by Mae Respicio
No, no, no. Dumb, dumb, dumb idea.
Or maybe if I keep building, they can’t hold the auction if there’s already a house on the land? But it’s on wheels—they’d tell us to drive it away.
That won’t work, either.
I wish I could just keep building and not have to worry about this. I stare at my new screen saver—a picture of me in front of that tiny house I visited. If only it were my house.
My house.
That’s it! I know what I can do!
I dig into my jeans pocket and the slip of paper’s still there. I dial the number scrawled on it, and a voice answers.
“Mr. Keller? It’s Lou. I need your help, please. Big-time.”
* * *
—
Sheryl, Gracie, and I sit at our favorite corner boba tea shop. It’s right down the block from Lola’s, which is the only reason our parents let us come here by ourselves.
Gracie sips from her straw and tries to slurp up a boba ball as slowly as she can. We watch the dark, round gummy inch up—then shoot into her mouth. Gracie looks surprised and Sheryl laughs.
I’ve told them my new plan: Build the house, then sell the house.
“Mom’s going to come up with the money and I’m going to help her. But it means I have to build faster. Lightning speed,” I say.
“I thought it was supposed to be our house,” Gracie says. “All that work just to sell it?”
“We can’t have a house if I don’t have a place to put it. If I’m going to save my land, I have to get doing,” I say. “It’s fine. It’s good practice so I can build again later. Lolo used to say practice makes perfect. The most important thing now is getting the money, and people buy those premade ones for thousands and thousands of dollars. I checked online—it’s true!”
“My dad said the Bay Area’s the most expensive place in the country for real estate, and since there’s not a lot of choices, some people will shell out anything for a house, even million-dollar fixer-uppers. He says they’re idiots. So I bet you could do it,” Gracie says.
“How are you going to get out there if you’re grounded?” Sheryl asks.
“Mom said I could, because Mr. K’s helping me today.”
Mom got mad after I let it slip out that I went to the land again. But when I asked her if I could spend today with Mr. Keller learning stuff, she seemed happy to say yes—I think she felt bad about the auction letter. I just left out the part about working on my house (whoops).
“I wish we could go with you,” Gracie says.
“No sweat.”
We lean our heads forward to sip our drinks, lines of boba balls marching up the straws. The girls have other things they’re doing today, but I don’t mind. I’m going to have a real expert to help me build.
A car honks. I run outside as Mr. Keller rolls up to the house in a flashy red pickup.
“Whoa, cool ride!”
He pats the dashboard. “You like?”
When I called Mr. Keller, I asked, “Can you help me build my house?”
He jumped right in with questions about what plans I made or tools I had, then said, “How about we survey things together, if your mom’s okay with that?”
I hop into Mr. Keller’s truck.
“One quick pit stop,” he says.
* * *
—
We drive into Annie’s Salvage Yard, and when Annie sees us, she walks out carrying a large toolbox. “Why, it’s my two favorite builders.” She puts the box in the truck bed.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“You’ll need the proper tools, right? We’ll bring some with us,” Mr. Keller says.
Fernando carries out a framing nailer and an orbital sander and other tools with gears and handles and sharp edges.
“But I don’t have the money for any of these,” I say.
“It’s all right,” Annie says. “This stuff’s just been sitting around. Think of them as borrowed. We’ll lug ’em back here once your project’s finished.”
“Oh, Annie, you’re the best,” I say, giving her a hug. “Can you come with us?”
“I thought you’d never ask. I’ll join y’all after I finish up in the office.”
* * *
—
I invited Jack to film again and he surprised me by saying yes, but I didn’t tell him who’d pick us up. He climbs into the back of Mr. Keller’s truck with a tripod. I think Jack’s a little scared of our teacher; he doesn’t say much.
Mr. Keller points his nub at him. “Pull my finger.”
Jack looks horrified. Mr. Keller and I crack up.
“Hardy har har,” Jack says.
At the clearing, we all get out. Truck doors slam and birds high up in treetops scatter in all directions. Mr. Keller gazes around. “What a wondrous place.”
Not long after, Annie drives up and jumps out. “Lou, I can’t believe this. It’s like a storybook out here.”
Yes! They see it, too.
I introduce Annie to Jack and she smiles at him. “I’ve heard some very nice things about you, Mr. Jack Allen.”
I’m too embarrassed to look his way. I don’t want Jack to think I talk about him (even though I do), but he doesn’t seem to notice, because he whips out a camera and points it at me. I block my face. Without the other kids, I’m shy.
“This was your idea, remember?” he says.
“I know.” My dumb bright idea.
“Just act natural. Pretend I’m not here.”
“Give us the grand tour,” Mr. Keller says.
With Jack filming, I show them what’s in the shed, the trailer bed, and finally, my blueprint. I unroll it across the hood of Mr. Keller’s truck and he peers in close. I’m not a mathlete, but I had to figure out a lot of measurements.
“How’d I do?”
“You designed this all on your own?” He’s still studying it.
“Just me and the Internet.”
“Oh my, Lucinda, I am impressed! I’ve always known you could achieve big things.” Mr. Keller beams at me. “You’ll build this house, no problem. Piece of cake!” He pats me on the shoulder and Jack smiles. “I must be a pretty stellar teacher, huh?”
He makes me feel so good, I start laughing.
“The best!” I can do this.
“Okay, what’s next?” Annie rubs her hands together.
“I thought we could measure and cut some wood,” I say.
“First things first,” Mr. Keller says. He sprints to his truck and brings back a boxy black radio with speakers. “I’m not sure your generation knows what this is, but let’s give it a shot.”
“Is that a boom box?” Jack takes the camera away from his face. “My dad has one. He puts it on his shoulder and dances around, which is something I can never un-see.”
Our teacher slips in a cassette tape and presses a button. The music is some kind of oldies rock ’n’ roll that Lola might boogie to while gardening.
He points to the open shed. “Shall we?”
* * *
—
Annie, Mr. Keller, and I unpack everything from his truck. I pull out a box of metal brackets, nuts and bolts, drill bits and nails—things that clank together as I set it down. We lift out a table with metal beams. “Is this a saw stand?” I ask.
He nods. “For the miter saw. I brought a generator, too, so we can get power to these tools. Given any thought yet to electricity for your house?”
“Solar,” I say firmly, though I don’t know much about it. He and Annie can teach me.
“Woodpile time,” I say, and we begin moving bundles out of the shed.
Jack blends into the background, but I’m happy he’s here.
“Who’s used a chop saw?” Mr. Keller asks. I shoot up my hand.
He demonstrates how to use the machine safely, then asks, “Ready?”
I slide on goggles and noise cancelers. With his help, I set down a plank. The saw screeches, and slowly, I pull down until the sharp teeth meet wood. It slices right through. My first cut!
After a few more we take a break. “This land is a lovely legacy for you, Lucinda,” Mr. Keller says. “When your mom and Michael started dating, the first thing she told me was that he was a builder. Your father would have loved this.”
It feels nice to talk about Dad here. If he were alive, days like this would be our Ultimate Saturdays.
We lay wood onto the trailer bed like a puzzle, and I pound a nail into a plank. There’s something soothing about the steady beat of a hammer, and I start to calm. I’m going to finish this house and stop that auction.
Finally, after what feels like a very long day, we have the skeleton of a floor. I give everyone a huge grin as we clean up.
Jack aims the camera at my new subfloor. “Tell me what this is.”
I shout, “Freedom!” I laugh. “My dream project.”
“Where’d you learn how to build like this?”
“From school, from my favorite teacher, and from the Internet. And books. Do you read books, Jack?” I ask, trying to make a joke, but he doesn’t laugh.
He only says, “I’ve never met a girl like you before.”
“A girl like what?”
He shrugs. “A girl not like the others.”
Is that good or bad? I’m flustered, but say, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Jack’s seeing me with huge sweat stains under my armpits and messy hair and all smelly, but I don’t care, because it feels like I can do anything now. Finish building by Barrio Fiesta? What Mr. Keller said: Piece of cake.
“All right, dancers, less than three weeks till showtime,” Miss Jovy says. Today we practice in small groups, and mine’s the last to go. “Lou’s group, you’re up!”
“You mean Team Trip?” one of the kids says, and they snicker. It’s because I keep flubbing. I’m too distracted. I got so much done with Mr. Keller and Annie on the house, but I haven’t gone out there since last week—the clock’s ticking.
The pole holders kneel onstage and grip their bamboo.
The music starts. The reeds clap. I hop in…but miss the beat, and my ankle catches. The whole group stops. Sheryl’s laughter travels from the audience to the stage, and I stick my tongue out at her.
Miss Jovy sighs. “Again, please.”
The music starts, the poles clap, but déjà vu. I trip.
My goof-up starts a chain reaction. Cody trips, one of the pole guys misses his beat, and we’re all out of sync.
“Goodness gracious, it’s time for a break. Be back in ten,” Miss Jovy says, throwing her arms up. The kids all cheer and run off.
Sheryl and Gracie meet me. “Let’s get a snack,” Gracie says.
* * *
—
We head next door to the Asian grocery store for a bag of shrimp chips to share—delicious, crispy, salty, French fry–looking crackers that make my mouth pucker. In the parking lot we toss chips in the air and try to catch them in our mouths.
“I told my cousins about you. They. Are. Impressed. They said you sound super smart. I invited them over when the house is finished,” Gracie says happily.
“Good, because the floor looks real now. I made huge progress out there with Annie and Mr. Keller.”
“How much more time do you have?” Sheryl asks.
“Until Barrio Fiesta.” Hearing me say this makes them take a big breath.
“That’s it?” Gracie says. “That’s only a few more weeks, Lou.”
“You don’t think I can do it?”
“It’s not that you can’t, Louie, but, well…it’s a lot of effort for something you’re not sure about,” Sheryl says. “And if you do finish, how do you know you can sell it? That takes a lot of work, too. You’re almost out of time.”
Sheryl always has to think of every worst thing that could happen.
“What other options do I have? We’re not rich. Mom’s still trying to figure out how to pay them.”
“Geez, Lou, you don’t have to get so upset. I’m just trying to help,” Sheryl says.
“If you want to help, then you can come out there with me again tomorrow,” I say, but the girls stay quiet. “Gracie?”
“Lou, maybe Sheryl’s on to something.”
“But I have to at least try, right? Please? With the three of us there, I’ll get a lot more done. You’re my last hope.”
Whenever Gracie’s deciding on something, I can see it on her face. Her eyes glance from the empty bag of chips to the sky and finally back to me. The doubt on her face disappears.
“Okay, if you think this can work, it will,” Gracie says. “We won’t let you down. We’ll tell our moms they scheduled an extra dance practice.” I knew I could count on her.
“I thought you were coming to my house tomorrow?” Sheryl says to Gracie.
“Yeah, but Louie needs us.”
Sheryl frowns at Gracie. “I’m really sorry, Lou, but…I’m sort of busy.”
“With what?”
“With…chores.”
“I can help you finish them after,” I say.
“It doesn’t matter. Maribel won’t drive you. She said so.”
Why’s she making me feel like I did something wrong? “Are you mad at me?” I ask.
“No, I just don’t feel like going. I have my own things to do.”
Gracie says, “Oh, come on, Sheryl, it’ll be fun. We’ll take the bus like Lou and Alexa do. I’ve never ridden one without my parents, and it’s on my bucket list.”
She gives Sheryl a begging look. Rather than listen to me, my cousin listens to her. “Fine, I’ll help.”
* * *
—
I sit with Gracie and Sheryl on the bus, none of us saying much. I’m feeling better; with the three of us building today, it’ll go fast. Then Sheryl says, “Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this, Lou. We’re not allowed out there.”
“Too late now,” Gracie says.
“Trust me,” I say, but Sheryl only stares out the window.
After getting dropped off on the main strip, we walk up to the clearing.
Gracie says, “It’s chilly.”
None of us brought jackets and we’re wearing shorts and tees. I thought it’d get sunnier once we crossed the bridge, but the weather’s overcast, a dull gray.
We set our backpacks down. Sheryl peers around. “It’s kind of creepy right now.”
“And freezing. My fingers are like icicles.” Gracie rubs her hands.
“It’ll warm up once we get moving.” I try to sound cheery. I search the shed for work gloves. “We’ll trim more wood, then start turning it into the walls. Help me move the planks out.”
I toss them each a pair of gloves and we slip them on.
“Let’s do it,” I say.
Sheryl lifts one end of a stack and Gracie takes the other. They drag it outside but let go. Dirt and leaves puff up.
“Guys, be careful,” I say.
“This is way too heavy,” Sheryl says.
We try again. This time I take one end of a bundle and Sheryl lifts the other. We manage to walk it out, slowly, and lower it to the tarp. The three of us take turns moving wood, and soon we’re breathing hard.
Sheryl folds her arms. “You want us to do this all day?”
“Are you here to help me or not?”
Drizzle floats over the hilltop and the sky gets cloudier.
“It’s kind of weird, Louie, not having anyone else with us.” Gracie looks around. “It feels too deserted; I think I want to go now.”
“But we just started.”
&nbs
p; “I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this,” Sheryl says.
“What’s your problem?”
“My problem is you’re so bossy. All you do is boss us around, and you’ve barely said thank you. You don’t even know for sure if this will stop the auction.”
Sheryl yanks her gloves off and throws them onto the ground.
“Sorry, Louie.” Gracie pulls her gloves off. “You should tell your mom. Maybe she found enough money and you can quit now.”
I gawk at them. They’re abandoning me? They’re supposed to be my friends.
“My mom doesn’t understand any of this, and you know what? Neither do you. You have dads and sisters and bedrooms. You have everything I’ll never have.”
They look kind of shocked, but they know it’s true.
I try to lift a plank. “Gracie, grab the other end.” She just stands there.
“I’m done,” Sheryl says.
“It’s not time to go yet,” I say.
Sheryl slings on her backpack. “Come on, Gracie.”
“Fine. You know what? I don’t need you. I can do this myself.”
I bend down to get a good grip on the wood and hoist the plank onto my shoulder. I imagine the Filipino villagers moving a heavy bahay kubo like this, with no other choice.
I swing around and almost hit Sheryl. She ducks and I drop the plank. She’s fallen; the wood’s on top of her foot.
“Oh no! Are you all right?” Gracie and I help her up.
“We’re outta here,” Sheryl says, but as she tries to walk she lets out a little yell.
“What is it?” Gracie asks.
Sheryl takes a step but then winces and lowers herself to the ground.
“Can you walk?” Gracie asks. Sheryl shakes her head.
“Are you sure? Can you stand?” I ask, but she starts to cry. Gracie looks at me.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, running up to Mrs. Hawkey’s as fast as I can. I bang on the door. No answer.
