“Serena! That’s you,” Eliana said, poking my leg when I didn’t move.
I looked around and found Harrison almost all the way to the mic. Hastily, I jumped up and practically ran across the gym floor until I was standing almost behind Harrison. Mr. Walsh gave me a wink as I went past.
“Well, come on, Serena, don’t be shy,” Mrs. Henry boomed, tugging me forward. I braced. This was going to be bad. On the other side of the podium from Harrison I stood and fiddled with the hem of my denim skirt, looking out over the sea of faces.
“First of all, I want to commend the Student Senate for an absolutely wonderful Red Ribbon Week this year. Harrison and Serena stepped up and made this an amazing week. Let’s give them a round of applause!”
I could see Fallon and Sharyn slouched against the back wall of the gym with their friends. Fallon looked supremely bored, and when she caught me looking, she crossed her eyes. Hiding a smirk, I looked away.
As Mrs. Henry kept talking about how great we were, I wanted to sink through the floor. From the front row, Mr. Howard, who was the yearbook sponsor, held up a camera and smiled encouragingly. Jeez. I glanced at Harrison, who was staring at me with a slight frown on his face.
I gave him a “What?” look, but he shook his head slightly, turning back to Mrs. Henry.
“Secondly, it is my pleasure to today to announce our first-annual Brigid Ogan Buoyancy Award. Harrison, Serena, tell us about this brand-new award, and how it came about.”
Harrison looked over questioningly, while I shook my head slightly, eyes wide. I couldn’t pretend I had something planned this time.
Clearing his throat, Harrison stepped up to the mic. “Thank you. The Student Senate would like to acknowledge Leilani Camacho for her idea for this award, and for helping us give it a name. All of us know students who have had hard times, and we want to acknowledge those who give to our community and make a difference anyway. Throughout the semester, the senate will keep a ballot box open in each homeroom, and individual students can nominate another member of the Brigid Ogan community who they feel is buoyant like a balloon—staying up, even when life is pulling them down. The award will be presented during our WinterFest celebration. I’m proud that this award is getting started during my time on Student Senate. Um.” The crowd shifted as Harrison fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. I studied my shoes as he began to read.
“The Student Senate also would also like to acknowledge a late addition to our group this semester, who jumped in to help make this a great week. So thank you,” Harrison stepped to the side and pointed back at me, “Serena St. John.”
Feeling my face get warm, I looked out into the audience and gave an embarrassed wave. I wondered if Sunita had told Harrison he had to say thank you on behalf of the senate. I’ll bet he wouldn’t have done it by himself.
Mrs. Henry was back at the microphone, beaming. “Yes, thank you, Serena, for your work with the Student Senate and for making this a great and memorable week for everyone. And now, let’s have all of our senators stand. These are your representatives, students, and they’re doing a great job!”
Ugh. So I stood up front for a little longer. I smiled and said thank you to Mrs. Henry when the rally was over. I smiled, with a little knot in my stomach, while I stood with Harrison and Sunita and Mrs. Henry, while Mr. Howard took pictures for yearbook. I smiled, because that’s what everyone expected.
By the end of the day, that bright, happy smile was making my face ache, but you know what the worst part was? With all of the smiling we were doing, Harrison never once looked at me and smiled back.
17
Signal Interference
I WAS WAITING FOR Mom to come out of the dry cleaners after our grocery run when she opened my door and dumped a pink bakery box on my lap. “Hold that,” she instructed, and slammed my door.
“We’re having cake? Ooh!” I crowed, sliding my thumbs under the box tabs.
“No, Serena, don’t breathe on it!” my mother scolded, pressing a hand to the box lid before I could rip it open. She added, “We’re going to dinner at the Gerardos’ tonight.”
I frowned. “Why are we going over there?” JC and I hadn’t talked to each other in days.
“We’re going because we were invited,” Mom said. She signaled the turn for our street.
I felt a twinge of apprehension. Had Mom gotten us invited over? She knew JC and I weren’t friends right now. What if she was trying to fix things with cake?
“Mom. You didn’t say anything to Mr. and Mrs. Gerardo, did you?”
“Anything like what?” Mom backed expertly into our parking stall. “Let’s get the groceries unpacked. I want you to put on a clean shirt before we go. They’re expecting us at five thirty.”
“Wait, Mom. I don’t—”
“Hurry up, Rena-B.” Mom popped the trunk and got out of the car.
In the end, I didn’t just change my shirt—I also changed shoes, and changed my hair twice, finally settling on twisting it around my head, using my little fake pearl hairpins to anchor it where it stuck out. I dragged my feet getting to the car, but I hated being late anywhere. If the Gerardos were expecting us, walking in when they were hungry and mad about the delay wouldn’t make anything better.
I was still nervous, though. “So, no special reason for dinner tonight?” I asked as we drove out of the neighborhood.
“Not that I know of, no,” Mom said, and smiled. “Your hair looks nice, Rena.”
In spite of her smile, my misgivings grew wings and swooped through my stomach.
When Mrs. Gerardo opened the door, she was her usual self, her oval face smiling and welcoming, her bobbed dark hair tucked behind ears sporting yellow and red dangly earrings. “You’re just in time,” she said, taking the cake from Mom as she toed out of her loafers. “Are you hungry? Serena, go up to JC’s room and tell the girls it’s time to eat.”
The girls? Oh no. I could not handle Leilani and her too-perfect self, not today.
Kicking off my shoes to join the pile in the entryway, I dragged myself up the stairs. I climbed loudly, thumping my feet on every riser. As soon as I reached the top, I began knocking on the wall and calling JC’s name. I didn’t want to get too close to her room and overhear her saying something terrible about me to Leilani.
“JC! Dinner!”
“Serena?” JC stood in her doorway, looking startled. “Hey.”
“Hey. Your mom says it’s time to eat.” I shoved my hands in my pockets.
JC nodded, smoothing her hair behind her ears as if she was a little nervous too. “Cool.” She ducked into her room for a moment, her voice floating toward me through the open door. “You remember my ate Julia, right?” JC said, using the respectful Tagalog word for an older girl cousin.
A taller girl with her hair in a shiny knot atop her head stepped into the hallway looking at her phone. She shoved it into her pocket and smiled. “Hey, Serena,” she said, and went down the stairs ahead of us.
“Oh! Julia! Wow, I didn’t know you were here,” I added, relief making me a little loud.
“She’s here to look at schools,” JC explained, starting down the stairs behind me. “She’s trying to go to some arts high school in Oakland. Her parents think she should move in with us next semester.”
“Oh, really? Wow.” I glanced over my shoulder to see JC’s expression. Julia was an eighth grader. It was weird to think of her leaving home already to go to school.
JC’s dad and Julia’s mom were siblings, and Julia and JC were the two youngest girl cousins in their large, mostly boy-cousins family. The story was that toddler Julia had stolen baby JC’s bottle once, and Mr. Gerardo joked that they’d each been competing to have the biggest bottle ever since. And it was a competition. Julia surfed at home on Oahu, but JC was on a swim team at home in California. Julia got the best grades in math, but JC got better grades in language arts. Julia was two inches taller, but JC’s hair was four inches longer. Mrs. Gerardo was always
telling JC she should be more like her ate Julia, which meant that JC kind of hated her cousin, even though Julia was always pretty nice. And now they’d be living in the same house for a school year? Whoa.
“Tatay said it’ll be just like having a sister.” JC’s voice was way too cheery.
I winced. My sister was a pain a lot of the time, but at least I knew she loved me, even when she ditched me to go to Sharyn’s house. I tried to think of something comforting to say. “Well, just remember, if it’s not fun, it’s a growing experience,” I whispered, reminding JC of one of Mr. Van’s favorite sayings.
“Yay, growing.” JC wiggled her fingers in sarcastic joy.
I laughed, feeling a little less weird about being at JC’s house. Between surgery, a new best friend, and Julia moving in, things had to feel a little bit strange for JC. Maybe being with an old friend for dinner wouldn’t feel like a bad visit from the past, but a good one.
The meal was loud and busy, with plates and platters passing round. Mrs. Gerardo complimented Julia on the Caesar salad dressing and told her she should give JC the recipe. Mom told Mrs. Gerardo how much she liked the woven placemats Mrs. Gerardo had gotten from the Philippines, and Mrs. Gerardo told her she’d tell her where to find some. Mr. Gerardo kept trying to get me to eat a little more of the delicious fried rice. Mom asked Mrs. Gerardo how plans were coming for JC’s birthday, which started a playful argument between JC and her dad about what JC wanted and how much he was going to spend. Mom asked Julia how she was finding Oakland schools, and that reminded Mrs. Gerardo of something.
“You girls have a project soon—those WinterFest birdies, right?” Mrs. Gerardo asked suddenly. “When do you start work on that? It’s almost November! Only five weeks left!”
My stomach clenched. I shot JC a quick look across the table. “Um . . .”
“No, don’t ask them when they’re working, tell them to get to work,” Mr. Gerardo interrupted, waving his hand. “Always, Jojo comes crying at the last minute. No—this time, we’ll choose our design and get started tonight,” he decided. “No last minute this time.”
“I used to do that, JC,” Julia said, and laughed self-consciously. “I cut it too-too close one time and lost fifty points on my project! I turn in everything early now.”
I gave JC another wary look, but she was busy scowling at her father. “I do not always come crying to you,” she interrupted, ignoring her cousin. “Jeez, you make me sound like I’m some kind of baby, Tatay.”
Mr. Gerardo laughed. “Yes, you do cry, and you’re my baby, so that’s all right, huh?”
Now both parents were chuckling indulgently at JC’s furious protests while Julia looked at her plate and rolled her eyes.
But all of this was missing the point. Was JC going to just ignore what her mother had said and pretend everything was the same as always?
“Weren’t you girls doing projects on your own this year?” Mom was studying my face. “Or did you change your mind, Rena-Bean? I thought JC had decided to make owl magnets with . . . Leilani?”
I glowered, trying to shush Mom. I wasn’t ready to hear JC talk about Leilani. Why did Mom have to mention her in front of everyone? I shot a look at JC, but she was still sulking, arms crossed, glaring at her plate.
“What’s this, anak?” Mrs. Gerardo’s perfectly plucked eyebrows raised as she questioned her daughter. “Magnets?”
When I looked back at Mom, her steady gaze held knowledge and understanding I hadn’t expected. “What’s it going to be, Rena?” she asked softly.
It sounded like Mom was asking me about more than my WinterFest project.
I chewed on my bottom lip, remembering what Mrs. Henry had said about taking the opportunity to stand up and speak out. Wasn’t doing the vlogs reminding me to tell my own stories? Why was I waiting for JC to tell me mine?
I took a deep breath. “You’re right, Mom,” I said, my voice only a little shaky. “JC decided to do magnets with Leilani.”
Mrs. Gerardo turned to JC, her expression disbelieving. “When your father already brought home all the concrete and supplies you asked for, for the bird’s bath?”
“I changed my mind, Nanay,” JC muttered, still sulking.
I looked down the table at JC, looking at her hand where it gripped her fork, while her other hand was twisting a strand of her hair like mad. Her nails were still bitten down and still painted with glitter polish. JC looked tired and upset, which made me wonder, what if the birdbath had seemed like it was too big a project? Maybe JC was looking for a smaller project because she still felt so sick that a big project like a birdbath felt like she’d never get it done.
“It’s okay, JC. It’s fine,” I said, and JC looked up at me with a small, watery smile.
“Such a waste of money,” Mrs. Gerardo was complaining, shaking her head.
“I have receipts; we can take the supplies back,” Mr. Gerardo soothed her. “Artists always change their minds,” he added with a grin. “What about you, Serena? You change your mind too?”
“You’ll have to wait and see,” I said, trying to look mysterious.
JC blinked. “Wait, so you’re not doing bird magnets?” she asked. “Didn’t you say you were going to look for some different birds on Artistly, like flamingos?”
That’s what she’d told me to do. No one said I had to do it.
I shook my head, more certain now. “Nope.”
I still didn’t know what I was going to do, but for the first time I was a tiny bit relieved not to be doing it with JC’s input. I’d loved the big, fancy birdbath we’d planned on, and it had hurt—a lot—when she didn’t want to do it anymore. But now I was free to do anything I wanted, without anyone’s input. To be me, without looking at what anyone else was doing.
What was the worst that could happen? It might be terrible. It might be a disaster.
But it might not.
SERENA|SAYS
Good Eeeeeevening, Vorrrld! It’s Halloweeeeeen!
[scary, maniacal laughter]
Okay, that was bad.
What’s up, World? It IS Halloween, and this is Serena Says . . . Storytime!
Welcome back to my vlog! Today’s Halloween—and it’s been weird. First, I couldn’t figure out what to wear. I was just going to skip it, but yesterday someone asked Mr. Van what he was wearing, and he said he was getting out his “This Is My Costume” shirt, and, okay, NO. I knew I couldn’t be that lame. So last night, I was digging through the hall closet when I saw Mom’s old red Christmas hat with the white pom-pom on it. I asked her if I could take off the pom-pom, and then I wore it, plus my big red fleece hoodie and Fallon’s red sweats. I even wore red sneakers. And I was Peter from The Snowy Day! I loved that book when I was little!
Which is a good thing, since I had to carry it around all day because almost no one knew who I was supposed to be.
I HATE IT when that happens.
You know who the only person was who got my costume—I mean, besides Ms. Pettinelli, our school librarian? Leilani. I KNOW, right? She said it was her favorite book when she was little, too, because she’d never seen snow, and she wanted to really, really badly. She begged her parents for a red snowsuit, even though they lived in Pensacola. Cute, huh?
I KNOW.
It’s weird for me to think of her as . . . a little kid, someone adorable and funny, and not someone super perfect and annoying. Honestly, I know what I said about first impressions, but I kind of hate having to change how I think about anyone.
Take Mrs. Vejar. At the beginning of the year, everyone thought she was SO MEAN. She gives a test Every. Single. Wednesday. And she actually has a copy of the dress code on her bulletin board, and she CHECKS IT. I mean, seriously? But then she started to do something called Top-Up Thursdays, where we do kind of a class project and get participation points to help raise our scores if we forgot to study or don’t do so well on the Wednesday test. It’s actually saved my bacon a couple of times now. So even though I didn’t want to, I kin
d of really like her now. She’s nicer than she seemed at first.
For today’s Top-Up Thursday, Mrs. Vejar moved two desks up to the front of the room, facing the class. Then she wrote, “Behind the mask, you are . . .” and then had two people come up and sit with their backs to the whiteboards. Everyone else had to go up and write a complimentary statement about them on the board behind them. After everyone got through, each person stood up, and she took their picture in front of all of their words. She said it would help us each remember that we are more than who we think we are.
Sometimes it was funny, but a lot of people were kind of almost crying and stuff. And then, near the end of class, Mrs. Vejar pointed to Luis Archega, and all of his friends kind of laughed and made stupid noises. Luis made a big deal of getting up, and then he kind of, like, stared at everyone, like he was daring them to say something he didn’t like.
I didn’t know what to say. Luis is really cute and popular, but he’s kind of mean—probably because his brother, Roberto, is maybe a little mean to him. I knew that, but all I could think about was him doing those barking sounds when I was sick, and everyone laughing at me . . .
His friends—and all the girls who think he’s hot—went up and wrote stuff like “You’re so cool” and “Nice” and stuff, but I was stuck. And then Leilani got up. And she wrote, “Behind the mask, you are the guy who keeps everyone laughing so hard they don’t remember what was bugging them.”
It’s true, but it just . . . it took something I didn’t like about Luis and made it . . . kind.
I finally got up right before the bell and wrote that I liked the way he mostly smiles with one side of his face, because he’s got a super-unique grin. Which is maybe kind of random, but whatever—it’s true. And when he stood up and read everything on the board, while Mrs. Vejar took his picture, he just looked . . . kind of surprised. Then kind of like he was thinking, you know?
Serena Says Page 8
