Another D for DeeDee

by Bibi Belford

  “Usually my friends run interference,” he says.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You know, the same as football. The players without the ball block so the ball carrier can run through the other team.”

  “Oh. Like Colin?”

  “Yeah. And some fifth graders.”

  “But not me. And you told Miss Monaldo on me, didn’t you?”

  “Told her what?”

  “That I was a bully bystander.”

  “No. Miss Monaldo asked me if you helped Nancy take my ball. I told her you didn’t. That you’re not like Nancy. And I told her you’re the best dancer I’ve ever seen.”

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t deserve a friend like River. I think about the two best-friend girls in line for the tryouts. I think about Danita and Andrea. I make a decision.

  “I have something to tell you. Actually two things. You did leave your phone in Danny’s car. I put it in your backpack. And I read some of your poems and texts. And I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t.” He twists his head to glare at me and clenches his fist.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, giving him a crooked pleading smile.

  He sighs and slides his hand along the bar. “Well, I’m sorry, too. Even though what I wrote was true, it probably didn’t sound very nice, but I never broke my promise.”

  “True,” I say. “You’re not very good at being mean. I may have to give you lessons.”

  And River laughs because I’m funny. Then we both laugh.

  “What’s the other thing?” he asks.

  “Papi called me. Because you made me put my phone number on the letters we sent. He got deported, and he’s in a shelter across the border.”

  “Really? That’s awesome,” he says. “Well, not awesome about being deported. But awesome he called and he’s okay.”

  “And Danny’s going away for six weeks. And me and Danita got a bunk bed.”

  “Well that’s highly illogical,” River says. “Am I still your escort for the quinceañera? Danita didn’t find a replacement for me, did she?”

  I tap his arm and he stiffens. “Of course. If you want to.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out a wet and falling-apart shamrock. I hand it to him. “It looked better before.”

  He studies it. Turns it sideways. Then upside down. “‘Ucky friend. You. Not me,’” he reads.

  I snatch the shamrock from him. Sure enough. The words melted and ran together from my wet pocket, and that’s what it says: ucky friend. You. Not me.

  “What a waste of fifty cents,” I grumble. “It’s supposed to say, ‘I’m lucky I have a friend like you and not like me.’”

  “It’s the thought that counts. Of course, I’m not sure it makes sense to have a friend like yourself.”

  I hate it when River gets all know-it-all about things.

  All of a sudden we hear an announcement coming from the outdoor speakers.

  “Dinora Diaz. River Ramos-Henry. Please report to the office. DeeDee and River. Please report to the office.”

  “Oh. No,” River says. “Help me down.”

  But hearing our names together over the speaker gives me an idea. “Hey, want to dance with me? For Spring Fling?”

  I see a skeptical slant to River’s eyes, behind his dripping hair.

  “Not because I’m trying to make up for how stupid I acted.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because I’m good. You’re good. We’re good together.”

  “You know some people will think it’s a pity party, the Mexican diabetic and the deaf disabled kid.”

  “Then we better practice our bubblebutts off.” I shoulder River’s backpack and stay beside him, making sure his feet are steady on the rung below before he lets go with his hands. He heaves a big sigh once we’re down. And so do I, but not because I’m off the jungle gym. I sigh because the cloud that covered my sun is gone. I link my arm in River’s and we run through the last of the rain back inside.

  We go straight to the office and explain what happened. When we finally get to class, the intercom buzzes.

  “Yes?” says Mrs. Krewell.

  “Would you please send Nancy to the office? She’ll be leaving for the day.”

  River makes a weird face at me.

  Yikes. What’s going to happen to Nancy?

  Samantha passes a note to Colin who passes it to Trevon who passes it to me. I slide it halfway into my desk and open it.

  I’m sorry I was a bully bystander. I should have stuck up for you and River. Nancy is so jellus. (That’s the way Samantha spelled jealous.) She’s afraid you’ll steel her friends. (Doesn’t it seem like Samantha might need to go with me to reading group in Mr. Somerset’s room, where we work on things like steal and steel?) I turn the note over and write, It’s okay. I was a bully bystander, too. Nancy shouldn’t be jealous. I circle the word jealous. I would never steal anything from her. I circle the word steal, too.

  River texts me after school.

  I’m helping my mom with something. Over L8R?

  Sure.

  An hour later he knocks and walks in with a painting. Brilliant orange flowers with faces for their centers. Dancing flowers.

  “I painted it after tryouts. You were the only one all the SLT members and fine arts teachers agreed on,” he says.

  A balloon starts to rise up from my heart. That doesn’t sound like people felt sorry for me, or picked me for being Mexican or diabetic.

  Danita struts out of her bedroom—I mean our bedroom—with Andrea. “Well, look who decided to visit. You have some catching up to do,” she says to River.

  “Nice to see you, too,” says River.

  For the next hour Danita puts on the playlist and I teach River the steps for the dances—the tricky cumbia steps and the moves for “El Jarabe Tapatio.” We’re the same exact height, so it’s easy for him to twirl me. And so he doesn’t lose hold, I grab his hand in mine. I barely even notice his missing fingers.

  Mami comes home with a grocery bag. She pulls out Mexican cokes and we take a break. She points to the painting. “Very nice,” she says.

  “I was surprised when I saw that orange dress,” says River. “I thought you told me the dresses were Cerulean Blue.”

  Danita and Andrea fall over laughing.

  Finally Danita chokes out, “They are blue. We don’t wear dresses like that for quinceañeras.”

  Mami pats River then sits down. “No te preocupes. You still wear bull fighter costume for quinceañera.”

  We all laugh, except for River, not really sure what to believe.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “Mami’s teasing. What are the guys wearing, Danita?”

  “Just blue shirts, I think. Tuxedos and suits are so expensive.”

  “Just shirts?” says River, a little spark in his eyes. “No pants?”

  Danita and Andrea jump up and pull him from the couch. Mami and I laugh.

  River’s phone goes off. “Make it so,” he says. “Oh, no. I forgot. Let me ask.”

  He turns to Mami. “Is it okay if my mom brings dinner over?”

  Mami sits up very straight. “You no need. We have food,” say says in an unfriendly voice. I know she thinks it’s charity and she hates charity more than Papi.

  “No, it’s not that. It’s for a welcome. She didn’t have a chance when you moved in.”

  The door opens and Danny walks in, followed by Mrs. Ramos-Henry. And she’s carrying a glass pan with something that smells delicious, but different from anything I’ve smelled before.

  Mami protests again, “No. No. You no need.”

  “No worries. We can argue about that another time,” says Mrs. Ramos-Henry.

  “What is it?” I blurt out.

  “DeeDee, manners,” says Mami.

  “Chicken afritada,” says River. “My favorite Filipino dinner.”

  Mrs. Ramos-Henry rushes the food to the kitchen, and Danita gets out plates and drinks.

  River and
I eat sitting at the puzzle table.

  I spear a reddish hunk of something in among the potatoes, carrots, and chicken, and hold it up. “Is this a hot dog?”

  “I know. Isn’t it good?” He leans over and swipes it off my fork with his teeth, then gives me a hot dog grin. He whispers to me, “My mom and I did some research after school. She might have an idea about your dad.”

  Ah-ha. I thought it was a little fishy, welcoming us with dinner after we’ve been here over two months. “Really?” I ask.

  I go back into the kitchen for seconds. I guess dancing and making up with your friend builds up your appetite. Mom and Mrs. Ramos-Henry are talking softly, eating at the little kitchen island. Danny leans on the counter, nodding and adding in some words when Mami doesn’t understand. They’re saying lawyer things, and I know they’re talking about Papi.

  Mami says, “DeeDee, listen.”

  Mrs. Ramos-Henry says, “I spoke to my friend this afternoon, and because your father is from a dangerous part of Mexico and you have diabetes, he may qualify for an extreme hardship six-oh-one waiver.”

  “At least I’m good for something,” I say and they laugh.

  I head back to River. “Do you know what they’re talking about?” I ask River.

  “My mom’s friend works for the Immigrant Justice Center. Doctors for your diabetes will be better here than in Mexico, so she thinks there’s a chance of proving your dad needs to be here to take care of you.”

  My stomach has that expanding feeling, from wanting to burst with emotions and maybe from eating too much chicken afritada. Here’s my feelings. Papi alive—relieved. Papi maybe coming home—hopeful. Blabbing River’s secret—guilty. River mad at me—sad. River my best friend—yippee! That’s a lot of feelings on top of chicken afritada.

  “Look, I found that piece we’ve been looking for.” And River pushes a puzzle piece with a touch of Magenta into the missing spot.

  “That’s why we couldn’t find it. It’s not quite the same color.” I compare the piece to the ones surrounding it.

  “I think it’s the shadow distorting it. Making it look different,” says River.

  Shadows do that, I think. Darken the colors. Like storm clouds. I gaze at my family. Danita and Andrea working on the quinceañera invites. Mami and Danny laughing at something Mrs. Ramos-Henry said. River and me searching for puzzle pieces. We’re all normal, but not normal. The same in lots of ways, but different, too. The shadows change us, make us different colors, darken us, distort us. Me without friends. River without fingers. Danny without school. Mami without help. Danita without Papi. But even without Papi’s light, when we’re together, we brighten each other’s shadows.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  D IS FOR AWESOME BECAUSE D IS FOR DEEDEE

  River’s not wearing anything special for Spring Fling, just an orange T-shirt that says ORANGE CRUSH under a picture of a stallion. He says it’s a sports team but I’ve never heard of them. He has a red handkerchief, the same as real folkloric dancers. And we didn’t tell anybody. Not even our families. It’s a total surprise.

  And if you’re wondering, Nancy has in-school suspension and will miss almost all of the show, except when the fourth graders perform. Do I feel sorry for her? Maybe one quarter inch sorry. Because maybe she doesn’t have a whole Starfleet of friends like I do—Dr. Ferreyra, Mrs. Marsh, Mrs. Krewell, Mami, Papi, Danita, Danny, Andrea, Mrs. Ramos-Henry, Yari, Nicole, Samantha, and most of all River.

  It’s a bright-as-a-penny day. I can’t believe the SLT sold enough shamrocks to rent a big outdoor stage with the loudest speaker system in the world. Principal Sorry announced over the intercom for everyone to bring a plastic garbage bag and a towel in case the grass was wet or muddy. And all the classes get to sit and watch all Spring Fling afternoon. All afternoon. And do no work. What a glorious idea! I love Robert Frost Elementary.

  I watch every act with my class until it’s time to go change. On my way to get my dress I walk past a lady in a chair on the edge of the grass and recognize Mrs. Robinson.

  “Nice to see you, DeeDee,” she says. “What do you call a bear with no teeth?”

  I’m so surprised I can’t even think of an answer.

  “A gummy bear.” She laughs at her own joke and puts a clear bag tied with curly ribbons in my hand. A bag of sugar-free gummy bears. “Break a leg,” she says.

  “Thanks,” I say and head to get my dress, wondering how she knew I gave her the shamrocks, and that I’m diabetic.

  After I change I sneak around to stand behind the stage so nobody gets a preview of my mango-tango explosion dress. I’m nervous I’m not as good as everyone before me—the little first grade best-friend hiphop dancers, the drummer who used two sticks in his hand and one in his mouth, the girl who belted out “Let It Go.” I’m next. I cross my fingers and hope they pronounce my name right. Dee-Nor-uh. Dee-Nor-uh. Dee-Nor-uh.

  “Please welcome DeeDee Diaz to the stage.” Lucky for me, it’s Yari’s turn to do the announcing. She gives me a wave.

  I walk up the steps to the microphone in slow motion, my stomach flip-flopping with flip-flops in it. A teacher comes over to adjust the height of the microphone. I stare at the audience.

  I spy Mami sitting in a lawn chair next to River’s mom. They’re clapping outrageously and I haven’t even danced yet. In front of them, Danny and Andrea and Danita sit on a blanket. Danny took off work. Danita and Andrea got an hour pass from their school. My family. I’m so full of love, and even though I miss Papi there’s no room for sadness in my heart. I’m full of pepitas again.

  I woke up a million times last night, and every time I practiced my intro speech until I fell back asleep. I open my mouth and wonder of wonders, my speech comes pouring out. “Hi everyone. My name is Dinora Diaz. My dance partner and I are going to dance a traditional Mexican folk dance from Jalisco, Mexico, where my parents first met each other. It’s called ‘El Jarabe Tapatio.’ I’d like to introduce my dance partner …”

  River walks on stage and holds out the bandana to me.

  Mami and Mrs. Ramos-Henry stand up.

  I grab the end of the bandana and say, “… my best friend, River Ramos-Henry”

  The music starts and we dance, shutting out everything—the audience, the stage, the screaming kids. I dance for Mami and Papi, who came here for a better life. I dance for Danny, the best brother in the world. I dance for Danita and Andrea, who taught me to dance and did my hair. And I dance for all the kids with distinctions, so they will know they can do it too. River’s eyes dance as much as his feet do, and his hair whips around to the beat. I can’t help smiling and smiling. From my mouth way down to my toes.

  And then, too fast, it’s over. River bows to me and then to the audience. I curtsy, swirling the skirt of my dress side to side one last time. Everyone is standing up. Some are clapping and chanting, “Encore, encore.” Others are waving their arms in the air. I can’t even see my family through the crowd.

  Yari is waiting to announce the next act. She blows me a kiss. “Bellisima,” she says as River and I pass her to go sit with our class.

  After the fifth-grade acts I go change, but I almost don’t want to. So many people stop and congratulate me, saying nice things—beautiful, amazing, spectacular, unique, dynamic. Only one person says, “I didn’t know Mexicans could dance so well.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “We all can’t.” Then I walk away fast.

  Mrs. Marsh gives me a big hug when I stop for a quick check like she told me to. A little girl sits on the bench. “DeeDee, this is Jamiya,” says Mrs. Marsh.

  Jamiya waves at me in a shy way. “I have diabetes, too. Just like you,” she says.

  “She just moved here,” says Mrs. Marsh, “and we were wondering if you’d be her peer tutor. Mrs. Krewell says you’ve made great progress.”

  “Peer tutor?” I don’t know what to say.

  “You’re a really good dancer,” says Jamiya.

  “Thanks,” I say. “Do you like
to dance?”

  “No,” says Jamiya. “I love to dance.”

  When I finally push my way through the crowded hall, my best friend, River the celebrity, has a swarm of kids around him, including Yari and Colin.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Oh, DeeDee, you were great,” says Yari. “I meant to ask you this morning, I’m having a slumber party for my birthday during spring break. Do you think your mom would let you come?”

  River gives me a look. I know what he’s thinking.

  “Sure,” I say, very casually. “But I don’t play truth or dare.”

  “Oh, I hate those games. They’re so mean.” Yari makes a face. “Usually we go swimming or to the mall and then watch a movie. My mom’s super strict.” Then she heads toward a big group of fifth-grade girls.

  I’m in shock. Me? She invited me to her sleepover. Can you believe it?

  We walk to the front of the school to find our families, and Mami gives me a huge hug.

  Danny puts one arm around my back and the other around River’s shoulders. “You nailed it, bro,” he says to River. “Keep practicing. I’ll be back for Danita’s quinceañera and you’re my wingman.”

  River turns to Colin and says, “Hey Colin, this is Danny, my big brother wannabe.”

  Mami beams at all of us. “Banana Split?” she asks. “To celebrate?”

  “I love that place,” says Colin.

  “Come with. My mom can drop you off after,” says River.

  “Beam me up, Scotty,” says Colin, and River gives him the Star Trek salute.

  I give River a look. And a little smile. Always keep your door open for a true friend, I think. And open it wide enough for their friend, too.

  Cars jam the parking lot and teachers with orange vests dash around waving their arms. Where is Danny’s car? We might never make it to Banana Split. I see Nancy leaning against the front of a minivan parked in a disabled parking spot. Well, la-di-da, I think. Look who’s breaking the law to get a primo parking spot for Spring Fling. But then I notice Nancy’s mom is lifting a little boy out of a wheelchair and into the back seat.

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell Danny and walk over to Nancy’s van.