Stella Díaz Dreams Big

by Angela Dominguez

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  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

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  Dedicated to my mom, family, and Kyle

  Chapter One

  “Time for an adventure!” I exclaim.

  “Stella? Where are you?” says Nick. I can hear his footsteps coming down the hall.

  “I’m in here!” I shout.

  “How can you even see in there?” Nick replies, calling to me through the door. “It’s so dark.”

  I step out of the laundry closet wearing a headlamp. Nick quickly looks away from the blinding light.

  He groans. “Whoa, what are you doing?”

  “I’m getting ready to go camping in the backyard with Jenny!” I flex my muscles. “It’s going to be a real rough-and-tough adventure.”

  Nick clicks off my headlamp with his thumb and looks me in the eyes. “Stella, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Oh, you’ll see,” I reply, digging in my fanny pack.

  Nick walks away. “Okay. Well, I’m going to be busy with my homework, so you two better stay out of trouble.”

  Nick has spent most of his Saturday at the kitchen table surrounded by a pile of books. Since Nick started ninth grade, his homework has more than doubled. Almost all his classes have a fat textbook, too. When I tried his backpack on once, I nearly fell backward from the weight of all the books. I want to be just like Nick when I’m in high school, but it’s hard to imagine walking around with that backpack. Maybe when I’m his age, I can use two backpacks. That might help.

  “You’re just jealous you’re not invited camping this time,” I reply, putting my hands on my hips.

  When we were younger, Nick and I would occasionally camp out in the backyard. Because he’s my big brother, he would take care of choosing the perfect spot for our tent and pitching it while I would draw in my sketchbook.

  Nick snorts. “Sure. That’s it, sis.” Then he gets back to doing his homework.

  According to my school’s calendar, summer is over, but technically there are a few days left till it’s autumn. Before we have to start wearing sweaters and parkas, my best friend, Jenny, and I want to make the most of the nice weather, which is why I suggested having a Saturday backyard sleepover. It’s going to be so much fun. Sleepovers are already the best, but they’re even better when they’re outside.

  When Jenny arrives, she hands me a glass casserole dish filled with spring rolls her mom made and says, “I have new dance moves to show you.”

  “Can’t wait!” I reply, hugging the casserole. I can’t wait for the spring rolls either.

  With our arms full of camping equipment, we open the patio doors to go outside. We’re hit with a refreshing breeze. It still feels like summer, but there is already an orange leaf or two on our oak tree hinting that fall is coming soon. The backyard is mostly quiet except for the rumble of the Metra, our local train line, in the distance.

  I inhale deeply. “It’s a perfect night for camping.”

  Jenny nods and looks at me. “Stella, have you ever been camping? My mom never wants to go. She thinks there will be too many bugs.”

  I turn roja like my red sleeping bag. I may look like an expert, but I’ve never been camping outside of my backyard in Chicago. Well, never successfully. Our family tried to go once in Wisconsin. Mom had seen pictures of a coworker’s trip and thought it looked fun. We bought a ton of camping gear for this one trip, packed up our car, and drove out to the campsite. Then we unloaded everything, set up our tent … and realized how cold it was! We didn’t last a whole night, even with a campfire nearby. We were asleep back in our beds before midnight. Ever since then, the camping gear mostly stays in our laundry closet except for adventures like tonight.

  “No, but we’re outdoors.” I shrug my shoulders and add, “It’s probably about the same.”

  Jenny looks at me wistfully. “I wish we were camping for real. Somewhere amazing, like Montana.”

  I nod. “But this is still fun! And I’m sure it’s only a little bit different.”

  Jenny smiles and shakes her head as we get to work. She takes the poles out of the tent bag while I lay the tent flat on the ground. Then we snap each pole into place, making sure to get them all through the loops. Like magic, our tent pops up.

  “Can I show you some of my new choreography now?” Jenny asks eagerly.

  Recently, Jenny joined a new dance class. It meets once a week, but she proudly tells me that it’s much harder than her dance summer camp. She’s even dancing with the older girls, too!

  She stands on our small backyard deck, her makeshift stage, and I sit down on the grass below.

  Just as Jenny begins to twirl on her tippy-toes, I spy a shadowy figure peeking out from the patio door.

  Nick yells, “Yeah, this is real rugged camping!”

  I stick my tongue out at him.

  He snickers. “I’ll leave you two alone with the elements. Give me a shout when you get hungry.”

  Then he closes the door.

  Jenny ignores him and continues with her performance. For the grand finale, she even leaps! I clap when she bows at the end.

  “Brava!” I cheer.

  Next we put the finishing touches on our campsite. Once we make our tent cozy with lanterns, pillows, and our spring roll rations, we jump inside and zip the door shut.

  “What now? Should we draw?” I ask, scratching my head. I’m not quite sure what people do when they go camping. I start searching my fanny pack for pencils.

  Jenny replies, “Well, we could tell ghost stories.”

  I grab a pillow. “I don’t know, Jenny. I don’t like scary stories.” My shoulders tense up just thinking about it.

  “Let’s try one. Scary stories are part of the sleepover experience,” she says knowingly.

  As Jenny begins to tell a story about a dark and stormy night, the wind suddenly picks up. The leaves start to rustle, and the branches creak on the oak tree. The noises from the Metra now sound like ghostly whistles. I quickly realize that we’re absolutely alone in the backyard, with only a nylon tent to protect us.

  Jenny pauses and turns toward me. She looks nervous. “Did you hear that?”

  “What? Did you hear something?” I squeeze my pillow even tighter. I didn’t hear anything, but maybe Jenny has super hearing.

  We look at each other. Suddenly we hear what sounds like a branch cracking above our heads. Without saying a word, we jump out of the tent and run back inside the house.

  As we close the patio door behind us, I turn to Jenny.

  “Good thing we’re not in Montana.”

  She nods and locks the door.

  Chapter Two

  While we are pretty sure there is nothing in the backyard, Jenny and I end up sleeping in the living room, just in case. Nick helps me put The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau on the television so that Jenny and I can fall asleep to Jacques’s gentle French accent.

  Watching Jacques and his group exploring the oceans is captivating. Th
e whooshing sound of the divers breathing heavily in their scuba masks also makes my eyes heavy.

  “I almost forgot!” Jenny says, sitting up in her sleeping bag.

  “What?” I ask, yawning. All the commotion must have made me sleepy.

  “You’re going to love this.”

  I roll over. “Tell me in the morning.”

  “My mom registered me for swimming classes at the YMCA.”

  I pop up. “You’re right. I want to join!”

  On the first day of fourth grade, I made a list of dreams for the school year. Big dreams, like win an award, work on a big project, and make new types of art, just to name a few. I even wrote Nobel Prize, but I had to cross it out. Turns out they don’t have one just for kids. While swim lessons might not be on my official list, swimming does sound fun. I guess I’ll just have to add it to the list.

  “Yes! I bet my mom could drive you, too. It’s only on Wednesdays, and the session starts in two weeks,” Jenny says.

  I nod. “I’ll ask my mom when she gets home.”

  I look at the clock on the TV stand. It’s almost 10:00 P.M., and Mom’s still not home yet. She is at her first-ever “Girls’ Night” with her coworkers at the radio station. Now that Nick is fifteen and can officially babysit me alone, Mom is beginning to hang out with work friends a bit more. I’m happy for her, but it’s awfully late, and I want to ask her about the swim lessons right now. Plus, I can’t really fall asleep until Mom tucks me in and says, “Te quiero, mi estrellita.”

  To which I always reply, “I love you, too, Mom.”

  I try to stay awake so I can see her when she gets home, but Jacques Cousteau’s voice is too soothing. I fall fast asleep and dream of swimming in the deep blue sea.

  In the morning, I wake up to the smell of batter and the sound of Mom humming. Jenny and I head to the kitchen to investigate.

  “Buenos días. How did the sleepover go, niñas?” Mom says, flipping a pancake over. “I noticed that you two decided not to sleep outside.”

  We start giggling just thinking about our adventure last night. The only way I can sum it up is to say, “Camping was an experience.”

  “Muy interesante.” She laughs. “You’ll have to tell me more about it later.”

  Mom hands us plates, and we serve ourselves breakfast. Jenny devours her pancakes with lakes of maple syrup on top.

  “I never get to eat this at home,” Jenny says in between bites. “Our pancakes are way different.”

  She pours more maple syrup onto her plate.

  Jenny’s mom makes pancakes, but they are Vietnamese-style. Their pancakes are made out of rice flour and filled with meat or veggies. I’ve had them at her house, and they’re yummy, but they are definitely not syrupy sweet like this.

  When Jenny’s mom arrives to pick her up, Jenny whispers to me at the front door, “Don’t forget to ask your mom about swim lessons.”

  “I’m on it,” I reply, giving her a high five.

  I help Mom clean up in the kitchen. She leaves out one plate of pancakes, ready for when Nick finally wakes up. She even put chocolate chips in his batch because those are his favorites.

  “How was Girls’ Night?” I ask. Then I lean in closer and make my voice stern. “And when exactly did you get home, young lady?”

  “Perdonéme, jefa,” she teases, calling me her boss. “Ten forty-two in the evening. I gave you a kiss on the cheek, but you were wiped out.”

  “Oh,” I reply. That’s not so late. Camping must have really made me tired!

  She continues, “And Girls’ Night was so much fun! I haven’t been salsa dancing like that in a long time!” She busts out into a salsa move in the middle of the kitchen. It’s like her feet and hips are twisting with joy.

  I frown. Mom and I salsa together all the time. Every Friday we have what she likes to call our “weekly appointment.” That’s our Friday night tradition where Nick, Mom, and I play games and have family fun time. And Mom and I always end up salsa dancing all around the living room.

  Mom sees my face and knows I’m upset.

  “Mi amor, I misspoke. I know that you and I salsa, but it’s different with a live band. El ritmo just takes over.”

  The rhythm must be taking her over now, too, because she cha-chas again.

  I nod. I sort of understand. I also know that when we’re salsa dancing, Mom slows down for me. I remember when Mom and Dad used to salsa together. Her feet would move at triple the speed. I could never understand how she did it. Suddenly this conversation gives me an idea.

  “Mom,” I say in my sweetest voice, “speaking of physical activities…”

  “Sí, Stellita.”

  “Jenny signed up to take swimming lessons at the YMCA.”

  “Oh, fun!” she says, wiping down the kitchen counter.

  I lean over to get closer to her.

  “I was thinking … Could I sign up for lessons, too? Jenny said her mom could probably drive me there.”

  “I don’t see why not. Let me double-check with her mom, but it would be good for you. Nick has his karate, after all. It’s time you have a sport for yourself, too.”

  I squeal. That was much easier than I thought it would be! I thought I’d have to tell her that swimming was necessary to my development as a future marine biologist. That it will make me strong just like it did for Jacques Cousteau. Before he became a famous oceanographer, Jacques Cousteau was a sickly kid, and he actually built up his strength by swimming. He grew so strong that he served in the navy and eventually explored all over the world, even Antarctica! I’m a little disappointed I didn’t get to share that fact, but there are more important things to think about—like which swimsuit to wear for my first class!

  Chapter Three

  An hour later, while I’m watching my favorite morning cartoons and Mom scribbles in her day planner, Nick comes downstairs from his room. He has a blanket wrapped around him and heads toward the pancakes without saying a word to us.

  “Hola, niño.” Mom hands him a plate.

  Nick smiles sleepily in return.

  “Okay, ahora que estamos juntos,” Mom begins, commenting that we’re all together, “what’s on the agenda this Sunday?”

  Nick and I look at each other. We both know what the answer is: “Homework.”

  He adds, “And I’ve got a shift at the pizzeria this afternoon.”

  Even though I don’t have as much homework as Nick, I do have more homework than I had in third grade. Last year, I’d maybe have a big project or two that we had to work on for a few weeks, like the presentation I did on marine biology. I was so nervous, but I ended up getting an A! But this year, we have homework almost every night, even on the weekends. This weekend, I have to complete a worksheet on long division and write a poem about my favorite subject. Other kids might complain about having more homework, but I like it. It makes me feel grown up like Mom and Nick.

  Mom asks, “Do either of you need my help with homework?”

  “Maybe?” I reply, while Nick shakes his head.

  Mom says, “Let’s go over your homework now, Stella, and see if anything is tricky.”

  I nod excitedly. I love it when Mom has the time to help me.

  “Then I’ll run some errands,” she says as she reviews her day planner. “It’s going to be a busy week at the radio station. We’re getting ready for the big Mexican Independence Day festival and the rest of the fall events, like Día de los Muertos.”

  Mom looks at her hands. “Hopefully, I can get my nails done today, too.”

  Even though Mom is busy, she always tries to have “me time” at the nail salon. She says that the right nail color brings her good luck.

  I move from the kitchen counter to get my backpack when suddenly there is a knock at the front door.

  “Are you expecting anyone?” Mom asks, looking at us.

  Nick and I shake our heads.

  “Maybe Jenny left something behind,” she says.

  Nick says, “Or maybe it�
�s Linda.”

  I clap my hands together. “And Biscuit!”

  I look forward to any opportunity to see our neighbor Linda and her adorable Chihuahua.

  Mom walks to the door, and I follow her like a puppy. But to our surprise, it’s not Linda. It’s quite the opposite of Linda. Instead of an older woman, it’s a man around Mom’s age. He’s wearing a Cubs baseball cap, and he looks a little sweaty.

  “Hello. How can I help you?” Mom asks in her deep, serious voice, the one she uses whenever she is trying to sound fierce.

  He waves his hand to say hello. “I’m sorry to bother you. I’m your new neighbor. I just moved into the apartment across the street.”

  He points at the brick house with the blue door and petunias in its flower boxes. When I look over, I notice the FOR RENT sign that was on the lawn is now gone.

  “Oh, hi,” Mom replies. Her right eyebrow is still cautiously raised.

  He continues, “I’ve got my moving van temporarily double-parked. I am just checking with the neighbors that I’m not blocking anyone in.”

  I notice he has an accent like Mom’s. I wonder if he speaks Spanish, too.

  “It’s no problem,” Mom says, smiling. “Thanks for checking!”

  “I really appreciate it.” He sighs. “It should be only an hour at most. It’s just me and my daughter, Izzy. We don’t have a ton of stuff.”

  “Daughter?” I say without thinking.

  He smiles. “Yup! She’s a little older than you, I think.”

  “Izzy is a cute name.” Mom extends her hand. “I’m Perla, by the way.”

  “Diego,” he replies, shaking her hand. “¡Mucho gusto!”

  I smile at Mom. He does, indeed, speak Spanish! I wonder if he is from Mexico like us. While I barely remember Mexico because we moved to Chicago when I was a baby, Mom grew up there and has never lost her accent. Though I never notice Mom’s accent until strangers point it out. She just sounds like Mom to me.