by Diana Lopez
Everyone thinks my socks are the coolest.
Today Mr. Star wants us to report on our projects. Everyone but me has gone on successful field trips. My visit to Aransas Pass doesn’t count, since I came back empty-handed. As I listen to my classmates, I suddenly realize that I’m not only failing English but possibly science too. At this rate, I’ll be off the team for the rest of the year!
“Carlos and I got some real good pictures,” Vanessa tells the class. “Close-ups and everything.”
Sure, I think to myself, they got close-ups. Close-ups of each other’s lips.
“And how about you, Lina?” Mr. Star asks.
“Well,” I say. “You see… I went to the Aransas Pass Wildlife Refuge with Vanessa and my dad.”
“We had fun,” Vanessa says.
“I bought a magnet,” I tell the class. “Then I went to this observation tower and the ranger said whooping cranes mate for life… edge of doom and all that. The birds went around the bend, so we tried to follow them but we took the road less traveled and got lost. And I never got my picture because the birds flew off. Then there was this big, empty field, no water anywhere, so I had to make a compass on the spot. When we found the road, it started to rain, and all my project notes got ruined. So I guess I don’t really have anything right now. But it isn’t my fault. It’s my dad’s. All of it. The whole trip was a bust. Just ask Vanessa.”
“Did the compass work?” Mr. Star asks.
When I nod, he smiles proudly.
Adults can be so confusing. I just told him I haven’t got anything for my project, but instead of being concerned, he seems proud about a compass that has nothing to do with whooping cranes.
After science, Luís carries my books and walks me to fourth period.
He says, “I uh… I uh… I wanted to tell you something. My c-c-cousin is having a… a quinceañera. I have to stand in it with another g-g-girl.”
I can’t help being jealous even though I know that for most quinceañeras, the guest of honor chooses fourteen of her best friends and then guilt-trips her brothers and cousins into being escorts.
Luís says, “I know that I’ll… that I’ll… I know I’ll have to dance with that girl, but it’s just one time so you want to come to, to dance with me all the other times?”
“Really?” I say. “Okay.” Even though I can’t dance.
He smiles, then he shyly looks at his feet—not a good idea in the crowded hallway. Before I can warn him, he bumps into Jason.
“Hey!” Jason says.
“Excuse… I… I… I mean…”
“You mean what? Spit it out, dummy.”
“Quit talking trash,” I say. “Luís is ten times smarter than you.”
“I wouldn’t know. Porky Pig talks better than him.”
“No he doesn’t.”
“Yes he does… P-P-Petunia Pig.”
“Are animal insults the best you can do? Because you sound so preschool.”
Jason and his friends laugh at me. I don’t know why, but apparently Luís does because he walks off without a word.
“Hey, wait,” I say. “Don’t mind Jason. He’s a jerk.”
“I know.”
“Then why’d you walk off?”
“Because I can speak for myself. Even when… when Jason’s around.”
“So that’s why they’re laughing? I can’t believe how dumb I am. Can you ever forgive me?” I pout to show how sorry I am.
He smiles and says “sure,” then he gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. Right there in the hallway! I’m hoping for a follow-up when the tardy bell rings.
“W-w-we better hurry,” Luís says, rushing to his class.
I’m already late, so instead of running to Mrs. Huerta’s class, I take the long route. I never noticed the water-color paintings in the hall before, pretty flowers and seascapes. I know it’s impossible, but I can smell the flowers and hear the oceans as if the paintings were alive. If my dad quoted a poem now, I’d probably understand it. The whole world makes sense, and it’s a wonderful time to be alive.
In fact, I could live off my joy forever if it weren’t for Mrs. Huerta.
“You’re late,” she says when I walk in.
I take my seat and she continues with the lecture. As soon as I realize she’s talking about Charles Dickens, I tune out. The view outside the window is much more interesting than Mrs. Huerta’s face. Besides, I don’t care about make-believe. My dad’s love for make-believe is what ruined my trip to the animal refuge. Give me newspaper articles, vacuum cleaner manuals, the ingredients on a cough syrup box, anything but stuff from someone’s imagination, especially if that someone is dead.
Like Charles Dickens. When did he die? In the 1800s sometime? He didn’t even live in Texas. I know, because I read the first few pages of A Christmas Carol. The place Dickens describes is full of snow. How can I relate? The only time it snows in Corpus is when someone throws Styrofoam peanuts on the ground. Plus, instead of saying “my bad” or “snap!” Dickens says dorky things like “Bah!” and “Humbug!” And instead of tamales, his characters eat dumplings for Christmas. What’s a dumpling? No one I know in Texas eats them. As far as I’m concerned, a dumpling is something a cow leaves on the ground.
There’s no way I’m going to waste my time reading that book. Besides, I’ve seen the Mickey Mouse version a dozen times. Ghost of Christmas Present, Ghost of Christmas Past, Ghost of Christmas Future… blah, blah, blah. I thought talking rabbits were silly, but ghosts? At least rabbits exist in the real world.
Mrs. Huerta catches me daydreaming. “So what do you think about Scrooge?” she asks.
“The Mickey Mouse guy?”
“Mickey Mouse? What are you talking about?”
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen the movie,” I say. “Mickey Mouse comes out on A Christmas Carol. So do Donald Duck and Goofy. You get the whole book in thirty minutes. We should watch it.”
Everyone but Vanessa laughs.
“I don’t appreciate facetious behavior,” Mrs. Huerta says.
“Well, I can’t be facetious if I don’t know what it means.”
“It means you’re one step from detention, young lady.”
“Bah! Humbug!” I snap back.
Thirty seconds later, she hands me the detention slip. “Next word,” she warns, “gets you a trip to the principal’s office.”
I don’t want to face Dr. Rodriguez, so I keep my mouth shut. Mrs. Huerta directs her question to someone else and goes on with the class.
When I look around the room, several students smile as if they’re proud of me, but Vanessa looks away, embarrassed. That’s when I realize I’m reaching my Hollywood status again—but instead of Star Student, I’m playing Class Clown. Today, my behavior goes hand in hand with my wacky socks.
Del dicho al hecho hay gran trecho –
It’s a long way from saying you’re going to do something to actually doing it
18
A Soggy Egg Salad Sandwich
I don’t want to tell my dad about detention, so I lie and say I stayed after school for study hall to work on my English grade. I thought I’d earn points with that, so I’m surprised when he tells me I can’t go to the quinceañera with Luís.
“Why not?” I say. “I’m old enough. I’ll be in the eighth grade next year.”
“Not the way you’re going. You’re failing English, Lina. And you’re lying. You didn’t stay after school to study. You had detention. Mrs. Huerta called to tell me about your behavior today. I’m afraid I have to ground you now.”
“But I’m already being grounded,” I argue, “from soccer.”
“Well, I’m grounding you from dances as well.”
“I’m going to make up all my missing assignments. I promise, Dad.”
“Del dicho al hecho hay gran trecho. It’s a long way from saying you’re going to do something to actually doing it. Besides,” he adds, “we already have plans that weekend. I promised Irma we’d he
lp with a wedding. We’re going to decorate the hall. She can’t do it by herself now that she’s in crutches.”
“I don’t want to help with the wedding.”
“I already said you’d go.”
“But that’s not fair,” I argue. “All my friends will be having fun, while I’m stuck working.”
“Remember that the next time you feel like lying.”
I can’t believe he’s being so strict. I run to my room, slam my door, hang an extra thick blanket from the top bunk, and hide.
The next morning, I realize that if I ever want to go out with Luís or play soccer, I’ll have to get serious about Mrs. Huerta’s class. So I show up on time and promise myself not to give any attitude.
Fortunately, she ignores me. I guess she doesn’t want any more bah-humbug incidents. After discussing the book for a while, she gives us an assignment. Everyone gets to work. Even me. I take out a sheet of paper and put my name on it, but just when I’m about to start writing, Mrs. Huerta says, “Lina, can you run an errand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
I close my book and walk to her desk. She hands me an envelope and whispers, “Take this to the counselor’s office. You might want to take your books too.”
I nod, get my things, and head to Miss Kathryn, the counselor.
“Hi, Lina,” she says when I knock on her door. “Come in. I was expecting you.”
She points to a cushiony chair and I obediently sit though it seems silly when all I need to do is deliver an envelope.
Miss Kathryn’s office is big but crowded. She’s got a wall of file cabinets, a little refrigerator, a desk for her computer, another desk with the telephone and piles of papers, and two chairs by the window with a nightstand-style table between them.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she says as she searches through a box stuffed with manila folders.
“Actually,” I say, “I’m just here to deliver this envelope from Mrs. Huerta.”
I offer it to her.
“Sweetie, that envelope’s empty.”
“Why would Mrs. Huerta send an empty envelope?”
“She doesn’t want to embarrass you in front of your classmates. Some people are very sensitive about seeing the counselor.”
“I didn’t ask to see you. I think you’re confusing me with someone else. Mrs. Huerta was very clear when she told me to give you this letter.”
“You can open it if you don’t believe me,” Miss Kathryn says.
I’ve always wondered what’s in these top-secret envelopes, so I rip it open only to discover that Miss Kathryn is right. It’s empty.
Just then, the secretary comes in with two sack lunches from the cafeteria. Without saying a word, she places them on the table beside me, walks out, and gently closes the door.
“Here we are,” Miss Kathryn says. “Your file.” She waves a folder with an APOLONIA FLORES label. Then she opens her fridge and says, “We’ve got water, Gatorade, milk, and Coke. Which do you want?”
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Instead of answering, she hands me a Coke can—only it’s not a real Coke but some generic brand that says COLA FLAVOR.
“I thought we could talk over lunch,” she explains. “I understand you’ve been going through a hard time lately.” She points to the lunch bags. “Tuna or egg salad?”
Suddenly I’m imagining straitjackets and wires zapping my brain. “Are you seriously going to give me a shrink session?” I say. “Because I’m not crazy. I’m failing English, okay. That’s all. Lots of people fail English without having to go on fake errands to the counselor.”
Miss Kathryn calmly opens her soda and gets comfortable on her chair. She’s got a clipboard on her lap and my folder beneath it. It’s a thick folder. I wonder where all her notes came from. Has she been tapping my phone? Interviewing my friends? Using satellite technology to track my movements?
If I had a hole puncher, I’d make confetti out of my school records.
Miss Kathryn points to the sack lunches again. I grab one without looking at the label. I unwrap the sandwich and take a bite. It’s egg salad, very soggy, the bread dripping with mayonnaise. It tastes gross, so I put it back. Then I open the potato chips, but they’re crushed. The only thing worth eating is an oatmeal cookie minus the raisins.
“I understand you were an excellent student last year,” Miss Kathryn says. “But now you’re not doing so well in English. How does that make you feel?”
“How does that make me feel? Is that the best you can do?”
She scribbles in her notepad, unfazed by my attitude.
“And your dad?” she asks. “How are things with him?”
“Can I go to the cafeteria now? I don’t like egg salad sandwiches very much.”
“Isn’t he an English teacher at Ray High School?”
“Yes. So what?”
“And Mrs. Huerta is an English teacher too,” she continues. “I’m wondering if there’s a connection because you seem to be doing well in your other classes.”
“I seem to be, but I’m not.” What am I saying? I should stop myself, but I can’t. “Like in science,” I explain. “Just ask Mr. Star. Yesterday he asked us to report on our projects, and I was the only kid who didn’t have any notes or pictures or anything. So this has nothing to do with English or my dad. Think about it. I’m in middle school. I’m going through my rebellious stage. Don’t kids go through a rebellious stage? I’ll get over it, Miss Kathryn. I’ll get over it today. I promise. So can I go now?”
“I don’t think it’s that simple,” she says. “I’ve been reading your rabbit story.”
“What rabbit story?”
“The one about the mother who died and the father who’s lost.”
She opens the manila folder and takes out my Water-ship Down quizzes.
“I don’t know why you think I’m writing a story,” I explain. “Those are quizzes I took in English. We were reading this book and we had to summarize the chapters.”
“These aren’t summaries, sweetie.”
“I know. It’s just that… that… well, to be honest, I didn’t read the book. So when Mrs. Huerta asked us to summarize, I made stuff up.”
“That’s what writers do,” Miss Kathryn says. “They make stuff up, and oftentimes, they make stuff up when they’re trying to deal with an issue or a problem that they’re having.”
“I’m not trying to deal with anything,” I say. “I’m just acting rebellious like I said. I know it’s wrong, so I promise, whatever Mrs. Huerta wants me to do, I’ll do.”
“Good. I’m going to hold you to that promise. But I want you to make another promise too. I want you to finish this rabbit story.”
“But…”
She doesn’t let me finish. She hands me the quizzes and shows me the door, so I hurry to the cafeteria before the lunch period ends. I desperately need to talk to Vanessa, but when I see her, she’s with Carlos. I don’t want the whole world to know my problems, so I pretend like nothing’s wrong. But something is wrong. Not only am I failing and off the team, but, apparently, I’m crazy too.
Hasta el diablo una vez fue ángel –
Even the devil was once an angel
19
Ms. Humpty Dumpty
It’s Saturday, and Vanessa calls around twelve.
“Want to go to the movies?” she asks.
“I can’t,” I say. “I’m being grounded because of my English grade, remember?”
“What a bummer,” she says. “If I can get your dad to say yes, will you go?”
“Sure. Anything to get out of the house.”
We hang up, and two minutes later, the doorbell rings. I run to the living room. My dad’s in his favorite chair. Today his face is a book called The Stranger.
“Hi, Mr. Flores,” Vanessa says when I open the door. “Why are you sitting here when it’s such a nice day outside? You’re just like my mom. She doesn’t go anywhere because she thinks she’s all broken lik
e Humpty Dumpty. All she does is mope around.”
“She’s moping around?” my dad says, worried. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. She’s just bored, you know. A whole Saturday with nothing to do. It’s not like she can drive around with her broken leg.”
“Do you think she’d like to go out?” my dad asks.
“Beats hanging around the house all day.”
“Maybe your mom should rest,” I say. “Isn’t that the best way to heal?”
“You have a point,” my dad tells me.
“No, Mr. Flores. All she does is rest. She’ll get depressed if she doesn’t get out.”
“You think?” Dad asks.
“I don’t only think. I know.”
I can’t believe how sneaky Vanessa is about setting up our parents after the zillion times I’ve told her it’s a bad idea. Before I know it, we’re piling into the car, and just when we’ve clicked on our seatbelts, Vanessa says, “Hey, Mom, do you think you guys could drop off Lina and me at the movies while you go for a drive?”
“If it’s okay with Homero,” Ms. Cantu says.
“Sure, it’s okay,” my dad answers.
Of course he says yes. If he grounded me now, he’d look like the bad guy.
“I’m not sure I feel like going to the movies,” I say.
“You have to go,” Vanessa says. “Unless it’s okay with my mom if I go by myself.”
“No daughter of mine is going to the movies by herself with all those crazies around. Anyway, I’ve never heard of a child who didn’t want to go to the movies. What’s wrong, Lina? Are you feeling sick?”
“No. It’s just that… well… I’m being grounded, aren’t I, Dad?”
“You’re grounding her?” Ms. Cantu says. “But Lina’s such an angel.”
My dad shakes his head in a disappointed way. “Hasta el diablo una vez fue ángel. Even the devil was once an angel, Irma. And my little ‘angel’ is failing English.”
