by Bibi Belford
“Why don’t you answer me, Dinora Dinosaura?” she yells, and then she runs away with Sherie following her.
Nicole giggles. “That’s funny. Is that your name?”
“No. It’s Dee-nor-a.” Only my lips move because my teeth are clenched so tight I can barely spit it out.
I scramble down from the bars and look around for River. He’s kicking the soccer ball around. I wait on the edge of the field for the bell to ring, my hate making me very hot and sweaty. When he walks toward me I glare at him, sending nasty messages with my eyes.
“What?” he says when he gets close enough, smiling at me with a smudge of mud on his cheek and his knee.
“How could you?”
“What?” he says again, but without a smile this time.
“You told Nancy my name.”
River throws out his arms. “I didn’t. I swear. I would never do that. I keep my promises.” One dark eyebrow goes low over his eye and his forehead crinkles into four up and down lines, as if pressed with a fork.
“Then how did she know?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t me.” River shakes his spaghetti-noodle hair. “I haven’t said anything to your friends. Even though they pick on me all the time.”
“Nancy and Sherie aren’t my friends.”
“Oh yah? Then why do you sit with them? Why do you want to be friends at home and ignore me at school?” He starts to walk away, then turns back. “You’re a two-faced liar!”
I have that squeezy pinch in my stomach and it stays there all through lunch, where I sit at the end of the table, almost falling off the bench onto the floor, watching River out of the corner of my eye as he has fun with the kids and teachers at his table. “Two-faced liar,” echoes in my ears over and over. I see Yari sit down next to him and they lean their heads together and point excitedly at Yari’s notebook. And the whole time I’m watching them, I’m wondering how in the jalapeño Nancy knows my real name.
Noodlenose thinks she’s hysterical when she bumps her tray into me on the way to the garbage, and says, “Oh excuse me, Dinora.”
The other kids near me ask, “Is that your name? Dinora?”
I try to keep calm. I wish I was River. He’d know what to do. He’d make it a joke. He’d be cool. But when Nancy says, “Are you sure you should try out for Spring Fling? I didn’t know dinosaurs could dance,” I can’t take it. I push her. Hard. And she falls.
I lean my face down and scream so loud drops of spit fly out of my mouth. “Leave me alone.” I tear out of the room without waiting for her to get up or yell back.
I run into Mrs. Marsh when I turn the corner and I almost knock her down. “Whoa. What’s the matter, Dinora?” She steers me toward her office, past the SPRING FLING sign-up sheet. And there, on the sign-up sheet, in Mrs. Marsh’s handwriting, I see DINORA DIAZ—UNDECIDED. The first name on the list. And down a few names I see NANCY WANG, DANCE, in Nancy’s loopy writing.
Smack, it hits me. River didn’t tell Nancy my real name. Mrs. Marsh signed Dinora and not DeeDee up for tryouts.
I don’t say anything to Mrs. Marsh. It’s not her fault. It’s my fault. For having such a horrible name. For being such a horrible friend. And for blaming River, who’s never been horrible to anybody. I sulk off to class after listing off everything I ate to Mrs. Marsh.
“Don’t forget, tryouts are in about three weeks,” she calls after me.
Not for me, I think. Not on your life.
•
I feel ugly the rest of the afternoon, frizzy-frayed from the windy recess, sticky-sweaty from running down the hall, and itchy-scritchy from my too-tight sweatshirt. Mrs. Cruella calls me over and tells me I made positive growth on the last reading test but I’m still in the red zone. She’s moving me up to a reading group in Mr. Somerset’s room, so I will switch classes, just for reading.
Under my breath I say, “Once a dunce, always a dunce.” And when us dunces switch rooms, I notice River getting moved up to be with the advanced literacy group.
I remember a joke Danny told me. “When God was handing out smarts, you thought he said farts, and said no thank you, I’m already full of them.” It makes me feel better, thinking about Danny. He never gives up. Working and going to night school, plus all his training in NGYCP. If his GED scores are good enough, he can apply for a special training program. Papi would be so proud. I wonder if River’s too mad to go with me and Danny to high school tonight.
And thinking about Danny and Papi makes me straighten up a bit. I’m doing better. I am. I might catch up to River and be in the advanced reading group next year. Right?
“Where’s River?” asks Danny when I walk through the door.
“I don’t know,” I say.
We wait for a bit. Danny texts him. We wait some more.
“I don’t think River can go,” I say finally. He’s mad for sure, and I don’t blame him. I am Dinora Dinosaura and I should be extinct.
“Are you sure?” Danny says.
“Yah. It’s okay,” I say, “we can go without him.” If River’s mad at me, I don’t need Danny taking his side.
Danny gives me a odd look and picks up his keys from the table. “Okay. But remember what Papi says. “Amistades verdaderas, mantienen las puertas abiertas,” Always keep your door open for a true friend.
“It’s not that,” I say. “Nothing’s wrong. I think he probably forgot.” Danny sure has a lot of memories of Papi. I hope Papi comes home soon. I want more memories.
We’re in front of River’s door when it opens and he pops out. “Hey,” he says. “I was just coming over. Phone problems.”
“Oh, well, we were just coming to get you,” I say.
“We sure were,” says Danny, staring at me like I’ve lost my marbles.
River sits up front with Danny and they talk about their scores from NBA 2K18, the last video game they played. Nobody talks to me. When we get to Northlake, Danny shows River the soccer fields where he used to play. Then he goes inside and leaves us in the empty parking lot with our skateboards.
“Were you guys leaving without me?” River asks once Danny’s gone.
“I thought you didn’t want to go,” I say, my stomach giving me little pinchy squeeze again.
“Why?” asks River.
“Because you’re mad at me.”
“I am mad at you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hang out with you. We’re friends. We’re still going to your dad’s work next week, aren’t we?” He does a running start to get on his skateboard and I push-shove after him. We both ride with our left foot front. Most of the snow and slush has been plowed from the parking lot, and it’s smooth with no speed bumps.
I make it around the parking lot, only bailing once, keeping loose and rolling out, like River taught me. And yes, I’m wearing my helmet and so is River. Total geek look, but Dr. Zebra-Face scared the jalapeño right out of me when she saw skateboarding bruises at my checkup. “You have a long life ahead of you,” she said. “Let’s do what we can to keep everything attached to your body.”
River practices his kick turn, and the new tic-tacs, which are little mini kick turns that make you go really fast. No matter how hard I try to do them I always lean too far and the back of my board hits the ground—wipe out.
Neither of us can skate switch and fakie. River says all the good skaters need to be comfortable skating switch and fakie on ramps. He also says someday, when it gets warmer and I get a little more confident, his mom will take us to the huge skatepark that’s halfway between my new apartment and my old trailer park.
A few cars pull into the parking lot, dropping off kids in tights carrying slippers. I skate closer and River follows me.
“Prestige Academy of Dance,” River says. “I used to take lessons there.”
Danny comes out of the door as two little pink-tutu girls skip through. He points to his car and we skate around the growing line of cars to meet him.
“What kind of classes do you take here, Danny? Bal
let?” I ask.
“Very funny, Gordita,” he says and pokes me. “Guess what? GED with honors.”
River and I high-five him. “That’s so sick,” I say.
River laughs. “You sound like Yari.” We jump into Danny’s car. “I forgot to tell you. Yari invited me to be on SLT, to represent kids with disabilities.” He says it as if it’s no big deal, but I can tell it’s a big deal to him.
“You’re not going to do it, are you? Only fifth graders are on SLT. Didn’t you say you hate being inspiring?”
“Of course I’m going to do it. It’s not being an inspiration, it’s representation. Someone has to make sure our rights aren’t violated and we have equal access.”
I’m confused. I thought River didn’t want to identify with disabled people. That’s why he transferred to Robert Frost. I thought he only had distinctions, not disabilities. Now, all of a sudden he wants to be the poster child? I think about what Mrs. Marsh said to me about being an inspiration and how I felt cheated. I guess I don’t understand the difference between inspiration and representation.
River pulls up his jacket sleeve. “All the SLT members wear these,” he says. “The colors represent the school’s mission.”
And there on his wrist is the same string bracelet Yari wears every day. I pretend to be fascinated by the line of cars through my suddenly blurry eyes. And for some reason when I see the soccer field as we leave the parking lot it makes me even blurrier, remembering Danny scoring the winning goal in his last ever game. Everything was normal then. I like normal.
River just keeps talking to Danny. “So the mission is ‘to create an inclusive community of lifelong learners.’ That’s what the knot stands for. Then each color represents one way to do that. Yellow for critical thinking. Orange for imagination and joy. Green for growth. Blue for honesty and loyalty. And red for global citizenship.”
“Way cool,” says Danny. “That reminds me of some things from my National Guard training.”
“Maybe I’ll join the National Guard someday,” says River.
And maybe I’ll throw up all over the inside of Danny’s car.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
D IS FOR DENIAL
Yari’s bracelet is just about the ugliest bracelet I’ve ever seen. I almost tell her so during tutoring on Tuesday morning.
She puts her finger on a word I’ve missed ten times. “It’s a French word, DeeDee. French words have to be pronounced differently.” She writes BOUQUET. “This is boo-kay. Not bow-ket.” She writes BOUTIQUE. “And this is boo-teek. As in Sun and Stars Boutique, where I like to shop. Not bow-ti-kway.”
I try the new word again. “Desper-ray.” I tap my foot. I can’t concentrate.
“Almost. Des-per-row. I’m going to print you a list of all the French words so you can sound really smart, okay?” Yari hits a few buttons on the computer and zips to the printer to get the printout.
I reach down and unclip one of the pom-poms from her backpack. The purple one. It’s a thing with the fifth-grade girls. Clip-on pom-poms. Much better than an ugly string bracelet.
•
“Free to the first taker!” shouts Noodlenose Nancy at the lunch table, and she holds her bag of popcorn up in the air.
I grab the bag. I love popcorn.
“I didn’t mean you.” Noodlenose snatches it back from me. “I’m sure popcorn isn’t on your diabetes diet,” she says in a snotty voice.
I pull it back. “Why don’t you get a nose job?” I scream at her.
“Oh look, everybody. PeePee’s getting mad.” Noodlenose whacks the popcorn, but I hang on tight and my arm knocks over Sherie’s chocolate milk.
“Stop it,” yells Sherie and jumps up from the table.
“Sorry,” I tell Sherie.
“No wonder you only have freaks for friends!” Nancy tugs at the popcorn.
“You’re a freak!” I tug back.
“Not like your friend River!”
Before I think I blurt out, “He’s not my friend.”
“Oh yah? Then what were you doing in the high school parking lot with him?”
Bull-Face rushes over. “What’s going on?”
“DeeDee stole my popcorn.” Pretend tears squeeze from Noodlenose Nancy’s eyes.
“She spilled my milk.” Sherie points at her jeans and the chocolate milk pouring onto the floor.
“That’s not what happened, you liar.” I throw the bag at Noodlenose, and popcorn rains down on the table.
“I want this cleaned up,” says Bull-Face, spitting out each consonant and folding her arms across her chest.
“No.” I sit down. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“DeeDee, you clean this up, now,” says Bull-Face with a louder voice, coming close to my side of the table.
Noodlenose picks at the popcorn. Despicable Me Sherie sops up milk with a napkin. I sit.
“Did you hear me? Clean. This. Up.” Bull-Face puts her hands on the table and gets down at my eye level. And for the first time in history the lunchroom is deadly quiet. The kids with their backs to the action swivel their heads like owls and the far-away ones half stand up, craning their necks like geese. One pair of eyes leaps out at me, intense and pleading. Yari. She’s shaking her head slightly. She wants me to stop making trouble. But I can’t. I’m over the edge. I can’t back up.
“No. It. Wasn’t. My. Fault,” I stand up and scream back at Bull-Face.
Her face is plum purple. And with her lips pulled back from her teeth, the way a dog with rabies might look, she snarls at me, “Go to the office. Now.”
I march away. Past the other fourth-grade table. Past the first-grade table. Past the special-needs table. Past the fifth-grade table. Yari stares at me. The tops of my ears are hot. I’m going to explode in one minute.
I turn right and run down a hall. I slip into the first bathroom I pass and lock the stall door. I pull my legs up on the seat and I break my no-crying rule. Why didn’t I just ignore Noodlenose? Why did I grab the popcorn anyway? Why didn’t I pay attention to Yari? Why did I say River wasn’t my friend? What is my problem?
I don’t believe in best friends. Not anymore. I don’t even believe in friends.
Friends tell each other secrets. I told River about my dad. And I’m the only one that knows River’s thumb used to be his big toe. The only one ever. Besides his mom and the medical people, of course. And I promised I would always keep his secret. But then I go and lie about being his friend. He doesn’t even need me for a friend. He’s got so many friends. Even my family is stealing him away from me.
Friends stick up for each other. When he comes to my house we whisper about Queen Bee and Andrea behind their backs. He eats healthy snacks that are okay for me to eat. And he doesn’t care if I’m not skinny. He hates being skinny. He even learned how to say a few things in Spanish for Mami and she loves him. But then I go and pretend I’m not even his friend.
When I die, my tombstone will say, Dinora Diaz, worst friend in the world, the girl who didn’t deserve a best friend.
After I’ve been in the bathroom awhile, my back hurts from the toilet pipes. Kids start to come in to use the bathroom. I stay quiet and watch their feet. I begin to notice some pretty big feet. This must be the fifth-grade bathroom. And then I realize I see only Jordans and Nikes and Vans. Something starts to nag at me. Where are the fluffy boots? Where are the sparkly, light-up shoes? And the pink high-tops? I peek through the crack in the door and a bucket of uh-oh spreads over my insides. Oh My Gatos. I’m in the boy’s bathroom.
I wish for Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak. I wish for Superman’s cape. I wish for Ant-Man’s super-suit. My legs go to sleep and get the prickles. I lean my head against the stall wall. I’m dizzy and I think I have that phobia of tiny spaces, claus-something. How can I just walk out of the boy’s bathroom?
Sitting on a toilet sure makes you thirsty. And hungry. I realize I didn’t even finish my lunch. It seems as if I’ve been in here for hours. Has it been hours? If onl
y this day would end.
I hear a rustling from my pocket when I shift on my seat. I pull out a folded up paper. The Google map River printed with the bus directions to TAICO. I almost gasp out loud. Oh My Gatos! I forgot until right this minute that today was the day we were going to take the bus to my papi’s workplace. If I get in trouble for fighting I’ll get grounded and time is slipping away for finding Papi before Danita’s quinceañera.
I make a decision. I’m going to run home. Danny can call the school and say I’m sick. When Danny goes to work I’ll wait for River at the bus stop. If he doesn’t come, I’ll go by myself. Papi will be so grateful when I find him. “Oh DeeDee, what a beautiful, smart young lady you’ve turned into,” he’ll say. He’ll forget that I’m a disappointing, disagreeable daughter.
I wait until I see no feet at the sinks or the hole in the wall where the boys pee. Then I unlock the bathroom door. I’m half out the door when a boy runs smack into me. We both scream and I rush past him.
I need my backpack. My key is in my backpack. Does this hall connect to the fourth-grade hall? Nothing seems familiar but the exit signs. EXIT. EXIT. EXIT. I turn around and start to run toward the lunchroom. If I go back that way, I will know where I am. But I’m so woozy I have to slow down. I close my eyes and lean against the wall. Red letters blink in my head. EXIT. E. X. I. T. E . . X . . I . . T … E … X … I … T. …
“DeeDee?” pants Mrs. Marsh in front of my face. “Oh, my. They’ve been looking for you everywhere.” She grabs my arm. “DeeDee? Can you hear me? Did you eat your lunch?”
I shake my head.
“Come on. Lean on me. Let’s get you checked.”
I don’t remember walking to her office, but now I’m lying on the paper-coated couch-bed. Mrs. Marsh quickly pricks and scans and tut-tuts at the reading. “Oh, dear. You’re low. Very low. Here, drink this.” She calls the secretaries and tells them I’m in her office. “Give her about ten minutes,” she says into the phone. “Then I’ll walk her over.”
When I walk into the principal’s office, Mami and Mrs. Cruella are holding hands. Both have red eyes and tissues in their hands. I feel more of the uh-oh bucket spreading into my heart. Noodlenose Nancy and Despicable Me Sherie are sitting in chairs looking very serious and scared. Behind them I see another lady that must be somebody’s mom.
