by Bibi Belford
Who is this kid? I think. “Raspberry.”
I look around. The walls are covered with artwork. Covered. All over the hall, kitchen, living room. Paintings, drawings, paper collages. Faces. Planets. Dinosaurs. Sunsets. The colors are amazing. “Who …?” I start to ask.
“Me. Art therapy. Since I was two.” His two-finger hand points around the room. “I do that Young Rembrandts program at the park district. You should sign up.”
Oh, sure. I think. We’ve got lots of leftover money for that.
“Where—” I start to ask, but River opens the front closet, takes my coat, and hangs it up.
“How—” I start, but River jumps in again.
“I played basketball with your brother. He’s nice.”
“Are you—”
“Nah, I don’t really play. I do play soccer.”
“That’s not what I was going to ask.”
River zips into the kitchen and brings me my sparkling water. “What were you going to ask?”
I turn to make sure he can see my lips. “If you are ever going to let me finish a sentence.”
He looks embarrassed. “Sorry. It’s just … I mean … I don’t … you know. I told you I go to school with a lot of little kids.”
River puts his sparkling water on the end table next to the couch. A jar of markers sits between two laptop computers on the coffee table.
I have no idea what to say. It’s awkward.
“So—” we both start to say at the same time.
“You go,” I say.
“Have you been back to the hospital for a follow-up?”
“I have an appointment today.”
“I read it’s hard at first to get your levels stable.”
“Oh,” I say.
“And I read, too, that if you’re really active, like dance or something, it might lower your glucose levels.”
“Oh,” I say again.
“And the body uses insulin more efficiently if you dance regularly, so you might need less insulin.” River beams at me. “See, you’ll live long and prosper.”
He’s such a geek. And it’s like he read my mind again. Has he been spying on me? Why would he say dance?
“Okay, don’t be mad at me. Danny told me you like to dance, and I thought … well … it’s just that … I don’t usually have anybody to compete with me on Dance Forever.”
Oh Land O’Lakes. “You have Dance Forever? I love Dance Forever! Are you any good?”
And he is. Because after a half hour, I can’t come close to his score. He’s better than me. And I’m pretty good. If I decide to go to Danita’s quinceañera I should ask Danita to invite him. Then I’d for sure have a decent dance partner and not some dorky cousin.
A video starts in my head. Me dancing a ballad with Danita’s damas, girl attendants. River dancing with the chambelanes, boy attendants. Then Danita’s court separating, grabbing the hands of the boys and weaving between them. When they come to River, he holds out his hand and … the video dissolves. I shudder. They might not want to hold River’s hand. Because of his distinction. Oh My Gatos. How embarrassing! I feel the color creep up to my face.
And then I’m ashamed. What about River? How would he feel? So hurt. So rejected. Exactly how I feel every day at Robert Frost. It must be the same for River. Is that why he visited me in the hospital?
“Your turn,” River says, out of breath.
I jump back onto the mat. Well, I don’t have to worry about a stupid quinceañera, because I’m not going anyway.
River’s mom comes into the room while we’re resting from dancing a tiebreaker. River introduces me. “Mom, DeeDee. DeeDee, Mrs. Ramos-Henry.”
“Oh, DeeDee, I’m so happy to meet you.”
She shakes my hand. As if I’m so famous that she’s lucky to meet me. She’s beautiful, and I don’t say that about too many people. Her black-as-the-night, wavy hair brushes the table as she leans to kiss the top of River’s head. I smell flowers. She wears skinny Wild-Blue-Yonder jeans and a long, flowing, gauzy Cerise shirt.
I look at her hands. They’re perfect. All her fingers right where they’re supposed to be. No electro-what-ever.
When she goes into the kitchen, River whispers, “It’s okay. I told her about you and your dad.”
“What’d you do that for?”
“I need her password if you want me to look stuff up.” He switches on the laptop. “She’s a paralegal. That’s an assistant to a lawyer.”
“I know what a paralegal is.” That’s a lie, but I don’t like being so ignorant compared to River. “What does your dad do?”
“He died in the army when I was three.” River’s rolls his hands together like he did in the hospital.
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“I know. I hardly remember him.” He keeps rolling his hands. He doesn’t look at me. Then he starts clicking away on the computer, keeping his voice low. “My mom tells me about him, but it’s not the same.”
“I wish my mom talked about my dad, but nobody talks about him. I’m starting to forget.” This scares me. It scares me so much. Maybe it’s the same for River. Maybe that’s why he wants to help me find my dad.
“What’s his name?” asks River.
“Daniel Diaz, the same as my brother.”
“Birth date?” he asks.
“Um, I think September 17th.”
“Year?”
“I don’t know.” Are kids supposed to know what year their parents are born?
River stops typing. “There are over a hundred people named Daniel Diaz.”
“Oh,” I say.
“Don’t worry, we can figure it out.” He gets up. “I’m getting a piece of string cheese. Want one?”
“Okay,” I say.
He comes back with a bowl of strawberries and two sticks of string cheese.
“What kind of lunches does Robert Frost have?” he asks.
“Boring. I have to plan my lunch with the nurse so I’m not overdoing the carbs.”
River takes a long string off the cheese stick and eats it like a noodle.
“Look.” He points to the laptop. “Some of these people might not even be real. They could be fake accounts, like fake news.” He closes the laptop. “But the real news is I’m for sure transferring to a new school. Either Maya Angelou because they already have some hard-of-hearing students, or Robert Frost because I can walk there.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well, Robert Frost takes some getting used to. I’m pretty much a straight-A student, so I can handle it. But I think my teacher hates Mexicans. She thinks bilingual kids can’t read.” I finish my string cheese and bite into a strawberry.
“What school did you go to before?” River asks.
“Lincoln Elementary. All my friends were super sad when I moved, but I’ve already got lots of new friends.”
A knock interrupts us. “DeeDee, ven, nos vamos.” It’s Mami, telling me it’s time to go.
I walk to the closet to get my coat. Jutting out behind the coats I see a wheel. I pull the coats to the side and see the deck of a skateboard. “What’s this?”
“My skateboard,” says River.
“I have one, too,” I say. “I’ve been skating for a couple of years. Danny’s friend Freddie taught me.”
“I’m not that good,” says River. “I can carve a bit and get some air. Maybe when it’s warm we could go to the skatepark and you could teach me some tricks.”
“Yah. Great,” I say, thinking how stupid I am for lying about skating because now I can’t go to the skatepark until I’m better at skating.
I open the door and River holds up his hand. “Live long and prosper,” he says.
“Same to you,” I say.
Me and Mami head down the hall. We’ve just passed our apartment when River leans his head out in the hall. “Hey, DeeDee. Can you teach me that trick?” He points at the carpet and I look down. I’m standing in front of Mrs. Robinson’s door. Right on the big monster stain.
> I whip around. He’s making fun of me. He’s just like everybody else. He knew the whole time I’m a lousy skater. But instead of a nasty, know-it-all look on his face, he’s grinning. “Don’t worry,” he calls after me. “I’ll teach you the trick of not falling down.”
•
I find myself thinking about River during school the next day. Not in a mushy-boyfriend way, but an I-had-fun-at-his-house way. A pepita-of-hope-sprouting-little-leaves way.
But then I think, what will happen if he does go to Robert Frost? Will he expect me to be his helper friend? I’m not sure I can handle more teasing from Nancy and Sherie. I know that’s selfish. But River won’t be happy at Robert Frost. He already told me that I wouldn’t be happy at his school. I cross my fingers that he goes to Maya Angelou.
Yari’s back in peer-tutoring business and she saved her lunch carrots for me, so we nibble while she tutors me.
“Are you going to try out for Spring Fling?” she asks.
“I might. What do you think about skateboarding?”
“Oh-Em-Gee. That is so sick. We’ve never had anybody skateboard. Wait until I tell the Student Leadership Team,” she says, twirling her string bracelet.
We’re working on the difference between a character’s feelings and a character’s traits.
“You know,” says Yari, showing me a chart. “These emoticons with the labels are a nice way to figure out feelings in general.” She points at nervous. “I’m always nervous around boys.” Then she points at frustrated. “And I get so frustrated about the way people treat Latinas.”
I point at discouraged. “I wish there was an emoticon for feeling stupid.”
“No you don’t,” says Yari and points at the proud emoticon. “You’ve made lots of progress. My teacher says instead of a fixed mindset, we should use a growth mindset. So instead of saying I’m stupid, you say I need new strategies. Instead of saying this is too hard for me, say I can do this with effort and work.”
“But I have diabetes, so things are hard for me,” I say.
“Nope,” says Yari. “You just need new strategies. And—a new purple shirt.”
She pulls a shirt from her backpack. “It’s a little too short for me, but it’s from my favorite store where I get most of my clothes, Sun and Stars Boutique.”
“Oh My Gatos,” I say. “Thanks.” Maybe next week I will invite Yari to come over. Maybe Mami will make flan. Yari loves flan but her mom barely cooks because of her job.
When the bell rings at the end of the day, Mrs. Cruella dismisses the class by calling out the names of the students with all completed assignments. I hear Nancy whisper, “See you tonight,” to Sherie after her name is called. So tonight’s the sleepover, and my invitation must have gotten lost. Well la-di-da.
“DeeDee, I’m missing three assignments from you,” says Mrs. Cruella. “Three.”
I dig in my desk and come up with two half-finished language arts papers. I zip to the hall, dig in my backpack, and come up with one half-finished math paper. I smooth out the wrinkles and place all three on Mrs. Cruella’s desk.
“Hmm,” says Mrs. Cruella. “It appears these haven’t been completed. Under the circumstances, I will give you full credit if they’re completed and on my desk tomorrow.”
So, thanks to Mrs. Cruella, it’s later than usual when I walk across our speed-bump parking lot. I hear a basketball bouncing and see River and Danny on the court, playing. I run up the stairs two at a time.
“You’re late,” says Danita. “Your little friend came looking for you.”
I throw my backpack on the couch, go to the bathroom, and start for the door.
“Not until you have a snack,” says Danita. “Mami says.”
I wolf down crackers and cheese, then run out the door. Danny comes toward me, bouncing the ball.
“Gordita,” he says. “How was school?”
“Where’s River?” I ask, looking around.
“I don’t know. He went to a friend’s house, I think.”
Something between my throat and my stomach squeezes. I see the emoticon faces on the chart Yari and I worked with today. What am I feeling? Disappointment? Loneliness? No. I realize with a start, I’m jealous. Jealous of River and Danny. Jealous of River and his friend. Jealous they’re having fun without me. Really? What is my problem? He’s just my Star Trek weirdo neighbor.
“He was looking for you,” says Danny. “I think he wanted to tell you he’s starting at Frosty on Monday.”
River’s transferring to Robert Frost? You know that feeling when you’re in the first roller coaster car at the very top of the drop off? That’s how my stomach feels right now. What will it be like with River at my school? Will he embarrass me? Why do these things happen to me?
“Here, take the ball up, will you? I have to go to work.”
I march upstairs. Danita’s pink overnight bag sits on the couch. “Where are you going?”
“Andrea’s house. When Mami gets home,” she says.
If I had a bedroom I’d huff right in and slam the door. Who needs sleepovers? Who needs friends? Not me. Me and my angry emoticon face can have fun all by ourselves.
CHAPTER EIGHT
D IS FOR DETECTIVE (FOR REAL THIS TIME)
On Saturday morning after Mami goes to work, I’m still jealous River went to his friend’s house yesterday. And I know I’m being ridiculous. It’s not like he has to wait around for me. I almost talk myself out of going to his house, but I remember Yari’s pep talk. I need new strategies. I can do this. As soon as Danita comes straggling home from her sleepover, with Andrea following her, I grab the key from the hook and march down the hall. I knock and wait. And wait. I knock again. And wait and wait. Maybe everyone in the world except DeeDee Diaz is at a sleepover. I knock one more time and turn to leave.
The door flies open. “I didn’t hear you knock,” River says. “My implant batteries were charging.”
“Oh,” I say. “Danny said you were at a friend’s yesterday. I thought maybe it was a sleepover.”
River looks puzzled. “I had to go with my mom to work last night. Shondrea, my babysitter, got sick.”
That spot between my throat and my stomach pitter-patters. Stop doing that, I tell it.
“We can work here,” he says, pointing at the two computers. “After you left on Thursday, I bookmarked sites for locating missing persons. But it will really help if you can find his birth certificate or his driver’s license or something.”
“Where would I find those?” I watch as he pulls up a list of websites from a folder marked MISSING FATHER, using his thumbs and four fingers on the keyboard. He’s fast. Way faster than I am at typing.
I stare at the markers on the coffee table. STAEDTLER art markers. I pick them up one by one. Bordeaux 23. Ultramarine Blue 37. Turquoise 54. Violet 6. Mauve 260. What’s the point of having a number and a name? Unless it’s a way to keep track of them..
“Is Mauve the last color?” I ask.
“Why?”
“Because it’s the highest number I see.”
“I don’t know. I only have the set of forty-eight.”
“Well, that’s dumb—I mean stupid,” I say.
“True. Speaking of numbers, what about doing a little detective work? Is there a wallet or a stack of bills in your mom’s room you can look through?” He juts his pointy chin toward my apartment.
“Maybe.” I’m a little doubtful. “Now?”
“I’ll leave the door open for you. Think like a detective.” He says this in a mysterious voice, one thick eyebrow arching up over his wide, brown eyes.
Weirdo, I think.
As soon as I walk into the hall, a lump of worry forms in between my throat and my lungs. What if we actually find my dad and he doesn’t want to come home? What if he’s in some kind of trouble? If Mami knew something, wouldn’t she have told us? Maybe I shouldn’t go snooping around in her private stuff.
I open the door. Danita and Andrea are eating Oreos and watc
hing a soap opera. I have no idea how Danita stays so skinny when all she does is eat.
“I thought you were going to your friend’s house,” she says.
“I am. I just need something.”
It must be a good episode. They don’t even turn their heads. I casually walk down the hall. Think like a detective. I sneak into Mami’s room and open her top drawer.
There, on top of her flowered pajamas, Papi’s face stares up at me. He’s so young. His arm around Mami in her white dress. Their wedding picture. I didn’t know she saved it from the fire. I take a good look. They seem so happy. Maybe he left because having kids ruined their life.
I turn the frame over and see a little card with names and dates and some numbers stuck under the edge.
“What are you doing, DeeDee?” Danita calls.
“Nothing,” I yell. I slide the picture under my shirt. Right near where the lump is making it hard to breathe. I already feel guilty.
I shuffle around under the clothes and find a twenty-dollar bill. For just one minute I think like a thief and not a detective. Into my front pocket goes the twenty.
I flip through the stack of envelopes on the top of the dresser. CHASE BANK. SIMMONS PROPERTY MANAGEMENT. NATIONAL GUARD YOUTH CHALLENGE PROGRAM. US DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY. US Department of Homeland Security? I grab the envelope.
On the bottom shelf of the nightstand I see a fat brown folder. I flop it open on the bed. Medical bills. My medical bills. I study the one on top. It’s got Papi’s name and insurance listed, but it says CLAIM DENIED, whatever that means. I fold the medical bill up small and stuff it in my back pocket. A nagging, bothersome idea keeps poking into my brain.
What does Mami know? And why doesn’t she want to talk about it? If she told us what’s going on, then I wouldn’t have to sneak around, would I? It’s her fault I’m acting this way. Her fault. Her fault Papi went away without us. Because she didn’t want to go.
“DeeDee!” Danita blasts the door open, scaring me to death.
“What?” I jerk the folder shut.
“What are you doing in here?”
“Nothing.” I march past Queen Bee. “Does mom know you eat junk food in front of me?”
