by Meg Medina
I cut him off before Michael’s head explodes. “But there’s other fun stuff to do near the beach,” I say from the back. I kick Roli’s seat hard and he goes back to picking music.
I tell Michael about the time Lolo took us on a night fishing trip on a charter boat and we caught a twenty-pound tuna in the moonlight. I tell him about the Save the Manatee Club, and the sea cow named Tubby that our class adopted last year.
Michael seems a little happier after that. When the bridge finally closes, he sits back. Then Roli’s favorite song comes on, and we head for home.
I’m jittery when we pull into our driveway. It’s strange to have someone from Seaward here. The truth is, nobody outside our family comes over. We just meet our friends at school or at the places we’re going. We’ve never talked about why, but somehow we both know that’s our rule. Nobody else at school lives with their whole family like we do at Las Casitas. And brothers and sisters don’t share rooms, so our friends might think we’re weird or poor, even though what are you supposed to do if your house is small? Other people’s houses seem to have more of what’s fun, too. There’s no pool in our backyard, just the one at the condos across the street that we used to sneak into when Doña Rosa loaned us her gate key. There’s no Dance Central video game here, like at Hannah’s. No Echo speaker that can search the web and answer your craziest questions, like Rachel has. It’s just plain here.
Abuela is waiting for us on the front patio, measuring tape already strung around her neck. Lolo is there, too. He’s standing up and he looks fidgety. Has he been pacing, I wonder? I glance at Michael, but he doesn’t seem to notice anything. I don’t want him, or anyone else, to see Lolo acting weird.
“About my grandmother . . .” I tell Michael when we finally pull under our carport. “She can be a little picky. And bossy.” I don’t say anything about Lolo, though. Roli and I have worked out a plan just in case.
Suddenly the twins come racing across the yard at our car. They’re screaming like lunatics and pressing their faces against the car windows.
“Do they bite?” Michael asks.
I lean toward him in the front seat. “Not usually. But if either of them offers you anything to eat, definitely check it or show me first,” I tell him.
“Um, OK.”
The twins stare up as Michael gets out of the car.
“Are you a ghost?” Axel asks.
“Or a giant?” Tomás adds.
“Don’t be rude,” I say.
“Get back from our guest, boys,” Abuela calls, motioning to them.
Roli grabs Tomás just as he’s about to fish inside Michael’s backpack and follows us to Abuela’s porch.
Lolo has stuffed his hands in his pockets and jiggles the change nervously. He says hello to us when we reach them, but he seems distracted. Then he turns to Michael. “Ana is feeling sick today. Very sick.”
Michael looks at me, unsure. “Who’s Ana?”
“My mom,” I say. “She’s got the flu.” I turn back to Lolo, my stomach already doing nervous flips. I wonder if maybe he’s been worried about Mami all day. I smile, trying to act like nothing’s wrong.
“Lolo, this is Michael,” I say.
It’s as if he doesn’t even hear me. “Ana is sick today,” he says again.
Abuela steps closer. “She’ll be fine, viejo,” she says. Then she offers Michael a big smile. “Hello there.”
Roli glances at me and takes his cue without me having to pinch him. “How about some dominoes?” he says to Lolo. “My place. Mami might want some company.”
“Dominoes!” Axel shouts. And the twins tear down the path for our door. Lolo follows.
Michael stands in Abuela’s kitchen a few minutes later, unsure where to sit. My eyes scan the plastic flowers near the sink, the faded wallpaper that Tía keeps telling her to take down, the wall clock shaped like a stopwatch, the teeny ants zigzagging near the leaky faucet. When I sit down at the table, I stuff my toe under the table leg to make sure it doesn’t jiggle too much.
Abuela has snacks ready, of course — a spread of things from El Caribe. I start to reach for a couple of ham croquetas when I notice Michael taking a cautious look.
“What are these?” he asks.
I tell him the names and which ones are ham, cheese, or sweet. “They’re good,” I say, but I can see that he still looks unsure. “My aunt might have Oreos next door, if you want those.”
“No. That’s OK.” He chooses an empanada, sniffs it, and bites in. He chews slowly, thinking. “Well, that’s interesting,” he says at last. “It’s kind of like fry bread.”
We finish our snacks and Abuela leads us to the sewing room. “Excuse the mess,” she says. Bits of foam and cardboard litter the floor. “See what you think of those,” she says, pointing. She’s drawn her costume ideas on a torn sheet of pattern paper and taped it to the wall.
The sketches look almost exactly like what’s in our book. Michael squints and looks closer. “But wait. I’ll be wearing a skirt?”
“More or less,” Abuela says. “It’s not up to me to change history. But I’ll make it reach to your knee so you’re decent. On the bright side, my granddaughter said you might need this.” She reaches behind the ottoman and pulls out the most amazing mask. It’s not quite finished, but you can see the shape of the jackal head, with beaded eyes and a thin, sharp snout. The mouth even opens and closes with a hinge she made from round head fasteners.
“Holy buckets!” Michael slides it on carefully. “How does it look?” His voice is an echo — perfect for the god of the afterlife.
“Fierce!” I say.
“Thanks!” he says to Abuela. “It’s perfect!”
“You’ll have to paint it and add the details,” Abuela tells him, “but you’ve got the basic form.”
She can barely hide how proud she is, but I can see that she may have overdone it today. She’s rubbing her hands the way she always does when her arthritis is bothering her. Sometimes Mami wraps Abuela’s hands in warm towels and pulls gently on her fingers to make them feel better. I make a note to do that for her later, after Michael goes home.
“It must have taken all day,” I say to her. “Thank you.”
She bows her head a little. “Well . . . Lolo was underfoot, como siempre, and there were the twins to pick up . . .” Her voice drifts a little, and I suddenly wonder if maybe she ever gets tired of caring for all of us.
She points to the ottoman.
“Get up there, please, Michael. Hold your arms out, like so.” He does what Abuela says. I swear, with that mask on, he looks just like a scarecrow. I snap his picture and turn him into one before sending it to his phone. Then I pretend to read People en Español so I don’t have to look at her measure his chest and waist.
She finishes with Michael and then motions to me. “You’re next, mi vida,” she says, stifling a yawn.
My face flushes. Is she going to wrap that measure around my chest right here in front of him?
“Why don’t you rest, Abuela? You look tired. We can work on mine this weekend.”
I turn to Michael. “Come on. I’ll show you our one-eyed cat before you have to go.”
“ALL RIGHT, EVERYONE. I’D LIKE you in pairs,” Ms. Tannenbaum says on Monday morning. “Try to find someone you haven’t worked with in class before.”
We all groan. If we haven’t worked with someone, it’s probably for a reason, right? And now, since a lot of the girls have already worked in groups together, it leaves the boys as our main partner options.
When nobody moves, Ms. Tannenbaum sets her phone’s timer. “Come on, now. We have a lot to cover. I’ll give you exactly one minute to pair up. Go.”
Everyone rushes around the room looking for a partner, but my feet feel nailed to the floor as I try to decide which way to go. Each time I head toward someone, it seems like they’re snatched by someone else.
“Ten seconds!” Ms. Tannenbaum says.
Just as I start to panic, Michael wa
lks over.
“Hey,” he says.
“Time,” Ms. Tannenbaum says before my lips can work. “Pull two desks together and please tap on the religion folder on your screen.”
“No fair, Ms. Tannenbaum,” says Edna, pointing at us. She’s standing next to Lena near the front of the room. “Those two are working on their fall festival costumes together.”
Ms. Tannenbaum looks over at us. “True?”
I nod.
But Michael only shrugs. “You said to find a partner we haven’t worked with in class, though. We did the costume at Merci’s house.”
Ms. Tannenbaum hesitates a second. “Fair enough.”
Edna pulls her face into a frown that worries me. I don’t know if it’s because she doesn’t like working with Lena, or because she’s mad that Michael picked me. All I can think of is that ugly snap Edna sent me last week when Michael came home with Roli and me. Suddenly I wish he had walked over to someone else.
Ms. Tannenbaum turns back to the class and starts the lesson. “So, let’s look at the role that religion played in everyday life. What benefits would religious beliefs have in their world?”
It turns out that Michael and I work well together. We breeze through the worksheet, mostly because I read the chapter last night and because he doesn’t mind typing our answers. When we finish I’m surprised to realize we’re the first ones done. Everyone else is still working, even Lena and Edna. When I ask, Ms. Tannenbaum lets us visit her stash of board games. We borrow the mancala game and play quietly while the others finish.
“Hey, is your grandmother done making our costumes?” he asks. “ I still need to paint it.”
“Almost.” I drop my marbles in the spaces around the board. “She’s been kind of busy this week, but she’ll get it done.”
It’s true. With Mami down with the flu, Abuela has been busy cooking dinner for us every night. And it’s been hard for her to sew during the day like she used to because Lolo gets bored and wants to go for walks, which she insists on taking with him. So she’s been staying up late to finish our costumes. Last night, I fell asleep to the whir of her sewing machine through the yard.
“Good,” he says. “I need the grade. If I get all As this semester, we’re going to Disney over winter break.” He scoops up marbles and takes his turn.
“Lucky,” I say. Good grades never come with perks at our house. Roli has ruined that curve forever. “Don’t worry, though. You’ll get an A.”
A WEEK LATER, I WAIT at the front desk. Miss McDaniels is on the phone, so I put down the jackal mask while she finishes. Roli drove us to school again, or should I say crawled us here. No surprise, the slowpoke made us late. He’s still parking the car, or trying to.
Miss McDaniels hangs up and comes to the counter. She turns the sign-in screen in my direction.
“Overslept?”
“No, miss.” I tap the icon for tardies and add my name to today’s list of shame. “My mom is still getting better from the flu, so my brother drove. He has a speed impediment.”
“Set your alarm earlier,” she says. “I won’t consider it excused next time.”
She prints out a pass, and I glance down when she hands it to me.
“Can you add a few minutes to this, please? I need to drop off a project in Ms. Tannenbaum’s room.” And then for good measure: “It’s for my Sunshine Buddy. Michael and I worked on costumes for the fall festival together.” I hand her my weekly report and smile.
Miss McDaniels hesitates, making sure I’m not conning her.
“Very well.” She writes a new time in pen and initials it. “Five minutes granted.”
When I get to Ms. Tannenbaum’s classroom, I find that it’s empty and the lights are off. I forgot that she has her first period free. For a second, I wonder if I should leave Michael’s costume in the front office with Miss McDaniels, but I won’t have time. I try the door, and, luckily, it’s open.
I put the jackal mask and toga on Ms. Tannenbaum’s desk and search for paper and pen, but I don’t see any. So I grab a dry-erase marker and write her a big note on the whiteboard.
MS. T — I AM LEAVING THIS MASK HERE
BECAUSE IT IS TOO BIG TO FIT IN MY
LOCKER OR LUG AROUND. IT’S FOR
MICHAEL CLARK.
— MERCI, PERIOD 3.
I look at the mask one last time. Michael is going to look perfect for the fall festival, so I hope he does a good job painting it and presenting his god. Now that this one is done, Abuela and I can finish up mine tonight. It has an enormous hippo booty made of sofa-cushion foam, and my crocodile head is going to open and close on hinges, just like Michael’s.
There are only two minutes left on my pass. I hoist my backpack over my shoulder and shut the door behind me on my way to class.
I’m standing at my locker, collecting my things for social studies after second period. “Did David and them finish making the game board?” I ask Jamie. That’s who was in charge of sawing the holes in the plywood and painting it.
She’s standing right next to me, talking with Edna. When she doesn’t answer, I say it louder. “Jamie, is the game board done?”
But she doesn’t so much as turn. They just keep talking with the other girls. It’s as if I’m a ghost. That’s how I know for sure that something’s up.
“Everybody can ride home with me after the festival tomorrow,” Edna says. “And if you can’t, just get to my house by nine o’clock. That’s when we’re watching the movie.”
“But I’m not allowed to watch that,” Hannah says irritably. She yanks her lock but it won’t open. “It’s rated R, isn’t it?”
“You have to watch scary movies on Halloween,” Edna says. “It’s the rule. Besides, how’s your mother going to know?”
“Hello? She’s going to ask your mom,” Hannah says.
“Well, my mom won’t know either. David is bringing the DVD over from his brother’s slasher collection.”
I stare dully into my locker, pretending to look for something. No one has said anything to me about a party at all.
“The boys are coming over, too?” Rachel says. “Michael and them?” Her eyes bug out.
Edna looks right past me. “A few. For the swimming and beach bonfire — and the movie. Not for the sleepover part on the terrace. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Jamie says, giggling.
My eyes slide over to Hannah. She glances at me and turns bright red. “I hate this stupid lock,” she mutters, giving it a savage yank.
My locker suddenly seems small and crowded with papers and notebooks. I pull out the wrong textbook, and then my science folder spills to the floor. I shove them both back inside the mess.
Edna keeps talking. “Don’t forget to bring a note if you’re riding home with me,” she calls over my head. “Never mind. I’ll do a group text to remind everyone. You, too, Lena.”
Lena, who is never invited to anything, looks up but doesn’t answer. When they’re gone, she turns to me.
“I think I saw David carrying the cornhole boards from the car loop this morning,” she says quietly.
“Oh,” I say. “Thanks.”
I slam my locker shut and walk to class, pretending I don’t care. And maybe I don’t. Who wants to be at Edna’s stupid party? Not me.
But even as I try to convince myself, I start to wonder if Michael is one of the boys who was invited or if she’s mad at him, too. If he is, will he go? When I realize the answer might be yes, I get even madder.
I toss my things down as soon as I get to social studies. At least Michael will get to see his Anubis costume now.
But the costume isn’t on his desk.
And when I look toward the front of the room, I don’t see it on Ms. Tannenbaum’s either. Or on the windowsill. Or anywhere.
I get up and walk toward Ms. Tannenbaum. When I get close, I spot a piece of cardboard sticking out of her garbage can. Dread crawls up from my stomach as I look more carefully. Sure enough, when I pull i
t out, I realize that the jackal mask — or what’s left of it — has been crammed into the trash. It’s in two pieces now, ripped apart at the jaws. The cardboard has been stomped flat, too. The toga has been slashed with marker and is balled up underneath.
“What happened?” I ask Ms. Tannenbaum. My voice must be louder than I intend because she looks up and frowns.
“Excuse me?”
“Michael’s costume for the festival.” I hold up the two pieces. “How did it get broken? I left it on your desk this morning when you weren’t here. Didn’t you read my note?”
But when I point to the whiteboard, there’s nothing there at all, not even a trace of my writing. Somebody has erased my message.
“I didn’t receive a note,” Ms. Tannenbaum says. “And this is the first that I’m seeing this.” She knits her brow. “I’m so sorry, Merci. I have no idea how it got damaged.”
The bells rings, but you can hardly hear it. All around us, people’s voices are loud with excited talk about the festival tomorrow.
“All right, everyone. Calm down and take your seats. EVERYONE!” Ms. Tannenbaum turns to me, flustered. “We’ll have to see about sorting this out later,” she says. “There’s too much commotion now. But don’t worry. I’m sure it can be fixed.”
But I can see it’s beyond repair. Michael will need to start all over again. And even if he were good at art, he’d never be able to do it by tomorrow.
“Hey,” he says to me as I go by his desk. “Did you bring the costume?”
I put the smashed mask on his desk and swallow hard. “I did, but it got broken.”
“What? But the festival is tomorrow!”
“Somebody ruined it. I left it in here this morning.”
“In your seats, please, everyone,” Ms. Tannenbaum says again, louder.
I drop into my chair and glare at the one person horrible enough to do such a thing. Edna is busy taking down the homework assignment, just like we’re supposed to at the start of class.
All hour long, she doesn’t look my way.
