by Bibi Belford
I never noticed all the kids at that table before. They’re all different. Some are in wheelchairs. One has on a helmet. One girl sits and throws her head back and forth while the teacher tries to aim the food at her mouth.
I used to call those students handicapped, but River says they’re not handicapped. They just have different capabilities, in the same way he does. Not disabilities. Not defects. Distinctions. It almost makes me want to go and sit with him. I shake the thought away. Not yet.
When it’s time for peer tutoring, Yari squeals when she sees me. “OMG. That shirt looks amazing on you. Purple is so you.”
We get down to business. After we finish going over all the vocabulary from the next chapter in Ragweed, she says, “Guess who I met this morning?” She starts to put everything into our tutoring folder. “The new kid in your class, River. Do you know him?”
I shake my head no, just slightly. What will Yari think of me if she knows I hang out with River? The needle on my truthometer wiggles and I squeeze my hands together.
“I took him on a tour of Robert Frost. He’s so cool. And funny.” Yari holds up her hand. “Live long and prosper,” she says.
•
After school Mrs. Marsh needs to check my levels since they were off all day. And I have to wait, because she’s talking to a parent. Finally, I trudge home in the drizzling, cold rain. Why are things so hard for me? Why am I different? I never even talked to River once at school. Not once. What kind of lousy neighbor am I? What is wrong with me? I open the door to our apartment. Danita, Andrea, and River are all inside, laughing hysterically. Yes, hysterically. And yes, River. In my apartment.
“Hi DeeDee,” says Danita, gulping for air. “River’s mom had an emergency at work, so he’s going to wait here for his babysitter.”
“Oh,” I say. “What’s so funny?”
“We were just talking about quinceañeras. River asked if we have one every year.”
Everybody busts up laughing again. Everybody but me.
“Ochoañera, nueveañera …” snorts Andrea.
“Diezañera, onceañera, doceañera …” continues Danita.
“Treceañera, catorceañera …” says River.
“Quinceañera,” shout Danita and Andrea.
“I’ll be right back,” I say and head to the bathroom. Live long and prosper, you weirdos.
They’re still talking about quinceañeras when I come back.
“So it’s like a wedding,” says River, “but nobody gets married? That’s cool. Do we bring presents?”
I roll my eyes. “Really? Don’t be so excited about it. I’m not.”
“When is your Queen Sarah, Danita?” asks River.
Queen Bee doubles over laughing again. “Oh my gosh. That’s great. You are too funny.”
River’s hard of hearing probably makes new Spanish words tricky. So he’s probably not being funny. But of course Danita is clueless about what’s hard for River.
Danita explains, “Quinceañera. Quince which means fifteen. And añera for the year. Quince-añera. It’s in May.”
Danita makes quesadillas for a snack. Rolling out the red carpet for River, like she never does for me. River and I do our homework. Or I should say, I do my homework because River finished almost all of his at school.
“It’s so easy,” he says.
I turn on the TV. Dancing with the Stars is on. “What do you want to watch?” I ask him.
“This,” he says. “I love Dancing with the Stars.”
Andrea says, “Danita, this song is so good. You should put it on your quinceañera playlist.”
River stands up. “Come on, Danita, I know this one.”
Guess who’s left sitting on the couch while the three of them dance?
Finally Shondrea calls to let River know she’s arrived, and he shoulders his backpack and heads out the door.
I follow him to the hallway. “Hey, want to skateboard later if the rain stops?”
The look he gives me is hard to figure out. A combination of confusion, doubt, and surprise. Definitely not on my emoticon face chart.
“Not today,” he says. “And not tomorrow. I’m going to indoor soccer with Colin tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay,” I say. He made a friend on his first day? I’ve been at Frosty almost three weeks without an invitation.
“Maybe Thursday. If my mom’s appointment with Mrs. Krewell doesn’t take too long.”
“Okay, only if you can squeeze me in,” I say.
He gives me the same weird face and slams the door without his Vulcan salute.
What’s his deal? Just because I didn’t talk to him today? I really didn’t have much of a chance. A leaf on my pepita plant of hope falls off and I go back inside my apartment.
“Hey DeeDee,” says Danita. “If you really don’t want to come to my quinceañera, I can invite River instead.”
“He’d love it,” says Andrea.
I go to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of milk. I squirt in chocolate syrup until my fingers get tired. I stir. The spoon hits the side of the glass. Clink. Clink. Clink. Fourth grade stinks. Clink. Clink. Clink. My sister stinks. Clink. Clink. Clink. My whole life stinks. I grab my helmet and pads and take my skateboard outside. I push and cruise, practicing my turning and getting faster. I’m really shredding when I see Mrs. Robinson at the end of the sidewalk waving at me. I zip back around and drag my foot to slow down.
“Do you know how to read?” she asks me in a huffy voice.
“Yes, but—” I start.
“No skateboarding,” she says and huffs off before I can explain. Well la-di-da. I guess River’s the only one with skateboarding privileges. I guess it’s different for me.
•
On Tuesday and Wednesday I watch River work his magic at Robert Frost. Mrs. Krewell frowns at the hullabaloo his group makes during their group project on Ragweed, but when she walks over to see what’s happening, she laughs. Sour-puss actually laughs.
“It was River’s idea,” says Colin.
Every day Miss Monaldo follows River around to art, gym, music, and signs for him even when he’s not watching. Seems kind of like a waste of time and money to me.
At recess, River and Colin organize the soccer lovers into teams and have a little mini-game that Colin calls a scrimmage. All they ever used to do was kick the ball wildly across the field and chase after it until the lunch bell rang. Before River. From my perch up on the jungle gym I think about it. River’s already a planet in the solar system, while I’m just a black hole.
Both days at lunch I notice River talking to Yari. Smiling and laughing. Ridiculous.
Mrs. Cruella moved my tutoring to before school because Yari has fifth-grade testing. Yari told me her best friend invited her to a water park for a birthday party and all her friends are going. Right. All her friends. Which means, well, I don’t have to tell you what it means.
Noodlenose Nancy and Despicable Me Sherie find ways to be sneaky-mean to River. When Mrs. Cruella says “Give me five,” Noodlenose whispers, “Or three if you’re River,” and Sherie giggles. Whenever River leaves the room to go to speech therapy, they make the Vulcan salute at his back and a couple of the boys copy them, snickering. Noodlenose still talks super loud to River, even though Mrs. Cruella told her not to.
Thursday, without warning, it snows, and my gym shoes turn into ice blocks by the time I get home. And it’s still chilly in our apartment even though Danny called the manager to complain. Danita huddles in her fleece jacket, madly texting someone on her phone.
“Why don’t you go play with River?” asks Danita.
“Where’s Andrea?” I ask.
“Decorating valentine cookies. For the fundraiser.”
Poor Danita. Stuck here with me. She never goes anywhere anymore.
“How’s quinceañeara planning?”
“I dunno if I’m even going to have one.” She turtles her neck into her jacket.
Oh My Gatos. If I don’t find Papi soon, our
family won’t have any pepitas of hope left.
I turn on Dancing with the Stars and start my math homework. Danita sniffles and goes off to her bedroom. I jump when a blam-blam-blam smacks against the door.
“Come on,” River shouts at me when I open the door. In a Yoda voice he says, “Paper we got, valentines we make!”
“Going to River’s,” I yell and grab the key. Just saying that makes a sunny spot in my heart. I hope this means River’s decided he’s okay with being friends in private.
Sheets of assorted pink and red paper fan out across his coffee table—Pink, Scarlet, and Wild Strawberry. River’s markers sit in the middle of the paper, with two bags of Tootsie Pops.
“Holy jalapeño,” I say.
“My mom printed the list of names Mrs. Krewell sent out,” he says. “If you want to personalize.”
“What list?”
“She attached it to the weekly newsletter she emails to our parents.”
“Oh,” I say. I’m almost positive Mrs. Cruella never asked me or Mami for our email addresses. Danny checks our email when he’s at school because we don’t have a computer in our house. Yet. Does Mrs. Cruella think we’re so different we can’t get email?
For two hours we cut and paste hearts into bigger hearts and attach lollipops.
“How was soccer?” I ask. I saw a poster Mrs. Marsh put up for Valentine’s Day. Two teddy bears hugging. Across the top of the poster it says, THE ONLY WAY TO HAVE A FRIEND IS TO BE ONE. RALPH WALDO EMERSON. And if two teddy bears can learn to be friends, then for sure people can, can’t they? I mean, does a bear poop in the woods?
“Great,” River says. “And different. I’m not used to being around all hearing people.”
“Must be weird,” I say.
“Yah. And Robert Frost is different than I thought,” he says, holding up a multi-layered heart valentine. In the middle River drew a fancy arrow sticking into the tiniest, red-checked, center heart. YOU HIT THE BULL’S-EYE, he wrote.
“Different how?” I ask.
“The equipment, for one thing. It’s not adaptive, so people with disabilities have few choices for recess. For example, the jungle gym. If it had rubber hand holds or triangular sections, I’d be able to climb it. Also, the teachers seem confused about diversity. Like Mr. Bronton, our gym teacher.”
“You mean Mr. Incredible?” I ask and River snorts. “He thinks diabetics can’t exercise.”
“Do you have a different name for everybody?” he asks.
“No, not everybody. Just the people who deserve them,” I say.
River goes on, “And there’s not a lot of diversity. No Filipinos. No Middle Eastern kids. And not many multiracial kids. It doesn’t seem as accepting as my old school.”
“Noodlenose Nancy is Chinese,” I say.
“Noodlenose? She probably deserves that nickname. How do you know she’s Chinese?” River asks.
“Uh, I just thought she was.”
“She could be Asian-American, or Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese—”
“Okay, I’m not sure.” I hate it when he acts all know-it-all. Then I say, “But maybe it takes time for some people to get used to differences. I used to think Mrs. Cruella hated Mexicans but Yari says Mrs. Cruella has high expectations for everybody.”
“It’s weird when you expect people to act one way and they act another, isn’t it?” River gives me that strange look again.
I change the subject. “What’s the next thing we should do to find my Papi?”
He pulls one of the computers from the shelf under the coffee table. “I wrote the email. I’ll print it for you to translate. And if you still want to go to his work …”
“Of course I want to. Does a bear—”
“—poop in the woods?” River finishes my sentence. “I can’t tomorrow. I have a date.”
“A date?” Flames shoot into my head. I need my own ice castle where I can hide from everyone.
“With my mom. I’ve taken her out for Valentine’s Day since I was three.”
My blood pressure goes back to normal. “Oh, well, that’s nice. But Valentine’s Day is on Saturday.”
“She has a real date on Saturday,” River says and raises his eyebrows. “And Monday Danny said I could ride along to the high school when he picks up his test results. The parking lot is great for skateboarding.”
I see red flames again. Danny? And River? Skateboarding at Northlake High School? “My brother Danny?” I choke out.
“You can come if you want,” River says.
“Okay,” I say, glad I didn’t open my mouth and let the flames out.
“And I tried calling TAICO, but they don’t give out information on the phone.”
That little sunny spot in my heart gets warm, knowing River tried.
He goes on. “So we can try Tuesday, or maybe Friday, to go to your dad’s work.”
“I think it’s kind of far away. I used to go there with my dad sometimes.”
“Yah. We have to take the bus. I already checked.” River shows me a map on his laptop. “I’ll print this later.” He leans close and whispers, “And FYI I’m not going to tell my mom. She’ll ask too many questions.”
“Oh, me either,” I say, glad he always thinks ahead.
“I don’t lie, so we’ll say we’re going to the library and we’ll just go to TAICO first.”
“Deal,” I say and pack up my valentines. “Thanks for doing valentines with me.”
“The honor is mine,” he says in the Matrix voice he and Mr. Hawaii used at the hospital.
CHAPTER TEN
D IS FOR DINOSAUR
On Friday morning Mrs. Cruella lets us pass out our valentines first thing in the morning.
When we’re done passing them out, Mrs. Cruella tells us we can read our cards during reading time, since most of them will have figurative language or poetry. But lots of them have candy and you can’t read that, so I eat it instead. Who doesn’t eat valentine candy? I don’t even think about it when I pop the two little packets of red and pink jelly beans into my mouth.
And not too long after that, Mrs. Cruella sends me to Mrs. Marsh because I’m dizzy and sleepy. Not too many kids notice, but River’s eyebrows bunch together like he’s worried. And when Mrs. Cruella asks who wants to accompany DeeDee to the nurse, Nancy mumbles, “Not again.”
Mrs. Marsh goes ballistic when she tests me. Do you know how many carbs they pack into one little, teensy jelly bean? Mrs. Marsh says about one gram. And one packet has twenty-five jelly beans. So, since I ate two whole packets of jelly beans, I ate fifty grams of carbs.
“Dinora Diaz, you know better than to eat that much sugar. You can’t cheat. You can’t pretend you can do what everyone else can do. Your diabetes will always tattle on you,” scolds Mrs. Marsh.
I hate not being able to do what I want. I hate not being like everybody else. And I hate diabetes. By The Way.
Mrs. Marsh keeps scolding. “I’ve told you so many times. Balance your diet and stay active. If you don’t, you’ll end up in the hospital.”
“I’m very active. In fact, I’m going to sign up for the Spring Fling thing,” I tell Mrs Marsh. Who does she think she is?
“Oh, DeeDee. That’s a wonderful idea. What are you going to do?”
“I’m choosing between skateboarding and dancing.”
“You should definitely try out,” she says. Her mood has totally flipped. “The Student Leadership Team only chooses one student from each grade level in each category. And you know”—Mrs. Marsh leans close to me—“Nancy Wang always dances. You should skateboard. You’ll be such a good example of how to rise above your disability and inspire others.”
Here’s what I want to say: I just want to do it because I like to skateboard and dance. Isn’t that enough? Why do I have to be somebody’s motivation? I think about River. He would hate hearing that. I hate hearing it, too. But I don’t say anything to Mrs. Marsh. She’s not the kind of person who says things to be mean.
Mrs. Marsh laughs. “I’ll stop by the office later and put your name on the tryout list.”
“Okay,” I say. Oh My Gatos. Why did I open my mouth? No matter what I decide to do, I won’t be good enough to make it. Well, I don’t have to go to the tryouts if I don’t want to, do I?
I give Mrs. Cruella the note Mrs. Marsh wrote telling her to be more careful, but Mrs. Cruella tells me it’s my responsibility and not hers. I guess somebody should tell that to my poor lollipop and the conversation hearts left in my valentine bag.
When we saw Dr. Zebra-Face last week, she told me I was adjusting as expected and will grow up to be a healthy young lady who has no limits to her activities. So there, Mr. Incredible and Noodlenose Nancy. So there, Mrs. Marsh. But I miss Mami bringing pizza for late night binges, and Doritos and M&M’s for snacks.
When I finally settle back into my desk, I see one of my valentines sticking out of my bag. I glance around.
Noodlenose Nancy sneers at me. “Somebody has a crush on you. The two misfits. What a pair.”
Talk about flames shooting in my head and out of my mouth. I’m out of my seat and heading toward Nancy when Mrs. Cruella says, “Give me five.”
“JW,” I mouth at Nancy. Just wait.
“What?” she mouths back. But I don’t answer.
•
At recess on Monday I try to talk to Nicole and Samantha. Try to have a friend by being one. “Thanks for the valentines,” I say.
“I’m sorry I put candy in yours. I forgot,” says Samantha.
“That’s okay. I’m not sure a cheeseburger and fries would have fit.”
They both laugh. We’re sitting on the second level of the jungle gym.
Noodlenose yells up to me, “Hey, what kind of dinosaur are you, Dinora? A T-Rex or a Brontosaurus?”
I don’t get it at first, and then I freeze. Nancy found out my name. My real name, Dinora Diaz. Someone told her. And who’s the only person who could have done that? River.
