"You are an Universe of Universes and your soul a source of songs." –Rubén Darío.
Marisol discovered dating Martin was one way to have a really sweet and unforgettable summer at camp. He was very attentive alright, but he was also nice and dedicated. Dating Martin was dating a nerdier version of the rare and commonly thought inexistent blue prince. He never tried anything she didn't force him to (not really, she wouldn't make Martin do anything he didn't want to).
"Come on, it's not a sin." She told him for the thousandth time. "Are there even sins according to the Olympians?" She thought aloud. "Anyways; it's not a crime." He was very naive which only proved Marisol's notion of him being a cutie.
"Are you really sure about this, Aster, I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."
"Everybody makes out shamelessly in front of everyone here; I don't mind a little tiny kiss to tell every single girl who's got an eye on you that you're taken."
"There're no girls who've got an eye on me." He chuckled.
"That's what you thought of me, and look at me now." She smiled. "I'm your girlfriend. And I want everyone to know I like you even if it gets me pranks on what a flower nerd you are."
"Have you?"
"Have I what?" She asked, confused.
"Received any pranks for that?" She rolled her eyes.
"Kiss me."
"You truly–"
"Now."
"Okay." He giggled, and cupped her cheeks gently. She passed her arms around her neck, almost hanging from it, standing on tiptoe and still too far from his lips. He leaned, and kissed Marisol, tender, careful. The way a kiss is when you say 'I really, really like you and I'd like to spend a lot of the future with you.' That's how Martin felt. And Martin was very good at putting feelings into kisses. He kissed the back of her hand before leaving to his table on the dining pavilion, while his sisters giggled and blushed, and most probably mocked him. She could've sworn they were singing the 'Marisol and Martin, sitting on a tree' song when she passed by in her way to her own table. Evan gave her a sly smile.
"Looks like you two cut the crap as well, didn't you?" He joked.
"Shut up, Ricks, it took you five years to date Kris. It took me less than a summer to date Martin." He held his hands up.
"I never said it was a competition."
"Just in case." Marisol grinned.
She realised Camp Half-Blood had a wide collection of rare and endangered flowers, and some others which were believed to be extinct. She also took notice she should be wary about the dryads, who seem to devour Martin with their eyes whenever he walked by. He was just too naive to notice their dark intentions.
"You know, that dryad from two seconds ago, just checked you out." Martin looked at her, puzzled. They were taking a walk after his canoe lessons, and he didn't know what to say in his defence.
"No she didn't." Marisol narrowed her eyes.
"Of course she did."
"Who would've thought you were this jealous." He was amused by Marisol's attitude, and she pouted.
"Statistically, I'm the one with more probabilities of losing you to another woman." She argued.
"Do you trust me that little?" He arched up his eyebrows, surprised. Marisol giggled.
"It's not about you. But there's a thousand other girls after you now they've realised you're dateable material, and the sooner or later there'll be one who's prettier, or smarter, or nicer and I will no longer be the best option." Martin cackled, and Marisol was stunned. Was he making fun of her?
"Aster, I think you haven't understood yet that I like you. And I do for the way you are. I don't think there're any prettier, smarter, or nicer girls. And if there're, Olympus knows I don't give a damn because I like you for being you, Marisol, and I don't want any other girls, or any other dryads, for that matter." He put a loose hair lock behind her ear. Marisol caught his hand and kissed it, her heart trembling, feeling she should've done something remarkably good to deserve something like this. She had to have done something outstanding for the gods to believe she deserved Martin.
"You... I like you, Martín. I like you and I want you to know I'll bother you even after the summer is over. This ain't just a summer romance." She was playing with the fabric of his shirt, and he was hugging her by her waist.
"I'm not letting this go either, Aster. I hope to make this a fall romance too. And a winter one, and a spring one, and so on." Marisol smiled, and Martin kissed her nose.
Marisol's last two weeks with Martin were (almost) perfect, even when her brother had threatened Martin to kill him a couple times.
"You've driven me to do this, Martin. I have no option but to get rid of you. You already hurt her once." He'd told him once, during cabin inspection.
"I wasn't into her back then! This time's different, I swear!" Sebastián had laughed.
"It's alright, I get it." He patted Martin in the back and smiled. "But hurt her again and you'll be monsters' food." Sebastián added, still grinning. Yet Martin was Sebastián's friend for a reason, and knew he wasn't being serious. At least, not entirely. The hostile phase didn't last much, though, and whenever Marisol remembered the time she found them being bros again, she wanted to die.
"I'm just worried for my little sister, you know man? She's dated so many terrible guys I don't want to see her getting hurt again." Sebastián told Martin while in their canoe lesson.
"I know what you mean. I worry about her a lot, too. The other day I ran into her during capture the flag and I don't care how good a swordsman she is, the guy she was fighting could have easily broken her into two."
"I know right? She takes so many unnecessary risks." They went on like that for a while. When the lesson was over, Marisol appeared to pick Martin up. Both Sebastián and Martin stared at her as if she were a ghost. Sebastián cleared his throat.
"Aster, your brother and I've been talking." Martin said, as if he were a dad about to give his son 'the talk'.
"And we decided it would be better to wrap you in bubble paper and lock you up so you can suffer no harm at all."
"Excuse me?" Marisol was startled.
"It's for your best" Martin said.
"Believe us" Sebastián agreed. Marisol rolled her eyes in exasperation.
"Get away from my boyfriend." She told her brother, taking Martin by his arm and dragging him away from the canoe lake.
But two almost perfect weeks don't mean some fun. Like the fun Aria Grace had one afternoon at Marisol's expenses. Aria was the only daughter of Jason Grace and Piper McLean. She had her mother's light brown hair and hypnotising eyes, but had inherited her father's factions and skin tone. As an only child with both of her parents, Aria could've developed several distinctive personalities, but she grew up to become a seriously demanding and capricious girl. Almost everybody in the Hermes cabin tried to avoid Aria's moody commands, so Aria was a pretty lonely girl at camp; except for those who expected to date her someday and a couple girls from the Aphrodite cabin. She was indeed a beautiful fourteen year old girl.
Marisol had fallen asleep on her sleeping bag without realising after she had helped the Hephaestus cabin with their chariot for the next race. Hermes's cabin had done a deal with them and was expecting to win that race. Aria found Marisol fast asleep and, of course, couldn't resist the temptation to get her hands over Marisol. She was constantly threatened by the children of Aphrodite, who thought they had to do something about her looks. They'd tried to give her a makeover four times during the past five summers and she'd escaped victorious each time. She wasn't counting on Aria, though.
She woke up to the feeling of someone combing her hair, which was something Marisol never did in order not to ruin her curls. When she opened her eyes, she saw the damage. Hell, why do I have such a heavy sleep. Aria had called on her few fellows from Aphrodite's cabin to help her out. There was make up everywhere and they had put lip gloss on her. She could feel the disgusting taste and the sticky sensation. Paralysed, she tried to think of something –anything, she could do to scare them away and make them leave her alone. She tried to reach her ankle, where a celestial bronze anklet clung onto her skin. She caught it into two determined fingers, and unclasped it. Anávo, her sword, showed up then.
"Get out!" She yelled at what, to her, were a bunch of fashion freaks. They stared at her sword, then back at her. They knew they could never win Marisol if she had a sword in her hand, so they left. Aria tried to leave with them, but it didn't work for her. Marisol held her back by the neckline of her orange tank top.
"Just what did you think you were doing, Grace?" Aria pouted and rolled her eyes.
"Only giving you a makeover, seriously, Soul, you should thank me, you look outstanding." Marisol freaked then and went to the bathroom, only to find out she was wearing full make up. She'd used only Chapstick her entire life, and now there were eye shadow, mascara, lip gloss, blush powder, and only Aphrodite knew what else. Her hair was held up in a perfect bun. She tried to wash out the makeup, but the lip gloss wouldn't fade. She hated it.
"Why doesn't it go away?" She asked to Aria, who was smiling to herself by then, amused by Marisol's freak out.
"It's Aphrodite's special lip gloss; it doesn't fade for twenty four hours. I mean it, we spent so many wonderful things on you, it's a shame you tried to take it all away. Don't even bother with the hair bun. It'll stay there at least a week. It suits you really nicely, if you ask me, though." Marisol asked herself if Uncle Jason would mind much if she strangled his daughter. But she could hear her mother's voice in her head. 'Behave, Marisol.' As if she'd behaved so much when she was trapped in Ogygia. Seriously, mum. "You're doing my duties. You're cleaning the stables for me the whole week and don't complain 'cause I'm being generous. I could convince Evan into playing a prank on you and we both know how that turned out the last time." If glares could kill, Marisol would've been vaporised on the spot.
"Hades, Soul, I was just trying to be nice."
"And I've told you not to try to be nice to me several times."
She hid behind a couple bushes to wait for Martin to finish picking strawberries. She was supposed to pick them with him, but she was too embarrassed of her new look to show up like that in public. Martin had to feel lucky she was going to let him see her like that at all. As he was leaving, walking in front of her bush, she tried to get his attention.
"Pssst." She called out to him. Martin turned to the bush and narrowed his eyes. When he was sure there was nothing, he turned to walk away. "Pssst!" Marisol insisted. There were only two options: either there was a dryad mocking him or he'd begun to hear plants talking instead of just understanding their general emotions. (Yeah, you douche reader who just thought how it was weird Martin understood plants; plants do have feelings). But then he noticed he was wrong. It was neither a dryad nor the bush; it was an entirely different kind of being. It was Marisol.
"Aster?" He arched an eyebrow. Marisol shushed him.
"Quiet, they could hear you."
"Weren't you supposed to be picking strawberries with me today?"
"Got hold back. Anyways, I just came here to tell you I'll be trapped inside my cabin the rest of the week, so... yeah." Martin made the math.
"Wait, what? Marisol, the rest of the week is all there's left of camp!" Her eyes found the grass suddenly interesting.
"I know, but something happened and I can't fix it, I'm sorry."
"I might not be an expert, but this looks to me as the lamest break up technique of history." He told her, a bit shaky, but never hesitant. "Why are you hiding anyways?" She felt totally embarrassed, she didn't want him to see her like that, so not... like herself. But he feared something worse, and she wouldn't have him doubting her like that. She stood up, with a defiant look in her eyes. The lip gloss made her lips shine and the hair bun made her look fresher and cuter. She'd forgotten her army vest jacket on her sleeping bag, so it was just her shirt and her shorts. Martin was astonished. He'd been expecting anything but that.
"Whoa, are you wearing make up?" She glared at him.
"Aria found me asleep and defenceless." She exhaled and pouted. "I look terrible, I know, just –don't try to stop me from hiding in my cabin, please."
"You're being ridiculous. You look fine."
"You don't understand; I don't feel comfortable looking like this, this is not like me."
"Looking like what, pretty? Marisol, there's nothing wrong with the way you look."
"It just doesn't fit me. Looking girly and all of that." Martin chuckled.
"Aster, you are a girl. Girls have girliness within them." Marisol was surprised. She raised her eyebrows, no guy before had said anything like that to her. They usually only knew she was a girl because she had boobs. It occurred to her that, to Martin, she was maybe as girly as Giselle, which was both nice and terrible.
"Do you really think so?" Martin smiled and took her hand to take her for a walk. She obliged without complaints, forgetting completely how she wanted to hide.
"I agree with you that you've a natural beauty and you don't need to wear make up to look stunning. But some lip gloss and a different hairdo don't make you look bad, they fit you quite alright." I'm naturally beautiful? She couldn't help to think. Marisol wasn't one to get compliments from her boyfriends. Bad boys don't tell you if you look pretty. "Plus, I dig the hair bun." Marisol giggled.
"I bet you're saying this just to make me feel better." Martin was about to answer to that, but she kept on talking. "Even if you're doing so... thanks, Martín."
"What for?" He felt the urge to ask.
"For not being a douche." He hugged her from behind, and Marisol looked at him over her shoulder.
"Who could be a douche to you?" Many have been, she answered in her mind, but decided not to ruin the moment, because Martin was nice and he told her sweet things without asking anything in exchange for it.
When summer was over, Marisol and Martin had everything fixed. Since none of them were year rounders and (thankfully) both lived in New York, they'd agreed to date periodically and see each other whenever they could manage to. Martin was quite a busy guy because he was a student of excellence and had to keep it that way in order to maintain a scholarship in a private school he could never afford otherwise. He needed to attend it in order to get to Harvard, Yale, Princeton or Stanford, where he intended to study botany or something like that. As they were saying goodbye at Half-Blood hill, Marisol eyed the bottom of the hill, and then whispered to Martin.
"Do you wanna see something funny?" She asked.
"Okay."
"Kiss me goodbye." Martin frowned; he'd already seen the bottom of the hill, where Sebastián was hugging happily a dark skinned, curly haired, tall, fit girl who was most likely Gwen. Maybe she'd left Camp Jupiter a couple days just to check on him. Next to them were a couple who looked awfully like parents.
"But, Aster, your family is looking this way—"
"Trust me." Martin shrugged, uneasy. "I just want to say goodbye properly to you, just in case."
"In case of what?"
"In case you decide to avoid me during the year." Martin laughed and gave Marisol a kiss, as gentle and sweet as all of his kisses.
"You ruffian!" Leo exclaimed, as he saw his little girl kissing with a boy on top of Half-Blood Hill. "Hey you, you roughneck next to my daughter! Get over here so I can blast you properly!" Marisol chuckled.
"Cut the drama, papá[1]" she yelled at her father, and then turned to Martin. "You see? My dad is such a hilarious man when he gets angry." Martin winced when he looked downhill. By then, Leo was trying to get to them, being stopped by his wife, who held him by his braces, not letting him get any further. Calypso gave Martin an apologetic smile from the distance. Marisol's mother struck Martin as a very beautiful woman, and he could see their resemblance, even when Marisol shared many of her face features with her father. But that beauty which was so natural had been passed from Calypso to Marisol without a doubt.
"What are you doing, woman? Haven't you seen what that shameless boy was doing to our daughter?" Leo questioned Calypso, irritated, though Martin couldn't tell whether they were just playing or Marisol's dad was seriously telling off his wife.
"Don't make a scene again, Leo." The tiredness in Calypso's voice told Martin that was something which happened often and, by simple deduction, it was mainly a game. Mainly.
"I think I should go now" Marisol flinched. "See you soon, pretty boy." She patted his shoulder so he knew he had to lean so she could kiss his cheek comfortably. He was so used to this gesture by then, that it came naturally, without thinking of it.
"What? Again with 'pretty boy'?" Martin whined. Marisol kissed his cheek goodbye.
"But you are." She insisted as she walked off, waving her hand, turning to her dad, telling him things to calm him down.
"Hey papá, you look grand, as handsome as ever." Leo grinned proudly, but went back to rage almost right after.
"What was that, hija?" Marisol shrugged.
"Just my boyfriend, but oh, have I told you about the last thing I forged?" Leo was about to react to the word 'boyfriend' when the talk about forging reached him.
"No, tell me all about it." He said with excitement, and Calypso giggled. They're a funny family, Martin thought from the distance, a little blue.
Kisses were not something you simply gave away. Martin'd had several opportunities before, in silly teenage games, or to satisfy a couple needy girls. But he believed in kissing just when he meant it. That's why Martin Windflowers was eighteen years old and had never kissed a girl before Marisol. That's why when his lips touched hers, he panicked when he realised he didn't truly know what to do. He'd chosen flawlessly, though, and Marisol took care of the problem, leading him subtly, her lips soft and natural against his, like she'd done that a million times. The thought worried Martin a bit. He knew for a fact Marisol had dated other guys before, and he suddenly felt as if he were competing against the ghosts of all of her ex-boyfriends. Thankfully for him, if there was one thing Marisol was, it was faithful. She would never betray him, and if she was by his side, it was because she truly wanted to.
Maybe it was that, maybe it was the way she was so beautiful when flustered or the arousing colour her skin turned when she blushed. Maybe it was the hypnotising colour of her eyes. He wasn't sure, but one thing was certain, and it was there was no doubt the timing was right, not a second before, not a second after. Manhattan was shining through the window, but no light in the city was as captivating as Marisol was to him.
Dating Marisol that summer hadn't been easy, she was sometimes too intense, and he felt embarrassed every time he had to tell her to slow down. His father had raised him up with so many rules, laws that in his mind formed the book of 'The Perfect Man'. He knew his dad had a reason to have had him learn to be a gentleman, a flawless young man. Marcus Windflowers had been left behind and had always wondered if, had he been perfect, he could've made his goddess stay. Marisol usually thought them old-fashioned or hilarious, and he was lost and confused.
He needed time to think about what he was ready to do and what he wasn't. Marisol was patient though, and whenever he stepped back, she didn't push him. She talked him into it little by little, until he felt comfortable with the idea. Of course, the practical part was no problem, he was a hormonal eighteen year old after all. The theory was what complicated him.
Dating Marisol out of camp was even more difficult, he couldn't see her every day, and he missed her. He knew he was going to long for her presence, but it turned out to be more than he'd imagined. He wasn't conscious of how much he liked Marisol until he opened the door to his tiny apartment in Brooklyn and felt loneliness creep over him. It had never hit him this hard before. He'd opened the windows, cleaned up a bit and put his stuff on its right place, very neatly. He'd gone to a payphone afterwards, called his dad to let him know he was home.
Martin used to live and was born in New Fairfield, Connecticut. His father ran a flower shop and, if you ask Martin, he thinks that's why his mother turned out to be the agriculture goddess. He had a nice childhood, right up until he became eight and a monster almost killed him. Lucky for Martin, his satyr found him right then and took him to Camp Half-Blood in time. Martin and his father thought it better for Martin to stay close to camp, you know, just in case. So Martin, who'd always been a remarkable student even though his ADHD, applied to a scholarship at one of New York's best private schools... and he got in. His life became a statement: school during the year, Christmas day with his father, more school for what was left of the school year and camp in summer. A couple monsters in between but nothing truly serious.
Now he had something out of the equation: Marisol in Queens, being close, but not close enough. And missing her was exactly what led them into their first fight. Marisol called him as usual, which was more or less every other day, to talk and for her to make fun of him for being studying every time she called. They didn't have mobiles, more like some kind of advanced walkie-talkies Marisol's dad had been working on. Like mobiles for young demigods. He had made real mobiles for demigods, but Marisol liked her life better without one. On one of these so-called phone calls, Marisol told him how she'd bought herself a motorbike with her savings from a thousand part-time jobs. She then began talking about the engines, how many cylinders it had and how beautiful the pistons were, by which point Martin felt as if she'd begun to talk in Korean.
"So, I was thinking, I can pick you up after school tomorrow and give you a ride." He could almost feel her grin when she'd said so. "What time do you get out?"
"A half past three." He said before he could stop himself, toying with the idea of seeing her the next day.
"Nice! I have to get dinner ready, but I'll see you tomorrow, pretty boy."
"See you, Aster."
"Bye!" And she hung up. That's when Martin realised his two mistakes. First, he'd written at the end of his equation x was equal to five and y was equal to seven, so x plus y was a half past three (not to mention an absent-minded sketch of a chocolate cosmos on the copybook's margin). Second, he'd said it was okay for Marisol to pick him up after school, which was actually not okay because some girls at his school were super mean. They'd already been rude to enough of his no-longer-friends, and he didn't want them picking on his girlfriend. Then again, he'd already agreed, and there was no way for Marisol to change her mind about it now. Dammit, he thought.
Next day at school, Martin was quite distracted the whole morning. Even some teachers were surprised by Martin's sudden inability to stay still, or to pay attention for that matter. To him, the only thing that mattered was the second the clock stroke a half past three. It was both good and bad the time went slow. He wasn't sure what was going to happen, but he also was expecting to see her, the anxiousness making a mess with him and his, until then, controlled ADHD. Gardening had been a good therapy for staying still and calm, but maybe it wasn't enough when you had to shape yourself up to Marisol's ways.
Marisol, on the other hand, was all morning at school busy with classes she only understood until a certain point and then she simply ignored. She and her tiny group of friends wandered around the school in between classes, and found a nice place to hide as they skipped chemistry class, behind the gym's bleachers. She took off quickly even though she had a couple classes left. She would have to attend detention afterwards, but it was worth it. She didn't truly care about it, she spent more time in the detention room than she spent in class, and she was very familiar with the people in there. Marisol wasn't a bad girl, but she couldn't care less about school. She knew what she wanted to do with her life: work at his dad's garage until she had enough money to get a great road trip. She'd get on the road until she ran out of money, and had to settle down somewhere; or until some monster caught her by surprise and killed her. She still didn't know how to fit Martin in that whole deal, but it didn't matter yet. She would worry about it when it was the time to.
She parked her bike in front of Martin's school and waited sitting on it, the engine purring softly. Marisol had that kind of beauty which is so natural people has trouble in admitting it aloud, because they feel uglier if they do. Her hair was tied up in a pony tail, falling in a cascade of soft and big curls which from the distance looked more wavy than curly. Her bronze skin wasn't sunburnt (due to Calypso's love for sunscreen) which gave it that soft tanned tone, as if perfectly sunkissed. She was short but, in relation to her body, her legs were long; and her tiny waist and fit complexion made her look like a model. Marisol enjoyed the use of Chapstick, but she neglected insistently makeup. Her dark shone as beautiful gemstones and were the centre of her delicate face, which features would have given her a soft air of elegance and perfection, had she been a famous actress; but gave her a childish elfish look instead. She knew she was fairly attractive, and took that to her advantage to get discounts or to let guys' guard down as she took the last dessert in the school's cafeteria.
She gazed at her transparent polished nails, making sure there was no dirt hidden between them and her skin. She then spotted Martin, wearing a school uniform, which only made him look fitter and more handsome. The uniform consisted of a white shirt, khaki pants, a green jacket and a green tie. Oh, I like ties. And green. Green suits him perfectly, Marisol thought. She was eating Martin with her eyes, but he couldn't feel flustered about it, because his eyes were on an open textbook on his hands, as he explained something to a guy who looked tiny next to Martin but, then again, Martin was really tall. Her ragged denim high-waisted shorts were not very different from the ones she used at camp, and her army vest jacket was the same one she used at camp too. Her white shirt was the only difference, with a wider neckline, falling loosely, its stamp reading 'Shit happens. You, for example' which was very rude but Marisol didn't truly care for being polite. There were more important things to life than good manners. Before Martin could spot his girlfriend, some of his school's female students did. They got closer subtly, and by the time Marisol noticed, she was surrounded by them.
"Look what we've got here! One of our janitor's daughters, how charming!" A tastelessly skinny blonde girl said. Marisol sighed. So she would have to put up with these kinds of girls.
"I'm sorry darling, you must be mistaken, my dad doesn't clean schools for misshapen dicks like you." Marisol bit back. A ginger with straight hair and cruel greyish blue eyes stepped up front.
"Girls, give her a break, she's probably lost. HABLO ESPAÑOL, TÚ PERDIDA, MÉXICO POR AHÍ[2]." She said, being very loud and modulating in an exaggerated way, pointing behind Marisol, as if she were talking to someone really stupid.
"I can speak English, you don't need to speak Spanish and embarrass yourself talking as if you were Tarzan. Also, you discriminating vain beetle-headed barnacle, Mexico is the other way." Marisol liked to read secretly, and was a big fan of Shakespeare. It had taken her a while, but she'd been able to make herself know quite a few Shakespearean insults. She was always waiting for the opportunity to use them with the right people. She was very sure these rich girls wouldn't be able to recognise Shakespeare not even if he hit them himself.
"How dare you insult us in the ways of the most amazing writer of all times!" Said the only intelligent one, because the rest of them seemed just insulted. She was a brunette with dazzling light green eyes. "May I know why are you really here? Because if you don't really have a reason, I'll call security."
"Gee, I wonder how terrible that could be." Marisol said sarcastically. "I came to pick up my boyfriend. I don't particularly enjoy the presence of the ones like you." She admitted. All of the girls laughed at once, creepily synchronised.
"And who would that be?" The blonde one asked. "One of our janitors?" Seriously, Marisol thought, she must get another thing to mess with besides janitors. Maybe she has a thing with one of them, and that's why she's so obsessed about them.
"No." Marisol rolled her eyes, tired. "That one" she said, pointing to Martin who, sadly for her, looked very concentrated on his textbook and his explaining.
"Martin Windflowers?" The ginger one exclaimed. "No way. Martin has never ever dated any of us. Why would he date you?" Marisol was about to say 'Uh, well because I've got brains and you don't' but she made eye contact with Martin and gave him a 'finally, thank the gods' look. Martin went down the few front steps the school had and walked up to Marisol, happy to see her again, troubled by the circumstances. The brunette put an arm around Martin's shoulders in a manner Marisol found way too friendly.
"Martin, thank goodness. Be a dear and tell this girl she's lost and she can go back to whichever pitiful neighbourhood she came from." Her wicked tongue should grow large and strangle her to death, Marisol couldn't help to wish.
"I would do so, Helen, but she isn't lost. I asked her to pick me up and, were she lost, I wouldn't be able to get home. Thanks for entertaining her until I came by." He said.
"Very well, so she's your driver, who cares, but you should let her know she shouldn't be spreading lies around about how she's your girlfriend and such." Ginger girl tried to strike.
"Thing is she is my girlfriend. And I'd like to remind you I can't afford a driver, unlike you all." Martin's calm ways would've exasperated Marisol except for the fact he was standing up for her without being unkind or rude, which was as complicated as it sounded and it made him way hotter to Marisol's eyes.
"I don't believe you. Kiss her." The blonde one insisted. Marisol frowned, knowing Martin was not a good one with public expressions of love, even less if forced, and would probably deny her subtly by backing down now, which hurt her a bit. But he put a hand on her shoulder and kissed briefly, yet gently, making her blush. He could sometimes surprise her. Martin thought that would be enough for them to leave Marisol alone and for Marisol to decide never to pick him up again; but the brunette girl, Helen, stood up front once more and made things complicated.
"I can kiss anyone like that without us having a relationship. I need a real kiss to convince myself that girl is really your girlfriend." All of them knew what a 'real' kiss meant for Helen. Silence fell among them and the air turned thick with tension. Martin had never been up to French kissing, and Marisol had decided not to push him. He was lovely as innocent and not ready as he was, and she did not want to force him into anything. She tried to go at his pace. But if he didn't kiss her right then, he would be denying her, after going this far. So she thought he would do it, that he would really give into it, but she was disappointed.
"I think we should go, Aster." Martin said, putting his helmet on. Helen and her friends smiled triumphant.
"What?" Marisol blinked, bewildered.
"Just drive." He pleaded, and her first instinct was to obey him, since he'd asked with puppy eyes, but just as the engine roared and they drove them a few metres, Marisol went back to her senses and stopped the motorcycle.
"Get off." She told him. He looked stunned. "Get off, I said."
"Aster?"
"I offered a ride to my boyfriend. I must have mistaken you for him, get off." She knew she was being unfair, but she felt terribly embarrassed and betrayed by the way Martin had refused to French kiss her, even if it was to shut up some really annoying girls, just because he wasn't ready. The analogy was a bit extreme, but if she was to die of some fairy tale disease which had only one cure: a true love French kiss... would he let her die just because he did not feel up to it? It really annoyed her. Martin hesitated, but she glared at him, and a second later, he got off the motorbike and she drove away. Martin cursed and glared at his classmates, who smiled apologetically, although they didn't truly mean it.
After Martin had gone back to check his locker (to see if he could find some coins to take the subway) he went home, trying to decide whether he should feel sorry or angry. Of course, Martin being Martin and all of that, he chose to feel sorry, and called Marisol a hundred times. He would've left a message, but you can't leave messages on adapted walkie-talkies. He'd even called Marisol's home, but nothing. He just had to stand Sebastián telling him how he'd promised to be a good boyfriend and how he shouldn't make Marisol upset, like if Martin hadn't already known that. After two minutes of being told off, the payphone told Martin his time was up, and he was happy to hang up. Shouldn't he be at uni? Martin thought, slightly annoyed. He was about to go back home, when he thought it better and called once again at Marisol's house. He first heard a little quarrelling about who should answer the phone, and finally, a feminine voice answered. It sounded a lot like Marisol's, and Martin got a bit confused.
"Aster?" He asked, hopeful.
"I'm not sure about it, but as far as I know there's no one in this apartment with that name." The voice answered. He slapped himself mentally, of course.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Valdez, this is Martin. I was hoping I could talk to Marisol, is she around there?" He said, being very careful of his words.
"Oh, yes. I'm sorry Martin, but my daughter told me she doesn't want to talk to any Martins. You sure your name is Martin? Maybe she'll talk to someone else..." Martin blinked, surprised. He never thought he would be on Marisol's mum good side, considering the only time they'd seen each other, he kissed her daughter, causing her husband to get out of control.
"In that case, I guess my name is... Evan? Evan her best friend?" Calypso laughed on the phone. Her laugh was charming and echoed in the room she was in.
"Very well, Evan, my daughter's best friend. I'll see if she wants to answer you." He heard as she walked away from the phone a couple steps. "Maddie, honey, Evan's on the phone, he says he wants to talk to you." He heard some yelling and paces back to the phone. "I'm sorry, I could not fool my daughter for you, Martin. She told me to tell you Evan's a year rounder, nice try, Windflowers." Calypso's mimic of Marisol's voice was almost perfect, and Martin found it hard to believe she was her mother rather than her big sister. Martin let go of a disappointed 'oh' and was about to say thanks and hung up when Calypso's voice interrupted him. "I'll tell you what, Evan, my daughter's best friend. Where do you live?" Martin was surprised by the question, but he answered anyways.
"Brooklyn, ma'am."
"So, I'll meet you at a really nice café I know in Brooklyn. I invite, don't worry about it. I know about low budgets, and how they have to stretch themselves in order to pay for girlfriends. What do you say? Meet me at Camomile in about, uh, half an hour? And I'll tell you how to put an end to this fight you've got with my daughter. Deal?" Martin was about to say something about Marisol's mum choice to meet, but she didn't let him. "I'll see you there." She said, showing she clearly wasn't giving him a real choice.
"See you, Mrs. Valdez." And she hung up. Martin was beginning to get an idea to why Mr. Valdez was helpless when his wife held him by the braces and told him to behave. There was no going against her.
Since Calypso had spoken the name of the café, Martin'd had a dreadful feeling about it, like he wasn't supposed to go anywhere close there, but there was nothing to worry about. It was one of those healthy cafés, where they only sell tea and infusions. What made him a bit panicky was the woman in the shop's counter, who looked terribly uh, godly. Also, it was weird to plan private meetings with your daughter's boyfriend, no matter what kind of mother you were. Maybe she just wanted to check on him, make sure Marisol was dating a decent guy. He could almost hear his father, talking to him as if life were a fairy tale, and there was some magical secret to it. A decent man has no way to lose what he loves the most.
As the minutes went by, he began to think he'd understood the name wrong and maybe the place was another one. Right then a very nice, yet very unusual, motorcycle parked on the opposite side of the street. As Calypso Valdez took her helmet off, Martin couldn't help to think the moment should've happened in slow motion, with dramatic background music, because Marisol's mother looked like an actress making a commercial for a hair product company, or for a motorcycle company, or any company at all. She was a couple centimetres shorter than her daughter, he could notice, but she obviously didn't mind as she was wearing slip-on sneakers. They were the exact same colour as her pale red loose blouse. She wore high-waisted jeans, just like Marisol usually wore high-waisted denim shorts. Martin thought Marisol wore the same kind of jeans when weather did not allow shorts. Marisol's mum stood in front of him and smiled a five million dollars smile. Her hairstyle was rather casual, the hair braided on one side, perfectly imperfect due to the easiness with which it fell. It had a beautiful cinnamon colour, glossy and soft-looking.
"Let's go in, shall we?" Martin hesitated.
"Who's in there?" He had to ask.
"It's just Iris. We've been chatting lately, she's nice. Her business was going broke, so I told her she could put a tea shop here. She's quite a hit." Calypso pushed him in, and he was surprised by a warm-looking café. It only sold free-everything eatable stuff but it had a really nice ambience. "This way." She announced, and they walked past some back doors. Martin saw they were now in what looked like a nice terrace inside a greenhouse. He found it quite charming.
"Where are we exactly?" He asked, as he seated at one of the tables, absent-mindedly, taking in the plants in the place.
"I'm sorry I forced you in like that." Calypso sighed as she sat in front of him, taking off her sunglasses, letting them rest on the table, a full metal structure painted white, with a glass surface. "The place is supposed to be secret to most people. It was a peace-offering from the gods. I took the place, yet not the peace offering. I keep the tea shop outside for Iris, but if anyone tries to enter the greenhouse, they simply walk back outside, with the idea they'd had a great tea time." She gave him an apologetic look and Martin was speechless to notice, under better illumination, Mrs. Valdez had her daughter's exact same eyes. Or vice versa, to be more precise. "I introduce myself properly now. I'm Calypso Valdez, Marisol's mother. It's really nice to finally meet you, Martin." To this, Martin sat upright, remembering he had a good impression to make, after all. Now they were closer, he could notice she was wearing no makeup at all, which made her undoubtedly more beautiful, in the way you can see someone's beauty is natural and not plastic. She also seemed really young, which was quite odd, considering Marisol was sixteen and she didn't look older than twenty three.
"I'm Martin Windflowers, please to meet you, ma'am." Calypso smiled tenderly, and looked around, until a young lady came around.
"Jenny, would you mind doing some orange juice?" She asked the young dryad politely.
"As you wish, Miss Calypso." The dryad grinned sweetly. "Anything else?"
"Yes, I'd like some of the scones my husband baked..." Jenny pointed in some direction, "yes; the other day. And please, I'm for a long while now Mrs., no longer Miss. Thank you." The dryad bowed ceremonially and walked away. Martin seemed concerned for the servant dryad. "Oh, don't worry, she's bounded to one of the trees in the greenhouse. She serves because she's happy to and otherwise gets bored. She keeps calling me Miss Calypso. Probably the gods told her to, in order to annoy me." Martin nodded.
"Do you mind if I ask why would the gods want to annoy you, Mrs. Valdez?"
"Why, of course not. They apologised first for holding me as a prisoner for various centuries just for being a daughter to a titan, I know, unfair. They're annoyed because I made it out of Ogygia and married and had children." Martin was quite surprised.
"Oh." Martin thought for a second. "Weren't you immortal?"
"Yes, I still am." There was sadness lingering in her gaze, and Martin realised it had been thanks to his reminder. Okay, awkward, time to change the subject.
"So, you were telling me how could I make things right Marisol." Calypso's eyes widened and then she grinned. Jenny came with the juice then, and poured a glass for each one of them. Then left a plate with what the scones on it. Martin picked up one and was surprised to verify they had a really nice taste. Huh, Marisol's dad can really cook.
"Never forgot. You may or may not know it, but Marisol's had a long history of rather bad boyfriends. That's why her brother and her father are so overprotective of her. I'm not going to say this has been good or bad, but I'd rather much like to see my daughter with a guy who makes her happy. I don't like to judge people too quickly, but one thing is for sure: Marisol has never been with a guy for longer than an hour before he starts causing her trouble, making her unhappy. That, until she came back this summer." She gave Martin an inquisitive look and he blushed. She didn't mean Marisol was happy because of him, did she?
"What does this have to do with me, exactly?" Martin asked, and Calypso chuckled.
"You really are a cute boy." She recognised. "Marisol has been happy all the time now she's dating you. And you might think I'm lying to you, but the only reason Sebastián gave you a sermon today on the phone instead of hunting you down, is because he thinks you might be a good thing for her."
"What was he doing home, exactly?" He couldn't help to ask.
"Picking up some stuff. He's moved to New Rome, you know. He's going to study at uni there. His girlfriend was super happy. Hazel had to recur to Piper to make Frank calm down, it was actually really funny..." she stopped herself when she saw Martin's bewildered expression. "Anyways. I think Marisol already knows you're probably what she wants and what makes her happy. She probably hasn't processed the fact yet. I believe you have to show her a bit of what she's already put up with, and make her realise she is way better off now with nice guys." Martin waited, expectant of the magic trick, but it didn't come to him. The scone was rather crunchy, and he liked the soft flavour it had.
"So, summing up, what do I do exactly?" He insisted. She grinned almost mockingly, clearly containing herself due to the fact she was someone's mother in that situation.
"I think you ought to figure that out on your own. I wouldn't think it wise nor fair to give you all the answers." She took a sip of her juice. "In the end... nobody has them all. Love is making things work even with unanswered questions and unasked answers." Martin saw then something in her eyes that made him shiver, subtly scared. It was as if her eyes had something else in them, something slightly evil, that end to her gaze which suggested immortality had taught her love was more than a force or something. It was as if immortality had made her dull and eternally heartbroken. She was Calypso, the cursed one, after all. He'd heard rumours, and knew the gods hadn't been specially merciful or charming to her. It occurred to him that now he was safe with Sebastián and, by what he'd understood, with Marisol's dad, if he happened to make the wrong choice, the one to finish him would be the woman with gorgeous looks sitting in front of him. He swallowed.
"Ah... alright." But then what he might've mistaken for rage and threat changed into a sadness which drifted softly towards calm and happiness.
"Shoot. I'm sorry, son. I got lost in thought. Anyways, as I was saying, try your best. Surprise her by what you're capable of." She ate half a scone without spilling any crumbs at all. Was that even humanly possible?
"Thanks. Mrs. Valdez, do you take care of this greenhouse?" Calypso winced.
"I'm afraid not. I have two other gardens to take care of and I'm always short on time to take care of this one. No, Jenny takes care of the garden."
"Would you mind if I came here from time to time? It's just that you have some really rare species in here, and I'd love to take care of them and study them and—" his eyes glowed with excitement and Calypso lifted an eyebrow.
"A child of Demeter, I see. Should've guessed it by the awed look in your face when we walked in, but I thought it was just the surprise of walking into an unexpected place." She stood up abruptly, and so did Martin. She looked up to him once more, and pouted. It was, again, strange having a mother look up to him and, even stranger, having her pout. "Tell me, how tall are you?" She asked, narrowing her eyes. Martin chuckled, amused by her question.
"I'm six feet five inches tall, ma'am." He admitted.
"Do you know it in centimetres? I'm bad with inches and such." Of course she was. She was Greek. The only ones who used weird measurement values were the Americans.
"I'm one metre ninety six centimetres."
"Wow, that's like... a lot. My poor Maddie must feel like a garden gnome next to you. I give you a piece of advice. If you ever come over to our place, or you ever happen to run into my husband, try to shrink a bit."
"Why?"
"He's developed a couple height issues lately. Mainly due to family friends." She sighed. "I'd hate having to hide another corpse. Anyways, nice talking to you, Martin. Good luck." She picked up her sunglasses and walked out the greenhouse. Martin hesitated for a while. Wait. Another corpse? Martin got out the café and walked back to his place, using the time it took him to get home to think about how he could prove his girlfriend he was worthy.
Marisol woke up lazily, still moody over her fight with Martin. She shouldn't have gotten so mad at him, but she felt so utterly betrayed, she just couldn't get a hold of her feelings at all. She dressed up and went to school, finding no appeal to it, and being angry at the universe. Her father had made her pancakes that morning, but even that couldn't cheer her up. Nor could the fight Leo and Calypso had over who should do breakfast pancakes. Marisol couldn't exactly remember the time her mother had almost blown up the kitchen trying to do pancakes but, just in case it was true, she always backed up Leo in the decision only he should cook pancakes. Calypso was an outstanding cook... whenever she didn't have to use sugar.
Also, whenever her parents fought like that, like they could make up a second after and everything would be alright, Marisol felt a little blue. She'd figured a long while ago that since Calypso was immortal, her dad would age and her mum wouldn't, and Marisol had this odd feeling... her mother wouldn't stay to watch the man she loved age. She wouldn't stay to watch him grow old and weaker and to hold his hand when he exhaled for the last time. And she felt sad, and troubled, because Leo was Marisol's favourite person in the whole world, and knowing her dad's heart was going to be broken broke her heart as well.
She also felt sad because home felt emptier now without Sebastián, even though she'd always complained about what a burden he was. It had been just a couple weeks and she already missed him. Just as everybody home, her mother still cooking lunch for four and her father still checking if Sebastián had gone to sleep. Only he wasn't there. She spent the morning between history and maths, faking to read a motorcycle magazine as she read The Amber Spyglass and screamed helplessly in her mind Don't do it, Lyra! She'd already read all of Shakespeare's novels and plays for fifteenth time, and she chose to take a little break. She was definitely going to read them over and over for forever. She had lunch and then she spent the last few hours of school trying not to die of boredom. Marisol had her tiny group of friends, alright, but today was one of the days she wished she had Kristin and Evan. They knew who she truly was, and she didn't have to worry around them. Living under pretence was extremely tiring, and her friends already knew to leave her alone when she happened to have a bad day. She was walking out of the school, when one of her friends, a tall curly black haired and freckled girl, Sammy, came up to her.
"Marisol, I know you're in one of your no-people days. But who's the guy leaning onto your motorcycle?" She said, giggling. Marisol rolled her eyes, knowing whoever it was, Sammy was faking because she was so, very homosexual. You big fat liar, Marisol thought kindly. She liked Sammy and they skipped physics together, so they were already past the no-insults phase.
Marisol looked towards where her motorbike was parked, confused, and her mouth fell slightly open. His hair was up in a rather punk way, his black shirt read 'Sex Pistols' and his black jacket had spikes over the shoulders. His jeans were ragged, his combat boots also spiky. She walked hypnotised, the dreadful magnet in her body dragging her unequivocally towards the guy leaning slightly against her motorcycle. Her neurones melted, and though her heart said 'Run!' her mind drove her blindly until she was in front of him.
Here's a small guide to Marisol and bad boys. The goal: heartbreak. The purpose: getting to know heartbreak. The background: she had an immortal mother who could not take the heartbreak of seeing his only love fade away. And she, at an unconscious level, made heartbreak her own. Who can offer better heartbreak than a bad boy? She thought first, before Martin. She needed to make heartbreak her own, mix it with her skin, and breathe into the desperate and lonely sensation of having lost someone; because heartbreak is produced by lost. Her dad would lose the love of his life, and she would be there. It's okay dad, broken hearts mend. Only she knew just about bad boy heartbreak and she didn't know what it was to lose the love of your life. Some broken hearts never mend.
She recognised the amber eyes, and she felt herself hopelessly trapped. Martin smiled cockily and leaned enough to be close to her lips without touching them. As for him, the way Marisol had reacted filled him with guilt. She almost dropped everything and went running to him, and he could read the pain in her eyes. The hurt gaze she had let him knew Marisol'd been played by many bad boys, and her heart was shattered and resigned to be broken forever. She was like a drug addict, and it pained him to look at her like that. She had to know heartbreak, but one time would've been enough. Pain is my drug, she told Kristin once, and she'd slapped her and told her never to say the same thing again. Marisol had been reforming herself ever since. She'd tried to avoid bad boys, but they seemed to be able to find her even if she didn't want to be found.
He almost had to drop the act. Then again, this was for her to realise she was better off with a good guy. He only hoped he didn't make her think he was also a bad boy for fooling her like that. Marisol leaned forward, like in trance, trying to catch his lips, but he withdrew, frowning.
"You're late" he told her, pulling teasingly the zipper of her army vest jacket. Marisol blushed brightly and lowered her eyes. "What took you so long?"
"School. But I promise next time I'll skip school, if that's what you want." Martin flinched in his mind, this was hurting him deeply. He pulled out a cigarette. Marisol's eyes widened and looked as if she might stop him, but she didn't.
"Fire" he demanded, pulling up one of her hands. She faltered.
"But people is watching. They'll think I'm a freak." Marisol'd said so, but he could read in her eyes that if he insisted, she would do as he said without a complaint. It scared him how scarred she was.
"Now they don't" he said, grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her around; Marisol let him, like a lifeless puppet. She lifted her hand and lit up the cigarette. Martin smiled sideways and took the cigarette in his lips. Right then, he choked on the smoke in such an uncool way Marisol was off the spell cast on her by his bad boy looks, grabbed the cigarette and threw it at the pavement, where she stepped on it and pulverised it.
"Martín?" She asked, bewildered. Her look was accusing as if saying 'You played me'. Martin held up both his hands.
"I'm really—" he began to apologise. But she cracked up staring back and forth from him to his clothes. Martin was super confused, so he recurred to his back-up plan. He searched in his pocket and took out a light red aster flower. "I'm sorry, Aster. I want to promise I am going to be good for you, right for you, but right now, all I'm is a huge jerk." He sighed. Marisol patted his shoulder and he leaned instinctively, and answered her kiss naturally, happy to taste her lips once more. His hand and his punk glove caressing her cheek gently.
"You are not a jerk. Although this new you could be. I like you better as my Martín, not this one." She realised she could not stay mad at him, choking on cigarettes to impress her. Giving her flowers to apologise. No guy had ever been as attentive with her as Martin. "Promise me though, you're never going to try smoking again, okay?" She said, playing with his zipper, going back to being more and more like herself.
"I promise." He smiled. "And about what happened yesterday, I'm working it on it, Aster, I truly am. I can be anything you want me to be for you. Just... give me some ti—" He was brushing her hair delicately, and Marisol shushed him.
"It's okay Martin. I get it. You want me to choose. And I choose the not-ready, prudent, sweet, pretty boy who really cares about me." She said, jumping to hang from his neck. Martin sighed as he rolled his eyes at her. He held her by her waist and sat her on her motorcycle.
"I must really care if I come back for you to do these things to me." He admitted, miserably. Then he looked down at himself. "I should really take this clothes off." Marisol grinned.
"I can help you with that if you want me to." She teased. Martin blushed.
"Stop it! Why do you enjoy teasing me so much?" He couldn't help to ask.
"Because you look very cute." Her smile was wide, her eyes shone brightly and Calypso's voice spoke in Martin's mind. You make her very happy.
"Not a knockout now I'm myself, huh?" He thought aloud.
"Oh, you're a knockout alright. But I prefer you without these clothes, I told you." Her smirk was very suggestive and Martin turned bright red. "I really do." Martin had to count to ten and then let go of the air he'd been retaining.
"Okay, enough for today, smarty-pants. Now, could I get a ride from my girlfriend or I'll have to go walking to my place?" Marisol arched an eyebrow, in her mother's exact same manner.
"Walking?"
"I don't have money with me. Not even a penny." She looked at him quizzically. "I had my hopes up for my wonderful girl." He smiled. She narrowed her eyes.
"I should still leave you here. But you are very good at flattering. Hum. Okay, I'll drive you home, although—"
"What?" Martin asked.
"On one condition. I'll go pick you up tomorrow. And you will get on my motorbike and we'll drive away from all those nasty bitches you have for classmates. Okay?" Martin winced a bit at Marisol's choice of words, but nodded.
"Okay." Marisol smiled widely and he knew himself forgiven. There was not a bit of resentment left in Marisol towards him. Marisol sat properly on her bike and patted the seat behind her so Martin knew to sit on it. He found it quite pleasant to seat behind her and hug her not to fall off, the engine purring under them. Every time they were this close he could smell the scent of her shampoo, something like plum, sweet but slightly sour. He thought of plum blossoms and smiled. He could get used to having Marisol in his life, having forever a plum tree blooming around him.
They parked under his building and Martin was not ready to say goodbye yet, since they had been in a fight before this and he had been thinking all the time he might lose her just for his stupidity. Although he knew he might regret it, he took his helmet off and got off the motorcycle, looking thoughtfully at Marisol. She wasn't wearing a helmet, even though he'd tried to put one on her every red light. So imprudent. He sighed, foreseeing how excited she'd be, and gave in to the dreamy expression he imagined. He handed Marisol the helmet.
"Wanna come in?" He asked. Marisol's grin and starry eyes got wider by the second.
"Thought you would never ask." She said, jumping off the motorcycle, taking her keys and making sure it was safely parked. She came next to him in a second and Martin chuckled. She was like a little girl sometimes, honestly.
[1] Spanish word for dad.
[2] I speak Spanish, you lost, Mexico that way.