JC stared at the floor, pouting for another long moment, and then she sighed. “Fine, fine, okay. I just wanted you to wear it so if something happened, it wouldn’t all be my fault,” JC said, and pulled the black pearl earrings out of her ears. “I was afraid if you didn’t wear it, though, Mom would let Julia wear it, and even though I hate it, I’d rather you wear it than her.”
I rolled my eyes. She was being honest, at least. “Didn’t you say it wouldn’t fit her?”
JC sighed and gestured for me to unzip her. “I maybe lied a little. Okay, so while I’m wearing this . . . this hideousness, what are you going to wear? You’ll look boring next to me, in just black and white,” JC said as she shrugged out of the black and gold dress.
“I’m fine as I am,” I said, unzipping the stiff, scratchy, lacy pink dress, and climbing onto the bed. Carefully, I balanced on my knees and helped JC lower the floofy skirts over her stiffly sprayed hair.
“Are you sure?” JC asked, muffled underneath yards of tulle. “You really can borrow a dress or something. Auntie Gina can do your makeup too. You look nice, Serena, but you could borrow something fancy—not this dress, but something cool.”
Was I fine? I thought about it. My hands were dry now. My shoulders weren’t hunched anymore. All the worst things that might have happened weren’t happening after all, and best of all, JC and I were back on track—different friends now, but friends all the same.
I smiled at myself in Mrs. Gerardo’s mirror, relieved I could recognize the person in the sleeveless white sweater and pretty hoop earrings I saw smiling back at me. “I’m good. I’m positive.”
SERENA|SAYS
What’s up, World? Back by popular demand, it’s your girl Serena. Welcome back to my vlog on Fal’s Fotography channel! I’ve got spoons and bowls and measuring cups, so it’s time for Serena Says DIY!
Since there’s no big bottle of glue, I’m sure you can tell we’re not making slime. Ha-ha—actually, if you want to see my mom lose it COMPLETELY, just mention the Slime Incident of 2019. It was NOT cool. Today’s Serena Says Public Service Announcement reminds viewers to NEVER leave your slime out on the bed because if your mom takes your comforter and puts it in the washer . . . well, it’s all bad, that’s all I have to say.
Anyway—nope, we’re not making cookies either. I’ve got coconut oil, and shea butter, which I use in my hair. These are charcoal tablets from the health food store. I’ve also got cocoa powder, without any sugar in it. This bottle is turmeric, and this little bag is spirulina powder Mom uses for her smoothies. This is arrowroot powder—you can get it from the grocery store. It’s what people use for baking if they’re gluten-free. We got it for my sister’s friend Sharyn.
Are you stumped yet?
For today’s DIY, we’re making my friend El’s natural eyeliner and eye shadow! Here’s an Egypt fact: Did you know that in ancient Egypt they made eye shadow out of copper—for green—and lead? Men and women wore it because it was supposed to have magic powers. Well, we’re not using lead and copper, but El made this for our class project—and it works.
Before we start, Serena says safety first. Be careful with your eyes—and have some eye drops right next to you, just in case you get eye shadow in them. Nothing we use is dangerous, but anything you get in your eyes will irritate them and make them water.
Let’s start! Into your bowl, put one-fourth teaspoon of arrowroot powder. It will make the eye shadow really smooth and pastel, and you can always add more to make a different shade.
Next add one-fourth teaspoon of whatever spice powder for color. You can mix up the spirulina and turmeric to make different shades. The cocoa powder and charcoal are brown and black, obviously. We haven’t figured out how to get red or blue yet, but you can experiment.
Mix your dry powder so there’s no clumps, then add one-fourth teaspoon of shea butter and one-fourth teaspoon of coconut oil. I stuck the coconut oil in the microwave for five seconds, so it mixed better. Put your eye shadow in a little jar with a lid or recycle an empty lip gloss pot. Tie a ribbon around it, and boom! You’re done!
The eye shadow still mostly looks kind of crumbly and powdery, but the oil helps it stay on. Dip a cotton swab into your eye shadow, and then tap off all the extra before you put it on your eyes, or you can also put it on with your finger, which is what I did.
So that’s it! We’re done.
People LOVE to get homemade gifts because it means you thought about them for more than five minutes. I love MAKING homemade gifts, because DIY is good for the brain—stirring stuff lets your hands work while your brain goes offline and cools down or figures things out.
Does crafting stress you out, or give you Zen vibes? What do you like to make? What do you want to see me make next? Serena says makers are AMAZING, and DIY is doable—so find a project and jump in!
That’s my story, and I’m out.
27
All the Same and Totally Changed
“I’M GLAD WE’RE DOING this outside. This glue reeks,” Lani muttered, leaning forward as she pulled the fabric cover of our Egypt book tight against the cardboard beneath.
“Well, it’s better than breaking another needle,” Eliana said, dragging her metal ruler down the flattened fabric, making the thick glue below smooth and bubble-free.
“We need to find out how much it costs to replace your mom’s sewing stuff, El,” I said, moving the glue gun away from Lani’s arm. “I know she said she didn’t need us to pay for it, but four needles is kind of a lot. Two pieces of canvas over this kind of foamboard is too thick to sew with a regular sewing machine.”
“It’s fine. It’s going to look amazing,” Eliana repeated. She’d been saying that ever since we’d had to change our cover plans, and Lani and I had kind of freaked out a little. Lani didn’t want to change plans in the middle of the project, and I just wanted everything to be perfect. Eliana’s mom saved the day when she found some thick foamboard and brought out her glue gun.
We glued the last bit of fabric on the back cover, and Lani stretched out the fabric again. I unplugged the glue gun and put it on the table to cool while Eliana centered her ruler again.
“How’s your vlogging thing going?” Eliana asked. “You should take pictures of this so you can do a DIY on how to make a book cover.”
“Aw, man!” I looked at the glue gun and groaned. “I should have filmed us. That would have been really good. I would have had to edit out how badly we screwed up the first one, but . . . yeah, this would’ve made a great DIY show.”
“You have a vlog?” Lani raised her eyebrows. “What’s your setup like?”
I shrugged, feeling shy. “Well, it’s nothing high tech. Just my mom’s old laptop.”
“She makes really cute vlogs, though,” Eliana put in. “She showed how she made her WinterFest project.”
“You know what, though . . .” Lani folded the sticky fabric under the edge of the cardboard and tightened the corner. “You could still film us for the project.”
“Film us doing what?” I asked. “When we put everybody’s pages in the book? That’ll take, like, five minutes. We’re not doing that much in class.”
“No, I mean, you could film everyone—and have everybody talk about the project.” Lani glanced at me, then looked down, picking off the glue that had stuck to the ruler’s edge. “We could turn it in with our book.”
“Oh, you mean like interview everyone? Huh.” I chewed on my lip, thinking. “That might be really good. I could ask everyone a few questions and show Mr. Van my interview skills.”
“And we could get even more extra credit,” Eliana pointed out.
“Oh, let’s do it. Let’s definitely do it,” Lani decided. “Serena, when can you get this organized?”
And that was that. Lani, Eliana, and I had put our heads together and made plans. And now the weekend was over.
The Monday after break usually felt like six years had passed since we’d been at school. We’d missed three days, plus
the weekend, and most everyone was zonked—but I kept looking at the door, drumming my fingers in anticipation. Where was she?
My classmates yawned as the happy morning announcement music played on the TV. “Good morning, Brigid Ogan Middle School! Welcome to morning announcements!” Our vice-principal held up jazz hands on the screen.
Ugh. It was still too early for Mrs. Henry’s hyper energy. After the usual boring announcements—the Running Club was meeting at lunch, Crochet Club was rescheduled to tomorrow, and all eighth graders needed to turn in their PATH forms by Thursday—I waited for Mrs. Henry to give us a special thought for the day, but instead, she said, “And now we’ll welcome an old friend to our morning announcement studio to take us out. JC?”
“Wait, did she say JC?” Eliana asked.
A slow grin warmed me as I straightened. This was what I’d been waiting for.
My classmates sat forward and applauded as JC moved into camera range, wearing a black and gold Minnie ears hoodie—a gift from her aunt Gina—and a big, cheesy grin. At least, JC’s eyes were scrunched up like she was grinning. We could only see her eyes, and the bridge of her nose behind the antiviral mask she was wearing.
JC sat down next to Mrs. Henry and waved. “Good morning, Brigid Ogan! I’m baaack!”
Our class was applauding and hooting so loudly, we missed part of what she was saying. Even Mr. Van was smiling, though like me, he’d already known what was coming.
“—for thinking of me while I got hooked up with my new kidney. I’m back at school for half days for now, but I’m super happy about it, and I get to go to WinterFest next week! So I’ll be seeing you guys around. And remember”—her cheeks squinched her eyes even more—“be respectful, be responsible, and be kinder than necessary, because, Brigid Ogan, you’re the bomb. I’m JC Gerardo—”
“And I’m Vice-Principal Henry. Hope you enjoyed the show. Stay classy, Brigid Ogan!”
Everyone cheered, finally settling when Mr. Van stood at the door, holding up his hand for quiet. Just as he started to speak, JC herself opened the door. 6A lost it all over again.
There were squeals and cheers as everyone rushed up to her to say hello. The antiviral mask was a bright-blue reminder that JC’s body wasn’t perfect yet, so instead of hugging her, people patted her on the back or squeezed her shoulders from behind. JC just ate it up, grinning like she was in a parade, her eyes bright.
Across the aisle, Lani caught my eye and smiled. We hung back from the rest of the class, waiting our turn, since we’d seen JC only yesterday. Only Lani and I knew how hard JC had been working on her parents to get them to let her go back to school so soon. She’d had to pinky-swear promise to go for a whole week with no backtalk, and she’d had to catch up with all of her homework. When they still seemed reluctant, I’d suggested that she promise her mom and dad—in front of Julia, Lani, and me as witnesses—to take all her medications, and not even be late with one, ever, ever again. And though JC rolled her eyes and complained about how her parents trusted us more than they trusted her, we all knew that the Gerardos were relieved that things were finally getting back to normal. Or, as normal as JC could be, as she waved at her classmates like a guest celebrity.
“Hey, peeps!” JC’s face was flushed as she dumped her backpack at the desk in front of me. “Can you believe I’m so pathetic that I’m happy to be back at school?”
I’d forgotten how much JC seemed to move all the time—tossing her hair, bouncing her leg, and turning to roll her eyes when Mr. Van said something weird. She kept passing Lani notes, and Lani, who was very serious about her math, just flapped her hand at JC to leave her alone. I was impressed when JC turned around and paid attention. Lani sometimes seemed like she was prickly, but I had learned this weekend at Eli’s house that she was just honest and straightforward—and when she said no, she meant it. I needed to be more like that. People like JC took Lani seriously.
Social studies was . . . kind of surprising. Mr. Baumgartner had started JC on her own project, since the plan had been for her to come back to school in January, so she was curious about what we were working on in groups. She sat at our table as Cameron took out his trifold poster and started going over the pencil lines on his cartouches with a fat black marker. He’d chosen to do his poster on the names of the Egyptian gods, with drawings of the gods, and a winding blue line across all three panels of the poster to represent the Nile.
“You’re doing extra credit, Cameron?” JC asked him. “You?”
“It’s not extra credit.” I jumped in before Cam could get defensive—or worse, distracted. “It’s group credit. Cameron’s just making sure we get our A.”
JC turned to me, a funny expression on her face. “I still kind of can’t believe you’re the group leader,” she said. “You!”
I opened my mouth to say something like, “No one else wanted to,” but Mateo spoke first.
“Why would you say that? Serena has good ideas,” he said, looking up from the thick, hard-back thesaurus on the table in front of him. He’d been working on his Nile Facts Rap for the past two weeks. “She got Mr. Van on our side too.”
JC’s eyes widened, and she wiggled her eyebrows at me.
“What?” I asked, but JC only winked and bent to work on her social studies.
When the bell rang, JC stood up and raised her hands. “And that’s a wrap, people. I’m out!” Everyone laughed. As we left the library and headed toward the cafeteria, a few teachers gave JC non-hugs again, and Lani, who was hurrying to grab food before going to band, waved her clarinet music and said she’d be over at JC’s later. I waited with JC while she collected her project, and more assignments from teachers whose classes she’d miss. Then I got a pass from Mr. Van to walk JC out to the front parking lot while she waited for her mother.
“So, Mateo Rodríguez, huh?” JC said, hiking her book bag on her shoulder as we went down the front steps and into the drizzly, overcast day.
“Huh? What about Mateo?” I asked, peering across the parking lot. Just ahead of us, Harrison was walking across the slanted white parking lines to a four-door gray car. He’d missed school before Thanksgiving, too, and I wondered again if something new was happening with his brother, Lance. The trunk popped open as Harrison approached the car, and he put his briefcase inside and slammed it before hurrying around to the passenger side.
“I think he likes you, that’s what,” JC said, sounding smug.
I blinked, tuning back in. “What? WHAT? Mateo? No, he doesn’t.”
Tightening her scarf, JC widened her eyes. “Didn’t you hear what he said?”
“That I’m a good group leader?” Harrison was dragging his seat belt across his body now.
JC shook her head. “Those were the words he said, but that’s not what he meant,” she told me. “Boys don’t say it like that.”
I rolled my eyes. Like JC would know what every boy in the world did. “He doesn’t like me like that,” I told her. “He just knows I’m not going to get him a bad social studies grade.”
JC’s brows wriggled like a pair of hooked fish. She was getting really good at making faces with only the top half of her face. “That’s what you think, but you’ll see,” she sang mysteriously, then added, “You coming over after school? I think Lani and I are finally going to finish our magnets today.”
The gray car had made a U-turn and drove out of the parking lot. “Um . . . I don’t think so,” I said slowly. “I think I might have something to do.”
“With Mateo, huh? Text me deets!”
I put one hand over JC’s face mask where her mouth would be, and with the other, gently smacked her forehead. “Wait, she’s babbling again, must be a fever. Good thing you’re going home, JC. Your brain is definitely sick.”
And right on time, Mrs. Gerardo drove up, rescuing her daughter from laughing herself to death at my expense. JC rolled down the window and screamed something about Mateo that got swept away on the wind. I stuck out my tongue, then waved with both a
rms as the car pulled away.
JC was completely ridiculous—annoying and hilarious too. Even if we weren’t best friends, I was glad we could still be friends.
28
Asked and Answered
I HITCHED UP MY backpack and got off the bus at the corner of Grant Street. Fallon had stayed after school for Running Club, so I was alone cutting through the rows of cars nosed into parking slots, watching my breath make clouds around my head.
I’d asked Mom if I could visit her at work. Instead of the questions I’d expected, she’d just said, “Text me when you get here,” so I sent a quick message, shivering as I hustled through the warm foyer of the Behavioral Health Center’s administration building and headed for the lobby.
My footsteps slowed. Harrison wasn’t by himself this time, but sitting hunched over next to a burly man, who was hunched over in just the same way. They both had their elbows on their knees, their chins resting on their fists, and were talking quietly. At least, the man was talking, the dangling cord to his earbuds making me wonder if he was on a phone call. Harrison was just sitting there, staring out into space.
I hesitated. This might have been a bad idea; just because Harrison was kind of my friend again didn’t mean I really knew him. What if he was embarrassed to talk to me in front of his family? What if he was mad that I’d just showed up? Maybe I should go visit Mom’s office for real. Harrison probably already had all the company he needed.
Serena Says Page 14
