by Meg Medina
“Are we ever going to send Abuela and Lolo to live there? Are they changing in that way?”
Mami looks at me for a long time. “Merci . . .”
My eye begins its nervous creep. “Are they?”
“Everyone changes, mi vida. Even you are changing. There’s no stopping that. But here’s what I know for sure. Abuela and Lolo have us to help them,” she says. “You don’t have to worry about that, at least not right now.”
She wraps her arm around my shoulder and leads me to the next aisle, where they keep the discontinued models.
When will it be time to worry? That crossing guard is in my head again, stopping me from asking.
I go from bike to bike, trying to look interested, but my heart isn’t in it.
“Let’s go,” I tell Mami after a while. “There’s nothing here I like.”
AUTUMN IN FLORIDA ISN’T THE WAY you see in books, with people bundled up and colorful leaves blowing off trees in the wind. It happens in small ways that most people can barely notice. The heat starts to break, so we eat dinner on the patio. The snowbird people from cold places like Michigan and Canada suddenly start to wander into El Caribe to make it even more crowded. Abuela and Lolo plant new beds of impatiens to last for the winter.
At Seaward, we know it’s autumn when the festival happens. This year, it falls right on Halloween, too, which is perfect. I’ll be part of putting it together because the sixth-graders are always in charge of the fairway. Every third-hour class has two weeks to build one of the carnival games. I’m so thankful not to have Mr. Dixon’s third-hour math class. He’s not much for fun and holidays, which he says “impede student concentration and force him into the role of babysitter.” I feel bad for his students. They’ll have the most boring stall for sure, same as last year. Estimate how many pieces of candy corn are in this jar and win it all. He doesn’t even write a new index card with the question. No one wants to go to a festival to do calculations of mass and volume, except maybe Roli, who did, in fact, win last year. He edged out (who else?) Ahana Patel by two pieces.
Ms. Tannenbaum lets us decide the game we want, and we vote on cornhole. The only thing that we can’t change is that the game has to have an ancient civilization theme.
“It will be excellent advertising for our Great Tomb Project in December.” Ms. Tannenbaum then sweetens the deal. “I also plan to give extra credit for those of you who dress as the gods and goddesses we’ve been studying,” she tells us. “It will come in handy for some of you who struggled on our last quiz.” She looks around the room with a knowing glance. “Be prepared to tell us about the deity of your choice.”
So it’s more or less settled. It takes some haggling to make a sketch, but in the end, we agree. We’ll shape the boards like giant triangles to make them look like pyramids. Lena’s dad is donating the wood. I offer some of Papi’s old paint. A few others will build them.
After that, we spend most of the class hour deciding on costumes and researching. We get books off the shelf and pull up the sites Ms. Tannenbaum tells us to use. Jackal heads, lion faces, spears — it’s hard to choose. Even after, when we’re all walking in a group toward math class, we’re still making our decisions.
“My brother is in the theater department at Dreyfoos,” Hannah says. “They did Cats last year. I’m going borrow a good cat mask for Bastet.”
“What are you going as, Michael?” Edna says, sidling up to him, which makes Rachel’s eyes bulge. I notice that Edna asks Michael something every few minutes. Do you have a pencil, Michael? What do you have for lunch, Michael? Where do you live, Michael? Have you been to the beach yet, Michael?
“Not sure,” he says. “Maybe Anubis. It’s a cool jackal head. I don’t know how to make that, though.”
There’s a mob of kids crowding the exit when we get to the building. One of the doors somehow got locked, and now everyone is pushing and shoving as they try to get out through the only one that still opens.
“Make way,” Edna says, but not even Her Imperial Highness can get through this tangle.
Finally, Michael steps forward. He’s big enough so that when he stands there, he’s a human wall blocking people so we can get by. One by one, we slip under his arm.
“Thanks, Michael,” Edna says sweetly as she goes.
I’m the last one through. I squeeze past just as Michael moves and lets the crush of kids finally pass in the other direction.
We start walking together.
“What costume are you making?” he asks.
“Personally? None. But my grandmother can sew anything, so I know it’ll be good.”
“Yeah?”
“She used to own a dress shop.” I don’t add that it was in her back bedroom.
He stops just as we’re about to turn down my hall. “Can she help me with my Anubis costume?” he asks. “I need the extra credit. I bombed that quiz.”
A little jolt goes through me, like when one of the twins jumps out to surprise me. I’m thinking of Abuela’s salty egg idea, and it makes me look over my shoulder for a second, as if Edna and the girls are right there. Thankfully, they’ve been swallowed up in the glob of kids. I’m rooted to the spot, with him looking down at me. But here’s the thing: if Michael is having funny ideas about me, he can just forget it. My heart belongs to Jake Rodrigo.
“It’s a good Sunshine Buddy thing and all,” he says, trying to convince me. “Better than busting my face, at least.”
“Not funny.”
“Uff da! Neither are stitches, Merci!”
The bell rings and everyone scatters.
“Ask her,” he begs.
All it takes is three strides for that kid to disappear inside his math class.
Uff da?
I get to Mr. Dixon’s class just as he’s closing the door. I’m the last one to slide into my seat. I’m flushed, like I’ve done something wrong, again, but I realize helping Michael will get me some points with Miss McDaniels, especially after the baseball incident. I open my book and get cracking on the problems.
None of us in the family has ever worn a store-bought costume, because Abuela will not have it. Over the years, I’ve been an angel, a mermaid with a long tail, a lion, a Shasta daisy, a chocolate-chip cookie (Roli was the milk), and a tree, which made running hard. I know that because the twins were puppies that year, and they kept pretending to pee on me.
The only trouble with costume time is that Abuela can get even bossier than usual.
We’ve just finished dinner outside when Roli tells us to wait right where we are. He walks the twins to Tía’s place, and a few minutes later, they come back with a shocker.
“What do you think? We’re a mad scientist and his henchmen,” Roli says.
Papi glances at Abuela and takes a bite of the last merengue, like he’s sitting down to watch the fights on TV.
Abuela looks on, arms crossed, as the twins model their getup. They’re wearing lab coats that Roli borrowed from Seaward, old swim goggles, and black rubber gloves that Papi uses when he’s working with paint thinner. Their hair has been moussed to peaks with some of Tía Inés’s hair foam.
“The sleeves on those coats are too long for the twins,” Abuela says.
“Yeah, but besides that, with a little blood on their faces and dark circles under their eyes, they’re perfect lunatics,” Roli says proudly. “Do the laugh,” he instructs.
The twins widen their eyes. “Bwa-ha-ha-ha.”
“I hate to admit how good this looks, Mamá,” Tía says. “And it is less work for you.”
But Abuela still looks injured. “I had the pattern for the piratas and everything. I bought hooks for their hands and was even going to reuse those patches that Merci used to wear for her eye exercises.”
I thought I had gotten rid of those, but anyway, this is my cue. I reach into my backpack and pull out the book I brought home.
“Don’t worry, Abuela,” I say. “I still need lots of help on my costume. It’s for the fall fe
stival — and for extra credit.”
Tía looks at the page I marked in my textbook. “Ooh, Egyptian goddesses! I think I have a wig that’s a pageboy. You’ll look so pretty.”
I roll my eyes. That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid. Cloth wound around me tightly. Wigs, Eyeliner. Jewelry. Blech.
“Actually, I want to go as this one.” I point at the picture of Ammut. It shows the head of a crocodile, the body of a lioness, and the rump of a hippopotamus. “She’s a demon.”
Abuela crosses herself and looks up at the sky. “What are you saying? I’m not turning my only granddaughter into something evil. ¡Dios, nos ampare! It’s bad enough that the babies are going as madmen.” She gives Roli a pointed look.
“Mad scientists,” he corrects. “Specifically, evil henchmen.”
“But Ammut wasn’t evil,” I say. “She ate the souls of those who had been wicked in life. Plus, there are superpowers to consider. She was immortal and could be in two places at one time.”
“Now that’s a superpower I wish I had.” Mami has been looking tired all day. She got three new patients this week.
Tía studies the picture and points at the haunches. “There’s some serious booty on this costume,” she says.
“It’s all the rage,” Mami says as she scrapes my plate clean and stacks it on hers. Then she pulls out her tissue and wipes her nose.
“Stay put, Ana,” Papi says, taking the stack from her. “I’ll clear the dishes.”
Abuela looks at Mami. “Ana. You’re her mother. Are you saying that you approve of this costume?”
I put my hands up in prayer and do a silent plead.
Mami blows her nose hard. Then she shrugs and smiles. “What’s the harm?” she says. “Merci is old enough to choose what she wants.”
“No. She’ll always be my little preciosa,” Lolo offers from the head of the table.
“Lolo,” I say. My voice is sharp. I know he’s trying to be sweet, but his pet name for me suddenly feels annoying, like a box I want to get out of.
“This is a little complicated . . .” Abuela mutters. She clicks her tongue and studies the image more closely. “I’ll need to get some foam for that bottom . . . and maybe cardboard for the crocodile head . . .”
“Um.” I lower my voice. “I have a kid in my class who needs some help, too.”
“Yes?”
“Michael Clark wants to go as Anubis.” I point to another picture. “He’ll need a jackal head.”
“¡Un chacal!”
Tía’s ears perk up. “Michael Clark? You mean the kid you didn’t want to be nice to?”
“The boy from the movies?” Papi adds darkly.
“The one whose face she busted,” Roli says.
“Yes, OK? Michael,” I say.
“Well, he’ll need to come for a fitting,” Abuela tells me.
“You mean here?” I ask.
“How else can I make something that fits correctly?”
“But that means he has to come home with me.”
“Well, obviously. And it needs to be in the next day or two, Merci. These things take time.”
I stand there, blinking.
“Do you want my services for this costume or not, niña?” Abuela says.
“Fine. I’ll ask.”
I pull my phone from my pocket and text his number.
Can you come over tomorrow to work on your costume?
I press send and stand there staring at the screen as I wait.
A loud squeak behind me makes me jump and turn around. La Boba has appeared mysteriously from the sewing room closet. She has a sheet slung over her decapitated neck to make her look like a ghost.
“Ooooo-oooo . . . Bring me the head of Michael Clark . . .”
I chase the twins under the folding table, where they hide between Lolo’s legs. They’re screeching louder than La Boba’s noisy wheels as I try to grab them. But just then my phone vibrates. When I check, an even bigger jolt of fear shoots through me.
He says he can come.
I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW WHAT makes me more nervous today: Michael coming over to get fitted for his costume, or the fact that Roli is driving us home from school. Mami woke up sick. She has fever, chills, aches — the whole tamal. When we walked into her bedroom this morning, we got hit with the smell of Vicks VapoRub. The scent was strong enough to melt your face. Mami’s gaze was glassy, and she had the ends of a tissue shoved in her nostrils. Papi was already gone; he’d left early for a job.
“The keys are hanging in the kitchen,” she told Roli. She rolled over with a groan and pulled the blanket to her chin.
We pull into Seaward at our usual turtle crawl, but thankfully in one piece. I’ve only got a minute to get to class, though. The lot attendant points us to the visitor section since we don’t have a parking sticker, which means a long walk to my building. Miss McDaniels has strict rules about who parks where. If she notices that a car is in the wrong place, she’ll order a tow truck in no time flat. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.
“Meet me here at three fifteen sharp,” Roli says.
I grab the two cans of paint that Papi left for me and start my mad dash to homeroom. The paint was from a job in Boynton Beach, a baby’s nursery. All I can say is, poor kid; he’s probably blind by now. The color is screaming yellow, like an egg yolk. On the upside, it’s just the right shade for painting our cornhole game for the fall festival booth.
I’m almost to my building, huffing and puffing, when Edna and Jamie approach me on the path. They don’t look happy, although maybe that’s because their matching high ponytails are pulled too tight.
Edna steps forward and cocks her head. “Michael Clark is going to your house?”
“Today?” Jamie adds.
I stand there breathing heavily. News travels fast, I see.
“He wanted help with his costume, and my grandmother can sew.”
They exchange looks.
“He likes Edna,” Jamie says. “Not you.”
He maybe likes Edna, but I know better than to point out the difference.
“What does that have to do with anything?” I say. “It’s just a school project. Plus, I need something to tell Miss McDaniels for Sunshine Buddies.”
An awkward silence follows as I stand there. Edna looks more sad than angry, and I don’t know why. I don’t like Michael, at least not that way.
The paint cans are getting heavy, and it feels like my arms are being pulled like one of the twins’ stretch toys. “We’re going to be late, and these weigh a ton, so . . .”
I can feel their eyes on me as I walk away.
All day, Edna’s mojo is especially potent.
I go over things in my mind to see exactly what I’ve done. Our fun at the movies seems like a million years ago instead of just a few weeks.
At lunchtime, she won’t look at me, and I notice that the other girls get kind of quiet, too. Only Hannah waits for me when the lunch bell rings. And then in PE that afternoon, we play lacrosse and Edna doesn’t pass to me once, even when I’m clear and have a perfect shot on the goal.
And worse, after school, Edna and Jamie are standing around the bike rack near where Roli parked. I can see them whispering as I run to join Michael, who’s already waiting by our car. Roli is hurrying across the parking lot, too.
“Sorry!” Roli says when he reaches us. “We were ordering the cow eyes for next week.”
“Don’t ask,” I whisper to Michael.
He takes off his red blazer and tie and starts to climb into the back seat. The back is tiny, though, and that’s never going to work with his long legs.
“I’ll get back there,” I say.
My phone buzzes almost as soon as we pull out of the parking lot. It’s a snap. When I tap it open, I see a picture of Edna crossing her eyes at me and letting her tongue hang out. Is she making fun of my eye? If she weren’t mad at me, I’d say no. Everyone sends dumb snaps all the time, right? It’s just something we do occasionally, l
ike wearing 3-D glasses for a movie, like eating ice cream too fast on purpose to see who gets a headache, maybe even like stealing each other’s lunches.
But now it feels different, meaner.
I’m still deciding what to think when the snap disappears. I stare at the screen. Everything has evaporated, like it never happened at all. The only way I know it’s real is by the sweat on my palms.
I turn my phone off and slide it into my backpack.
Roli tries to hurry along the side streets, and by that, I mean he drives at twenty-six miles per hour, but we still get stuck at the drawbridge at its scheduled opening. There’s a long line of cars waiting for the boats to pass underneath. It makes me wonder if any of them are Frackas yachts down there.
“Look, Roli,” I say, pointing. “That one over there is called the Sea Señorita. Lolo would love that.”
“Who’s Lolo?” Michael asks.
“Our grandfather.”
“Does he have a boat?” Michael asks me, turning around.
“Who, Lolo?” Roli snorts. “No.” He scrolls his phone for some music to pass the time.
“Oh.”
“We like renting charters a lot better,” I say quickly.
Roli looks up at me in his rearview mirror. I’m stretching the truth and he knows it. We’ve only ever rented a boat once.
“Do you like boating?” I ask.
Michael shrugs. “Yeah. We used to take the Johnson boat north in summer, but we sold it when we left Minnesota. We’d go ice fishing for winter break, too. Not much of that here, I guess.” He sounds a little sad.
Roli looks at him. “Um, no, Lake Okeechobee doesn’t freeze over.” He keeps his voice calm, like when he’s trying to tutor someone who is a blockhead.
“Lake Okeechobee? Where’s that?
“It’s the enormous blue spot on the map of Florida,” Roli says. “It’s west of here, past the sugar cane,” Roli says. “Which is the problem, of course.”
Oh, no. Before I can stop him, Roli starts in about fertilizer that runs off into the lake and how that eventually leads to the toxic algae in the ocean that closed the beaches a few years ago. “It’s a green slime that smells like farts and can double its biomass in a day.” He actually says this.
