The Tori Trilogy
Just Tori, Tori and the New Girl,
and Tori's Wish
Alicia Danielle Voss-Guillén
Price World Publishing
www.PriceWorldPublishing.com
Copyright © 2012 by Alicia Danielle Voss-Guillén
All rights reserved. Neither this book, nor any parts within it may be sold or reproduced in any form without permission.
eISBN: 9781619841666
Table of Contents
Just Tori
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Tori and the New Girl
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Epilogue
Tori’s Wish
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Just Tori
Chapter One
All my life, I’ve wanted a sister. Sometimes I want an older sister, someone who could drive a car and take me places and style my hair and tell me exciting secrets. And sometimes I’d like a little sister to play Barbies with and teach about things so she’d think I was really mature and smart. But only in my imagination do I have sisters.
In real life, I have brothers. Four of them! And what makes this even worse is that I’m the baby of the family. Andrew’s the oldest and he’s really not so bad. He’s twenty-four and married to this great girl named Stephanie who is the closest thing to a sister I’ve ever had, and they’re even going to have a baby in December! Both Andrew and Stephanie are teachers, and they live in an apartment about half-an-hour away, so that whenever I see Andrew, I usually find that I’ve missed him a lot.
After Andrew comes Nate. Nate is twenty and goes to a community college around here, which means that I’m out of luck as far as him going to school out of state or something. He is also the cockiest person I’ve ever met. He’s going through this stage (I sure hope it’s just a stage) where he thinks he can conquer the world. You know, that no-one’s-better-for-the-job-than-I-am-let-me-handle-this kind of thing. It’s really funny, but also really annoying.
Next in line is Ben. He’s seventeen and a senior in high school. He isn’t cocky like Nate, but he’s sure enough got his own set of problems. Namely, his girlfriend Jaine. All we ever hear around this house is Jaine-this and Jaine-that and I’m-sorry-I-won’t-be-here-for-your-birthday-dinner-Tori-but-it-is-prom-after-all-and-that’s-a-very-big-night-for-Jaine-and-me.
Finally, there’s Joey, who’s got to be the worst of them all. Joey is almost-fourteen and thinks he’s really cool and important because he’s a big eighth-grader and next year, he’ll be in high school. But the really terrible thing about Joey is that somewhere along the line, he committed himself to making my life miserable with his nasty insults and stupid practical jokes. I try not to let him get to me...but it doesn’t always work.
I come last, of course. I’m ten. You might think that being the only girl in a family full of boys would make me into a tomboy or something, but that’s not how I turned out at all. Sports are okay, but I could live without them. My real passion is acting. I go to this drama day camp at the YMCA for two months every summer, at the end of which we put on a stage production. I love the rush of being front-and-center, with everyone’s eyes on me, and wearing stage makeup, and speaking into a microphone, and feeling as though, at least for a moment in time, I’m not Tori Salinas at all, but some entirely different person, a character I’ve brought to life. I can’t wait to get to middle school so I can join the drama club.
“Victoriaaaa!” Mom’s voice rings up the staircase, interrupting my thoughts. Uh oh, it sounds like trouble. I inch toward my bedroom door and open it slowly.
“What is it?” I call back.
“Tori, I’ve been calling you for five minutes,” she says, a bit impatiently. “I need you to come downstairs and set the table for me. It’s almost dinnertime.”
It is? I glance at the clock by my bed. To my surprise, it’s after five o’clock. I sigh. Dad will be home soon, and we’ll all eat, and I haven’t even done most of my homework....I was too busy daydreaming. I have a problem with that. “I’m coming!” I say. I turn off my light and walk downstairs.
Mom is in the kitchen, which is warm and cozy, glowing with the yellowish light that shines from above the stove and the big jar candle on the table. The air in there feels warm and smells good, sharp and spicy. “Are we having chili?” I ask. I open the silverware drawer and begin to take out knives and spoons.
Mom nods. “We are,” she says, then sighs. “Tori, it beats me how you couldn’t have heard me till just now. You’ve got to get your head out of the clouds sometimes and come back down to earth.”
I gulp. Not another lecture about this! “Sorry, Mom,” I say, and then decide to change the subject. “I love chili,” I tell her. “It smells extra-spicy tonight.” I don’t make eye contact with Mom as I begin to fold six paper napkins.
Ever since my cousin Gina gave me this great origami book for my birthday, I’ve loved folding paper and napkins and anything else I can get my hands on. Tonight I make our napkins into the shape of frogs. Frogs really work better on paper, because then when you press down on them, they hop. But, oh, well. Frog napkins are still cute.
I’m relieved that Mom lets the whole not-answering-her thing go. Instead, she says, “You know Dad’s picky about his chili.”
I do know. I don’t think there’s such a thing as too spicy when it comes to Dad. He’s second-generation Peruvian-American, which means that he was born here in the United States, but his parents, my grandparents, were born all the way down in Lima, Peru, South America. Dad grew up on all kinds of spices, thanks to my Abuelita’s cooking.
Mom, on the other hand, says she had to learn how to like spicy food. My grandma on that side of the family is just about the plainest, blandest cook you can imagine. Luckily, Mom didn’t follow in her footsteps.
We Salinas are an interesting family. Dad has dark skin and black hair (well, now it’s getting a little gray) and eyes that are so dark they’re almost black. But Mom has very light skin and ash-blonde hair and blue-gray eyes. My brothers and I fall right in the middle. We have medium, olive-colored skin and brown eyes and brown hair. My hair is long and a couple of weeks ago, Mom let me get it cut into layers, which looks really cool. I have my ears pierced, too.
I take our big ceramic soup bowls out of the cupboard where they’re kept and put one at everyone’s place. Next I add little plates for bread (I carefully arrange the frog napkins on top of them) and glasses for pop. We always have pop with chili, which means I don’t have to drink milk at dinner, which is a good thing because I hate milk.
I go to the refrigerator and take out the tub of butter and plop it in the middle of the table. Then I ask, “Mom?”
“Hmmm?” She’s busy slicing the loaf of wheat bread she bought fresh from the grocery-store bakery.
“What do you think I should be for Halloween this year? It’s only ten days away, and I want to have a really good costume, but I can’t come up with any ideas.”
Before Mom has a chance to answer, Joey wheels around the corner and slides across the hard wood floor on his stocking feet. “Why don’t you dress up like the bride of Frankenstein?” he suggests, then slaps his forehead as if he’s just thought of something. “Oh, I forget
! You don’t need a costume for that!”
I glare at him. “M-o-o-o-o-m .”
She turns away from the cutting board and frowns at my brother. “That wasn’t necessary, was it, Joey?”
He shrugs easily. “Tori was asking for advice. I was just trying to help her out. So shoot me.”
Mom’s lips settle into a hard, tight line, but she doesn’t say anything more. She’s too used to Joey. Instead, she goes back to slicing the bread, and when she is finished, she starts arranging it in a wicker basket.
I just don’t get why he has to be so mean. I mean, would it really have killed him to give me a good suggestion about what I should be for Halloween? Or at least to help me think about it? Sometimes I think Joey might actually be happy if I’d never been born.
I pretend not to see him as I walk straight past him to get the pepper flakes and hot sauce for Dad. Obviously, no one’s going to say anything else about my Halloween costume right now.
There’s an awkward silence in the kitchen until Joey (of course) breaks it. “Aw, man,” he says, noticing the napkins at everyone’s place, “what are those? Are they frogs? Tori, you really outdid yourself with the stupid-napkin-shapes tonight.” And then, to add insult to injury, he picks up the frog at his place and blows his nose on it. Loudly!
I cry out automatically. “Mom!”
“Joey!” she gasps. “That was very rude. You know Tori works hard on those napkin shapes.”
“Yeah, and we all end up wiping our mouths on them, anyway.”
“Joseph.” Mom’s voice holds a warning now.
“Okay, okay,” he gives in, looking just the tiniest bit scared. “Sorry.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. If I did, I might cry.
Less than twenty minutes later, Dad is home. Before he even opens the door, I can hear his car crunching through the crispy fall leaves that litter our long driveway, followed by his footsteps on the creaky back porch.
Almost everything about our house is creaky. It used to be a farmhouse, and it was built all the way back in the early-1900s. It’s big and rambling and, even though it’s been modernized, it still gets drafty in spots during the winter. The best thing about our house is that it’s set smack in the middle of the biggest yard I’ve ever seen.
We live in an unincorporated part of a town called Forest Grove, Illinois, about thirty miles from Chicago. Mom says that we’re unincorporated is the reason we have so much property. I like it that way. Compared to my yard, all my friends’ yards seem puny.
Inside the door, Dad stubs off his shoes and sets down his briefcase. He’s an accountant and works in an office a few towns over.
I rush to give him a hug. “Daddy!” I cry.
He scoops me off my feet. “How’s my princesa?” Then he spins me in a circle like he always does and sets me right back down on the rug by the door. Sometimes, there are advantages to being the youngest and the only girl. Mom says that Dad’s always had a special soft spot for me. And I see just what she means. Sometimes he spoils me.
Dad sniffs the air. “Smells good,” he says. His eyes widen. “Chili?” he asks Mom.
She smiles and nods, then steps over to greet him. He wraps his arms around her and they kiss, which is kind of gross, but still it’s nice to see my parents so much in love after all the years they’ve been married.
My brothers obviously heard Dad come in, because now they all descend upon the kitchen. Joey makes his re-entry, practicing his sock-sliding again, followed by Nate, and finally by Ben, who’s talking on his cell phone. Joey and Nate call hello to Dad, and Ben waves his hand in greeting. They all plop themselves down at the table.
I gather up the bowls for Mom to fill with chili, and Dad gets the ice tray from the freezer. He and Joey begin to fill the glasses with it, and Nate pours Coke on top. Only Ben sits, doing nothing but still talking on the phone.
Mom and I start putting the steaming bowls on the table. Mom gives Ben a pointed look as we all settle into our seats. She’s obviously trying to tell him to get off the phone, but he stares back at her cluelessly, as if he doesn’t understand at all.
Dad looks at Ben, too, and clears his throat loudly. Nate and Joey begin to snicker under their breath. Ben finally gets it. He sighs, as though he’s been really inconvenienced, and says, “Okay, baby. Listen, I’m really sorry, but I’ve gotta run. We’re eating now. But hey, I’ll call you later, all right? Okay. Yeah, I miss you, too. Love you. Bye.”
He ends the call, and Joey cracks up. “Gotta go, baby! Miss you! Love you! Can’t live without you! Muuuuah!” He smacks the air with a big phony kiss.
Nate laughs, too, even though he’s way too old to think that Joey’s immaturity is funny, but Ben looks annoyed. He shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “Lay off, guys,” he says.
Mom must feel a little bad for him because she says, “Really, Joey. There’s nothing wrong with that. That’s how a boy is supposed to talk to his girlfriend. Although,” she casts a sideways glance at Ben, “I really wish he wouldn’t do it at the dinner table.”
“But he’s always talking to Jaine,” Joey defends himself. “It’s, like, over the top, don’t you think, Mom?”
“Over the top is right,” I say. I really wish that at least once in awhile, Ben would try to take interest in someone or something else besides Jaine. Like, maybe, his family. Maybe me.
Joey looks shocked that I’ve actually agreed with him about something. “See?” he asks everybody. “Even Gory Tori thinks so.”
Gory Tori is one of his obnoxious nicknames for me, which I hate more than I can say.
Luckily, Dad stands up for me, so I don’t have to do it myself. “Aw, don’t call her that,” he says. “There’s nothing gory about Tori.”
For some reason, this strikes my three brothers as super funny. They all glance at each other and crack up all over again.
Welcome to another Wednesday night in the Salinas family.
Chapter Two
Ebony wakes me the next morning, pouncing on top of me and clawing my back through the comforter and blanket and sheet that cover me. A split-second later, Mom calls up the stairs, “Tori, I hope you’re getting ready!”
Uh oh. I sit up in bed and push Ebony gently off the mattress. She’s my cat, a beautiful mixed-breed with a black coat and white belly and clear green eyes. I’ve had her since I was seven, and although she can be a real pest at times, I am happy she got me going this morning. Evidently I slept straight through my alarm. Again.
Ugh. School is such a pain with all that homework and everything, and then add to it the fact that you’ve got to get out of bed at the break of dawn to get there in time.
Ebony yowls and leaps right back onto the mattress, where she settles contentedly in a cozy little ball. “Oh, chill,” I tell her. “You’ve got nowhere to be and all day to sleep.”
She opens one eye and glares at me in that snotty little way of hers, then closes it and almost smiles, as if she’s bragging about being able to sleep while I’m in school. Oh, brother.
“Tori!” Mom calls again.
I swallow over a big yawn. “I’m up!” I call back.
“You’d better be! Breakfast is ready, and it’ll be cold if you take too much longer.”
“Okay!” I go into frantic mode. First I sprint down the hall to the bathroom and yank open the door. Or at least I try to. It’s locked. Then I start pounding on the door. “Ben, is that you in there? You’ve gotta get out! I’m in a hurry!”
My hunch proves correct. “Aw, Tori, I’m shaving,” he says.
Momentarily I wonder why Mom never seems concerned about him being ready on time. Then I bang on the door again. “Come on, Ben, not now! You don’t even have anything to shave!”
“Shut up, Tori!” His tone makes me jump. I didn’t say anything all that that bad...just the truth.
“All right, fine. You’ve got enough facial hair to count on two hands. Does that make you feel better?” I don’t rea
lly care about insulting his manhood after the way he snapped. I just need him out of the bathroom so I can get in.
“Leave me alone! I mean it!” he hollers through the door. “Can’t you wash up in Mom and Dad’s bathroom, or use the one downstairs?”
“But my toothbrush is in this bathroom!” Boys are so dumb.
“So go with bad breath for a day. It won’t kill you.” Honestly. You’d think a big old house like ours would have more bathrooms, in which case I could have one all to myself and never need to worry about sharing it with my brothers.
Frustrated, I make a beeline for Mom and Dad’s room. Mom’s downstairs, of course, and Dad’s been up and at the office for a while now. Sure enough, their room is empty and so is the adjoining bathroom, which Dad tells me used to be a huge clothes closet.
I walk in and shut the door behind me. Hard. Then I grab the cake of soap by the sink and wash my face with it. I dry it on some paper towels, and then squirt a blob of blue gel toothpaste onto my forefinger. This is how I brush my teeth when I’m at sleepovers and realize I’ve forgotten my toothbrush. It’s not super effective, but it’s better than nothing. At least my breath tastes fresh for a little while.
Still feeling kind of grimy, I head back to my own room. Brothers. Who needs them?
I quickly dress in a long purple sweater and black leggings, and pull my hair up into a ponytail.
“Tori!” Mom calls a third time.
I shove my feet into my new shoes, a pair of purple Converse high-tops that I’m really proud of, and grab my backpack off my desk chair. “I’m coming!” I thunder out the door and down the staircase.
Mom is waiting for me at the bottom. “You slept through your alarm, didn’t you?”
I study the floor as I follow her to the kitchen. There’s just no getting past her. “Sorry, Mom.”
She sighs. “Maybe I should just get you up in the morning. You can’t keep doing this.”
I toss my backpack onto the kitchen floor and slide into my spot at the table. A steaming bowl of oatmeal is waiting for me, with the raisins arranged in a smiley face, the way Mom’s made it ever since I can remember.
The Tori Trilogy Page 1
