by Mae Respicio
Sheryl gives me a smile, but the kind she uses for poor, wounded animals at the Humane Society.
“Do the girls know yet?” she asks.
I throw a lumpia in the air and it lands on the table with a dull plop. I sigh.
“Nope.”
“Come on, let’s go tell them.”
We sneak out the door and into the parking lot.
* * *
—
Gracie and Alexa are painting an old jeep with a mural of handprints and faces and rainbow swirls, while Annie attaches all the stuff we found at her salvage yard. The jeepney’s draped with strings of bright triangle flags, the American flag, and the Philippine flag with its vibrant yellow sun. It’s the most colorful ride I’ve ever seen.
“What do you think?” Annie asks.
“I’m not so sure….It might need a bit more pizzazz,” I say, and she laughs.
A pile of giant bamboo spoons coated in silver glitter paint rests at Annie’s feet. We’re lining the sides with them next to signs that say Get Your Ice-Cold Halo-Halo! and Halo-Halo, How Are You?
The jeepney will circle the neighborhood while selling halo-halo, a sweet concoction of ice, milk, red beans, tapioca pearls, jackfruit, and coconut flesh—with even sweeter condensed milk drizzled on to stir in. Yum. My favorite dessert.
The dessert-truck angle was my idea, our way to remember Lolo. He always used to tell me, “Halo-halo means ‘mix-mix,’ like you, anak ko.”
“Get over here, Lou. I need someone who can handle a real tool,” Annie says, holding up an electric screwdriver.
Annie positions a spoon on the jeep and shows me how to make adjustments before I whirl the screws in.
“Hey, Annie, when did you figure out you were good at building things?” I ask.
Mr. Keller said I remind him a little bit of the high school version of Annie. That’s the nicest compliment. She owns a successful business and has a massive collection of power tools. I’d love to turn out like her.
“Let’s see….I was in shop class and a boy told me, ‘You build like a girl.’ I knew right then that I could create anything. And what’s so satisfying is that I have, just like you,” she says, letting go of the spoon. “Voilà! See?” The decoration stays put.
“We did it!”
All night and morning I felt bad thinking about Mom’s news, but if women like Annie have done the opposite of what people think they can do, then so can I.
“How about a break?” Annie says to the girls. “I bet the lolas have some good stuff for us in the kitchen.”
“We’ll meet you,” I say.
As soon as Annie’s out of sight, I tell them, “Quick! Inside the jeep!”
* * *
—
The four of us huddle, and I can’t hold the news in any longer. “We’re moving.”
“What?” Alexa says.
“Oh no!” Gracie says.
They stare at me sad-faced.
“It’s all good. I have a plan.”
“She has a plan!” Gracie shouts, punching her fist in the air.
“And you’re all involved.”
“Here we go,” Sheryl says.
“We’re listening,” Alexa says.
They lean in.
“I need help building my house. On my land. Major assistance. A whole crew!”
“You’re going to hire a crew?” Gracie asks.
“Don’t need to.” I beam at them. “Because you’re it.”
“What?” Alexa says, laughing. Gracie and Sheryl stare at me.
“But we’re not like you, Lou,” Sheryl says. “Remember in fourth grade when we made California missions and yours was from scratch and everyone else used kits from the craft store? We don’t know how to build a house.”
“All you have to do is follow directions. It’ll be so easy, I swear.”
The girls glance at each other, trying to decide whether to believe me.
“I’m also thinking that Manong Arwin could help since he likes to smash stuff, and maybe…Jack Allen,” I say.
“Jack Allen?” Gracie says. “You are going to talk to Jack Allen?”
“He told me he’s all into movies. I’m only going to ask him to film us,” I say. “So I can put clips online.”
“Good thinking,” Alexa says.
“What if your mom finds out, or if she sees the videos?” Sheryl asks.
“She won’t. Mom doesn’t have time to look on the Internet.”
“Yeah, we just have to be careful, like spies,” Alexa says.
“Exactly,” I say. Now they’re getting it.
“Do we get to smash stuff, too?” Gracie asks.
“Absolutely.”
“We’re in!”
Excellent.
I face Alexa. “Since my mom’s letting me spend tonight at your house, it’s the perfect alibi—we’ll go to my land in the morning.” I turn now to Sheryl. “Can you convince Manang Maribel to drive us there without her telling your mom? Your van can hold a bunch of people. Plus, I have boxes I need to bring.”
Sheryl grins. “If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s making my sister do stuff for me. I’ve got so much dirt on her.”
I start to relax.
“Don’t you worry, Lou. We’ve got your back.” Gracie extends her pinky, and Sheryl and Alexa do the same. I hook mine in and we tug.
Alexa sleeps in a four-poster bed topped with a pastel pink canopy and ruffly white edges. It’s a little princessy, but still, I’ve always wanted a bedroom like hers—or Sheryl’s or Gracie’s. I can’t wait to impress everyone with my own house.
We do what we always do when we hang out in her room, bicycling our legs into the drapey fabric and gossiping about boys she has crushes on. Then we talk about me for once. I tell her all about running into Jack.
“There’s no way I’m letting you leave. We’re building you the biggest, baddest tiny house the universe has ever seen!” she says. “You think I can get cute overalls to wear?” she adds, and I laugh.
I’m not sure how helpful Alexa will be on my crew—she hates getting sweaty—but I need her.
“I can’t wait to get out there,” I say with a huge grin.
She studies me. “You know why I like you, Lucinda Bulosan-Nelson? Because you have bizarre ideas that are actually sort of, kind of…ingenious! DIY is huge now.”
We review tomorrow’s plan:
She tells her mom she’s going to my house.
I tell my mom I’m staying at her house.
Maribel picks us up in minivan (if Sheryl did her part).
Prep trailer bed.
Build house.
“Let’s text Sheryl to see if she set up our ride,” she says. I’m glad she’s into it.
Alexa types: And?
The phone buzzes right back: Affirmative. Proceed with Operation Tiny House.
“Yeah! Woo-hoo! Dance party!” Alexa says, and we both jump up and wiggle on the bed, our heads knocking into the canopy. We plop down and bust up.
“Next subject. What’s the deal with you and Jack Allen?” She grins and it makes me blush.
“Nothing, I told you, we just hung out.”
“I think he should be your first kiss.”
“Yeah, right. On what planet would Jack Allen ever like me? Regular kids at school don’t even like me.”
“Why do you always say that, Louie? I mean, they don’t not like you. It’s just that you confuse people when you do things like…convincing them to use bamboo straws instead of plastic ones because the plastic’s slowly killing them with BPAs,” she says, raising her arms and making a scary zombie face. Alexa cracks up. “You’re always so serious about that stuff. They don’t know how much fun you are.”
I g
rab a fluffy pink pillow and cover my head—I’m still embarrassed remembering everyone laughing at me about the straws.
“Today was a blast,” she says. “I wish my family was more like yours.”
“You do?”
“I wish I had a ton of cousins around. We have to fly all the way to the East Coast to see mine, and that’s only every other summer.”
“Want to hear something? Sometimes I get jealous of your family.” I’ve never said this to her before.
“Let’s swap!”
I love that Alexa’s my good friend even though we seem different. It’s like when Lola plants flowers alongside the veggies in her garden and says that even though they’re opposites, they help each other grow.
“Okay. Jack. True confession?” I say.
Alexa nods vigorously.
“I like him.”
She screams. We crack up.
“You girls okay in there?” her mom shouts, and we can’t stop laughing. Alexa tells me more about her crushes and how she can’t wait for her first kiss. We even play M-A-S-H.
Alexa writes on a sheet of paper: Mansion, Apartment, Shack, House—then the names of four boys: Jack A., Mark K., Pranav S., Carver J.
She picks a number and I draw swirls on the page until she says, “Stop!” I count the number of loops, then go from letter to letter and name to name, crossing them off until she ends up with only two: Carver J. and Shack.
Poor Alexa has to marry Carver Jamison and they’ll live in a shack. We bust up some more. For my turn I change M-A-S-H to M-A-S-TH and end up with Carver J. and Mansion. “Ewwwww!” we say. I don’t know which is worse—Carver or a mansion.
Alexa and I chat nonstop about my house: the TV shows that will want to interview me, the hummingbird feeders I’ll hang on every tree, how I’ll feel when I’m in and she can visit anytime. “Mi casa es su casa,” I tell her, and she says, “You better believe it.”
We talk into the night—about finally being the oldest in school, or what it might feel like to kiss a boy who likes you back, or our futures: mine as a famous San Francisco architect, and hers as a songwriter/fashion mogul/pastry chef living in a New York loft above a cupcake store with a boyfriend who rides a moped.
Alexa’s mom says through the door, “Lights out, girls.”
* * *
—
I’m wide-awake when I should be sleeping to get ready for our big day. But I keep hearing Mom: This is for your future.
I poke Alexa’s shoulder lightly; she doesn’t budge. The clock on her desk shows that it’s almost midnight.
Quietly, I wander into the family room and turn on a lamp. Maybe I can watch a little TV or read to help me fall asleep.
My phone vibrates. I look at the screen; it’s not a number I know. Only a few people have my cell phone number since it’s only for emergencies.
I touch the Accept circle and a square jumps out with a face in the middle. Jack’s. Alexa texted him hours ago and said we needed to talk ASAP. I didn’t think he’d call back.
“What’s up?” he says.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” I whisper.
“Nope.”
“Midnight.”
“Really?” Wherever Jack is, it’s loud.
“Where are you?”
“Here.” He holds up his phone for me to see—lots of kids, older ones. A face moves in so I see eyes and a nose up close. The face shouts, “Wussup, girl!”
I whisper-laugh. “Who was that?”
“No clue.” Jack points the phone back to his face. “John dragged me to some high school party. Our dad’s out of town, and John’s supposed to be watching me. He’s gonna get so in trouble when I tell on him.”
“What’s it like?”
“Everyone’s being nice to me. I’ve been filming everything. They don’t notice.”
I slide the screen door to the porch open and tiptoe onto the back patio so I don’t disturb Alexa and her parents. Now would be the perfect time to ask Jack to go with us tomorrow, but…
Ask him, Lou. Be bold. Say something.
“Hey, have you figured out the movie for your film-camp application?”
“Not yet.”
“Do you think you’d want to film me?” I suddenly say. I didn’t mean to, but I needed to get it over with.
“You?” He’s surprised, but he’s not laughing.
“Not me, exactly, but the work on my tiny house. We’re building tomorrow. Maybe you can use the footage for your submission…if you wanted. A killing-two-birds-with-one-stone sort of thing.”
“You want to kill birds out in the woods and have me film it?”
“No, silly, it’s an expression. I help you and you help me.”
“I was teasing!” He laughs. “Eighth grader builds her own house. Yeah, kinda catchy. You’d look good on camera.”
“I would?” That makes me smile, but I try not to let him see.
“Sure, why not? I’ll do it.”
That was easy.
Jack moves his phone around so everything gets all dancey.
It’s weird how I’m getting to know him. But weird-nice. It’s official: my first crush.
A voice says, “Dude, come on, let’s go.”
Another face pops onto my screen—Jack’s brother—then disappears.
“Dude, is that your girlfriend?” the voice says. The screen goes black and I can hear Jack say, “Shut up!” But the voice sings, “Jacky’s got a girly-friend, Jacky’s got a girly-friend….” Then hyena-like laughter.
The phone cuts out.
I text him the details about tomorrow, wondering if he’s still thinking about me.
Gracie meets us at Alexa’s and we wait out front for my cousins. They seem as excited as I feel, because we can’t stop chatting. My head buzzes and my insides tingle. My whole body’s letting me know: we’re about to do great things.
Manang Maribel pulls up in the Filipino-Mobile, a minivan with a slew of metallic Manila stickers Uncle Jon-Jon slapped across the bumper. As little kids we used to love riding around in it, but now it makes us cringe.
The doors slide open and we hop in. Sheryl’s in front and Arwin’s in the middle. Alexa and I load in a cooler of food and drinks and a box of materials we’ll need for building.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa…I didn’t agree to be responsible for all you rug rats,” Maribel says.
“We have to pick up Jack Allen, too. You know, Lou’s new love interest?” Sheryl says. She, Alexa, and Gracie giggle. Arwin doesn’t say anything, even though he knows Jack from soccer.
Maribel turns off the engine and looks at each of us.
“Please, Manang?” Sheryl says.
“Pretty please, Manang?” Alexa says.
“Por favor s’il vous plaît?” says Gracie.
Arwin plays a game on his phone.
“Remind me again what I get out of all this,” Maribel says.
“Our forever gratitude?” Gracie responds.
“And?” Maribel adds.
“Uhhh…our blind adoration of you for life?” Alexa says.
“And?”
“And Lou and I will cover for you your whole senior year, like if you want to sneak out to parties, and I won’t tell Mom and Dad that your Friday Night Homework Club is totally fake,” Sheryl says. Maribel keeps staring. “Geez. Okay, okay already…and one week of Lou’s allowance!”
“Wait a minute. What?” I say, and they all crack up.
Sheryl pats me on the back. “It was the only way.”
Maribel gives a loud groan. “Fine. Jack, then to Lou’s land. Everyone buckle up, I don’t have all freaking day.”
Alexa gives a little woot! and the minivan starts up.
* * *
—
>
At the clearing, everybody but Maribel gets out.
“You have three hours, and don’t expect me to help. I’m studying for the SATs,” Maribel says, wadding squishy orange plugs into her ears as she takes out a laptop and reclines in her seat.
I look around. Today we’ll clean up the trailer flatbed and get it ready to build on. Later will come wall frames, plumbing and electrical, windows, walls, and a door, and at the end, I’ll lay down a beautiful wooden floor. Once it’s sanded, stained, and coated, I’ll slip off my socks to feel the soft texture under my feet.
“Hey, I remember this place. Wanna check out the creek?” Arwin says to Jack. They run down a slope and weave through trees before I can stop them.
“Where are you guys going?” I shout, but soon they’re out of sight.
Alexa’s trying to send a text (she hasn’t found out yet that the reception’s spotty). Gracie’s trying to sit in the hammock, except she keeps flipping over and giggling. Sheryl’s poking around inside the shed, and every few minutes she shouts, “Woweeeee, what is all this stuff?”
I cup my hands to my mouth and yell, “Who wants to get started?”
No one pays attention.
Jack and Arwin trudge up, barefoot, jeans rolled to their knees. “Ouch!” Arwin says, stepping on something, and Jack laughs at him.
We’ll never get anything done.
You can do this, Lou. I try to morph into Mr. Keller when he’s ordering everyone around in class.
“Gather round the trailer bed, folks!” I shout.
Nobody comes. I need a megaphone.
Suddenly, a piercing whistle. Maribel’s got a thumb and pointer finger in her mouth, blowing loud and strong. Everyone looks at her, and Manang yells to me, “You’re welcome!”
Sheryl saunters out in a bandanna, oversized goggles, a face mask, and yellow dishwashing gloves. She raises her hands and in a muffled voice says, “Full speed ahead.”
“Let’s do this,” I tell my crew.
* * *
—
I take everyone to the covered trailer bed as Jack films. We stand around it, and Alexa helps me slip off the plastic tarp.
