Mariel moved to Chicago from Florida last spring. During our summer camp, she kept to herself. At first, I thought maybe she didn’t like me. Turns out she was just getting used to a new city. Now that she and I are friends, I always try to practice a little Spanish with her since I don’t speak Spanish that well. It’s a win-win. It makes me happy to practice and her happy to hear it—it reminds her of her friends in Florida. By how much she is smiling, it seems like she is adjusting quite well now to Chicago.
Soon the rest of the group arrives. Since we don’t all attend the same school, we usually spend a few minutes catching up. I start to tell Kristen about joining art club. That doesn’t last too long because, like always, Logan starts tapping his toe impatiently.
Logan is very practical and keeps the club on track. That is, until he starts chatting about sharks. Then he gets so enthusiastic he won’t stop talking about them.
I take his loud tapping as a big hint and say, “Hello, everyone! Let’s begin!”
Since I’m club president, I take attendance. I check off everyone’s name except for Jenny’s in our official roster.
“It looks like Jenny is missing another session today,” Kristen notes, crossing her arms.
“She just needs extra time for rehearsing. She’s in the advanced dance class now,” I reply.
By the looks on their faces, that excuse doesn’t go over well with everyone.
Logan’s foot is still tapping. I glance over at him. He looks so excited to speak that he might burst.
“Logan, do you have something you’d like to start with?”
I hand him our plush orca. We’re a very opinionated group, so whoever is holding the orca gets to speak. It works 60 percent of the time.
Logan cradles the toy orca and begins speaking. “Now that we’re ready, I have big news. Much bigger than an art club.”
I turn roja. He must have heard me talking to Kristen.
“I’ll decide that.” Kristen twirls one of her braids and says, “What is it?”
“I finally presented our plastic pledge to my class. And, of course, everyone signed it,” Logan announces.
One of the biggest things we did when we started the club was create a plastic pledge. The pledge has easy tips, like carrying groceries in a reusable tote bag instead of plastic bags and avoiding single-use plastics like cutlery. At the beginning of the school year, we all promised to present the pledge to our classes. Presenting it was a breeze, especially for Stanley, Jenny, and me, since we’re all in the same class. The whole class wanted to sign it right away, and Ms. Benedetto promised to make our classroom a green space. She set up recycling bins and reminds us not to waste our paper materials. She even keeps extra reusable water bottles on hand in case we forget our own.
Logan continues, “My teacher, Mr. Schuster, was so blown away by the pledge that he had me present it to my principal, Mr. Rana.”
“Whoa,” says Stanley.
Logan nods. “Then Mr. Rana was even more impressed with our pledge, and he wants us to present it at the city council meeting at the end of October.”
“Wow,” I reply. I’m stunned that Logan was able to share it with his principal. I’m also a little jealous. As president, I should have thought to do that first.
“Wait, what does it mean exactly to present at a city council meeting?” asks Kristen.
“Mr. Rana said that if we do a great job, maybe we could convince them to ban single-use plastic altogether in our school district!”
We leap up and down like a gam of whales. This is huge! The amount of plastic we would save in our entire school district would make a significant difference. Our jumping must be very loud, because Mariel’s abuela knocks on the door to the room to check on us.
“¿Qué pasó? ¿Están bien, Mariel?” She opens the door, asking what is happening and if we’re okay.
“¡Lo siento, Abuela!” Mariel replies, apologizing. “We just got some great news!”
Mariel then promises we’ll keep the noise down, and her abuela closes the door, shaking her head but smiling a little.
Kristen excitedly grabs the orca to speak.
“This means we may need to have some extra meetings to prepare. Maybe a couple of times during the week.”
Everyone nods, but I secretly gulp. I just signed up for two new activities that meet three times a week.
Thankfully, Stanley says, “Probably not every week. I know most of us have other clubs or activities.”
“That’s true. I’ve got chess club,” says Logan.
“I just joined soccer,” adds Mariel.
“Orchestra.” Kristen grins so big you can see her braces. “I’m playing the violin now.”
“And I have an astronomy meetup,” says Stanley.
I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m not the only one who is busy.
“What should we do to prepare for our presentation?” asks Logan. “It has to be epic!”
I think hard. I want to show the club that Logan isn’t the only one who can come up with great ideas for us.
Then it hits me. “We should hold another fundraiser. We can take more pictures of us in action. We can also donate most of the money to an ocean organization and save a little to buy materials for our big presentation.”
“Great idea!” says Mariel.
Kristen adds, “Let’s brainstorm!”
We spend the rest of the meeting making a list of things we’ll need for the fundraiser. We want to have a mix of baked goods, but also some small plastic-free reminders.
As I think about what I can bring, I decide to go big. I want to prove that I’m a dedicated president.
I blurt out, “I’ll make two new tote bags with my mom and also a giant poster by next week.”
“That’s a lot by next Saturday,” says Logan. “I can help, if you’d like. Chess club meets only once a week.”
“Don’t worry; I can do it by myself,” I reply. Logan’s already done enough by getting us the chance to present to city council. I need to do just as much since I’m the president.
“Oh, okay,” he replies softly.
As we continue to divide up tasks, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. What if I just overpromised? I immediately shake it off. I can whip up a poster, no problem. I’m pretty good at them.
Mom picks me up when the meeting ends. I am about to mention the tote bags when I notice the empty glass food container in the back seat next to me. It’s where we put the quesadilla for Diego.
“Did you see Diego?” I ask. “More importantly, did he like the quesadilla?”
“Sí, he actually came to the festival with Izzy,” Mom replies.
“How did he know about it?” I ask.
“It’s a pretty big event in Chicago. I also mentioned it to Diego the other night, when I bumped into him on our street.”
“Oh,” I reply. That’s strange; she didn’t tell me that earlier.
“And sí, he loved the quesadilla.” She grins. “Turns out his family is from El Salvador like your abuela. He was very familiar with it. He said it was as good as his mother’s.”
“Great!” I reply. “I hope I can meet Izzy soon.”
“You might be able to meet her next Saturday.”
I turn my head to her. “Why?”
“Diego and I are going to get coffee while you’re at your Sea Musketeers meeting next Saturday. Maybe afterward you can meet Izzy. That is, if she isn’t with her mother.”
“Izzy’s mom?” I ask. I hadn’t considered whether she had a mom and where that mom might be.
“Diego and Izzy’s mom share custody of her. They are divorced como tu papá y yo.”
“Oh…” I nod.
Mom and Dad have been divorced for almost five years. Dad lives in Colorado, so I don’t see him too much. It doesn’t really bother me. He’s not a bad person, but he’s not a great dad at the same time. Still, I often wish Mom and Dad had a French angelfish sort of relationship. French angelfish rarely travel without
each other and stay together for life. Of all the aquatic creatures, they are the most romantic.
“Hopefully, it’ll be fun,” says Mom. “It might be nice to have a friend in the neighborhood who is also a single parent.”
I nod. Mom works super hard and does so much for Nick and me by herself. I’d be happy for Mom if she had more friends. I can tell that Mom had so much fun at her Girls’ Night. Maybe Diego can be her Stanley. Having a friend like Stanley is the best. I’d like that very much.
Chapter Seven
“Time for another exciting science project today,” announces Ms. Benedetto.
It’s Monday morning and the start of a new week. I wonder what sort of project we’ll be working on now.
“Is it another project that we can eat?” asks Chris.
Not only does Chris have the loudest voice in the room, but he is also the smallest boy and has by far the biggest appetite.
Ms. Benedetto laughs. “No, not today, Chris.”
There are a few groans of disappointment in the classroom.
“Instead, you’re going to create a new plant species with your lab partner!”
She writes our project criteria on the board. To complete the project, we must come up with a name for our plant, determine the plant’s basic needs, decide where on Earth our plant will live, and draw an illustration of our plant.
“Now, to begin our creation, we must find some inspiration. Grab your creative caps.” She motions for us to put our imaginary creative caps on our heads. “Pens, notebooks, and follow me!”
We stand up and march to the library.
I wave at Ms. Morales, our librarian, when we walk in. She has her stuffed goose leaning on the front desk next to the computer. I also notice she has traded the signature purple streaks in her hair for red ones this school year. She comes up to me and tells me, “Stella, we got that book by Sylvia Earle you requested.”
She pulls the book from the cart and holds it in front of me. It’s a copy of the National Geographic Atlas of the Ocean. On the cover is a massive barrel wave, crashing into the sea. I think about how strong the wind must have been to cause a giant wave like that to happen. All I want to do is grab the book and dive in. I begin to open it, but Ms. Morales closes it.
She says, “Don’t worry. I’ll hold on to it while you work on your research, and you can check it out before your class leaves.”
I nod excitedly.
Because we’re in the library, we have to whisper. Stanley points at a computer, and I follow him silently. We consult the library catalog and then head over to the nonfiction section.
To begin, Stanley and I find a few books on tropical plants. We both agree that the rain forest has the most colorful plants and, therefore, the best plants for our project.
“Those will be the most fun to draw, too,” says Stanley.
We start writing down a list of possible locations.
“Could our plant live in the desert?” I suggest. “Our tropical plant would look awesome there.”
“Stella, our plant should live next to or under the sea!” he replies.
I hit my head with my palm. “You’re right!” I whisper.
We grab a book on the oceans and pinpoint a few interesting locations, like the Great Blue Hole in Belize and the Skeleton Coast in Africa. Both are dramatic landscapes. The Great Blue Hole is indigo blue and 410 feet deep. The other, the Skeleton Coast, is a sandy desert in Namibia and sits right next to the Atlantic coastline.
Then we brainstorm different types of plants. We don’t want it to look like the usual plants you’d see in the ocean, like seaweed or seagrass. That would be less creative. I suddenly remember something I read in one of my ocean books.
“Our plant can’t be super deep if it’s under water. It needs light to grow. Plus, everything past sixty-five feet looks blue-green because of the limited light.”
“Good point,” says Stanley.
He pauses and continues, “You know, I can’t help but wish our plant could be somewhere in outer space!”
“Maybe there are plants on other planets and we just don’t know about them yet,” I reply.
“Exactly! And maybe those plants eat humans!” His eyes grow big. “That’s why we don’t know about them. Anyone who saw one in person was eaten!”
I wince. That sounds scary, but also not very realistic. At least I hope it isn’t. He starts to chuckle, which makes me laugh. We have to cover our mouths so we don’t make too much noise in the library. I then notice Ben and Jeremy circling around us in the stacks. Ben has his shark grin again, so I know what he is about to say isn’t going to be very nice.
“I finally figured out what’s going on with you two.” Ben looks at Jeremy. “They must like like each other.”
Jeremy wiggles his eyebrows and nods.
“We’re just friends,” says Stanley seriously as he closes his book.
“That’s what you say,” Ben says. “But we’re in fourth grade now, and everyone knows boys and girls can’t just be friends.”
“You’re wrong!” I reply in an angry whisper.
“Who made that rule?” says Stanley. “I didn’t read it in the class rules.”
“That’s just the way it is,” replies Ben, shrugging. “Everyone knows it.”
“My brother told me that, too,” chimes in Jeremy.
Stanley and I look at each other with disgust. I can’t believe Ben. Es ridículo. He’s ridiculous. Stanley is one of my closest friends. We’ve been friends since he moved here last year. Plus, I have other friends who are boys, like Logan in the Sea Musketeers. I certainly don’t like like him either. Sure, I’ve thought movie stars and Fabien Cousteau are handsome, but I mostly think we’re too young for this kind of stuff. Going out with someone is for older kids like my brother, Nick. I know he has a crush on a girl in his geometry class.
“Ignore him,” Stanley tells me. Then he raises his voice a bit to make sure Ben can hear. “He is just bitter that he isn’t a part of the fun science group.”
Ben scoffs. “Whatever. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I try to ignore what Ben said, but his words stick under my skin like a toxin from a jellyfish sting. I’ve never been told that I can’t be friends with someone. Why should it matter if Stanley is a boy, anyway?
We walk over to another table, but the mood between Stanley and me has shifted. We make zero jokes, and we mostly write in silence. I chew on my pencil eraser. Is it possible that Stanley thinks I like like him? I find myself wanting to ask him, but the silence is hard to break. Thankfully, he speaks first.
“Ben is wacky.” He takes a breath. “And I don’t like you that way.”
Whew! I practically drop to the floor.
I reply, “Me either. I don’t think I like anyone that way yet.”
He nods. “Let’s just keep working. He’s wrong, and it’s only him saying it, anyway.”
I nod, but I get the feeling this might be only the beginning. Like a shark, Ben smells blood in the water and isn’t going to give up easily.
Chapter Eight
On Tuesday, I try my best to forget about what happened in the library. I have better things to focus on, like my first art club meeting. We gather after school in the art room instead of Ms. Benedetto’s classroom. Nick is going to stay at his school doing homework until I’m done with my meeting. That way, he can pick me up and we can walk home together. At the meeting, there are about two dozen of us. Some of the kids are from different grades. While second graders don’t intimidate me, a few of the fifth graders do look bigger than me. When I walk into the art room, I am relieved to see Anna and Chris from my class. I pull up a stool next to them.
“Do you two like to draw, too?” I ask them.
Anna shrugs. “I’m a little shy about showing my drawings to people,” she says, clinging to her sketchbook. I can relate sometimes. When my drawing is not perfect, I don’t want to show anyone else. It took me forever to show Stanley any of my drawings.
“Can I see?” I ask. “I’m sure it’s amazing.”
She slowly hands me her sketchbook. Chris leans over my shoulder as I flip through the pages. I see swirly drawings of fairies and flowers done in ballpoint pen. It’s different from how I draw. I mostly draw sea creatures and portraits, but Anna’s drawings are more cartoony. It’s very creative.
“I love it,” I say.
Chris and I give her a thumbs-up. Anna smiles so hard that her glasses slip down her nose. She has to push them back up.
To jump-start the meeting, we have after-school snacks, like biscotti, cheese wedges, and grape juice.
“We’re setting the scene. Imagine we’re a Parisian art studio group like the one Monet and Manet had,” says Ms. Benedetto. Ms. Benedetto and Mr. Foster even wear matching black berets to go with the theme.
Mr. Foster begins the official meeting. “Thank you for attending our first meeting. In this club, we’ll talk about different artists. You will also have extra time to work on individual projects and collaborate on big projects that we’ll all work on together.”
“To really kick off the new club, we’re going big,” says Ms. Benedetto. “Think wall-size.”
Wall-size? What could she mean? I give Anna and Chris sideway glances.
Chris replies, “I think she means a mural.”
“Really?!” I whisper. That would be amazing if it’s true. I’ve never done a mural before, and it would be a new type of art, too. It’s also something I can check off my dreams list!
Ms. Benedetto continues, “We have permission from Ms. Morales, our librarian, to paint a mural in the library.”
We squeal.
“While we will have time during our club meeting to work on it, it’s a big project. We may need to spend a few Saturdays to complete the mural. We’d like to have it done by Halloween.”
I gulp. My Sea Musketeers meet on Saturdays. The president has to be there, but I also really want to paint this mural.
I hesitantly raise my hand. “I have another club meeting on Saturdays. Does that mean I can’t be a member?”
Stella Díaz Dreams Big Page 3
