by Diana Lopez
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“But do you think—”
“I don’t know,” I said, impatient. I had so much on my mind and didn’t want to deal with Carmen right now.
“But can’t you guess?”
“No, because I can’t see the future. Do you want me to lie? Do you want me to pretend everything’s going to be fine?”
“Never mind,” she said, turning away and hiding under the covers. A moment later, I heard, “One… two… three…”
“What are you counting now?” I wanted to know.
“The fan’s on,” she said. I glanced at our little fan, the one that turned back and forth. Every time it pivoted, it made a little sound. It made that sound twenty-three times before I finished folding cards. My homework would have to wait. If I woke up extra early, maybe I’d have time to do it then.
532 DOLLARS
The next morning, Mr. Leyva returned my test. I failed even after the second chance. I just wanted to hide. From everyone. I let my hair fall over my face as I stooped over my backpack to put away my test. I didn’t notice Derek until he knocked on my desk and said, “That’s funny.”
How could he joke about my low grade?
“Your T-shirt,” he explained, probably noticing that I had no idea what he was talking about.
I glanced at it. Today I wore a shirt with a dog dressed as a cowboy walking into a saloon and saying, “Who shot my paw?” His arm was bandaged. I guess it reminded me of my mom’s lymphedema, but I couldn’t explain that to Derek. He’d think I was weird for having a mother with a bloated arm.
“Was that your test?” he asked, staring at my backpack.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “My grade’s lower than the aquifer level.”
He frowned. Each night the weatherman told us about the aquifer, our underground water supply. San Antonio was in the middle of a drought, so we had water restrictions.
“Cheer up,” Derek said. “It’s just one test. Everybody has a bad day. I bet you’ll ace the next one.”
Easy for him to say. He didn’t live with a genius sister. But I acted as if it didn’t bother me because I liked Derek and no guy wants to be with a girl who feels sorry for herself.
Who was I kidding? I did feel sorry for myself. At least I had social studies next, my favorite class. On my way there, I ran into Shawntae.
“Do you have the invitations?” she asked, her hands ready to take them.
“Sure,” I said, reaching into my backpack. I pulled them out and gave them to her.
“I can’t believe you folded them,” she said, surprised but happy, too. “That was so nice of you. You saved me a lot of time.”
“You didn’t want me to fold them?” I asked.
“You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did. Now I don’t have to skip lunch. Thanks a million!” With that, she took off, her zebra-striped pumps clacking on the floor.
I replayed our conversation last night. She didn’t ask me to fold. I did all that work for nothing!
When I stepped into my social studies class, I mumbled hello as I took a seat by my friends. Patty didn’t seem to notice my gloomy mood, but GumWad sent a note. “Are you okay?” it said.
I wrote, “I guess.”
He looked at it and frowned. “Are you okay?” he wrote again. “Circle yes or no.”
I circled no.
“What’s wrong?” he wrote back.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He glanced at my note, and then he took out a clean sheet of paper and started to draw. After a while, he sent me a picture of a cat hanging from a limb, two hands reaching up to save it, and he wrote, “Remember the card I gave you when your mom had her operation?”
So that’s why it looked familiar. But why was he sending me a picture of a card he gave to my mom? My life was hard enough without GumWad confusing me with mysterious riddles. Luckily, Patty got tired of passing the notes between us. She said, “Will you two stop writing notes to each other and just talk when class ends?”
And then, an eternity later, class ended.
“See you guys during lunch,” Patty said as she grabbed her things to leave.
“Wait for me,” I said, but GumWad interrupted.
“Hold on a second,” he told me.
Soon everyone was gone, including Mrs. Gardner, who had stepped into her storage closet while the class emptied out, and since she had a conference period next, the classroom stayed empty.
“Are you okay?” GumWad asked. “You were all fidgety during class. Do you have to go to the restroom? Why didn’t you ask Mrs. Gardner? She’s real nice about the hall pass.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t have to go to the restroom. I’m stressed!” I held out my mood ring to prove it.
“Why?”
“You really want to know?”
He nodded.
So I told him, my words as fast as a caged hamster sprinting in its little wheel. In two or three minutes, I blabbed the whole story about math, my mom’s fatigue and fat arm, my dad’s quiet rules, my sister’s nonstop counting and medical facts and how everyone bragged about her extremely intelligent brain, and my little brother, who was starting to think that I was his parent. I told him about the chores I had to do and how I was such a long way from getting five hundred names. “It’s too much,” I said, “and there’s no one I can talk to at home. And all Iliana talks about are boys and Shawntae about running for mayor. And Patty’s an awful listener because she always complains.”
“You can talk to me,” GumWad offered.
He was the last person I wanted to speak to, especially with all that gum-smacking. But how could I say that without hurting his feelings? Plus, I didn’t want him to feel sorry for me. I hated when people felt sorry for me. So I said, “Maybe, but it’s easier to talk to girls.”
GumWad sat there and thought quietly for a few minutes. He didn’t even chew the gum that was in his mouth. Finally, he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out. I promise.”
Just then, Mrs. Gardner came out from her storage closet. “What are you still doing here? You better hurry to your next class.”
So we left, GumWad running through the hall so he wouldn’t be late and me dragging my feet. I walked in a daze, as unaware of my surroundings as Jimmy when he got a new toy.
During third period, Iliana sent a text, “Where were U?” because I didn’t stop by her locker as usual. Between classes, I bumped into a guy, not realizing it was Chad until five seconds too late, but then not caring about the brief close encounter. And when I heard Shawntae’s pumps clicking behind me, I didn’t turn till she tapped my shoulder. She said, “Remind me to tell you about last night’s dream,” before rushing to her next class. Usually, I had some sassy comment about her silly dreams, but I couldn’t think of one sassy thing to say.
I felt totally lost. I couldn’t stop worrying about math. I really thought I did well on the test. I had put so much effort into those questions. I showed all my work, every detail. So where did I go wrong? How could I have failed? It just didn’t make sense. Unless, of course, I was dumb. That had to be it. Whatever math intelligence was supposed to go into my brain went into Carmen’s instead. That’s why she was the genius, while I was the moron.
Honestly, I was too confused to tell the difference between a letter of the alphabet and a number. I took my science book to English, forgot my locker combination, and walked into the bathroom instead of my fourth-period class. The only thing I knew for sure was that I had issues. Lots of issues. No wonder my mood ring kept changing! It went from black for tense to pink for uncertain to white for frustrated. I kept waiting to see blue, the color for calmness and peace, but no such luck. With all the craziness in my life, I couldn’t see blue if I looked at the sky.
When lunchtime arrived, Iliana said, “Where have you been?” as soon as I got to the table.
“Nowhere. Hiding. Bad day.”
“Why?”
“I
don’t want to talk about it.”
Her face was full of worry, but she didn’t press the issue. Patty said, “What day isn’t bad?” and Shawntae said, “Here’s something to cheer you up.”
“Another dream?” I guessed.
“This one’s about your mom,” she said.
I leaned forward. “Good news?”
“Yes.”
“Will she be cured?” Iliana asked.
“I don’t know, but she is going to win the lottery. Pretty cool, right?”
Iliana and Patty cheered, but I felt a little disappointed. Winning money was cool but only if it could buy a cure for Mom.
“In my dream,” Shawntae went on, “your mom’s at a convenience store, all decorated with pink streamers, like when my aunt had a shower for her baby girl.”
“That’s weird,” I commented.
“I know, right?” She paused before returning to the dream. “So your mom gives the cashier a Snickers bar.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “She never eats chocolate.”
“Well, she should. Apparently, chocolate brings her good luck because when the cashier scanned it, confetti fell from the sky and a big band started playing.”
“At the convenience store?” Patty asked, all skeptical.
“Of course. That’s where the dream took place.”
“Since when do convenience stores have live music?”
“Since I started having my dreams,” Shawntae said. “Can I continue now?”
Patty nodded.
“Next thing you know, the cash register drawer shot out and a number flashed on its screen. The anchorman from Channel Five said, ‘Congratulations, Mrs. Montenegro! You are the winner of five hundred thirty-two dollars!’ He handed her a check while a dozen photographers took her picture.”
“Wait a minute,” Patty said again. “When did the news guy and photographers come in?”
“Who knows?” Shawntae answered, getting impatient. “It’s a dream. They just appeared. Let me finish, okay?”
Iliana laughed. “You mean there’s more?”
Shawntae ignored her and turned back to me. “Meanwhile, your mom kept saying ‘I can’t take this check. You have the wrong Mrs. Montenegro. I never bought a lottery ticket, so how could I win?’ But no one listened. They just wanted to party. Suddenly all the shelves of chips and candy bars disappeared and the store became a dance hall.”
“Are you sure you weren’t dreaming about Derek’s party instead?” I asked.
“I wondered that, too. The streamers, confetti, and dance floor don’t really fit. But the clearest image was the five hundred thirty-two dollars that flashed on the cash register, so this dream was definitely about your mom. My subconscious mind is probably merging two realities, your Mom’s big win and Derek’s party.”
“I guess,” I said, doubtfully.
“So you know what she needs to do, right?” Before I could say anything, Shawntae answered her own question. “She needs to go to the convenience store today. Tickets are only a dollar, and the jackpot is up to twelve million.”
“I thought you said she was going to win five hundred thirty-two dollars,” Patty said.
“I did, but my predictions aren’t completely accurate, remember? There’s always one detail that’s off. That’s why we have to interpret them.”
“Are you sure it’s the prize amount that’s off?”
“No, Patty, I am not sure,” Shawntae said, punching out her words because she was getting impatient again. “Why do you think I’ve been telling you my predictions after the fact? My dream interpretation skills are still in the development stages.”
“Okay,” Patty said. “I didn’t mean to get you mad.”
“Well, stop being such a critic.”
The conversation moved toward things we could do with twelve million dollars. Iliana wanted to get a makeover so she could attract the cutest guys, Shawntae wanted to finance her political campaign, and Patty wanted to buy her own island so no one would get on her nerves. Nobody asked what I would do, probably because they knew I’d donate it to cancer research.
All of a sudden, GumWad arrived. “Hi, y’all,” he said.
“Why are you late?” Patty asked.
“I went to the library.”
“Since when do you skip lunch to go to the library?”
He shrugged.
“So where are your books?” Shawntae said, all suspicious.
“I didn’t get any. I was looking for quotes—the kind that cheer people up.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out a spiral notebook. It was almost new, although I could tell a few pages had been torn out. He handed it to me. “Here you go,” he said.
“What’s this?”
“A journal. So you can write down your feelings.”
I opened it. The first page had a collage of phrases like “U is for unique,” “the inner me,” “one of a kind”—and sayings like “Dare to be remarkable” by Jane Gentry, “For a long time she flew, only when she thought no one else was watching” by Brian Andreas, and “It is not given us to live lives of undisrupted calm, boredom, and mediocrity. It is given us to be edge-dwellers” by Jay Deacon.
“This way,” GumWad said, “you can have someone to talk to. Well, it isn’t technically a person since it’s just a bunch of paper, and it isn’t technically talking since you’ll be writing instead. But you know what I mean. The next time you get mad, you can write down your thoughts.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“So where’s my special journal?” Shawntae asked, all jealous. “I want a spiral notebook with motivational quotes, too.”
“And I want one with beauty tips,” Iliana said.
GumWad reached in his backpack. “Well… um… I only had one extra, but I’ll go to the store after school if you want.”
“Will you? That’s so sweet,” Iliana said.
“Really? You guys think I’m sweet?”
“Sure,” I said. “And thanks again for the notebook. It’s exactly what I needed.”
He smiled, and for the first time, he didn’t have any gum in his mouth.
9 CHIA PETS
Another Saturday rolled around. I had promised to help Iliana with her service learning project. She rang the doorbell at exactly nine o’clock, but I wasn’t quite ready.
“Give me a minute to grab my stuff,” I told her.
I ran to my room, slipped on some shoes, and put the manila envelope and the clipboard with the sponsor forms in my backpack. Then I put my Chia Pets in a laundry basket, leaving SpongeBob for Jimmy since that was his favorite. When I returned to the living room, Mom was talking to Iliana. I felt a little embarrassed because Mom was in her robe and her hair was all messy.
“Have fun today,” she told me.
I noticed how she leaned against the doorway as if to hold herself up.
“Should I stay?” I asked. “I don’t have to go. I can lend Iliana my Chia Pets.”
“That’s right,” Iliana said. “If you need Erica to stay…”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mom interrupted. “Go have some fun.”
I nodded, even though part of me felt guilty for thinking about fun when she was still sick.
“Miguel!” Mom called out. “Chia’s leaving. Come say good-bye.”
Dad rushed over, but instead of saying bye to me, he took one look at Mom and said, “What are you doing out of bed? I thought you were sleeping.”
“I was,” she answered. “But I heard the doorbell and wanted to say hello.”
“The doorbell woke you up?” He sounded upset, and I couldn’t help thinking that if the doorbell were a kid, it would be grounded.
For her service learning project, Iliana was going to play with the children at Santa Rosa Hospital, which is across from a popular tourist spot called El Mercado, where visitors could eat Mexican food, watch ballet folklórico dances, and buy souvenirs. Her father drove us, and the hospital soon came into view. Its most impressive featu
re was an eight-story mural on its outer wall, a mosaic of tiles featuring a guardian angel in shades of purple and blue. She hovered over a Mexican boy with a dove in his hand. When I saw it, I glanced over my shoulder. I couldn’t help wondering if I had a protective spirit, too. After all, I almost got hurt so many times—like when I ran into the street and a car screeched to a stop right before hitting me, and when I slipped and nearly fell off a cliff at Lost Maples State Park, and when a library bookcase tipped over as I climbed it, spilling its books but failing to crush me because a column kept it from crashing to the floor. Surely, I had a guardian angel, and if I had one, then my friends had one too, and my mom. But what about the times we did get hurt… or sick? Where were the angels then? Weren’t they watching all the time? I was beginning to doubt because I’d been working so hard on my promesa, yet Mom was still sick… sicker, in fact, with her swollen arm and with dark circles under her eyes. I knew I shouldn’t think this, but sometimes those angels did a terrible job.
Iliana’s father dropped us off, and we carried the basket of Chia Pets to the children’s ward. Every time we saw a cute guy in scrubs or a lab coat, Iliana said, “Do you think he’s a doctor?” And every time we passed a glass door, she checked her makeup and said, “Do I have enough mascara?” or “Is my lip gloss shiny enough?”
“Are you here to help kids or find a boyfriend?” I finally asked.
She shrugged, but I knew what the answer was.
“Don’t you think doctors are too old for you?” I said, remembering how GumWad had said the same thing to me at Sonic.
“It doesn’t hurt to imagine. I might marry a doctor someday. You never know.”
I could only shake my head.
We made our way to the nurse’s station on the pediatric ward. I got a visitor pass, while Iliana got a special “I’m a volunteer” button. The nurse said, “They’re waiting for you,” as she led us to the patients.
“That’s great,” I said, and I asked how old the children were and what they normally did when volunteers came. Meanwhile, Iliana didn’t say a word. She kept slowing down, and because we both carried the basket, I had to slow down, too.
