by Bibi Belford
“Very funny,” I said.
The next day Danita and Andrea walked to Robert Frost to get my homework.
“Your teacher is intense,” Andrea told me. “Look at all this work.”
“I can’t believe you told her you didn’t speak Spanish,” Danita told me. “You’re such a brat.”
“This is messy. Messy work,” said Mami when she saw my take-home folder with the graded papers in it. “You can do better.”
And everybody went back to acting normal.
Mami and Danny rearranged their work schedules. Just until I go back to school. So, except for about an hour every afternoon, one of them stays home with me during the day.
When Mami leaves me alone on the first day, I get my skateboard out of the closet and start practicing my bling for Spring Fling. I can already hear Yari say, “Wow, DeeDee, I can’t believe you skateboard.” First I work on getting on and balancing. I’m a “regular” stance so I put my left foot on first. I practice a little trick Freddie taught me: upside down board, toe under, flip and jump. It’s pretty tricky, but not a real trick.
The second day I take my skateboard into the hallway. Did you know that skateboarding on carpet is practically impossible? No matter how hard you push, the skateboard barely rolls. But it’s great for working on flip tricks or flipping people over. Poor Mrs. Robinson, one of my new neighbors, found that out when she opened her door. She landed, kersplat, on her you-know-what, and spilled her coffee. It’s easy to find my apartment door now. The one after the monster coffee stain.
The day before I go back to school, I take my skateboard out to the slushy parking lot. Why do they need these speed bumps? As if someone is going to go 90 miles an hour in and out of my parking lot. I go back upstairs with wet knees and a scraped elbow. And when Mami comes home, suddenly I have skateboarding rules.
•
Mami walks me to Robert Frost on my first day back. River waves at us as his yellow bus turns the corner. It seems like forever since he visited me in the hospital. I haven’t seen him from my balcony and I feel awkward knocking on his door. I mean, what would I say? Hi, remember me? The diabetic who knocked you over and then insulted your deaf school? He’s probably forgotten that he promised to help me find Papi. Besides, Mami told Danita a thousand times that I’m supposed to rest when I get home from school.
Mami has forms for the nurse, Mrs. Marsh, whose room is right across from the office. I see a poster on the wall—THE SEVEN B’S TO COME SEE ME: BLEEDING. BAD BREATHING. BROKEN. BARFING. BURNING UP. BEE STING. BIG BUMP. Hmph. I guess I don’t have to come. Diabetes starts with a D. By The Way. And it’s not on the list.
Mami talks to Mrs. Marsh, doing the best she can to explain things without anybody translating. I sit on the paper-coated couch-bed and feel silly. Mrs. Marsh pats Mami’s hand.
“Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of Dinora for you,” she says.
Mami kisses me and I’m glad nobody sees. “Te portas bien,” she says.
Mrs. Marsh shows me where to put my kit of diabetes supplies. She checks my levels and tut-tuts.
“And what did we eat for breakfast?” she asks.
“I don’t know what you ate, but I ate Cinnamon Toast Crunch,” I say.
She laughs and says, “Oatmeal with blueberries. And they had doughnuts in the teacher’s lounge. I can’t resist doughnuts when they call my name.”
“I can’t resist Pop-Tarts when they jump into my mouth,” I say.
“Ah-ha,” says Mrs. Marsh. “So we both need to resist temptation, don’t we?”
When I walk into class everybody acts like they’re my long lost best friends asking me questions and volunteering to help me. Except for Noodlenose. She says nothing.
Apparently Mrs. Cruella knows all about my diabetes, because ten minutes before lunch and recess, she tells me it’s time to visit the nurse. “Who would like to accompany DeeDee to Mrs. Marsh?” she asks. A whole bunch of hands hit the air. Not Noodlenose’s, of course. She makes a sour-pickle face. Mrs. Marsh calls on Nicole and we walk out the door together. On the way Nicole asks me questions about diabetes. When I poke my finger she says, “Ooh, you must be so brave. I could never do that.”
Mrs. Marsh tells Nicole to wait in the hall while she gives me my insulin shot. She looks at my glucose reading and together we create my lunch menu—chicken patty on a bun, one orange, one bag of cucumber slices, and plain milk.
“I can’t believe you have to have a shot every day,” says Nicole. “Does it hurt?”
“You get used to it,” I say, like an old pro.
When we get to the lunchroom there’s a problem. No oranges. Bananas instead. No chicken patties. Ham and cheese instead. Bull-face, the lunch supervisor, calls Mrs. Marsh on the intercom, and in front of the entire lunchroom they figure out how to substitute. I mean, really? I may as well just bring my lunch.
Samantha squishes over so there’s space for me and Nicole. I notice an assortment of pink and purple colors on all the girls’ shiny nails Only Nancy’s nails are blue. I guess I missed the mani-pedi birthday party. Danita polished my nails, but it’s already chipping off. I put one hand in my lap, the other with my fingers curled under my sandwich. It’s not like I would have even been invited anyway.
“Hey,” says Samantha. “You got your nails done, too.”
Fudge buckets. She noticed. “Yah,” I say. “My sister.”
“Too bad you were in the hospital. Nancy’s mom got us all mani-pedis at her salon.”
Nancy looks up, her eyes very frosty. “Yes. Too bad,” she says. “But maybe Sherie will invite you to her slumber party, right Sherie?”
Sherie gives Nancy a jab with her elbow. “Oh, for sure. I don’t know how many people I’m allowed to have, but I’ll ask.”
She’s probably lying, but still, even thinking about being invited makes me hopeful. That pepita growing a little. “Thanks,” I say.
Hannah shouts at me from the end of the table. “Hey DeeDee, can I take you to the nurse after lunch?”
“Sure,” I shout back, and smile.
During reading group time, I head to see Yari. “DeeDee!” she says, excited to see me. “Mrs. Krewell told me you were in the hospital.”
“Yah. I needed a little vacation from school,” I say,
Yari laughs a good belly laugh. I really like people who do that. “Let’s get started,” she says. Then she says, “I’m going to catch you up,” sounding just like Mr. Hawaii.
•
When I visit Mrs. Marsh before lunch the next day, she makes me open my lunch box.
“Happy Groundhog’s Day,” she says. “Good choice.” She points to my tortilla spread with peanut butter. “But what are these?” She holds up my red apple and my bag of Doritos.
“Apples are healthy.” Danny’s mentor gave him that apple and he gave it to me.
“The size of the apple matters. And look at the label on these Doritos,” says Mrs. Marsh.
“When are you going to put me on the Seven B’s? I come here every day. I should be on the poster.”
Mrs. Marsh laughs. “You don’t start with B, and neither does diabetes.”
“We could start a new poster. The Seven D’s. DeeDee, diet, diabetes, Doritos …”
“Eat half of this apple. And half of these chips. And no Sprite. Get a milk from the cart.”
Later, in P.E., Mr. Incredible sends everyone to their fitness stations except me. He walks up to me and I smell hamburgers. Burger King, maybe.
“I didn’t know you had diabetes. If you have a health issue I’m supposed to be notified.”
“I just found out,” I say.
“Well, next time, tell me right away. You can sit over there until we’re done with physical fitness testing.” He points to a bench where Nicole is reading a book.
“Why are you here?” I ask her when I sit down.
“Forgot my gym shoes,” she says. We sit there like two bumps. I don’t understand why I can’t do physical
fitness testing. Do people with diabetes have to sit around all the time? Dr. Zebra-Face didn’t warn me about that. And if I have to sit around all the time, what about Spring Fling? What about skateboarding? What about dancing?
When I get home from school, Danita and Andrea—yes, she’s always at our apartment—have a snack ready. Some sort of brown paste that looks like baby poop, and celery sticks.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Hummus,” says Andrea. “It’s good for you.”
“No thank you,” I say.
“Try it,” says Danita. “It’s made out of garbanzo beans, the same beans Mami puts in pozole.”
I take a teensy taste. “I don’t like it.”
“Then just eat the celery,” says Danita. She and Andrea go off to her bedroom with a Quinceañera magazine. I switch the TV to my saved episodes of Dancing with the Stars. I hear giggling and rustling so I tiptoe close to the door and open it a crack. Sure enough, they’re sharing a bag of Doritos—the green bag—Dinamita Chile Limón. I dump the hummus—hum-ugh I call it, into the sink and put on some of the Passion-Pink lip gloss Danita dropped at the hospital, then twirl and slide right along with Jordan Fisher and Lindsay Arnold.
Me and Papi watch all the TV competitions together. Dancing with the Stars. The Voice. America’s Got Talent. American Idol. “Let’s sign you up, Gordita,” he used to say. “I’ll be your agent.” Everybody clapped when he and I danced at Tía Karina’s wedding last year. Is he watching our shows now, without me? Is he dancing with another little girl? I pour myself a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and start my homework.
And you know? It seems easier. Maybe I’m paying better attention because I’m not half asleep all the time. Or maybe working with Yari is helping.
At bedtime, Mami strokes my head. “So much good for you.”
She means it’s good I have no more accidents. And that is good news, isn’t it? Just in case Sherie invites me to her sleepover.
Late at night, Danny comes home. No more wrapping-paper sounds when he sits down on the couch by me because I don’t need the plastic tablecloth anymore.
“So, how’s things at NGYCP?” I ask.
“I might be able to take my GED soon,” he says.
“GED?”
“General Equivalency Diploma—like a high school diploma. You can’t get into the army without it.”
“Oh,” I say. But if Danny gets in the army, he’ll go away again, won’t he?
“How’s Frosty going?” he asks, squeezing my toes.
We both use Yari’s name for RF now. “Okay,” I say. “Everybody’s been really nice.”
“Been to see River?” Danny asks.
“Not yet,” I say. “Mami wants me to rest after school.” She always says don’t play rough. Dr. Zebra-Face told her diabetics can bruise easily and heal slowly.
“I shot some baskets with him while you were in the hospital. He’s pretty funny.”
Hmm. Danny and River shot baskets? I have a funny little hiccup in my stomach. But why should that bother me? I barely even know River.
•
We’re done with poetry now so on Thursday we start figurative language.
Mrs. Cruella assigns each group a new chart. We’re illustrating similes, which if you don’t know, compares one thing to another thing. Kind of like Mrs. Cruella compared to Cruella DeVille or Nancy to a noodle nose. Or people in my group who stink like farts.
While Mrs. Cruella makes her rounds I zip to the bathroom. I don’t have to get permission anymore because of diabetes. Isn’t that a bonus? When I return I see Mrs. Cruella talking to my group. She has her hands on her hips, which isn’t a good sign. I walk up behind her and hear Nancy say, “Our group works really well together.” When Mrs. Cruella walks away Nancy rolls her eyes.
I sit down at the table and Nicole says, “I love your idea of people being as frosty as Elsa’s castle, DeeDee. So creative.”
“And we can put the fluffy-as-snow clouds around the castle with the diamond stars in the sky,” says Samantha.
Nancy doesn’t say anything and that’s weird, isn’t it? And Sherie shares her markers. Also weird.
My levels are way off when I stop to see Mrs. Marsh and she grumbles at me. “DeeDee, do you want to end up in the hospital again? What did you eat for breakfast?”
Oh My Gatos. The glucometer doesn’t lie, even if I do. Even if I forgot to mention that I had an extra Pop-Tart this morning and a few M&M’s. It makes me mad that people who don’t have to use a glucometer get to lie all the time. If that spot-disappearing spray doesn’t work out, I think I’ll invent a truthometer.
During lunch kids from the Student Leadership Team walk around to each lunch table and remind everyone about the Spring Fling. Yari and a kind-ofcute boy come to our table with sign-up forms.
She smiles when she sees me. “DeeDee, qué te pasa, calabaza?”
I giggle. “Nada, nada, limonada,” forgetting about speaking Spanish.
She hands me a few forms. “Here pass these out to your friends,” she says. “And I better see you at the tryouts!”
When they’re gone, Sherie whispers, “Ooh, Brandon is so cute.”
“Who’s signing up for Spring Fling?” I ask.
“Can you be in it with diabetes?” asks Samantha.
“My aunt has diabetes and she has to be really careful about her activity levels, or she gets hypoglycemia,” says Noodlenose Nancy. “Plus, she’s fat. Fat people get diabetes.”
“Is diabetes catching?” asks Despicable Me Sherie.
“I don’t know, is being annoying catching?” I ask. I grab my lunch garbage, leave the forms on the table, and head to the bathroom.
Once I get into the bathroom stall, I try not to cry. Maybe Despicable Me Sherie didn’t mean anything. I mean, I had the same questions when Dr. Zebra-Face first told me. And Nancy doesn’t matter. No, she does not. Samantha and Nicole and Colin have been nice. And Yari says, starting a new school is like biting into a burrito in the middle. Ha! That’s a pretty good simile. I have a checkup with Dr. Zebra-Face today. And I hope she’s ready for a ton of questions.
I run to catch up as my class leaves the lunchroom, and I slide into line just in time to hear Samantha say, “We’re supposed to be nice to her, Sherie. Mrs. Cruella told us we had to.”
“I feel sorry for her, don’t you?” says Nicole.
“Oh, yah. Poor little DeeDee,” says Noodlenose Nancy.
“You mean poor little PeePee,” says Despicable Me Sherie, and they all laugh.
I slink back to the end of the line. Something in my chest squeezes so hard I can’t breathe. I scrunch down into my jacket. Fakers. They’re all fakers. Wolves, like Papi told Danny. I hate Robert Frost Elementary.
While Mrs. Cruella works with a group, I find my assigned computer in the numbered slot on the cart. A little gold heart charm is caught between the slot and the edge of the cart door, so I pluck it out and put it in my pocket. Finders keepers. I walk back along the windows to my desk. Suddenly Sherie raises her hand and waves it like she’s drying her armpits. Before Mrs. Cruella even calls on her she wails. “My heart. My heart. I lost my heart.”
Nancy butts in. “She means her heart charm, Mrs. Krewell.”
I close my hand around the pebble-small heart charm in my pocket while my own heart feels rock-heavy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
D IS FOR DETECTIVE
River’s bus pulls into the parking lot as I’m crossing the street. I see him jump out and run into our building. Is he a faker friend, too? Mrs. Cruella gave me a note from the office just before dismissal. My appointment is delayed so Mami will meet me at home and not the bus stop. But Danita won’t be home to watch me. She and Andrea made big plans when they found out they didn’t have to “babysit” for me.
I let myself in with the key Mami makes me put in my backpack every morning and hang it back on the hook next to the door. Danita must have left her alarm clock on this morning—music is blaring
from her room. I sink onto the couch. I really do wish I could go back in time to Lincoln Elementary. I would do a much better job of being friends with everybody. Even annoying Abiola.
When I go to the bathroom I see Danita’s door standing open a crack, and I’m tempted to go in and turn off her alarm clock radio. But even if I don’t touch anything she always knows when I’ve been in her room. Then I hear something else. Gulpy breaths and squeaky sobs. I put my eye right up to the crack. Danita sits on the floor holding a picture in her lap—the photo of Papi that Mami keeps on the end table. She’s bawling. And I mean bawling.
“It’s all ruined, Papi. And it’s all your fault. DeeDee’s sick. Mami’s tired. Danny’s joining the army. And my quinceañera. The father-daughter dance. Who will do the first dance with me, now?”
I back away. I’m stunned. Bossy Danita, the Queen Bee, crying? My stomach tightens. I never thought about Danita missing Papi. But it’s not his fault, is it? It’s our fault. We didn’t want to go with him. We weren’t good enough.
Then I think: But what if it’s nobody’s fault? What if he’s hurt somewhere? Kidnapped? It can happen. Me and Mr. TV saw plenty of shows about kidnapping.
I need to find Papi. That’s the only way we will know for sure. I need a detective.
River. I need to visit River.
I write Mami a quick note—I’M AT APARTMENT #311—and grab the key I hung by the door.
I hesitate before knocking. It’s bad to say, but when I think about his distinctions, his electro-pology—electro-dactpoly—oh fudge buckets, his fingers, I get a shiver. But I don’t want to be like Noodlenose Nancy and Despicable Me Sherie. I tell myself I’m not going to let a little thing like Bluetooth ears and Star Trek fingers get in my way.
River opens the door before I knock. “I saw you walking over” he says.
Which makes me wonder if every day since I came home from the hospital, he’s been watching and waiting for me.
“Sparkling water? Raspberry or passion fruit?” he asks.
He talks fast and as if he’s got cotton padding on his tongue. “I can’t …” I start to say.
“I know. I researched. This is flavored water with sparkles, you know, carbonation. No sugar or sodium.”
