Another D for DeeDee

by Bibi Belford

  “I think I’m going to dance,” I say.

  “Oh, well, that will be a challenge.” She sounds disappointed that I’m not skating. “But no matter what, I’m so proud of you. One of my special students. Trying out.”

  I see River’s backpack but not River when I get to room #13_. Mrs. Cruella collects everyone’s phones at the beginning of the day, but River might get mad if I turn his in for him. I switch it to silent and bury it deep down in an outside pocket he never uses. When he gets to class I’ll tell him I put it there. I leave the little coin purse on the shelf where I found it. And I put the pencils and erasers in the pencil cup. There’s not much I can do about the bags of chips and cookies I took from the lunch basket. But those I will pay forward. Like a movie I once watched.

  When River walks in with his homework, he goes right to Mrs. Cruella and hands her his phone. He sits down and I hear him whisper to Colin, “Must be going crazy. My phone was in my backpack the whole time.”

  •

  “How’s your boyfriend?”

  You’ll never guess who sat down across from me at lunch. I’m going to pretend I can’t even hear her. The sleepover comes rushing back to me. How Noodlenose called my family illegal. If she ever finds out Papi got deported, the whole school will know she was right.

  “You’re lucky my mom isn’t going to call her lawyer,” Noodlenose says. Then she announces to the table, “DeeDee almost broke my phone and ripped my bathrobe.”

  “Should we invite your boyfriend to eat with us?” She makes chopstick motions with her fingers.

  I wish I could move to another table—or even better, back to Lincoln Elementary. I shove the rest of my lunch in my mouth and head to the bathroom. River is talking to some fifth graders at the next table, leaning way over so he can hear them in the loud lunchroom, and they’re all laughing.

  I have the same kind of ripping feeling in my heart as when Danny went to NGYCP and Papi went away. Not the same, exactly, much smaller, but still the same sad and lonely rip. And something else. Kind of a burning. Not exactly jealous. But a wish that never comes true. A longing.

  Samantha and Nicole come stand in line next to me.

  Nicole points at the poster. “So you’re trying out.”

  “Tryouts are really stressful,” says Samantha.

  “Why aren’t you?” I ask them.

  “I’d never make it. It’s really competitive,” says Nicole.

  “They choose the best from every grade,” says Samantha. “Nancy was in it last year.”

  Of course she was. She probably started dancing when she was a baby. She probably came out dancing. She probably doesn’t even need dance lessons.

  “You’ll do fine, DeeDee. You’re a good dancer,” says Nicole.

  After it’s too late, I think about all the things I could have said to Nicole and Samantha. Why don’t you play your flute, Samantha? I hear you in the band sometimes when I go to Mrs. Marsh. And you’re a good dancer, too, Nicole. Just as good as me. We should practice together. Oh, what’s the point of trying have a friend, be a friend when I can’t even say the right things?

  •

  The week marches along. No texts from River. No after school fun. I’ve got yards and yards of time on my hands. I clean up the house for Mami, put away my sheet and blanket everyday—in case Danny wants to bring a friend home. I do my homework and even some extra-credit work. I read my book and watch American Idol. I think about inviting Nicole or Samantha over after school, but why bother. They’ll have some excuse.

  Danita and Andrea let me help put together some of the decorations for the quinceañera. Danita brings a piece of cerulean-blue fabric over to the table where we’re making flowers. It’s the material she tried to show me the day I thought Papi was dead.

  “Do you like it, DeeDee? We picked it especially for you. You will look so pretty dancing in this.”

  It’s the same blue from Nancy’s bathroom, but with glittery sparkles, tinier than sequins, and it’s soft and silky. I love it. I really love it. And I will love dancing in it, even Mexican dances. “It’s nice,” I tell Danita. “But not strapless.”

  “Like you could hold up a strapless dress, silly,” Danita scoffs.

  “Whatever.”

  “Where’s River? If he’s going to be your escort he needs to practice,” says Danita.

  “He’s busy,” I say.

  “If he’s not here tomorrow, we’ll practice without him,” she says.

  Then I think of something that never crossed my mind before. “Who’s your escort?”

  Andrea makes a slicing motion across her throat.

  “None of your business,” says Danita to me, and she huffs off to the bedroom to put away the material.

  “Boy trouble,” whispers Andrea.

  So, even drop-dead-gorgeous-skinny-as-a-taquito girls have problems? That’s at least encouraging, isn’t it?

  •

  The SLT’s shamrocks for St. Patrick’s Day are selling like hot tamales. I bought one for Mrs. Marsh. I wrote, You’re lucky I don’t come see you more often. She went bananas over it and hung it on her door. Most everybody in room #13_ has received a lucky shamrock, and some people have received more than one. And at least one person we both know has received none. I bought three more shamrocks for a little project I’m starting at home because have a friend be a friend isn’t limited to Robert Frost, is it?

  When I get home from school, we all practice dancing the quinceañera songs—me, Danita and Andrea. When Danny comes in after work, he dances “El Vals De La Mariposa” with Danita so he’ll be ready in case Papi isn’t here. Then he dances “El Jarabe Tapatio” with me. It’s my favorite.

  “I wish I could have a quinceañera for my fifteenth birthday,” says Andrea. “All I’m getting is a new bedroom set.”

  “Won’t you have a sweet sixteen birthday?” asks Danita. “I thought that’s the tradition in the United States.”

  “Maybe. As long as it doesn’t cost too much,” says Andrea.

  When Mami comes home, she claps and cries watching us, which is embarrassing. I tell everyone that I’ve decided to dance “El Jarabe Tapatio” for the Spring Fling. Mami claps some more and wipes her eyes. Danny says if I make it he won’t miss it. Danita asks Mami if she can skip school to watch me and Mami says no. Andrea whispers that her mom might let her skip.

  While Mami makes dinner I get to work on my project. River told me that Mrs. Robinson’s husband died last year. That’s why she seems so crabby all the time. Not just because she has a giant coffee monster in front of her door. I decide a few jokes might make her smile. I have to be careful not to write any jokes about husbands or death. I write the jokes on the back of the shamrocks and draw little cartoons.

  •

  Thursday and Friday I try to concentrate on my unfinished school assignments. Mrs. Cruella gives us a second chance to turn in unfinished work to erase a zero before she puts the grades on our report cards. River, Samantha, Colin and Hannah are caught up with everything so get to choose extra art or computer. The four of them happily buzz away, abandoning us worker bees and our incompleted tasks River comes back for his blue ball that he needs for art. He walks right by me without a glance. I get it. I don’t blame him. He gave me so many chances.

  At lunch I slide down the bench to the very end, by the wall, so Nancy can’t bother me. I hear Sherie’s loud voice. “Who wants to meet at the mall tomorrow?

  “I can’t,” says Nancy. “I have dance at ten.”

  “Are you practicing for the tryouts at dance?” asks Nicole.

  “I’m actually practicing for a competition in New York,” says Nancy. “I wish our Spring Fling was limited to only dancing. It’d be so much better.”

  “What’s wrong with singing?” asks Hannah. “I like singing.”

  “Then you should try out,” says Nancy.

  “I’m not that good,” says Hannah. “I heard somebody is skateboarding this year.”

  �
��Skateboarding? That’s not a talent. That’s a joke on wheels,” says Nancy. They laugh.

  I chew and chew so my mouth stays busy. I’d like to see Nancy try skateboarding. More than that, I’d like to see her fall flat on her you-know-what. Even better, I’d like the SLT to choose me instead of her for the Spring Fling. Wouldn’t that make a dent in her you-know-what?

  •

  Danita’s in her room when I get home. “Hey, want to go to the mall tomorrow?” I call to her

  She opens her door and peeks out. Little streaks of eyeliner puddle at the corner of her eyes. “Not really,” she says. “Go eat a snack.” Then she goes back into her room and closes the door. Hmm. Must still be having boy troubles.

  I practice “El Jarabe Tapatio” until I’ve memorized all the steps. Then I practice it again with my eyes closed.

  Danita rushes out of her room and opens the front door before Andrea even knocks. Andrea gives me a thumbs-up and they disappear. Maybe the boy troubles are on the mend.

  I finish decorating the shamrocks and put the first one under Mrs. Robinson’s door. Then I do my homework and dance one more time. Danny comes home and stretches out on the couch.

  “How was work?” I ask.

  “So many boxes to stock. Stuff for Easter baskets. Stuff for St. Patrick’s Day. I’m so tired,” he says.

  Mami comes zipping through the door carrying a huge, flat box. “Danita, ven aca, come here. Mira, Gordita. Mira. From my friend Rosalinda for your trying out.”

  She puts the box on the coffee table and when she opens it a dress bursts right out of the box. It’s an explosion of color, like a peacock’s plumes, but instead of blues and greens, it’s mango-tango orange. The layers remind me of upside-down cupcake liners, overlapping, edged with rainbows.

  “Wow,” says Andrea.

  “I can’t wear that,” I tell Mami.

  She pulls it over my head and ties the sash into a big bow in the back. “Take off jeans,” she says.

  I rustle to the bathroom and pull off my jeans from under the dress. When I turn to go out I see myself in the mirror. My long dark hair. My suntanned face. My mango-tango dress. I look so Mexican. Like a Mexican folk dancer. I don’t know if I love it or hate it.

  When I come out, everyone claps. “Try dancing in it,” says Danita. “What song?”

  “El Jarabe Tapatio,” I say.

  The music starts and poor tired Danny takes my hand. He spins me and the dress swirls around me like a triple-decker merry-go-round. Halfway through the song Danny passes me to Danita, blowing me a kiss on his way to night school. Mami has her hands pressed to her heart.

  “Esto es incredíble, bella como una flor,” says Mami.

  “OMG DeeDee. Mami’s right. It’s incredible. Like a flower,” says Danita.

  “Just like the folklorico dancers,” says Andrea.

  Mami kisses me and tells me to take good care of the borrowed dress. I go change.

  I hear Andrea and Danita talking to Mami.

  “I got a new bedroom set, so we don’t need my bunk bed anymore,” says Andrea.

  “It will make sleepovers so much easier, Mami,” says Danita. “Please let me have it.”

  “How much?” asks Mami.

  “Can it be a present for your quinceañera?” asks Andrea.

  Danita squeals. “Oh, Andrea. You’re the best.”

  That little burning feeling works its way up from my stomach to my heart and then to my throat. It burns enough that my eyes get a little watery. Nope. I tell myself. I’m not going to be jealous of Danita. I’m going to be glad she has a best friend. Danita deserves a best friend. Of course a best friend doesn’t equal Papi, but it helps.

  I come out of the bathroom and Danita is jumping up and down. “DeeDee. Andrea is giving me her bunk bed. How would you like to share a room with your bossy sister?”

  The burning in my throat bursts into giggly bubbles. “I don’t have a bossy sister,” I say. “I have the best sister in the world.”

  “We paint. You choose color,” says Mami and goes to start dinner.

  “What color paint?” asks Andrea.

  “What about light gray?” says Danita.

  “Gray? That’s not even a color. It’s the absence of color. What about Wisteria or Purple Mountains’ Majesty?” I say.

  “OMG, DeeDee. We’re not picking out nail polish. It’s a bedroom, tontita.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  D IS FOR DISAPPOINTMENT

  Why is it that when you can’t wait for something to happen, time goes so slow? But when you dread something coming, it sneaks up lickety-split? Before I blink, it’s the end of the weekend and the day before the tryout. And all of a sudden, I’m not sure I want to try out, even though I’ve practiced “El Jarabe Tapatio” one million times, at least. Everyone in my family thinks I’m really good. And everyone thinks I’m really going to try out. Everyone but me. I don’t know what I’m going to do.

  They are all so excited. I’m all so nervous.

  Mami hums and twirls. “Your Papi would be so proud.”

  Andrea and Danita did my hair last night and made me sleep in a scarf. Danny is driving me to school with the dress in a garment bag that Andrea borrowed from her friend. I take the dress to Mrs. Marsh first thing and she hangs it in her closet. I try to think of ways to escape trying out. During language arts I think, pretend to be sick. During math I think, get in trouble at lunch. During reading group I think, run away to Mexico. It’s the longest day in the world.

  During art, I watch Noodlenose walk by and take something off River’s table while he’s at the sink rinsing out his paintbrush. Then I see River searching all around and on the floor. He leans over and says something to his seat neighbor, Colin, and they both start looking.

  I inch forward a bit so Noodlenose is in my sightline. She’s busy working on her painting, but peeking out from under her elbow is something blue—River’s blue hand aid ball.

  I’m thinking about what to do. This is my chance to show him I do learn from my mistakes. That I deserve another chance. But what should I do? Tell River? Tell Mr. Leverance? Or go take the ball and put it on River’s table? He hates being embarrassed by a big scene. But Nancy shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it. I can’t decide what River would like better. But while I’m chewing it around in my mind, Colin walks right up to Noodlenose’s table and holds out his hand.

  “What?” I hear her say.

  “Want me to tell?” Colin says.

  Noodlenose makes a sour-pickle face and slams the ball into Colin’s hand. Colin puts the ball on River’s table and they high five, or as River says, high three. When River sees me watching, he signs something to Miss Monaldo. I recognize one word: DeeDee. It’s easy because it’s two times the sign for D. She signs back. My name again. They both stare at me.

  I’m sure River is tattling on me not lifting a finger to help get his ball. Now Miss Monaldo knows what a bad friend I am. And what a disappointment. I’m so done with Robert Frost Elementary. I hope we move again. I hope we all move to Mexico. I need a do-over, or like Mami says, a start-over. I’m sick of this awful rocky lump in my stomach. Next time I’ll start out on the right foot.

  When the bell rings, I get the dress and head out the little kid door. No one will see me ditching the tryouts. Probably no one will even care. I’ll get home before Danny comes to pick me up from the tryouts. I’m standing on the edge of the street, waiting for the crossing guard. The line of cars stretches out the parking lot and into the street. I’ll never be able to cross. I’ve just decided to walk through the building to the crosswalk on the other side when Principal Sorry touches my arm.

  “DeeDee? Mrs. Marsh tells me you’re trying out for our Spring Fling.”

  “Uh—yah, I was,” I stammer.

  “I see your mother dropped off your costume. Well, good luck, I hope you make it. Here, let me help you.” And to my horror, she takes the garment bag and starts walking back to the door.


  “Hey, I—” but I don’t finish because about a million little kindergarteners run down the sidewalk screaming. They cut right in front of me and before I know it, Principal Sorry walks back into the school.

  By the time I get to the auditorium, a line of kids snakes down the hall and around the corner. Some I know. Noodlenose, for one. Most I don’t. Kids of all sizes. Fluting. Trumpeting. Banging. Twirling. Even cartwheeling and cheering. But where is Principal Sorry with my dress?

  Maybe I should call Danny to get me. Now. And get my dress tomorrow. And, I realize, be a disappointment to my family and Mrs. Marsh and all the kids with diabetes and Principal Sorry and River and probably everybody on the planet. But this line will take hours and hours and I can’t wait. Danny will be late for night school and that’s not even a made-up excuse. Besides that, I forgot to get a snack when I was in the nurse’s office, so I might even pass out. And that’s not even a made-up excuse, either.

  A teacher pops her head out of the tryout room door. “Quiet down out here.” She looks down the hall and motions to me. “Stand in line until you’re called.”

  I slide to the end of the line.

  “No playing instruments in the hall. We are taking auditions in the order of sign-ups.” The teacher closes the door.

  “What are you doing for the tryouts?” asks the little girl in front of me.

  “Dancing,” I say.

  “We’re dancing, too. We’re best friends. We have matching outfits.” Her friend smiles at me and they hold hands.

  “Where are you going to change?” I ask, wondering where their outfits are.

  “We don’t have to wear our outfits for the tryout. Only if we make it.”

  I look down the line. Not one person is wearing a dance outfit or costume. Why didn’t someone tell me this? Why didn’t Mrs. Marsh tell me when I brought my dress in her office? Why didn’t Principal Sorry tell me when she took my dress from me? Why didn’t my best friend tell me the rules? Oh, yah, I don’t have a best friend, do I? I watch the two little girls giggle and whisper and I feel sorry for myself.

  I decide to stand here in line until I figure out what to do. Call Danny and then go get the dress. Or get the dress and walk home. Or get the dress tomorrow and face Mami’s explosion today.