Since he was easier to see, Smokey followed behind me as we walked backwards, holding out our hands with the thumb up. When no cars were in sight, we jogged. The faster we ran, the wetter we got. Every time we saw two headlights approaching us, we would get our hopes up. Finally a red sports car passed us, slowed down, and stopped. Smokey and I raced to it, looking like two wet, shaggy stray dogs. The driver rolled down the window and asked, "Where are you guys headed?"
"The University of Santa Clara," Smokey and I said in unison.
"Get in. I'm headed that way."
We crammed in, shivering and wiping the rain from our faces. "So, you're at Santa Clara ... You guys don't have many girls there; too bad. I'm at Stanford," he added. I did not know anything about Stanford, but he sounded like he was boasting. He was stocky with short blond hair and small, plump hands. "I'm on my way to a party at San Jose State. The girls are more fun there than at Stanford," He continued talking and looking straight ahead, not giving Smokey or me a chance to say anything. His superiority bothered me. He came to a screeching halt at the entrance to Santa Clara, "Here you are." We hurriedly climbed out and thanked him. The ride lasted a few minutes, but it seemed like an hour. I was glad to be back and on time for room check.
Reaching Out
At the end of my long and stressful freshman year, I was thankful for many things. I had learned a lot, made new friends, and had received A grades in English and Spanish, Bs in Military Science, and C-pluses and Cs in my other courses, with an overall B average. However, I was not satisfied and was determined to do better my second year. And now I was going home.
I had not seen my family since Christmas, so I was excited to spend time with them that summer. I returned to Bonetti Ranch having gained knowledge as well as weight. I left for college weighing 129 pounds and returned home thirty pounds heavier.
"What happened to you!" Trampita exclaimed. "Did someone mistake you for a tire and blow you up?"
"It's all muscle." I flexed my forearm.
"Sure, Panchito. You mean love handles." He grabbed both sides of my waist and gave me a light punch in the stomach. Torito, Rorra, and Rubén, who had grown some, laughed hysterically and took turns hugging me.
"Welcome home,
mijo,
" my mother said, caressing my face. "Your cheeks are so..."
"Chubby?" Trampita chimed in.
"No seas
malcriado, mijo,
" my mother said. Don't be impolite. "Rosy," she said, completing her sentence.
From the corner of my eye, I saw my
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