Boy Who Said No : An Escape to Freedom (9781608090815) by Patti Sheehy Page B

drastically increased the number of communist events students attended. The political complexion of the student body was changing—and, to my mind, not for the better.
    Magda put herself at risk by agreeing with my position on the report cards. Although two years my junior, she was mature for her age. Having received an excellent education at Lancha, she was very knowledgeable, had strong opinions, and served as an excellent sounding board for my ideas.
    During lunch break, Magda and I would walk in the park together. Sometimes I was so taken with her beauty that I failed to concentrate on what she was saying. I would look at her hands, her long slender fingers, and her pretty, polished nails and would wonder what it would be like to hold them in mine. I was often tempted to reach for her hand but I was too afraid. What if someone saw us? What if she didn’t like it? What if she pulled her hand away?
    I longed to touch her, but I decided to let it be for a while.

CHAPTER 12
    Although Magda and I saw much of each other during the day, there were few opportunities to be together at night. We waved to each other during our
paseo,
but our strolls around the park were hardly enough—for either of us. Some evenings she would sit on the second-story balcony of her parents’ beautiful Spanish villa, her hair back-lit with an amber light and her body framed in a classic Spanish arch, while I walked up and down her street.
    When her parents weren’t looking, I’d wave to her. Then I’d saunter to the bottom of the street and walk back again, hoping to see her once more. To me, she was like a princess in a fairy tale. Her home was the castle and the golden light that spilled from her window was a glittering promise of things to come.
    My cousins would tag along, laughing, joking, and making snide remarks. After a few months, Magda and I tired of this charade.
    Unbeknownst to me, Magda had decided to ask her parents for permission for me to visit her at home. While I assumed her father was the power broker in the household, I later learned that her mother ruled the roost. Magda had lobbied her mother for months to see me, regaling her with stories about how nice I was, how smart I was, and how much she cared for me.
    After much discussion, she persuaded her mother to receive me in their home. Magda took me by surprise one day by asking me to approach her father for permission to call on her.
    â€œReally?” I said, not believing my good luck.
    She nodded, knowingly. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”
    Now I had to talk to my parents about Magda. The next day after school I walked into the kitchen where Mima was peeling potatoes. The heat in the room was oppressive, rising from the linoleum floor like a morning fog. Mima looked up and smiled while I pushed past her to get a glass of water.
    I glanced back and said casually, “I’m going to ask Magda’s father for permission to see her.” Mima narrowed her eyes and shook her head slightly. She rinsed the potatoes and dried her hands on a dish towel.
    â€œThen we have to talk,” she said. She nodded toward the living room, waving her hand for my siblings to go outside to play. They scattered like starlings at the look on her face. She closed the door behind them, lowered herself onto the sofa, and gestured for me to sit.
    Concern filled her eyes. “What?” I asked. I was afraid she would object to me seeing Magda.
    â€œBefore you go calling on a girl, there are things a boy your age should know,” she said.
    I squirmed in my seat. I had a suspicion where this conversation was going, and I wanted no part of it. Mima studied me briefly.
    â€œTo ask a young woman’s father for permission to see her is the first step toward marriage,” she said. “I want you to think long and hard about what you are about to do, Frankie.”
    I sucked in a breath. “I’m not doing anything yet. I just