which road to el dorado; part 5 of 6

her name was carolina and she was the prettiest girl in the sixth grade.

i don't think anyone but me ever noticed - because her clothes were shabby and outdated, everyone looked right over her. i was grateful that this was what they cared about, patent leather and brand names, because it meant that i would have less competition. she would be my friend, i would make certain of it. i just didn't know how.

i first saw her in the cafeteria. it took me a long time to figure out that her dark skin and wide eyes and broad cheekbones meant that she was the child of migrant workers, in school only during the fall and gone after christmas, never to be seen again. she wasn't like the rest of the girls who talked loudly to one another in spanish and laughed when you walked by and couldn't understand what they said.

i knew why they stuck together; you can walk the entirety of tipton county and never encounter a person of color. that's probably for the best - i'm always tempted to warn away those i do see. "trust me, you don't want to be here. someone's going to be ignorant and mean in your direction before the hour's out." and sixth grade, well, i don't have to tell you how vicious sixth grade is. factor out an unusual skin color, a migrant background and citizenship. you're still left crying in the bathroom during free period.

but carolina, she wasn't like the rest of the girls. she sat alone at lunch reading books and didn't flirt with the boys, she didn't go to the basketball games or hang cheerful posters in the cafeteria. she was like me. but i was afraid of her, like i was afraid of everyone in 1994.

it was a miracle when we changed from art class to music class in the middle of october. i was waiting for class to start having arrived minutes before the bell, not caring to linger in the halls where the boys would make fun of my weight. when carolina came in, she stood looking around the room while everyone ignored her and then headed for the empty seat at my table. i was sharing it with the stack of ms. fredericks' books and papers, and andrew brown (who was the janitor's son and a smartass but not in a funny way, so nobody liked him).

i sat and jiggled my leg and bit at my nails and tried to look cool, sneaking peeks at her over the top of my geography workbook. she was completely calm and unaware of everyone else, a quality i admired (and still do). i wanted to be nonchalant. andrew brown babbled through class like he always did and always would, annoying because i thought he was supposed to be. i hated him, and i hated that he talked to carolina and she talked back to him like it was the easiest thing in the world. she understood that he was a outcast though, and kept her answers to a minimum.

but andrew brown, he rattled on and on over his workbook, talking about mexico as though he knew all about it. i pretended to fill out the blanks on the page in front of me, while dreaming of ways to shut him up. if i was clever enough, carolina and i would be giggling over our paperbacks in a corner of the lunch room before the end of the week. her skin was so beautiful. i wanted to know what it was like in mexico, and if she had to work with her parents on the weekends. i wanted to know if she went to school all the time, or just sometimes. i wanted sleepovers and summer trips to chiapas, i wanted it all.

finally, i couldn't take it anymore. andrew brown was talking too much, and it was offensive the way he kept talking about mexico as though carolina weren't sitting right next to him, knowing more than he would ever know (even at age 11 my sense of justice and empathy was overwhelming to a fault). and he was pronouncing mexico all wrong, like he was making fun of her. i was furious with him for being so insensitive.

"shut up!" i said. "stop saying 'mexico' like that, it sounds stupid!" i slapped both hands down on the table, righteously. i would defend her honor, her foreignness.

andrew stared at me. ms. fredericks stared at me. carolina stared at me, with fire in her eyes. i was avenging her, she would love me forever, write me letters with exotic stamps i could cut out and paste in my photo album. the moment lasted forever, and then it happened.

carolina opened her mouth and spoke to me for the very first time.

"that's how you're supposed to say it," she told me calmly. "it's not stupid." andrew brown bent whistling over his notebook. ms. fredericks hid a smile behind her hand and tried hard to look like she hadn't overhead. carolina glared at me like i was the one who was being rude.

i blushed furiously through the bus ride home, burning with humiliation over my mistake. how could i explain to her that i was protecting her? that i wanted her to ride home on the bus with me, and we could play computer games together and check each other's homework. there were no words. she sat at a different table the next day.

carolina didn't come back after christmas break, and i never saw her again. that year, i used a swear word for the first time and started asking my mom for brand name clothes and expensive shampoos, but i never forgot about carolina and how badly i wanted to be her best friend forever. and how much it hurt that my intentions were misconstrued.

sometimes i can't help but wonder if that rainy fall day in the music room isn't the reason i am becoming an anthropologist.