“Coming,” says Mom, walking toward the door.
When Mom opens the door, it’s Linda, with Biscuit by her feet. Linda looks a little frantic.
“I’m sorry,” Linda says in a rushed voice. “My dog walker is sick, and I’m supposed to meet my grandkids downtown. Do you think you all could take care of Biscuit today? He would only need a walk twice. Once before ten and then a second time in the afternoon.”
“Of course!” Mom replies. “We love Biscuit.”
Mom turns toward me.
“Do you want to walk Biscuit real quick?”
I look into his brown eyes. He is panting, so he looks like he is smiling. I want to say Not really because of everything I have to do today, but I can’t say no to that adorable face.
“Of course,” I reply.
“Thank you so much, Stella.” Linda pulls out ten dollars from her crocheted purse and gives it to me.
“Here, a donation for your fundraiser.”
I smile. I’m going to show up to the fundraiser with my completed poster and tote bags, and I’ll have money to add to our jar right away.
Before we head over to the school, I walk Biscuit around the block. I’ve walked him once or twice before. This time, he seems to walk especially slow. I think he likes the feeling of walking on the leaves on the ground. He also wants to stop and smell everything on our walk.
“Could you please walk a little faster?” I ask Biscuit politely.
Biscuit looks at me sweetly and then continues to smell the flowers. After a much longer walk than I planned for, we head back inside. I leave Biscuit in the laundry closet with his toys and his puffy bed. Then I rush over to Mom, who is smiling.
“Great news! I moved my appointment up, so todo está bíen!”
I breathe a sigh of relief.
“You look very ready for your busy day, niñita,” says Mom.
I grin tightly and hand her the car keys. I want to tell her to hurry up, but I can’t say that to my own mom. Instead, I say, “Yup!”
Thankfully, we arrive at the school parking lot with a minute to spare. Still, I want to make the most of my mural hours. Once Mom stops the car, I open the car door and run toward the school.
“Espérame, Stellita,” she yells, telling me to wait for her. “You’re going nowhere without me.”
I stop and put my hands on my hips.
Mom walks over to me. She puts her hands on my shoulders.
“Stella, I know you’re excited, but you need to calm down.”
“Okay,” I reply reluctantly.
When we walk inside the school, it looks strange. Most of the lights are off except for the hallway lights and the lights in the library. It feels a little mysterious. I like the feeling of being the only ones in the school. I point out my made-up plant species to Mom on the way to the library.
“Hermosa,” she says, telling me that it looks beautiful.
In the library, the back corner has been transformed into a mini artist studio. Music is playing, and people are talking at full volume. It’s very un-library-like behavior! Mr. Foster and Ms. Benedetto are busy arranging paint colors on the table next to piles of brushes. There is even plastic all over the floor and covering the nearby bookcases. I feel all tingly. I can’t wait to start the mural.
Mom kisses me on my head.
“I’d tell you to have fun,” she says, “but I don’t have to worry about that.”
I beam.
“See you at one!” she adds.
“On the dot!” I reply. She gives me a thumbs-up as she leaves the library.
Mr. Foster begins, “Okay, my fellow club members, I’ve transferred the drawing onto the wall. Today we need to block in the big shapes. This is when we are going to apply most of the paint. Don’t worry about the details. That comes later.”
“We’re going to work on the background first,” Ms. Benedetto follows. “Who wants to work on the sky or the ocean?”
Of course, I raise my hand to work on the ocean.
Ms. Benedetto gives me a cup of aquamarine paint and points me to my area. “Go get ’em,” she says.
I flex my arm and then head to my section. At first, I work on the wrong square of the mural, but thankfully Mr. Foster points it out.
“Sorry, I was just excited,” I say as I move over.
When I begin to paint uninterrupted, I forget all about my stress and worries. With every brushstroke, I get lost in the process. It’s almost as if instead of painting I’m swirling in the ocean. I feel like I could paint for hours. They even have to stop me to have a snack break.
As I chomp down on a sunflower butter and jelly sandwich, Mr. Foster walks up to me.
“You’ve got a real talent for this, Stella.”
I grin despite the sandwich in my mouth.
“Do you think you’ll want to be an artist one day?” he asks.
I swallow and pause. I never really considered it. I’d already decided I’m going to be a marine biologist, but …
“Maybe,” I reply, and I’m being honest, too. It feels strange to say that out loud.
We get back to work on the mural, and before I know it, Mom shows up.
“Are you ready to go, Stella?” Mom asks.
“Just a couple of more minutes,” I beg. “I only have this last spot to finish. I messed up at the beginning, and I need to finish my square.”
Mom looks at me. “Okay, but I don’t want you to get upset with me if we’re late to your fundraiser.”
I look over at the clock. It’s only five minutes after one. What could another ten minutes really do?
Mom talks to Ms. Benedetto in the meantime. I just want to finish this one spot. When I put my paint bucket down, I look at the clock again. Oh no! It’s one thirty!
“Mom!” I say, running up to her. She’s texting on her phone. “We’ve got to go!”
“Ay dios mío,” she replies. “I got distracted, too! I was texting with Diego.”
I ignore the part about texting because there is no time to think about Diego right now. We’re going to be late.
“I’ll clean up your brushes,” says Ms. Benedetto. “Good luck with your fundraiser.”
“Thank you!” I reply. Then Mom grabs my hand, and we run out of the school.
“I checked the directions. It’s only twenty minutes away,” Mom says as she starts the car. “We should be fine.”
Unfortunately, we soon realize that it will take more than twenty minutes. A car accident is blocking traffic on the highway, and we are at a total standstill. As we sit idly in the car, I watch the clock, hoping that if I wish enough, it will stop. It doesn’t. I see it turn one forty-five, then two, and then two thirty.
I slump down in the back seat feeling defeated and angry. If it wasn’t for Diego, Mom wouldn’t have been texting or distracted and we wouldn’t have been late. Why do they like like each other?! This marvelous day has turned into a disaster.
Chapter Fourteen
We don’t make it to the soccer field until two forty-five. Our fundraiser is already halfway over!
I spy the Sea Musketeers under a tent on the other side of the field.
I run up to them, panicking and pleading forgiveness.
“I’m sorry! We got stuck in traffic!” I leave out the part about staying too late at the mural. They would definitely not be happy about that.
Mom walks over. “It’s true. We were stuck for over an hour.”
Mariel’s mom says, “That’s awful.”
Kristen’s dad says, “Traffic is the worst.”
However, none of my fellow Sea Musketeers say a single thing.
Mom sits by the rest of the parents on the bleachers nearby while I walk over to our table.
I open my backpack. “But I have everything I promised: the cookies, the tote bags, and the poster.”
I quickly throw everything down. My poster is extra wrinkly from being in my backpack, and a few of my cookies are crushed. It’s not my best work. Then I
grab the ten dollars from my pocket.
“Oh, and I have ten dollars from my neighbor Linda.”
I throw it into the cash jar.
Jenny flashes me a kind smile. It makes me feel a little better.
“So what did I miss?” I ask, trying to sound as casual as possible.
Kristen starts, “We’ve come up with a list of things for the city council meeting.”
“My team won the game,” Mariel says, wiping a bead of sweat off her forehead. Then she adds, “And we’ve raised about seventy dollars and had more people sign the pledge online.”
“That’s great. And now we have eighty dollars. Go team!” I reply, trying to sound like a supportive president.
Logan clears his throat. “And we discussed the club.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Everyone looks at the ground except for Kristen. She meets my eyes and says, “It seems like you’re much busier now, and being the president is a lot of work. I brought up the idea of having a copresident. That way, you could share the responsibility.”
Mariel quickly chimes in, “And I nominated Logan because he has great ideas.”
My mouth drops. I feel as if someone has punched me in the stomach.
“But I’m handling it,” I reply. “And it’s not like I have ever missed a meeting before, like Jenny.”
Jenny frowns.
I wince. “I’m sorry, Jenny. I didn’t mean for it to sound bad. I know you love your dance class. I just mean I’m always here.”
Jenny gives me a half smile, but I can still tell I hurt her feelings some.
Mariel puts her hand on my shoulder. “We just want to make it easier for you. The city council meeting is a big deal, and we want to do the best job we can.”
I shake my head. I’m not willing to hear it. I only messed up this one time, and it’s not really my fault. And the other time, when I didn’t finish the tote bags, is not a big deal. I still got them done before the fundraiser.
Kristen nods. “We all voted on the idea of making Logan copresident, and we agreed we’d like to try it.”
“This is wrong.” My voice gets louder. “You wouldn’t have this club without me. I came up with the idea in the first place.”
Stanley walks over to me. “It’s okay, Stella. Nobody is kicking you out. It’s just sharing the load.”
“It’s true. Plus, I only have my chess club,” says Logan. “I just have more time to help. We will be a great team.”
I cross my arms. This is royally unfair. I want to make a big scene, but I get quiet instead. We’re still doing our fundraiser, after all. We sell a few items before the end, including my tote bags. One of the soccer moms pays twenty dollars for the two totes.
“I love it,” she says. “Such a clever design!”
I mutter, “And I’m the one who came up with the idea for the tote bags, too.”
“What did you say, Stella?” asks Kristen. Her face looks like she’s trying to be nice.
I shake my head. I am not ready to talk to these traitors yet.
A few Sea Musketeers try talking to me some more, but I continue to ignore them.
Instead, I plot how I’m going to start a new club without them. Then at three thirty on the dot, I leave silently with Mom.
Chapter Fifteen
On the car ride home, my anger turns into sadness. Mom keeps looking at me in the rearview mirror.
“¿Estás bien, Stella?” she asks as she parks in front of the house.
“Yeah,” I reply, but I feel my lip quivering.
Mom says in a soft voice, “I don’t believe you, mi amor. I could tell you had an argument with your group.”
She turns around so I have to look at her face-to-face.
“You can tell me.”
Suddenly I burst into full tears. I confess that I’m feeling overwhelmed and how, worst of all, the Sea Musketeers want Logan to be copresident.
“And I feel like…,” I say in between sobs, “I’m getting everything wrong!”
Mom reaches behind and grabs my hand.
“Mi estrella, you’re doing great. I’m proud of you for trying to do new things. I also really don’t think your club members are trying to do something malo to you.”
“It feels very mean,” I reply, pouting.
“The club is a big responsibility. During the summer, it’s easier to focus on only your club, but during the school year, when it’s busier, it makes sense to share more of the workload.”
I nod. Deep down I know she’s being sensible, but it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like they are stealing my idea from me.
She hands me a tissue to wipe away my tears. I have to go through a few tissues to clean up all the waterworks.
“Come, let’s get out of this car and grab Biscuit. We need to take him on a walk.”
Biscuit showers me with kisses when we open the laundry-closet door. It’s like he knew I needed some comfort.
As we walk him around the block, Mom says, “I think that we all need a little break.”
“More movies?” I ask. I’d be happy to curl up on the couch with a blanket again.
Mom replies, “That’s always nice, but we also all need to unplug and relax. I’m thinking a getaway.”
“Where?” I ask.
“Well, Diego has invited all of us to go camping at Indiana Dunes National Park next weekend. That’s what he and I were texting about earlier. He’s been planning to go with Izzy for a while. He says there is space at his campsite for us to go with them.”
“Camping? Don’t you remember last time?”
Mom laughs. “Yo sé, but we went in November last time in Wisconsin. That was a very bad idea. It’s still early October, and it feels great outside.”
I nod. That’s true. I’m wearing only a light sweater today, not a parka and long johns.
“But we don’t know what we’re doing,” I say.
I also think back to my own personal camping adventure last month. Jenny and I freaked out, and it was only in our backyard. I can’t imagine camping in the wilderness, where there are sure to be large predators nearby. How will we survive?
“Diego goes camping all the time,” Mom replies. “This also isn’t going to be rugged camping. He texted me the site, and I checked it out online. There are plenty of people nearby, regular bathrooms, showers, and everything. It would be only one night, too.”
I look down at Biscuit. He’s lying on the grass, blissfully soaking up the outdoors. He looks happy. I want to be that happy. I guess the outdoors could be good for me. I’ve also been avoiding the Mom-and-Diego situation for a couple of weeks now. This camping trip would give me a good opportunity to see firsthand what is really going on. I also think it would be a nice excuse to skip a Sea Musketeers meeting for one week. I’m not ready to see any of their faces yet.
I look up at Mom.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
“Great!” says Mom. “Nick already agreed. I’ll call Diego and let him know.”
I pick up Biscuit, and we head back home.
I’m still uneasy about the camping idea and Diego, but when Biscuit snuggles up against me, I instantly feel better.
Chapter Sixteen
The next week at school I keep to myself a little more. It’s not that I am truly upset with Stanley or Jenny, but speaking to them reminds me of what happened at the fundraiser. And I still feel a little hurt. The Sea Musketeers are just such a part of who I am. They’re like my gills—without them, I can’t breathe. This change feels like I might be losing a part of me.
It takes me a few days to even mention the club to Jenny, but I sort of have to. I finally talk to her about the Sea Musketeers during swim class.
“I’m really sorry again for calling you out at the fundraiser. I’m a lousy BFF,” I say, looking down at the water.
“No, you’re not,” Jenny replies as she playfully splashes me.
I splash back.
She then says, “Just don’
t do it again, bestie.”
“Promise.”
I feel relieved. Thank goodness Jenny understands. I couldn’t take it if she was upset with me, too.
I then ask, “Jenny, can you tell everyone I can’t go to the meeting this week? That I have a family camping trip?”
She swirls around me. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell them? Everyone feels bad. No one meant for you to feel that upset.”
I shrug. “I just need a break for a week.”
“Okay, Stella,” she replies with a little frown.
The remainder of the week isn’t all bad in Ms. Benedetto’s class. Stanley and I don’t chat much while working on the egg-drop project, so Ben mostly leaves us alone. The highlight of the week is painting the mural at art club on Thursday afternoon. That’s when all my problems and everything else evaporate, at least for a little bit.
Finally, Saturday comes, and it’s time for our camping trip. We’re all dressed for the part, too: puffy vests and plaid shirts.
“This is as midwestern as I’ll ever look,” jokes Mom. It’s true. Mom often wears a rebozo around town. That’s a large Mexican scarf. Mom says she likes to carry a little bit of Mexico with her everywhere she goes.
When Diego knocks on our front door, Nick greets him. Diego shakes his hand.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Nick. Are you ready to go camping, señor?”
Nick sort of smirks. “I think so.”
Diego looks over at our gear and takes out his checklist. He puts a pencil mark next to every box on his list.
“It looks like the Díaz family is prepared.” Then he turns to his daughter. She’s been standing behind him quietly. She has curly hair like me, but she is taller and wears glasses.
“I’m sorry, mija. You still haven’t met everyone. This is my darling daughter, Izzy.” He adds, “The apple of my eye.”
Izzy rolls her eyes and says, “Papi.” The way she does it, you can tell she actually doesn’t really mind it too much.
“Nice to meet you, Izzy,” I reply.
“What grade are you in, Stella?” she asks in a friendly tone.
Stella Díaz Dreams Big Page 6
