by Marie Arnold
“Carmen!” I shout.
She leaves the apartment.
I want to go after her, but I have to stay with the twins. And anyway, what would we say to each other? We’re just on different sides, I guess. I look at the perm box and decide it’s the only way to go. And I will do it myself.
* * *
The twins can’t stop laughing, and neither can Rocky, for that matter. I guess that’s what happens when the person standing in front of you has a huge bald spot.
“It’s not that bad, right?” I say, mostly to myself.
It’s hard to hear my voice when the twins’ laughter drowns me out. I don’t know what I did wrong; all I know is that chunks of my hair are coming out in my hands.
Rocky wants to be supportive. But first I have to get him to stop laughing. The kids know about Rocky. In fact, they talk to him when their parents aren’t looking. They don’t think there’s anything weird about a talking rat who thinks he’s a rabbit. But a bald girl in the middle of the living room they find very, very funny.
“Rocky! Stop laughing! You guys too!” I demand.
Rocky’s rolling on the floor and can’t catch his breath.
“Maybe you should try that thing that humans have—oh yeah, a wig. That’s it! Get a wig! Oh, get one like Tina Turner. You know, that lady with that song—‘Love Has Everything to Do with It.’”
“It’s called ‘What’s Love Got to Do with It.’ And this isn’t that bad. I can fix it. Maybe if I put a bow on it or tie a scarf . . .” I play around with what’s left of my hair. It’s no use. Everything I try looks horrible. And every time I touch my hair, even more falls out.
Rocky finally gathers himself off the floor. Meanwhile, the twins are still pointing and laughing. I scoop them up one by one and put them in their room. They begin to get fussy, so I give them their favorite coloring book and a pack of crayons. It works. Soon they are too busy coloring to notice I’m leaving the room. I head back to the living room, where Rocky is still trying to behave himself.
“Let’s not give up. There has to be a way to fix my hair.”
“Call Carmen and see if she can help.”
“I can’t, Rocky. She told me not to do this,” I say.
“Gee, why would she say that?” Rocky replies.
“Really not a good time for joking.”
“Okay. I have an idea, but I’m not sure you’d be open to it.”
“I’m willing to try anything!” I reply.
“How do you feel about circus life? You’d fit right in!” He roars with laughter.
I sit down at the table and look at myself in the mirror. My aunt and uncle will see this and then say, “It’s time to go back to Haiti.”
“I just wanted to be . . .” I sigh and swallow my words.
Rocky sits on the table and says, “I’m all out of laughter. How can I help?”
And that’s when it hits me: there’s only one person who can help me. I go to the kitchen and get a nice chunk of cheese for Rocky. I need him to be in a good mood for what I’m about to tell him. I hand it to him, and he starts to eat.
“How is it?” I ask.
“Yummy! Thank you. Sorry I laughed at you. That wasn’t cool,” he says as he continues to chip away at his food.
“No problem. Do you remember when I went to my uncle’s job?” I begin. “I thought that when I grow up, after having lived in America for years, I’d be seen as an American. But that’s not true. Even when I’m a grownup, people will still look at me differently.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” he points out.
“I do. I saw it happen at my uncle’s job. They said mean things about him. It didn’t matter that he was an adult or that he had been in America for a long time; they were still rude to him.”
“That sounds awful. What did your uncle say to them?”
“Nothing. He didn’t want to lose his job. The same thing happened to my aunt. Her client is really sweet, but her client’s daughter is a nightmare. She talked down to my aunt and said these really terrible things. I don’t want to grow up and have my life be like that. I thought things would get better by the time we grow up, but no, the bullying and torment keep going forever. Well, that is, unless you have what it takes to make it stop.”
“How do you plan to make it stop?” he asks. I don’t reply. He reads the expression on my face. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re thinking of making another wish,” Rocky says, his eyes practically leaping out of his head.
“Just a little one!” I promise as I take the box of mangoes out from the back of the closet.
“No!” Rocky says as he grabs the box with the mango slices and runs out the window with it.
“Rocky, wait!” It’s too late. He’s off and running. I follow him out the window. Once he’s on the ground, there’s no keeping up with him. I race down the block, trying to catch up, but it’s no use.
I run back into the house and get another piece of cheese from the kitchen. I place it on my windowsill. Soon, I see a pair of skinny claws and feet trying to sneak up to the plate of cheese undetected.
“Hi, Rocky.”
“Darn it! That’s not fair. You know how I feel about cheese.”
“I do. That’s why it worked.”
“Fine, but I won’t tell you where I hid the box,” he says, his hands behind his back.
“Is it behind you?” I ask.
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s hidden deep inside a secret lair at the top of the Himalayan Mountains.”
“Or . . . it’s behind your back.”
“Yeah, that’s another possibility. Guess we’ll never know.”
“Rocky!”
“All right, all right. Here,” he says, taking out the box from behind his back.
“Thank you.”
“But you shouldn’t make another wish. That’s a very bad idea.”
“She already took my native language, so that’s basically it. There’s nothing else she can really take from me.”
“Gabrielle, don’t do it.”
“I won’t make three wishes and give her my essence. This is my second and final wish. This wish isn’t just for me. If I fit in, then I won’t get in any more trouble. That means I won’t get sent back to Haiti for bad behavior. Enough talk. It’s time.”
I lift the mango up and bring it to my lips. “Sacred mango, make me one hundred percent pure American.”
Chapter Twelve
Apple Pie
I WAKE UP TO A BIG SURPRISE—my hair has grown back overnight. And this time it’s straight and long. I turn my head from side to side, and guess what? I can whip it around, just like in the TV commercials. I run my hands through my hair and smile.
I look in my closet and see all the top-name brands. I look under my bed, and there is a row of new sneakers, just for me. I rush to take a shower and get ready. Today is the day when I become what I have wanted to be since I got here—American.
I don’t even bother looking around to see what the wish took from me. The wish can have whatever it wants now that I get to be like everyone else. I go inside the kitchen and find breakfast already on the table; it’s strawberry Pop-Tarts and milk. And on the counter is a box of Lunchables. Yes! There is no way to get more American—bologna, chips, and a juice box.
I shove the Pop-Tarts into my mouth and look through the kitchen cabinets. There are so many new things in there my aunt would never ever buy: Kraft Mac & Cheese, Mr. T Cereal, and strawberry Nesquik. I look inside the fridge, and it’s stocked with all the things I’ve always wanted to try: meatloaf, apple pie, and mashed potatoes.
This is it—this is a dream come true!
“Okay, how bad is it? I’m afraid to look,” Rocky says as he appears in the kitchen window.
I smile. “Everything’s great! You can open your eyes.”
“Your hair . . .”
“I know, it’s pretty, right?”
“Yeah, but I liked it the other way too.”
“The oth
er way made me different. I don’t want to be different.”
“Wow, you got a lot of food here,” he says.
“I know! Any food that was in a commercial is right here in the kitchen. I’m gonna try them all as soon as I come back from school.”
“I know you’re excited, but will your family eat any of this?” Rocky says.
“Oh yeah, we used to eat an American meal once in a while. Like when I first came here.”
“Yeah, but now they will only eat American food. All the stuff your aunt used to make Haitian food is gone.”
“That’s okay. We don’t need Haitian food.”
“Okay . . . so, what did the wish take away from you? You’re not missing an ear or a toe or anything?”
“Nope, everything is perfect.”
“Well, almost perfect.”
“What do you mean, Rocky?”
He looks around the kitchen and then down the hallway where the bedrooms are.
“Gabrielle, where is your family?”
* * *
We look all over for my family. We look in the house, around the building, and down the street. We widen our search and look for more than ten blocks. We find nothing. I call the school; Kayla didn’t show up. I call the daycare center, and they say my aunt didn’t drop the kids off this morning. The last step is calling my aunt’s and uncle’s jobs. They tell me what everyone else has already confirmed: my family is nowhere to be found.
“Rocky, we need to find the witch. I know she’s behind this.”
“I have an idea about where we could find her. Maybe she’s under the bridge like she was before,” Rocky suggests.
We run to the park as fast as we can. Rocky is ahead of me, but I’m not too far behind. With every step, my heart hurts. How could I let this happen? What have I done to my own family?
When we get under the bridge, I call out Lady Lydia’s name, but she doesn’t appear. We spread out and look around, desperately seeking any sign of her. Rocky calls out to me and tells me to come over to the edge of the stream.
“What is it, Rocky? You found her?” I ask.
“No, look!” he says, motioning toward the surface of the water. I look down into the stream that Lady Lydia called her “home of a thousand laughs.” But this time, there is no laughter coming from the kids in the stream. Their bodies aren’t bright and alive with joy like they were before. They are sickly, pale ghosts screaming at us in a hundred different languages.
“What are they saying?” I ask Rocky.
“They are saying, ‘Please help us,’ in every language.”
“Every language?”
“Yes, except Haitian Creole. I don’t hear any Haitian Creole,” Rocky says as the cries get louder and louder.
“Rocky, look closer. They are trying to get our attention,” I say as I get closer and closer to the kids. One of the boys is using his fingers and hands to convey a message to us. “I don’t understand what he’s saying.”
“He’s deaf. He’s signing to us.” Rocky watches the kid’s hands. He’s signing quickly, and with every movement, he’s more and more frantic.
“Rocky? What’s he saying?”
“He says, ‘You are the last one.’”
“What does that mean? I don’t understand! Rocky, ask him what he’s talking about.”
Rocky gets close to the edge of the water and signs to the little boy; he responds to Rocky by making the same hand gestures over and over again.
“What did he say, Rocky?” I ask. But Rocky isn’t the one who responds.
“He said, ‘Behind you.’”
A chill travels down my body as her breath hits the back of my neck. My stomach flips, my knees lock, and my heart pounds inside my chest. I am terrified, but I am also livid. I whip around to face her.
Lady Lydia waves her hand at the stream, and it instantly glazes over. The kids are frozen under the water. They stand eerily still and look up at us with vacant eyes.
“Where are they, you heartless witch? Where’s my family?”
“Really, dear, it’s rude not to say hello first. I thought your parents would have taught you manners.”
“Answer me, witch! What did you do to them?”
“I didn’t do anything. You did. You wanted them gone, and I did as you asked. And now, you’re here crying about it. Frankly, I’m a little tired of you making wishes and then complaining when I give you what you want.”
“That’s not true. I never wanted my family to be taken away.”
“You said you wanted to be ‘pure American.’ Clearly, you wanted to erase all trace of your Haitian past. And, well, your family is part of your past. So, I got rid of them. You’re welcome.”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” I shout.
“Well, it seems we have misunderstood each other,” she says.
“And what are you doing to the kids in the stream? They are trapped under there, aren’t they? Is that what happens when I make the third wish? I will become trapped in the stream too?”
“The kids in the stream made deals with me. It didn’t work out well for them, but there’s still a good chance for things to work out for you. How would you like to be the most popular kid—not in school, but in all of Brooklyn? I can make that happen. Just use your third wish.”
I flash back to the roller coaster ride with my aunt, sharing bread pudding with Kayla, playing with the twins, and hearing stories from my uncle. They were there for me. And even when I messed up, they still loved me. And although they don’t have a lot, they took me in and took care of me.
“No! I don’t want to be popular or even fit in anymore. I just want my family back. And you better give them to me, now!”
Lady Lydia laughs and looks me in the eye. She whispers in a menacing voice, “Dear, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for you.”
I think back to what the boy in the stream said. “I’m the last one,” I say to myself.
“What does that mean?” Rocky whispers.
“I don’t know, but I think it’s important. And I think Lady Lydia really needs me for something,” I say as I stare her down. “Well, whatever you are looking for, you won’t find it. I will not help you do whatever it is you’re trying to do.”
“You’re saying you want all of this to stop?” she asks.
“Yes! And I want my family back.”
She shrugs and says, “Then wish for it, dear. And it will happen. Wish for them to return, and all of this will be over.”
She waves her hand, and the black box I keep at home appears in her palm. She opens it and takes out the last slice of mango.
“Here, take a bite. Help your family.” She holds the mango out to me. I look at it but don’t come closer.
“Gabrielle?” Rocky says when I don’t make a move.
“Look at her eyes, Rocky. She doesn’t just want me to take a bite; she needs me to take one. Something’s wrong. If I bite that mango, something bad will happen.”
“But Gabrielle, something bad has already happened. You’ve lost your native language and your family. Maybe you should make the wish and make everything better again,” Rocky says.
“You can save them, Gabrielle. You can save your family. Take a bite,” Lady Lydia says in a soft, hypnotic voice. I lean in closer. The scent of the mango pulls me in.
Maybe I should take just a small . . .
“No!” I reply. “Not gonna happen, lady!”
“Argh!” she roars angrily. “You eat this mango and save your family right now! Or else—”
“Or else what?” I say.
“I will open up portals through space and time and hurl them into it. Each one in a different portal. They won’t have you there with them; they won’t even have each other. They will be lost to time and space. Now eat!” she says.
“No.”
She waves her hand, and a large crack appears under my feet. The ground splits open, and I fall into the gaping hole. I quickly grab on to the nearest tree branc
h, but it’s not going to support me for long. I can feel it slipping from my fingers. I climb up just as Lady Lydia splits the ground open wider. I scoop Rocky up and take off running.
She summons the winds and the tree branches to come to life and ensnare us. We barely manage to dodge them as we run away. We hear Lady Lydia’s voice in the wind.
“You’ll eat that mango, or you’ll never see your family again.”
* * *
We make it out of the park with our lives but not much else. I’m covered in dirt and debris thanks to almost being swallowed whole by the ground. Rocky isn’t looking any better.
“What now?” he says.
“We need help. I know who to ask. I just hope she’s still my friend. Come on, let’s go!”
Rocky and I hide in the bushes just outside of Carmen’s math class, waiting for her to enter. I take a peek in the window. Carmen enters, sits down, and takes out her books. She catches a glimpse of me and screams her head off!
“Ms. Hernández! What is it?” her teacher asks. I quickly duck back inside the bushes.
“A bug. I thought I saw a bug, but it wasn’t . . . a bug. It was a leaf.”
“Well, be that as it may, that’s no reason to cause us all to lose our hearing, now is it?”
“Sorry, Ms. Dove. Can I go to the restroom, please?” Carmen asks.
“You may. And maybe you’ll come back with a more composed version of yourself?” the teacher replies.
“Yes, Ms. Dove,” Carmen says as she heads out of the class.
I race around to the front of the school, careful not to be spotted by our security guard, Gordon. He’s, like, one hundred years old and spends most of his shift sleeping in his chair. An army could have marched past him, and he wouldn’t wake up.
I make my way to the girls’ bathroom, the one nearest Carmen’s math class. She enters and her jaw drops as she sees us.
“Gabrielle, what happened? I looked for you on the bus this morning. I couldn’t find you. What happened to your hair? And why are you covered in dirt? I can’t leave you two alone for one second.”
“Hang on,” I reply. I look under all the stalls. “Okay, we’re alone.”
