by Meg Medina
When the doorbell rings, I run to get it, thinking it’s the butcher delivering the roast pig wrapped in foil.
But when I open it, I find Simón and a boy next to him, about Roli’s age. They’re standing side by side in collared shirts, holding a long, heavy box in their arms.
“¡Feliz Navidad, Merci!” Simón tells me. “Are you going to invite us in, or should Vicente and I eat the lechón by ourselves?”
“¡Bienvenidos! ¡Adelante!” Tía says. “Thank you so much for picking up the order for us!” Her eyes look sparkly as she gently moves me aside at the door. She’s wearing a slinky dress and her hair is curled just so.
“The smell of lechón was driving us mad,” Simón announces as they step inside.
He smiles at Tía in a way that tells me something else might be driving him mad, too.
“Well, I’m glad you could both make it.” She turns to the boy and smiles. “So, this is your hermanito?”
Simón smiles and claps him on the back. “Vicente is the youngest of my brothers. And the best present of all for me this year,” he says. “He got here last week.”
Vicente looks just like Simón except with lighter eyes and longer hair. I can’t help staring. If he grew his hair just a tiny bit more and braided it, he could look just like . . . Jake Rodrigo.
Just then, Papi comes to the door to say hello, and in a few seconds, he leads them all back to the kitchen where Mami and Abuela are working.
“Do you think Tía will ever fall in love again?” I whisper to Roli. He’s watching old Christmas movies on TV.
“We are not discussing love, Merci.”
The whole night is fun. It turns out that Vicente doesn’t speak much English, so we talk to each other in Spanish instead. I find out that he’s a great soccer player, too. He takes one of the soccer balls lying in the yard and pancakes from one foot to the other. Then he pops the ball up in a steady rhythm pretty much the way I do it. He even starts to teach me how to stall the ball on my shoulder blades and on my forehead, too, like a sea lion doing tricks at the aquarium. Lolo and the twins watch us as we practice. The twins go wild, blowing into their vuvuzelas until the whole yard sounds like it’s filled with bees.
After, we all eat snacks and set off firecrackers in the yard, and the twins run around in the dark with the sparklers Simón brought for them.
Finally, at eleven o’clock, it’s time to eat dinner. It’s late, but I’m too excited to feel tired.
Lolo stands at the head of the table and holds up his plastic glass of red wine. “To the best family,” he says, looking around at all of us. Abuela stands next to him and thanks God that we are all here together for another year.
Papi raises a glass to my picture in the newspaper and another toast to Roli’s college acceptance, which makes Mami cry. Simón raises a glass, too, to say he’s grateful for this country and for a good employer like Papi and most of all for his brother’s safe journey here. Tía Inés is about to say something, too, when Tomás pipes up to stop her.
“Can we please eat now?”
That cracks us all up.
“You’re right,” she says. “Dig in!”
As always, everything is delicious. The pork tastes of orange juice and garlic, and the moros have the crunchy bacon bits on top that I love.
Finally, after we eat the turrones and Abuela slices the flan, it’s midnight. At last it’s time for coffee and presents.
The smell of brewed espresso fills the yard as Abuela and Mami walk around with trays, offering the tiny cups of café. The adults settle in around the porch to watch us kids exchange presents.
The twins get an enormous castle with knights and two dragons, a T-ball set, and matching super-water-balloon launchers from Roli. I can already tell that I’m going to have to carry around a towel to protect myself.
Roli gets the 3-D-printed moon lamp he wanted, a light blue T-shirt that says UNC, and gift cards so he can get things for his college room next year.
Simón surprises Vicente with a nice pair of cleats.
“We might finally have a good keeper on our team,” Papi says, clapping his hands together.
Then it’s my turn. I get school regulation shorts and T-shirts from Mami and Papi, and cool Iguanador socks. The fizzy bath bombs and hair clips are from Tía. Roli gets me a new bike helmet — ha, ha. I’m about to sit down when Papi says, “Oh, wait. There’s one more thing.”
He goes to the side of the house and rolls out a sparkling new bike. It’s not a kid’s bike, either, but a twenty-six-inch beach cruiser, deep blue, almost like Lena’s hair.
“We kept it at Simón’s place,” Papi tells me.
I stand there, staring at the perfection and wondering if it’s a mirage. My heart races as I check out everything up close. The basket, the water bottle, the clamp for my phone, the headlamp and bell. I snap a picture of it and send it to Lena and Hannah before I remember that they are probably not awake.
“What do you think?” Mami says.
“It’s so gorgeous! Thank you!”
Lolo walks over to my bike slowly. He smiles as he runs his fingers along the handlebars. He pulls on the bell to ring it, flicks on the lamp that sends a beam into the yard. Is he thinking about the Sunday rides that we don’t take anymore?
“Wait here, Lolo,” I say. “I have something for you, too. Well, it’s kind of for all of us.”
I go to our Christmas tree and come back with a large square package that I didn’t mark with a name. Then I sit next to Lolo and Abuela and place it in their laps.
“You can open it for us,” I tell Lolo.
He smooths his hand over the surface, unsure, so Abuela starts a corner of it for him. And then, because they can’t wait for anything, the twins yell, “We’ll help,” and start ripping open the paper, too.
Inside is the big scrapbook that Roli and I bought a few days ago. It’s leather with black pages inside. I’ve written La Familia Suárez in metallic marker on the cover. Inside are pages filled with pictures that I’ve been taking of all of us. Tía Inés and me looking grungy. Tomás and Axel picking grapefruit and sword fighting. Roli bent over a book. Lolo’s bike in black and white. Abuela’s hands threading the bobbin at her sewing machine. Papi and Mami unpacking groceries from the van. And underneath each picture, I’ve written our names in my neatest handwriting.
“I left lots of pages blank in the back,” I tell him, “so we can add more this year. It’s to help you remember when it gets hard.”
Lolo sits with the book in his lap. “Preciosa,” he says quietly. He hasn’t said my name now in a few weeks, and I miss hearing it. But I’m positive that he still knows it’s me, Merci, and that he likes this book.
Abuela and Lolo turn the pages and show everyone each shot. Then I make them all gather in a group — Simón and Vicente, too — and take a picture of our Nochebuena party, so we can add it to the rest.
Later, after we’ve put away the food and cleaned up, after everyone has kissed good-bye and made good wishes for the coming year, I lie in my bed wide awake. Usually, when I can’t sleep, I talk to Roli until I drift off. But he’s already snoring, so I’m on my own.
I tiptoe through the kitchen and I slip out into the backyard barefoot. It’s almost two in the morning. The sky is dark and only the stars are out. I know Mami wouldn’t want me outside at this hour, and Abuela would say I could get attacked by a stray Florida bobcat. But it will only be a few minutes.
I straddle the seat of my new bike in the driveway. Then I flip on the headlight, and the path ahead of me fills with bugs dodging in the beam. I feel tall in this seat, important. Even though I’m barefoot, I decide to do a slow ride around Las Casitas on my new wheels, just to test it.
There are no squeaks from the pedals, and the chain doesn’t skip. It’s like I’m gliding on clouds. I switch gears and feel the extra weight kick in right away. I grip my toes, and with each heavy push, I move faster and farther than before, so that soon I’ve made anoth
er two loops around our yard. I stand up and pump my legs, sweat gathering behind my knees. It’s hard, but I can do it. I go around and around until my legs are wobbly and my heart thumps and I have no choice but to stop.
This is exactly the bike that I wanted. It’s the perfect present.
But there are other things that I wished for even harder than I did for this bike, and I know I won’t get them, no matter what. Important things, like wishing that Lolo wasn’t sick and that everything could stay the same.
Then again, staying the same means that Tía Inés might not have the chance to love Simón. It means Roli wouldn’t go to college and get even smarter. It means that I wouldn’t grow up at all. Staying the same could be just as sad as Lolo changing.
I don’t know what is going to happen next year, no one does. But that’s OK.
I can handle it, I decide. It’s just a harder gear, and I am ready. All I have to do is take a deep breath and ride.
My grandparents were an important part of my life as a child. What I remember most of all is that my family always lived close by and that we were involved in one another’s lives, which was sometimes quite a pain, from my perspective.
Unfortunately, both my grandfathers died before I could truly remember them well, but my grandmothers enjoyed long lives. My Abuela Fefa, on my father’s side, had once been a seamstress, and she sewed clothes for me every year. Abuela Bena, on my mother’s side, was my babysitter, my storyteller, and our family’s greatest worrier.
In writing this book, I wanted to celebrate grandparents and families that live intergenerationally, the way that we often see in Latino families. But I also wanted to write about change in families. We all change, especially as we grow up, but adults change, too. And, as we all know, not every change is a good one.
In this story, Merci’s grandfather, Lolo, is changing due to an illness. He’s struggling with the effects of Alzheimer’s disease, which attacks the brain. Alzheimer’s patients of any age lose enough of their memory that it makes their daily life very difficult. They can forget the people they love and the important events in their own lives. Eventually, they lose their memory of how to speak, walk, eat, and even breathe.
Alzheimer’s is difficult and scary for the person who is sick, but it is also very hard for all the people who care for them, especially as the illness advances. If you have a family member who has Alzheimer’s, you may feel sad or frustrated, you may be embarrassed by the behavior of the person you love, and you may think that you are the only one facing this challenge. But the truth is that thousands of children all over the world are dealing with the same situation. Here are the facts: Alzheimer’s disease is the sixth leading cause of death in the United States. Five million people are living with this disease, and many more are family and friends who are taking care of their loved ones.
Although researchers are working very hard, at the time of this writing, there is no known prevention or cure for Alzheimer’s. There are, however, promising new therapies, and many ways for you to help by raising money and awareness. And there are ways to get help and support by meeting and talking with other young people who love someone with Alzheimer’s disease.
For more information, visit the Alzheimer’s Association at www.alz.org.
Books happen in my life as the result of the time, talent, and love of so many people.
I’m most grateful to my editor, Kate Fletcher, for her continued dedication to my work. She offered her keen eye, thoughtful questions, and an abundance of patience as we worked around my particularly tricky schedule this past year. This book — and everything I have ever written for her — is better than I could have ever done alone.
Blessed are the copyeditors for they keep us from making ridiculous mistakes in public. And so, a shout-out to my saviors: Emily Quill, Maggie Deslaurier, K. B. Mello, and Maya Myers, who had to wade through my many struggles with commas, dashes, and those pesky time markers, and Teresa Mlawer, who makes sure my Spanish is always in order.
Every book is also a physical piece of artwork. Thanks to Pam Consolazio for the lovely interior design, and a huge thanks to my friend, Joe Cepeda, who is responsible for the evocative cover. It has been a dream of mine to collaborate with Joe, whose work has graced some of the most iconic books in children’s literature. I hope this is the first of many more projects for us.
I’m indebted to Candlewick’s entire library, PR, and marketing teams for their enthusiasm in getting Merci Suárez Changes Gears out into the world and for all the ways they have supported me over the years as we’ve worked together. Special high fives to: Karen Lotz, Liz Bicknell, Phoebe Kosman, Jamie Tan, Anne Irza-Leggat, Hilary Van Dusen, Jennifer Roberts, Melanie Cordova, Raquel Stecher — you are quite a team.
Many hugs to my agent, Jen Rofé at the Andrea Brown Agency, who has been a tireless advocate for me from day one when a brand-new author and a brand-new agent decided to take a risk on each other.
My beta readers this time were Lamar Giles and Brendan Kiely. You know (because I’ve told you over and over) how much I value your opinion. Thank you so much for taking the time to help and for asking all the right questions. How lucky I feel to call both of you friends.
And finally, I want to give endless love and thanks to my family — my children, Cristina, Sandra, and Alex Menéndez, but most especially to my husband, Javier Menéndez, who uses rock-solid love to remove all obstacles and cheer me on. They are the reason I know joy.
M. M.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2018 by Margaret Medina
Cover illustration copyright © 2018 by Joe Cepeda
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
First U.S. electronic edition 2018
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number pending
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