The F Factor by Diane Gonzales Bertrand

case the Driving Demon tried to run over his feet.
    The tires spun out in the loose dirt by the curb before the black car sped off.
    No “goodbye,” or “see you later”? not even a moment to hear, “You’re welcome”? Hmm
, Javier thought.
    Even though he stood in front of his own home, Javier still felt like a hitchhiker abandoned by random strangers on the highway. He tossed his backpack strap over one shoulder and sighed.
    H is mother was home early from her job as a bank loan officer. When she was all dressed up for work with her hair colored a light brown, she didn’t look at all like a woman of fifty-four. She had stayed thin, always seemed to have a lot of energy, and knew how to carry on a conversation with anyone: just ask questions.
    When Javier came into the kitchen looking for a cold drink, she stood at the kitchen counter slicing up avocados. After a quick hello, she started questioning him like he was under state investigation. “Did you get a top locker? Did you buy a lunch card? How do you like the new teachers? Any changes in the dress code I should know about? Are there any fundraisers coming up? Can I see your schedule?”
    Javier caught a break from the interrogation when his father yelled through the back door, “The fajitas are ready. Javier!”
    He immediately grabbed two potholders off the tile kitchen counter and walked out to the patio. When he came back inside, he saw his mom reading his class schedule. “What’s Media Broadcasting class?” she asked.
    He didn’t answer until the cast iron
comal
of sizzling chicken fajitas, bell peppers, and onions that his father had cooked on the patio grill was set down on the stove. “It’s a new elective, Mom. Now there’s equipment at the school to do the morning announcements on TV.”
    â€œThat should be fun,” she said. She put down the schedule on the table and wandered toward the refrigerator. “Will you have to dress differently?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Javier tossed the pot holders by the sink. “Why would I dress differently?”
    â€œThe people on TV wear suits and ties, don’t they?” She pulled a package of flour tortillas from inside therefrigerator. “If you’re going to study broadcasting, won’t you need to dress like a news anchor?”
    â€œI hope not.” Javier twisted his lips into a crooked line. It was bad enough for the guys to watch him on TV. Who wanted the added spotlight of wearing different clothes from everyone else too? He liked that school uniforms let a guy disappear into the crowd. He didn’t want to stand out like a big zit on someone’s nose.
    His father came inside and said, “Nivia, your daughter called me today—you know, Selena the screamer.”
    She gestured at her husband with the package. “You always say ‘your daughter’ when Selena acts up. Doesn’t she get that screaming thing from your side of the family?”
    â€œÃvilas are not screamers.” His dad washed his hands in the sink. “Isn’t that right, Javier?”
    Javier shrugged. “Yeah well, Vivian and Selena are exceptions to the rule.” Maybe his big sisters were hot-tempered, but he had always admired their popularity and the way they never backed down from an argument.
    There were qualities in
all
his older siblings that he wished had been passed down to him.
Maybe the gene pool gets too shallow after a twelve-year gap
, he thought.
    Suddenly he heard a
fwrapp
sound and saw the package of flour tortillas beside his bare feet.
    â€œYou were supposed to catch them!” His mom was laughing. “Heat those up, please. So, Javito, what else happened on your first day of school?”
    Her question made him feel like he was still in first grade. Javier scooped up the plastic bag and walked toward the microwave. He wanted to say, “I’m supposed to go on