Peace in a Storm

28 - Max

I couldn't help but chuckle at the disinterested pre-teens. The high achievers were going to have their hands full with this bunch. While I didn't have a game plan for my mentee, I wasn't afraid to tell him to square up with me if I needed to. The other boys in the room would probably try the gushy-mushy techniques that my old mentor tried with me. The whole "we're going to best buds and braid each other's hair" shit was not going to work.

After the coordinator was finally finished talking, the kids were instructed to complete a small scavenger hunt to find their assigned mentors. When they checked in, they were given colored tags that would match their mentors'. The coordinator stated they'd also been given short descriptions of us to assist in their search. I could only wonder what they'd written on mine.

I watched the students wander around the length of the bleachers, reluctantly chatting with the overexcited mentors. A few of the kids passed me and raced up the bleachers to give me fist bumps. They yelled my name in excitement and congratulated me on winning the recent tournament. I guessed they were some of the students in Tony's intermediate program.

My eyebrow rose as I noticed Mrs. Tierney, my counselor from middle school, and Mr. Connors shuffled a kid along the edge of the bleachers towards me. The pre-teen had dark coffee colored skin, short cut black hair, and hazel eyes. He was a scrawny kid with bony arms, long legs, and thin torso. His slender body was sheltered in a graphic tee shirt, jeans, and worn sneakers. A firm line of defiance lay across his lips. It threatened to pull into a scowl as Mrs. Tierney stopped him in front of me.

"Hi Maximiliano," Mrs. Tierney greeted sweetly.

I clenched my jaw, resisting the curse words clawing up my throat. Out of all my adults at middle school, she was the only one who refused to call me by preferred name. We'd never gotten far in our sessions because she'd always start with a lecture on embracing my name. She claimed it was "a connection to my Mexican roots" and believed I was trying to erase it by shortening it. No matter how many times I explained it was literally a nickname that I went by - even when we lived in Mexico - she didn't believe me. I let her think whatever she wanted, but I still didn't give her the right to call me that shit.

I looked to Mr. Connors as he whispered "Be nice."

Feigning a smile, I said, "Hello Margaret."

Her red lips twisted, trying to resist pulling into a frown. She looked down at my potential mentee. "Introduce yourself," she whispered.

He rolled his eyes. ""Hi, my name is Juan Reyes," he said. His Latin accent was thicker than mine, dripping off of his voice like honey.

"Hi, Juan. I'm Max Guerra," I replied. I straightened my composure and held my hand out to me.

Hesitantly, he shook it.

"Juan has been having some trouble socially and academically over at the middle school," Mrs. Tierney explained. "Mr. Connors has spoken very highly of your growth, Maximiliano. We were thinking you could guide Juan onto a better path."

I refrained from rolling my eyes. "Sure, Margaret. Anything I can do to help." I patted the space next to me. "Come sit next to me, Juan. If we pretend we're getting along, then they'll go away."

Juan's eyes tracked my hand movements. He stared at the space I'd tapped for a few seconds before climbing up the bleachers. He sent me a small grin as he sat down beside me.

"Don't make us regret pairing the two of you together," Mrs. Tierney warned.

"Goodbye, Margaret. It was nice seeing you," I said, adding some customer service pizzazz to my voice.