by Meg Medina
I can’t worry about that too much, though. My bigger problem is figuring out some way to be a Sunshine Buddy this week until Miss McDaniels cuts me loose. She sent us all friendly e-mail reminders to turn in our weekly reports on time.
Roli was absolutely no help in figuring out a plan, either. “You’re my older brother. You have absolutely no ideas for me?”
“Bring the kid by the science lab,” he offered as we walked from the drop-off loop. “We’re launching a fascinating study of the energy usage here at Seaward.”
Roli. He means well. But what can you really expect from someone who asks for chemistry kits and brain models for Christmas?
No, I am not going to torture Michael Clark with Roli’s science lab, but I need something to prove to Miss McDaniels that I did try and that it’s just not the right job for me. But by the time I get to social studies, I still have no ideas. Leave it to Edna to make me feel worse.
“I took Alexa for ice cream after school last week, and she’s going to eat lunch with us today. Oh, and I might sign us up to do the food drive, too,” she says while we glue the buttons on our map.
Jamie looks up and pouts. “I thought you and I were doing the food drive.”
“Can you hurry, please?” I tell Edna. “The bell is going to ring soon and we have to hand this in.” She’s glued down maybe four buttons while the rest of us have worked at full speed. I have Elmer’s glue crusted under my nails.
“What’s your problem?” Edna says. “Don’t like your Sunshine Buddy?”
I’ll admit that it bugs me to see Edna is being a better buddy than I am. But it’s hard to even get near Michael without causing a scene — even at lunch. It’s like our class broke into two pieces and we floated apart, the girls one way and the boys another. The girls sit at a long lunch table near the windows and the boys have a big round table of their own across the room.
Our group finishes the map just as the bell rings.
“I have to meet Alexa,” Edna says, and she runs off without helping to clean up a single thing.
By the time I get to the lunchroom, my stomach is making embarrassing noises. I’m just hoping Mami remembered to add enough jelly to my sandwich, despite her war on sugar, which Abuela calls downright anti-Cuban. She says Mami reads too much for her own good, especially food labels. Mami flat-out refuses to pay for the lunch plan, which she says isn’t healthy enough — and too expensive. So I am usually stuck with a brown bag and her healthy sandwiches instead of sinking my teeth into the meal of the day made by the school chef.
As soon as I step into the lunchroom, I can smell the tortilla soup in the air. Today’s dessert? Key lime pie, my favorite. The girls look up from their trays and smile as I take a seat. My stomach lets out another astonishing gurgle. “Heeeey,” I say to mask it.
Luckily Edna doesn’t take a breath from her blabbing. You can learn a lot if you listen. That’s how we all know, for instance, that Mr. Patchett is dating Ms. Lowe, who teaches fourth grade. (She saw them kiss in Mr. Patchett’s car, news that nearly made Rachel faint.) Today’s big story is especially interesting. It’s about the junior soccer team. No one at the table is trying out. I can’t believe my ears.
“I hate to sweat,” Edna says.
“But it’s a crucial bodily function,” I say. “I’m pretty sure it was in the health textbook — the part about why we should use deodorant.”
“Gross,” she says.
“Very,” Jamie adds.
Alexa says that she’s not going to try out either, but only because she already plays on a travel league that takes her all the way to Orlando and Tallahassee for tournaments. Hannah’s mom only lets her play one sport a year, and she’s playing basketball in the winter.
“Are you trying out?” Alexa asks.
I think of the consent form that’s still under the frog magnet on our refrigerator. Mami keeps forgetting to sign it, even though I remind her every day.
“Absolutely.”
“Sixth-graders hardly ever make it,” Edna says. “No offense.”
I take a bite of my sandwich, thinking about the game against Manny’s team last night. Simón told me I feint and cross over almost like a FIFA pro.
I glance across the room at the boys’ table now. Even sitting down, Michael Clark is taller than almost everybody around him. They make them moose-size in Minnesota, that’s for sure. I wonder if he’s going to be on a team this year? If we were sitting at the same table, I’d just ask, no big deal. But now it takes a special trip.
“Who wants my dessert?” Edna asks, pushing her pie away. No one makes a move.
I stare at the beautiful wedge of key lime pie and my mouth waters.
“I’ll take it,” I say. “No sense wasting it.”
“Don’t be greedy.” She blocks my hand. “Maybe my buddy wants it?”
She looks sweetly at Alexa, who says, “Oh no, that’s fine. You can have it, Merci.”
Edna pushes it toward me. Suddenly I feel funny digging in as she watches. If it weren’t for the graham cracker crust, I might not.
But this is key lime pie we’re talking about, so I do. It’s delicious.
“So. The new Iguanador movie opens downtown this weekend,” Edna says. “My dad said I could go see it on Saturday night. Who wants to come?”
Iguanador Nation Rises! I’ve been dying to see that movie since the trailers came on TV. Dinosaurs and humans in a genetic splice become robots and take over the world. And of course, Jake Rodrigo, our hero, will save everyone from doom. I don’t know if it’s the pie or the thought of two hours of his face on the screen that makes me feel light-headed. My cheeks suddenly feel hot. All I can do to calm down is take another bite of pie.
Rachel wrinkles her nose. “But I don’t like robot movies. They’re boring.”
“Boring?” I say, wiping my mouth. “Come on.”
“If we don’t like it, we can leave and walk around,” Edna says.
“If we don’t like it?” I ask. Are these people nuts?
“What time is the matinee?” Hannah asks. “I have my piano lesson in the afternoon.”
“Not a matinee,” Edna says. She leans in and wiggles her eyebrows. “We’re in middle school now. We should go at night. We can be there until the ten o’clock curfew.”
The table goes quiet. The theater downtown is one of those really big ones that looks like a street in Paris. The building has fake balconies and street lamps, and the ushers dress in black berets and striped shirts. It’s across the street from a fancy restaurant that Mami likes. Last year, when Roli won the state science fair, we had a special dinner there. I ate twelve raviolis.
“Forget it. My mother will never let me go at night,” Hannah says.
“Why not? What’s the big deal?” Edna asks.
Nobody answers right away. I’m thinking back to the tequila bar that always draws a crowd down there and the older kids who walk around. Would Mami and Papi even let me go? I don’t know. And yet, this is the sixth grade. When are we allowed to be on our own?
Hannah blushes. “She’s psycho, I guess.”
“Guys. Why don’t we go bowling?” Rachel says.
Edna makes a puss. “Because, no offense, we aren’t nine-year-olds, Rachel.”
That ends that.
“I don’t know . . .” Hannah says.
“If we all go, we’ll be in a big group — she can’t say no then,” Edna continues.
“You don’t know my mom. She’ll want a whole army,” Hannah says.
Edna gives that some thought. Then she turns to Jamie and grabs her by the hand. “Come with me.”
We sit watching as they walk across the lunchroom. Edna has her shoulders pushed back and her nose high as she walks over. Jamie looks back at us a couple of times. She’s picking nervously at a pimple on her neck as they stop at the boys’ table.
Rachel covers her mouth. “Oh my God!”
“What’s she doing?” Hannah asks.
“Who k
nows?” I say. But one thing is for sure. Edna is doing all the talking, and the boys are doing all the listening. Even Michael is hanging on her words. From way over here, I hear her giggle as she tucks her hair behind her ears and shifts her hips.
Mojo to a new level.
They come back to the table a few minutes later. Jamie looks like she wants to vomit, but Edna’s eyes are bright with victory.
“We have our army,” she says to Hannah.
“Huh?”
“The boys are coming, too.” She looks around at all of us, as if she hasn’t lost her marbles.
“The boys?” I don’t even know what else to say. Wasn’t she just teasing me about Michael? Didn’t she stop playing with the boys? Why are they suddenly coming along with us? In public?
“Don’t be a baby, Merci. It’s a seven p.m. show on Saturday. Just go home and ask.”
“CityPlace by yourself at night? I don’t think so, Merci,” Mami says. “Those bars fill up with a rowdy bunch, especially on the weekend.”
Mami shoos Tuerto off the kitchen table, where she’s finishing up records for the patients she saw this week. I’m sitting across from her with a pot of dry beans, sifting for little rocks. It’s the most pointless job ever. I have never found a single tooth-busting pebble.
“But we’re not going to a bar,” I say, swirling my fingers inside the pot. “We’re going to the movies.”
Papi turns around from the onion he’s chopping and points at me with the blade. “You’re not going. There was a shooting over there not too long ago. It was on the news, remember? Some kids were fighting.”
“You can drop me off right at the entrance,” I say.
“When’s dinner?” Roli is at the kitchen door. He’s been watching a show about face transplants in our room. It’s how he relaxes, but geez. Even though he was wearing headphones, I had to leave because it was making me queasy.
“Half an hour,” Papi tells him. “Did you drag out the trash? You forgot your grandparents’ last time.”
Roli salutes and opens the fridge.
“Everyone is going,” I say. “It’s going to be a big group. And besides, I’m supposed to be doing things with my Sunshine Buddy, which is kind of hard. This is perfect. He’s going to be there.”
Papi turns around slowly. “He?” His eyes bore into Mami.
She sighs and closes her laptop and looks at him. “Merci was chosen to be a buddy for a new student,” she explains. “Michael Clark.”
He frowns and turns back to the onions, and chops a little harder.
“What is the big deal about this happening at night? The only thing different is that there’s no sunshine outside.”
“So see it in the daytime, and we have no problem,” Papi says.
“But that’s not the plan. Everyone is going at night. Why can’t I go?”
“Because I don’t like it, that’s why, and that’s enough of a reason.”
“Enrique,” Mami says.
“Kids get out of hand, Ana. She’s eleven. She has no business wandering down there. Certainly not with boys.”
The way he says with boys makes my face go hot. It’s like the day when he put up the curtain to divide the room for Roli and me. He’d seen my training bra in a pile of dirty clothes on my bedroom floor and said it wasn’t proper.
“Mami,” I say. “The girls will call me a baby. And what am I supposed to tell Miss McDaniels when she asks me what I’ve done with my buddy?”
“You tell her you’ve done nothing because you’re eleven,” Papi says. “She can come see me if she has questions. ¿Qué se han creído?”
“Enrique,” Mami says again. “What’s the real harm if all the other girls are going? It’s a big group.”
There’s a crack in the parent wall, so I decide to strike with lightning speed. “Please,” I say. “I’m not in elementary school anymore, you know.”
“Why don’t we compromise?” Mami says finally. “What if Roli goes along, too? He’s seventeen. He can have a passenger with him in the car until eleven p.m.”
“Wait, what?” My brother bangs his head as he jerks up from inside the refrigerator. A cheese stick hangs from his lips. “You mean like a chaperone?”
“Not exactly. You can drive Merci,” Mami says. “Sit away from them in the theater and see the movie, too. You’ll be around just in case.”
Roli closes the refrigerator door and crosses his arms, appalled. “So you mean a spy chaperone for little kids. No, thank you. I have better things to do than see a movie with a bunch of sixth-graders.”
“Like what?” I ask. “Bragging on your college applications?”
He gives me a death glare.
Papi shakes his head. “This is a bad idea, Ana. What if trouble breaks out down there?” His voice trails as he casts a long look at Roli. I’ve heard them talk to him before he takes the car. What to do if he’s stopped by police, where not to be, how your hands never go into your pockets. It seems crazy since Roli is clearly of the pocket protector variety, even if he does like to listen to his music loud.
“You sound like Abuela,” I say.
Papi gives me an ugly look. “Don’t be a smart mouth.”
Mami is quiet for a second. “We can’t keep them in a bubble, mi amor,” she finally says. “There’s no way to protect them from absolutely everything, all the time.”
Papi taps the knife on the cutting board, thinking. Finally, he gives a small nod. “Fine, but only if Roli goes, too.”
My brother looks like he wants to strangle me, but fair is fair.
“After all the times I have been dragged to science fairs for you? Come on, Roli. It’s Iguanador Nation Rises,” I tell him. “You’ve been wanting to see it, too, and you know it.” I punch him a little harder than I intend. “I’ll buy your popcorn.”
“There’s a spot.” I point at what feels like the very last parking space in the whole lot. It’s Saturday — and Labor Day weekend — and CityPlace is more crowded than I’ve ever seen it in the daytime.
While Roli tries (and tries and tries) to pull in and straighten our car, I catch my reflection in the side mirror and check out Tía’s handiwork. It’s me, all right, but the girl looking back is different somehow. Tía lit up when Mami told her where I was heading. “Don’t move,” she said, and came back a few minutes later with a caddy filled with beauty products.
She rubbed Gotas de Brillo on the ends of my hair so it smells nice. Then she helped me pick the right shorts and high-tops. For once I didn’t mind. I don’t know anything about how to put outfits together or how to wear my hair, the way a lot of girls do, so it’s a good thing that Tía has my back. “You’re gorgeous,” she told me when she finished. And for a quick second, I believed her.
Roli finally gives up maneuvering and cuts the engine. The parking job is a disaster. We’re on a sharp angle, and we’re crowding the car next to us, so I suck in my breath to shimmy out my door.
He grabs a Marlins cap from the dashboard and pulls it on low. He’s wearing old shorts and a ratty T-shirt and flip-flops.
We walk down the steps to the street level and then he turns to me. “Listen up,” he says, “I’m walking down to Bilal’s house.” That’s another one of the senior science lab tutors. “Meet back here at ten.”
I stand there, unsure. “Wait. You told Mami and Papi that you were going to see Iguanador. You’re supposed to stay.”
He glares at me. It’s the same face I make when I’m stuck watching the twins. “I know what I said, but I’m not spending Saturday night with your little friends, Merci.”
His words sting. First of all, I’m not so little. But what really makes me mad is that he definitely doesn’t want to be seen with me.
“What if Mami calls and asks to talk to you?”
“Say I’m in the bathroom and text me.”
“Roli,” I say.
“Bilal lives a couple of blocks down Hibiscus,” he says. “Text me if you need something. I can be here in
two minutes.”
Before I can argue any more, he disappears into the crowd.
CityPlace is alive with people crisscrossing the streets and waiting in lines outside the shops and restaurants. The air feels steamy with all these bodies around. A few cops are talking under one of the streetlights, too, their eyes scanning the loud group of kids that’s near the corner. I think I even recognize the one who brought Lolo home.
I start walking, feeling a little nervous to be here by myself. Maybe it’s because this place looks different at night, sparklier. But it might also be that I’m feeling a little guilty, too, now that Roli’s gone. Another secret to keep. What’s worse is that Papi was gathering his soccer gear when Roli and I left. Turns out that our team is playing Manny in a rematch tonight, and Manny is bringing his superstar son. I’m going to miss it.
“Have fun,” Papi said, but his voice didn’t sound like he meant it. He looked like I picked my friends over him, which maybe I did.
Up ahead by the entrance, I finally spot Hannah, which makes me feel better. She’s all blinged up the way she likes in metallic high-tops. She’s not looking too happy, though. There’s a woman standing next to her, scoping out the scene like she’s a member of the Secret Service. Sure enough, it’s her mom.
“Hi, Hannah,” I say.
“Oh good.” She turns to the lady. “You can go now, Mom.”
“Nice to meet you,” her mother says, ignoring Hannah. “I’m Mrs. Kim.”
“I’m Merci.”
She looks me over, and I guess I pass her danger radar, because she turns to Hannah. “I’ll be reading over there,” she says, pointing to a café. “I have you on navigation locator in case —”
“Mother.” Hannah’s teeth are practically grinding.
Her mom presses her lips to a line. “All right, all right. Just wait for the others before you go inside. And stay together.” She walks across the street and takes a seat at one of the metal tables on the patio.
Hannah turns her back and rolls her eyes. “She’s such a warden.”
