"Mary Nicola Moreno!" rang up the stairs, sound bounced off of the family portraits depicting every year from 1991. Off of the picture window overlooking the concrete driveway, the white picket fence, the sprinkler all-but-drowning the plush, green lawn. Off of the double-archway that lead into the upstairs loft and office that share a balcony onto the hardwood Moreno foyer. The sound bounced all the way to her room.
"Coming, Papa!" She ran through the office, through the loft, down the stairs, her white sundress flailing behind her. She skipped into the kitchen and there was the family: Abuela, Joseph, Mama, Papa.
"Mary Nicola, I know we've talked about this history grade before." Her father was waving about a yellow sheet of card paper and scanning over a piece of paper with the Degrassi letterhead on the top and Simpson's signature undoubtedly near the bottom. Report cards have arrived. "A 'C,' mija? A 'C?'"
"Well, it's a 'C+,' actually."
"So, then, you've been keeping up with this? And you didn't think to talk to us about it."
"I did, remember? I told you about how Mr. Perino was favoring the boys in the class and grading all of us girls, ridiculously."
"You know, Juan. I do think I remember hearing you say something like that," her grandmother says agreeingly.
"I'm sure Mary is going to pull her grades up this semester with that new teacher. Mr. Del Rosi, you like him, don't you, sweetie?" her mom says while she sits on a stool in front of the kitchen island.
"Yeah, definitely. See, Papa, everything's going to be just fine in history."
Her father just groans and turns to her little brother. "And where's your report card, sir?"
"Oh, we haven't gotten ours yet. But, I promise, it's 'C' free."
"It better be." She's on the receiving end of one of her father's disappointed glances.
"Well, I'm starved. Pancake house?" her mother propositions the bunch of them.
"Sounds delicious."
"Wait, Mary. Why are you still in your dress? We came home so you could change, remember?"
"Oh, right, Abuela. I-uh... I..."
"Are you about to lie to us, Little Moreno?" asks her father, warningly.
"Well," she begins, "I was about to change when Eli called."
"Eli?"
"Her boyfriend, Juan."
"You mean to tell me that our daughter is dating and you didn't tell me about it."
"Of course I've told you about it."
"No you did not," she takes on her father's full confrontation, "And was it so urgent you beckon to this Eli's call that you kept your family waiting."
She wanted deeply to say yes.
"Were you discussing today's service? Does he go to our church?"
She wanted deeply to say that he's an atheist.
"And why haven't we met this boy? Unless your mother has and she just didn't think it important enough to tell me."
She wanted deeply to tell them that it was because he belonged to Imogen Moreno, and at the moment, she was just Mary Moreno.
"Because, it's just not that serious, Papa. Eli's really, hardly a boyfriend. More like a friend who's a boy."
"Good. You're too young to date."
"She's 17, Juan," her grandmothr rhetorted.
"And, I'm pretty sure you let Juan date when he was just 13," her mother said, referring to her older brother.
"Well, then, welcome to the double standard." They all laughed. Even she did and walked to her father's side, where his arm wrapped around her.
"So, the pancake house, then?" her father looked down at her lovingly. Deciding that, for all the reprimandment, she'd earned the right to choose.
"I just want waffles."
"Well, waffles you shall have."
She stood on her tip-toes to kiss her father on the cheek. "Can I ride with Abuela today?"
"If she doesn't mind?"
"No, of course I don't?"
"Abuela," she turned her attention from the world zooming past her window to the grey-haired speed demon controlling the vehicle. The sun has a way of making us all a bit more brave. "Were you in love with grandfather?"
Her grandmother cracked a knowing smile. "I thought it wasn't serious?"
"I figured you wouldn't fall for that."
"Ah, see. You're too smart for a 'C+' in history."
She smiled and soaked in some more sun light through the window.
"No, I wasn't. But, I sure thought I was. He was everything everyone had told me that I wanted."
Her grandmother had evaluated that the stop sign ahead really only meant 'Yield.'
"Are you in love with Eli?"
"...I don't know."
"Wrong answer."
"What do you mean?" She watched the reflection of Mary Nicola. Whenever she was alone with her abuela, Mary and Imogen looked so much alike.
"I mean that you're too young to be in love, Mary. I promise you, you are."
She crosses her legs and picks at the innocent, lacy hem of her dress.
"We're here," her grandmother announces.
"You realize that Papa won't show up for like 5-10 minutes, right, Abuela?"
"'Ey, that doesn't mean we can't run up a bill while we wait, does it?" Her grandmother grins down at her with perfectly open, brown eyes. Like the bark of one of the apple trees in her Garden of Eden.
"No, Abuela. No it does not." She links her arm with her grandmother and they dance into the restaurant while her mind races with thoughts of Eli.