The Tori Trilogy

by Alicia Danielle Voss-Guillén

  “It has nothing to do with her!” I snap, a little too quickly. “And besides, her name is Anastasia, not Annabelle.”

  “Whatever.” Joey rolls his eyes. “So what is it about her, Tori? Don’t tell me she doesn’t like you?”

  I don’t answer. Sometimes, if you ignore Joey, he actually shuts up for a little while.

  Not this time. “That’s it, isn’t it?” he exclaims, taking my silence as an answer. “She really doesn’t like you! Finally, a fifth-grade girl with some taste!”

  “Joey,” Mom says firmly, “that’s enough.”

  But Joey has no idea. This is so much more than Anastasia Adams simply not liking me. I wonder what he’d say if I told him she wouldn’t like him either...just because he’s half-Peruvian?

  If Tuesday was bad, Wednesday is even worse.

  When I get to my classroom, that same group of girls (minus Shannon) is gathered around Anastasia by the windows on the far wall. They are all holding slips of glossy pink paper, batting them in the air and talking a mile a minute. Anastasia, who is dressed in an expensive-looking soft pink sweater over black leggings and pink fluffy boots, has that smile on her face that I’ve come to hate. The smile says a million different things, such as, “I am so much better than you, it’s funny” and “Don’t you wish you could be me?” and “Aren’t you just so lucky I’m paying attention to you?”

  I try my best to ignore her, but it’s really hard. For some reason, most of the girls in 5L think Anastasia Adams is something special, and it’s like being in class with a superstar. A stuck-up, racist superstar.

  I glance around the room and notice Gina and Shannon huddled together by Gina’s desk, whispering. I walk over to them, and they glance up, their eyes filled with a strange expression.

  “Hi,” I say, a question in my voice.

  “Hi,” they reply together, sounding flat and serious.

  My heart thumps against my ribs. Something is wrong. I know it. And I’d bet anything it has to do with Anastasia. “What is it, you guys?” I drop my voice to a whisper and lean into their huddle.

  “Take a look at this.” With stiff, jerking movements like a robot’s, Shannon reaches into her jeans pocket and pulls out a folded piece of glossy pink paper, identical to the sheets that the other girls are holding. She spreads it out flat on Gina’s desk, and I read:

  You are invited!

  Join us for a night of pleasure and pampering as we celebrate Anastasia Adams’ new life in Forest Grove! We will be enjoying hors d’ oeuvres, dinner and dessert buffets, and unlimited Shirley Temples as we focus on getting to know one another. Mr. and Mrs. Adams have been so kind as to arrange for Ms. Melanie Banks, owner of Goldilocks Salon for Girls, to treat us all to extravagant hairstyles and original makeovers. Please come equipped with an overnight bag as there will be a sleepover immediately following.

  Date: Saturday, November 14

  Time: 5:00 P.M. to 10:00 A.M., Sunday, November 15

  Place: The Adams Home

  617 North Evergreen Lane

  Forest Grove

  Please RSVP by Thursday, November 12

  When I am finished reading, I look up at my friends in disbelief. “That’s this Saturday,” I whisper. “Anastasia’s having a fancy party to celebrate moving here? I didn’t even think she was happy about it. I-” I break off, not sure what else to say. Hors d’oeuvres? Buffets? Shirley Temples? A hairstylist? Even the wording on the invitation is more formal than some wedding invitations I’ve seen. These people must be crazy loaded!

  “Tori,” Shannon says softly, “I think you’re missing the point.” She glances meaningfully at Gina.

  My cousin clears her throat, shifts in her chair as though she’s trapped, and finally whispers, “Shannon found that invitation in her locker this morning. So did all those other girls.” She tilts her head toward the windows. “I guess Anastasia must have slipped them under the doors....” She bites her lip. “I didn’t get one, Tori.”

  Like a punch in the stomach, I finally understand. I didn’t find an invitation in my locker, either. Me and Gina. And if Reid were a girl, he wouldn’t have gotten one....My head pounds. I look around the room wildly, my gaze landing on Elissa Chung, a Chinese-American girl who’s super-sweet and very quiet.

  She’s sitting at her desk, writing in her flowered notebook. Her long, silky, dark hair falls into her face, and she keeps pushing it behind her ear.

  Without thinking it through, I snatch Shannon’s invitation off Gina’s desk and march over to Elissa, waving it in her face. “Elissa!” I cry, a little too loudly. “Did you get one of these?”

  Surprised, Elissa looks up, takes the slip of paper from me, skims it, and hands it back. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “But...” her voice drops “...I can’t say I’m shocked. I don’t think Anastasia likes me very much.”

  That does it. I whirl back around, madder than I ever remember being. My face is hot. My whole body is hot. Everything looks blurry and swims in front my eyes. I don’t understand it at first, but then I realize that I’m crying. Tears of hurt and anger race down my cheeks, and I wipe them away as quickly as they come.

  “Tori?” Mr. London is at my side, his hand on my shoulder. “Is everything all right?” I guess he must have heard the edge in my voice when I showed the invitation to Elissa. By now, most of the boys who hang out in the hall before class have straggled in, and it feels like everybody’s watching me. I don’t even want to look Anastasia’s way.

  Dumbly, I nod my head and slump into the chair at my desk. “I’m okay, Mr. London.” I try my best to sound normal, but it doesn’t really work.

  He’s still watching me closely. “You sure?”

  I close my eyes and draw a shuddering breath. “I’m sure.”

  Then the first bell rings.

  I lock eyes with Reid as he passes my desk to get to his own. He saw what happened with Mr. London, and I know without a doubt that he has a good idea of what--or should I say who?--made me so upset.

  After school, I find Reid on the playground, grab him by the arm, and pull him away from the group of boys he’s playing with. “I need to talk to you,” I hiss, dragging him over to a bench.

  Reid’s taller and bigger than I am, and it’s hard to really drag him. He laughs. “Okay, cool down, Tori. I’m coming.” We sit together on the bench, and he throws me a curious look. “What’s this about? Wait. Let me guess. The thing that happened this morning. It had to do with...” he lowers his voice “...Anastasia, didn’t it? I could tell by how upset you were.”

  I don’t need any encouragement. As quickly as I can, I tell Reid about the party invitations, about the fact that Gina and Elissa and I didn’t get one, while the rest of the girls in our class did. “You were right,” I finish, fighting to keep my voice under control. “She is racist. I mean, I knew that yesterday, but I guess I kept hoping we were wrong.”

  Reid lets his breath out in a puff. It hits the air, which is colder and damper than it was on Tuesday, and creates a tiny cloud. After a long pause, he asks, “Do Elissa and Gina know what’s up with Anastasia?”

  I shake my head. “No. Well, at least I haven’t talked about it with them. They could’ve figured it out. I don’t know....” I look pleadingly at him. “It doesn’t make sense, Reid. No one’s ever been racist against me before. I guess...I guess I never thought about myself that way.”

  “You don’t have to say it.” He smiles. “Most people don’t realize this, but racism can happen to anybody. Black people. Asian people. People like you, who are mixed. Even white people.”

  “White people?” I gasp. “Like my mom, and Emily and Shannon...and Anastasia?”

  “You bet,” says Reid. “I’ve met people who are racist against whites. It’s stupid to be racist against anybody, but that’s life, I guess.”

  “Wow.” In the past few days, my views on racism have really begun to change. I zip up my jacket to shut out the sharp fall wind. “So, what do you think I sho
uld do, Reid? Should I let Gina and Elissa know what’s going on?”

  “It depends,” he replies. “If you feel like talking to them about it will help them understand and make things easier for them, then go for it. But if you think it will only hurt them, then there wouldn’t be a reason to.”

  I nod. Reid’s advice makes sense. I wonder if he knows how much he’s given me to think about?

  Chapter Six

  For dinner that night, Mom makes spaghetti and meatballs. Usually it’s one of my all-time favorite meals: long tender noodles and big juicy meatballs drenched in Mom’s super-flavorful spaghetti sauce, with garlic bread on the side (good garlic bread, not like the stuff at school). But this time, I hardly notice all the delicious smells in the kitchen.

  And when Mom asks me to set the table, I simply fold the paper napkins in half and slide them under the forks at each person’s place, not even bothering to pull out the origami book that Gina gave me and fold them into fun shapes like animals or Japanese lanterns, the way I usually do. I am too upset by all that’s happened with Anastasia and the lousy day I had at school.

  After we all sit down to eat (minus Nate, who is working a double shift at the college bookstore), Joey notices the napkins right off. “Hey!” he exclaims, snatching his up with a look of astonishment on his face. “It’s a bird! It’s a plane! No...it’s just a napkin. Tori...could it be...are you past that annoying phase?”

  “Get a life, Joey,” I mutter. “I just didn’t feel like doing origami tonight.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since now,” I snap. “Could we please drop this?”

  “Ouch!” exclaims Joey. “Someone’s in a bad mood.”

  Dad clears his throat. “Let’s eat.”

  Thank you, Dad, I think as we all dig in. Well, all except for me. As hard as I try, I can’t force more than a few bites of the delicious dinner down my throat.

  By the time my brothers are ready for seconds, my plate is still nearly full. Joey walks to the stove, serves himself a heap of spaghetti and four big meatballs, and returns to the table. But Ben takes one look at me, then reaches for my plate.

  “If you’re not going to eat that,” he says, “I’ll eat it for you.” Before I have time to reply, he has tipped down my plate and is raking my meal onto his.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Joey tells him. “You’re running the risk of infection by Gory Tori germs.”

  I roll my eyes. Sometimes the things Joey says are just too stupid to dignify with a reaction.

  “Tori,” Mom asks, “are you all right? You’re very quiet, and you’ve hardly had a bite to eat.”

  “I’m fine,” I lie. “Just not super-hungry.”

  “Not even for spaghetti and meatballs?” She stares at me as though I just walked off an alien spaceship.

  “Not really,” I reply.

  “This is practically your favorite dinner, princesa,” Dad chimes in. “What’s bothering you?”

  Is it that obvious? I stare at my hands. Finally, I say, “My stomach kinda hurts. Would you mind if I went upstairs to lie down for a while?” This is, of course, another lie, but it’s better than telling my family what’s really bothering me.

  “You’re sick again?” cries Joey.

  “You were just sick over Halloween,” Ben adds, as though I’ve forgotten .

  Mom ignores them. “Do you think you have a fever, sweetheart? I could take your temperature. Does anything else hurt?”

  “No!” I say quickly. “I’m not sick sick, Mom. I’m sure I’ll feel much better after I take a little rest.”

  “Okay,” she says uncertainly. “Let us know if you need anything. We’ll check in on you in a bit.”

  With that, I hurry out of the kitchen and up the stairs to my room. I shut the door behind me and collapse across my bed. After several seconds, I roll onto my back, just as Ebony comes slinking out from her cozy little space between my pillow and the headboard of my bed. She meows loudly, and I reach for her in surprise. “Hi, Ebs. I didn’t know you were back there.”

  Ebony licks my fingers, her tiny pink tongue flicking out of her mouth at lightning speed and just as quickly back in. Then she rubs her silky-soft head against my cheek and curls up into a ball between my head and shoulders. This is not her typical behavior. Ebony isn’t what you would call a super-cuddly cat. She’s more bratty than anything else, but there are times when I need a friend and she knows it. That’s part of what I love about her.

  I turn my face into her fur and think. Everything that’s happened between Anastasia and Gina and me, what I can imagine has happened between Anastasia and Elissa, the things Reid told me about how she treated him, our talks about racism, the glossy pink party invitations...all of this and more spins through my head like a cyclone.

  Someone is racist against me, I think. Someone is racist against me. I wasn’t invited to a party, just because I’m different from the others. Tears burn the backs of my eyes, startling me. I didn’t expect to cry. But I am. A lot. Silent tears roll down my cheeks, wetting Ebony’s fur. She flinches and moves away, settling on top of my stomach instead.

  “Sorry, Ebony,” I whisper. I pick up Starfire, who was sitting in her usual spot on my pillow and hold her tightly. At least stuffed dragons aren’t scared off by a few tears.

  Just then, there’s a knock at my door. I wipe my face on my sleeve and say, “Who’s there?,” forcing my voice to sound normal.

  “It’s Dad. Can I come in?”

  I sit up quickly, upsetting Ebony, who jumps to the floor and runs under the bed. “Okay,” I say.

  Dad opens the door, steps into my room, and closes it behind him. He walks slowly toward me, his face thoughtful, his eyes studying my tear-stained cheeks. “Tori,” he says, “what’s the matter with my princesa? I may not be a genius, but this doesn’t look like any ordinary stomachache.”

  When I don’t answer, Dad sits down carefully at the edge of my bed. He scoops me onto his lap and wraps me in his arms. I suddenly feel safe and warm. I like being daddy’s little girl.

  And that’s all it takes to get me talking. I tell Dad everything, about Anastasia, about Reid, about the party invitations--absolutely everything, from start to finish. I don’t take a breath until I’m done, and then I realize that I’m crying again.

  Dad hands me a tissue from the box on my bedside table. I blow my nose and scrub at my tears. “I never thought anyone would be racist against me,” I admit. I look up at Dad, waiting for him to say something.

  There is a long pause, and finally he asks, “Tori, can I tell you a story?”

  That is not what I was expecting him to say, but after a moment, I nod, wondering what this has to do with all that I just told him.

  Dad takes a deep breath. “Before your mom and I met,” he begins, “she had a very close friend named Caroline. They grew up together, did almost everything together. In fact, I think you could say they were best friends.”

  “Like me and Gina?” I sniff.

  Dad smiles sadly. “Not quite like that, Tori. You see, after Mom and I had been dating for awhile, she decided it would be nice to go out to dinner with Caroline and her boyfriend. I was excited to meet your mom’s friend, since I had heard so much about her. But when we did meet, Caroline was nothing like the way Mom had described. She was unfriendly and distant and never quite made eye contact with me. A couple of times she made jokes that I didn’t understand and then laughed about them, as if she had a secret.”

  My stomach ties up in knots. “That’s-that’s just how Anastasia acts around Gina and Reid and me!” I stammer out.

  Dad goes on. “Your mom was horrified by the way Caroline acted on the date, and she apologized to me all the way home in the car. She had no idea why Caroline was so unfriendly, but I had an uncomfortable feeling that maybe I did.

  “A few days later, Mom confronted her and asked her why she’d treated me like that. Caroline told her it was because I was Latino and that she couldn�
��t support your mom’s decision to be with me. She begged Mom to break up with me, but instead, Mom ended her friendship with Caroline. She was very disappointed in her friend and very sad that it had to end that way, but she did the only decent thing there was to do. She stuck by me, Tori, and I’m so happy she did.”

  My eyes are wide. “I can’t believe I never knew that before,” I breathe. “I never even heard about Caroline.”

  Dad shrugs. “It’s all in the past now. Why make a big deal out of it? But you understand, Tori, as sad as it is, as mean and unfair and low-down as it is, racism can happen to anybody.”

  I think back to my conversation with Reid that afternoon. He told me the exact same thing. No one anywhere, I realize, is really and truly free from racism. I swallow over a lump in my throat. “Did that make you feel bad, Daddy?”

  “Bad, how?” he asks. “Guilty that I broke up a friendship? I did struggle with that for a little while. But Mom assured me that it was all Caroline’s problem. And I came to see that she was right.”

  I shake my head no. “Not that kind of bad. I mean, did you feel...dirty?” I whisper the word, and more tears slip down my face.

  Dad hugs me. “I guess I did, Tori. And it wasn’t the first time, either. Most people out there are kind and accepting, but there are always the others. And I ran into them. Kids who made fun of your aunts and Uncle Javi and me just because we looked different or because our parents spoke with an accent. A college professor who came down hard on anyone who didn’t have a European background. And the occasional stranger who would stare or snicker.

  “But you know what?” Dad holds me back so he can look me in the eye.

  “What?” I ask.

  “At some point in time, I realized that nobody could make me feel like less of a person if I didn’t let them. They might insult me or downright exclude me, but it is my decision how I feel about myself. As Mom pointed out during that whole mess, Caroline was the one with the problem, not me. And in your case, it’s Anastasia who’s got the problem, not you or Gina or anyone else.