She didn’t look up unless the teacher’s edition specifically told her “look at the students.”
While I was pretending to listen to Mrs. Harrington, Cliché Jones elbowed me. A folded-up piece of notebook paper slid across the desk.
A note?
It couldn’t be.
No one had ever sent a note to me before.
Notes were for people like Sophia—popular people. I was the guy who looked at the dirty floor tiles while I walked down the hall. I wasn’t popular, and I didn’t get notes—and I would never ever be the kind of guy who got notes if I messed up this dance.
I double-checked to see if I was supposed to pass the note to someone else. But ZACK was written above a triangular flap in all capital letters, which told me to “pull here” in lowercase.
I sat up a little and unfolded the note carefully as Mrs. Harrington continued.
When I saw Janie’s name at the bottom, I threw up a little in my mouth. Go-Gurt tasted even worse when it made a curtain call.
I looked around to see who noticed me getting the note.
Janie waved. Her smile revealed a chocolate-covered tooth.
And worse than that, everybody else was watching too—first Janie, then me—like some sort of tennis match. To me, to Janie. To me, to Janie. I wanted the score to be zero-zero, but they looked at the two of us like the score was love-love.
“Zack, have you written something you’d like to share with the class?” Mrs. Harrington asked.
“Uh …”
So now she looked up from the teacher’s edition? Seriously? Did the teacher’s edition tell her to look for someone to embarrass?
“Miss, Zack got a love note from his girlfriend, Janie,” Cliché tattled.
The class laughed—except Janie and me.
“No!” Quickly, I stuffed the note in my front pocket. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Hey, I thought you said we couldn’t have love notes.” Sophia slammed her compact on her desk.
“It’s not a love note,” I whined.
It was happening again. The sharks were circling.
“Read it,” Janie mouthed. At least, that’s what I hoped she mouthed.
“Mrs. Harrington, you should read it to the class to punish them.” José stood.
“José.” Mrs. Harrington pointed to his chair.
“You just take my love notes because you are jealous of me, Miss.” Sophia rolled her eyes.
“I am choosing to ignore that, Sophia.”
There Mrs. Harrington went again—choosing to ignore things. She made it sound so easy.
I should’ve chosen to ignore everything. But Janie waved her arms, trying to get my attention. Her chair creaked every time she shifted. And everyone was still watching us. The more I ignored her, the more she would lean this way and that. I wanted her to stop, but as usual, Janie was unstoppable.
“It’s like one of the telenovelas my abuelita watches,” Sophia jeered. “True love always wins on the soaps.”
Janie turned to Sophia and hissed like a cat, raising her hands like claws.
All the s’s at the end of the hiss gave Janie’s spit a new momentum. Chewy and Marquis created shields by covering their heads with their writer’s notebooks. Cliché popped out her pink Disney Channel umbrella just in the nick of time.
Then, Janie turned to me. “Zack, I need …”
“Hey, she needs you!” El Pollo Loco interrupted. “Your kids will be the spitting image of you!”
“Class!” Mrs. Harrington stepped toward us.
The laughter and voices garbled together, and I felt like I was underwater, sinking to the bottom of a deep pool. I wanted the brown tile floor to open up and suck me back to the world I was used to living in: a world where Janie Bustamante didn’t smile at me or want my attention. A world where I wasn’t in charge of getting the sixth grade into the school dance. A world where I didn’t have to work with the school cruel-median. A world where I lived in one house with both parents who weren’t too busy or too broke to help me fix all that was wrong with my life.
But the filthy floor didn’t open. And neither did the note—that stayed in my pocket. I stared at the fake wood top on my desk, looking for answers in the twists and turns of the grain until the bell rang. I knew what I had to do next.
CHAPTER 8
CHECKED OUT
In the hallway, I tried to dart through the crowd like one of Coach O.’s obstacle courses, but the hall to the cafeteria was all backed up as everyone headed to lunch.
Before I could pass through, Sophia and her clique spread the rumor like a virus.
“Hey, Zack, how’s your girlfriend? Did she invite you on a lunch date with her love note?” Sophia teased.
“I know, right?” one of her clique snickered as they circled around us.
Janie lumbered up, hugging her binder tight to her chest. “What do you say, Zack?”
“Oh, that’s cute,” Sophia taunted, “the hippopotamus is chasing after her itty-bitty baby, Zack.”
“I know, right?” another member of the clique said. Again. I could see why there was only one clique leader.
Janie spun around to the blue-eye-shadow gang. “Don’t you have some kittens you need to drown?”
Before they could reply, I called over my shoulder to Marquis, “Let’s make like a tree, and leaf.” I sprinted down the emptying hall.
In the pizza line, Marquis trotted up behind me.
Out of breath, I planted the note in Marquis’s hand. “Please, read it for me. I just can’t read it.”
Marquis unfolded the note. “Oh.” Marquis’s eyes widened. “Dude.”
“What?”
“It’s a marriage proposal.”
“What?” My body stiffened. “But …” In that moment, I was glad my mom had forced me to start wearing deodorant every day.
“Snap!” Marquis cracked a smile. “I had you there, didn’t I?”
I snatched the note from his hand.
“It’s not so bad; she just wants two more boxes to sell.” Marquis picked up two plates with rectangular pieces of pizza from under the warming light, placing one on my tray and one on his.
I was relieved. All she wanted was more candy—more boxes of Nation’s Best chocolate bars. She wanted candy—not me.
“You have to take a fruit,” the cashier ordered.
I was so relieved to get rid of two more boxes, I didn’t even argue with the hair-netted food Nazi. I picked up one of the “oranges” and dropped it on my tray with a thud.
Marquis and I walked to the table by the stage, close to the lunch monitor. Mo’ adults, less problems, I always say. At least in the cafeteria. That was Mrs. Gage’s territory. She was the cafeteria’s guard dog, sniffing out trouble.
“So I guess the candy problem is almost solved,” Marquis pulled his chair out.
Two more trays plunked down at our table. It was Janie.
The buzz of voices lowered.
“Not quite,” I mumbled to Marquis.
Faces around the cafeteria turned and watched. Even Mrs. Gage left her perch, leaning on the stage, to move closer. She crossed her arms.
I couldn’t handle all the attention. And maybe I should not have bailed on Marquis, but I had to get everyone’s eyes off me. “Janie, meet me in the library in five minutes.” My chair scraped loudly as I pushed back from the table.
“Perfect,” Janie said. “That gives me plenty of time to eat.”
I passed tables of smirking faces.
As I walked toward the cafeteria door, the buzz rose again.
That’s right, folks, nothing to see. Just trying to get y’all a dance.
A few minutes later, when I walked into the library, Mrs. Darling peeked over the lime-green half-glasses she wore on a chain.
“I am here to pass out two more boxes.” I grinned.
“My hero,” Mrs. Darling said, placing a hand over her heart like she was pledging allegiance to me. “Truly.”
> “Yeah.” I looked at the piles of pink overdue slips in front of her. “Can I have the keys to the tomb?”
“Yes, you may, Mr. Delacruz.” She took the keys off her wrist with a flourish. “What a great leadership role you have taken on. I knew all along you’d rise to the occasion.”
I nodded.
She was right, I guessed. I was rising to the occasion. I had gotten almost all the boxes checked out. But how on earth was I going to get rid of the last three? Nobody wanted them.
I unlocked the doors to the haunted storage room for what I hoped was one of the last times. The five boxes—all that was left of the great wall of chocolate—waited for Janie.
“I’m here, Zack.” Janie barged into the closet.
I looked at her. “Thanks for the good work, Janie.”
She smiled. “It’s my pleasure.”
I couldn’t believe Janie had turned out to be the best salesperson. Without her, the sixth grade would never get into the dance. It was nice not to feel like everything was all on my shoulders. Janie was doing her part. More than her part, really.
I lifted the two boxes to the table.
“You know, Janie, you can hand in your money for what you’ve already sold. You don’t have to carry it all around. We collect money every morning in the cafeteria.”
“I know.” She peeked around the table. “I’ve got it under control. So, are those three boxes all that you have left, Zack?”
I nodded.
Janie stared at the boxes behind me. “Zack, why don’t I just take the rest of the boxes?”
I wanted to throw my arms around her, but what if somebody saw?
“Uh. Are you sure? I mean …” I shook my head. “Sure. Yeah. Take the rest. Please.” I leaned over and grabbed the last three boxes before she could change her mind.
I couldn’t believe it. I really was rising to the occasion. Thanks to Janie.
I felt taller.
Maybe I couldn’t hug her, but I could give her a firm handshake. I stuck my hand toward her.
Janie looked down at my hand and slowly reached hers toward me. We shook a few pumps before both of our hands dropped.
I scrambled to stack the last five boxes, one after the other, in her arms.
“Thanks again, Janie.” I patted the top box.
“I’m just backing you up. Like a ca-booose!”
We giggled.
“I never thanked you for what you did, Zack. Nobody ever stood up for me before.”
“No problem,” I said, which wasn’t really true, but what was I supposed to say?
Balancing the boxes, she chugged toward the door like some kind of chocolate bar express. If she made it to her class without dropping her cargo, it’d be a miracle.
But right then, I thought I might believe in miracles. Because of Janie Bustamante. It was hard for me to believe, but the candy might all be sold soon. The sixth grade might actually go to the dance.
If that wasn’t a miracle, then nothing was.
CHAPTER 9
SECRETS AND SURPRISES
I ran along the bus loop in front of the school, heading straight for Bus 81. I didn’t even slow down when Coach Ostraticki blew his whistle at me.
“Give me a break!” he shouted after me. “No running!”
I took the bus steps two at a time. My head was up as I stepped down the aisle. I was smiling.
“Is this seat taken?” I asked Marquis.
“Yes.” Marquis motioned to the empty space beside him. “By you.”
You have to love Marquis. I hardly took a breath as I told him how Janie picked up the last boxes and how Mrs. Darling said nice stuff and how we were almost home free.
“I bet your dad will be proud of you, Zack.”
“Oh.” I looked out the window of the bus. “I never even told him about the candy or the dance.”
“Maybe you should.” He bumped my shoulder with his.
The bus jolted as it went over a pothole.
We sat in silence for a minute.
“I’m glad you’re my friend, Marquis.”
He smiled back, nodding. “Me too.”
The squeal of the bus’s brakes announced my stop.
The door of Dad’s apartment was open a crack when I got to it. I knew Dad wouldn’t be home from the Instant Lube for at least another hour.
Robbers? The hair lifted on the back of my neck.
Mom had never passed up a chance to remind me how Dad’s new neighborhood wasn’t “desirable,” which is real-estate code for dangerous. Dad says Mom speaks in code a lot. She told me if I ever found myself in a “situation,” I was supposed to yell, “Stop! I don’t know you! Help!”
Yeah, that didn’t seem right for this “situation.”
Frozen, I stood in front of the black door with a gold 229 on it.
The door squeaked open, and I spun around to run from the robbers.
“Come on in, Zack,” Dad said.
My shoulders dropped. I turned around. In the doorway, Dad stood smiling, already changed out of his uniform and in shorts and a T-shirt.
“I thought I’d take the afternoon off.” He pushed the door the rest of the way in. “I’ve got a surprise for you.” The living room carpet was covered with white Styrofoam packing blocks, tons of clear plastic, a split-open cardboard box, cords, and a brand-new flat-screen TV.
“This is the new one with a touch screen.” My voice got higher and higher. “I thought we couldn’t afford it.”
“Well, what are credit cards for?” Dad wadded up some of the plastic and stuffed it into an empty box.
“You sound like Mom.”
“Don’t remind me.” Dad laughed. “I’m still paying for that dream house she wanted.”
I helped Dad lift the flat screen onto two boxes he had put together to make a TV stand.
“Let’s hook this puppy up,” Dad said.
“Sure.”
By the time we finished setting up the TV, we were starving. Since the fridge was empty, as usual, we drove across town to Chris Madrid’s. That was our favorite hamburger place because they had the Cheddar Cheezy Macho Burger that was as big as my head.
Seriously.
It was like three pounds: huge hamburger patty, mustard, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, pickles, and an orange skirt of melted cheddar cheese hanging off all the edges. They didn’t even make a bun big enough for the macho burger, so it all fell out when you ate it. It didn’t come on a plate because it wouldn’t fit. Instead they served it on a big plastic tray that caught everything that fell.
I had been trying to finish the whole macho burger ever since we started going to Chris Madrid’s. Dad promised if I ever did, he’d buy me the T-shirt that says “I ate the Macho Burger at Chris Madrid’s.” Mom hated the way people always fought over tables like gang territory, so it’s always just been Dad’s and my special place.
That night, I had only four or five big bites left on the grease-stained tissue paper.
“You put a pretty big dent in that thing.” Dad jutted his chin at my tray. “Got some appetite on you.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of stuff at school.” I wiped some mustard off the side of my mouth with a napkin.
“That so?” Dad tossed his wadded-up napkin on the empty tray. “That’s good news.”
I leaned back in the chair and looked around. The restaurant was lit by tons of neon signs that hung every couple of feet above a wallpaper of dusty political T-shirts.
“Dad, you know how you always say you want me to be more involved at school?”
“Yeah?” He smiled, tilting his head.
I ran my hands along the broken mosaic-tile tabletop. It felt slippery on the bright tile and rough in the stained grout. “I’m in charge of the candy sale for the whole sixth grade.”
“What?” Dad’s mouth fell open. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday.”
“Oh, so when were you planning to tell me?”
“I don’t kno
w.” I ran my hands along the rough grout. “I just wanted to be sure.”
“Sure of what?”
“Are you done, sir?” An old lady in a dark-green apron reached between us.
I wanted to say leave the burger, I’d finish it, but I couldn’t eat another bite so I nodded.
The waitress stacked our trays and wiped the table, leaving behind the smell of bleach.
“I just wanted to be sure it would all work out and stuff.” I sipped my Coke.
“So, you’re sure now.”
“Pretty much.” I twirled my straw.
“I’m proud of you. I always knew you’d be a businessman.”
“Can we watch something when we get home?”
“Sure.” Dad hit the table with his hands and stood up.
“Can we watch The Slash of Titans again?”
“Titans. The job you never come home from,” Dad said, imitating the voice from the commercial. “Come on, son.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s go home.”
We crossed the street to the parking lot.
“Dad,” I said, pointing, “the moon looks like a toenail.”
“You know, it does.” Dad unlocked the van door on my side. “It sure does.”
On the drive home, I rolled down the window of Dad’s Instant Lube van. The fall air rushed over my face. Dad looked over at me, nodded, and turned up the radio.
I’d give anything to go back to that moment, even for a minute.
CHAPTER 10
PUNCTUATION MADE ITS MARK
It was three days into the sixth grade’s Nation’s Best chocolate bar fund-raiser, and my worrying had begun to fade.
In the cafeteria each morning, kids lined up to turn in their money, and Marquis would help me check them off the list. José was too busy “helping out with customer relations and motivating the sales force”—which apparently meant roaming around the cafeteria asking kids if they were going to eat their Pop-Tarts or drink their chocolate milk. It was hard to believe that such a skinny kid could eat so much.
To tell you the truth, I was glad José was roaming around. At least this way he wasn’t torturing me about anything.
Zack Delacruz Page 4
