Stella Díaz Dreams Big

by Angela Dominguez

  “Did you meet up with Diego?” I ask.

  “Sí. It was fun! We went to the coffee shop in our neighborhood.”

  Mmm. They have the best scones and donuts there. We sometimes go in the morning on the weekends.

  “And Diego said we could drop by later today if you want to meet Izzy.”

  “Cool!” I reply. I’m excited about possibly adding a new club member. That will show the group that I’m dedicated and that I’m also an excellent president.

  Mom says, “But I don’t know how much she’d like to hang out. She’s three years older than you. Still, she seemed sweet when I met her at their place.”

  “Oh,” I reply. Mom’s been over to Diego’s place? I wonder what his apartment looks like.

  “Diego is fun. I think we’re going to be great friends. Who knows—he might become like my own Stanley.” Mom winks at me.

  I smile, but then I remember what Ben Shaw said. Boys and girls past third grade can’t be friends. They can only like like each other. If that is the case, does that mean Mom and Diego like like each other? The evidence is piling up, too. They talk outside secretly on our street. They have had coffee alone together. He even visited her at the Mexican Independence Day festival. My eyes grow big. Mom hasn’t dated since she and Dad divorced. I can’t imagine her having a boyfriend. Plus, she always says Nick and I are the loves of her life. I shake my head. I’m being tonta. It’s silly to even wonder about Mom and Diego! They barely know each other. And look at Ms. Benedetto and Mr. Foster. They are grown-ups who are friends, and they’re not dating.

  “So do you want to meet Izzy now?” Mom asks.

  I fake a yawn. “I’ll wait. I’m tired.”

  Even though I don’t think that Diego and Mom like like each other, I’m not so sure I want to get to know him or Izzy better. I’d rather just go home.

  “Sí, mi amor. By the way, I grabbed one of your favorite scones.”

  She passes me a paper bag from the front seat. It’s a blackberry scone with crystallized sugar on top. When I take a bite, it doesn’t taste as good as it normally does.

  I smile at Mom to be polite and chew on it silently. I stare out the car window the rest of the way home.

  Chapter Eleven

  On Monday, as I walk toward my classroom, I spot all the made-up plant-species projects on the walls outside Ms. Benedetto’s room. As I look at them, I’m delighted to find that the project Stanley and I worked on has a gold star on it and the word superb written on top.

  “The entire group was so creative with their plants. I just wanted to show these off to the rest of the school,” Ms. Benedetto tells us when she makes her morning announcements.

  I feel proud and relieved. Even though I might be a little behind with the Sea Musketeers, at least I’m doing great at school. If only I can get Ben to stop being a pain.

  “Class, I hope you’re well rested from the weekend. We are now going to start our most exciting and challenging science lab yet.”

  I gulp. I think I can handle a harder lab. I also do feel well rested because Mom and I watched cartoons at home all yesterday afternoon. I tried to work on homework, but Mom insisted I take a descanso whenever a movie was on. Even though we had a fun day together, I sort of wish Mom would have let me get ahead on all my projects, like Nick did before his shift at the pizza shop. I know this is going to be a busy week for me!

  Ms. Benedetto says, “We are moving from plants to learning about physics.”

  She then holds up an egg.

  “Anyone want to take a guess?”

  I squeeze my eyebrows together and think. All I can think of is cascarones. They are eggs that you empty, paint, and then fill with paper confetti. Afterward, you can crack them on someone’s head and shower them with confetti. It’s messy fun, but I don’t think that relates to physics.

  “I’ll give you a clue,” Ms. Benedetto says. “I hope you don’t crack under the pressure.”

  “We’re making an omelet?” whispers Stanley. I giggle. At least I’m not the only one who is clueless.

  “We’re doing an egg drop!” exclaims Ms. Benedetto.

  I’ve only seen an egg drop in movies and on television, but I’m thrilled at the idea of doing it. That’s where you make a protective container for an egg and then drop the egg from up high. The goal is to design a container that cushions the egg so well that it doesn’t crack when it lands on the ground. I hope we don’t break too many eggs in the process. That could get awfully stinky.

  “Now grab your partner, and let’s get to work.” She doesn’t give us too many further instructions. She just takes a tablecloth off a big rectangular table and reveals a pile of supplies that we can work with. It makes me happy when I notice that Ms. Benedetto picked mostly reusable materials for our projects.

  “Be creative. You’ll have a couple of weeks before our big test launch, too.”

  Ms. Benedetto then puts on Mozart to stimulate our creative juices.

  She adds, “And remember, the road to success is paved with failure!”

  I wince. I’m not sure about that. I think it’s better to get it right the first time. Regardless, Stanley and I get to work quietly. Partially because the room is quiet with Mozart on, but mostly because we are trying to steer clear of Ben. We avoid making eye contact with him. That way, he can’t say anything to us. Stanley slips me a note that says, Beanbags?

  I write back, Good idea.

  The beanbag chairs are on the complete other side of the room. It’s the farthest we can get from Ben. Once we’re settled, we start talking in our normal voices.

  “Maybe we could put a parachute on the egg,” Stanley suggests.

  “That would be awfully cute,” I say. “But I think we need more than that. The parachute will slow it down, but it still needs something to protect the egg’s bottom.”

  “What if we make it sort of like a hot-air balloon with a little basket?” Stanley replies. “You know, those were the first flying devices before airplanes and rockets.”

  “Perfect!” I reply. “But let’s make it out of only reusable materials.”

  “Of course,” says Stanley.

  We then head to the supply table. We grab wooden toothpicks and string to try to make our little egg basket. Then it suddenly occurs to me.

  “We should name our future egg. If it has a name, we’ll really have to make sure it survives!”

  “Penelope!” suggests Stanley.

  “I like that,” I reply. “But let’s keep brainstorming.”

  From the corner of my eye, I can sense someone staring again. I don’t have to look to know who it is. It’s the great white shark, the biggest nuisance of our classroom, Ben.

  Ben grabs some masking tape and Bubble Wrap from the supply table where we are standing. “Well, look over here, it’s Stanley’s girlfriend, Stella,” Ben says loudly.

  I whip my head around, shocked. Now he is calling me Stanley’s girlfriend? I mean, technically I’m a girl and I am also his friend, but what Ben is implying is very different. I look around to see if anyone noticed. Thankfully, nobody heard him, at least I hope not.

  Ms. Benedetto walks over. “Do you need help with your project, Ben?”

  Ben shakes his head and gives Ms. Benedetto an innocent look. As soon as she turns her head, he smirks at me before walking away.

  Back by the beanbags, Stanley and I start assembling our toothpicks row by row like Lincoln Logs. We’re both silent again.

  I’m starting to feel like an egg. Fragile and ready to crack. I think Stanley can tell I’m upset, because he elbows me and says, “I have the perfect name for our egg.” He pauses for a moment. “We could name him Humpty after Humpty Dumpty.”

  “Okay,” I reply with a half smile.

  Stanley’s joke makes me feel better. Despite Ben’s behavior, at least Stanley is still exactly the same. But I’ve got to do something about Ben rápido. Because I’m not planning to stop being friends with Stanley any-time soon.
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  At recess, we get a break from our stuffy classroom, and we practice dropping our basket. We sit on top of the monkey bars with Jenny and Chris, who are egg-drop partners. They ended up together because Anna and Isabel are best friends and naturally paired up. However, I don’t think their being on the same team means that Jenny and Chris like like each other. At least, I’m pretty sure.

  “Good luck, Mr. Basket,” Stanley says as I drop it off the edge. Unfortunately, on our first attempt, the basket shatters into pieces. Our egg would have been smashed if it had been in there!

  “Maybe the parachute will help slow it down,” says Stanley optimistically.

  I grab my chin. “True, or maybe we need it to be stronger. Maybe two rows, so it’s thicker.”

  Jenny and Chris launch their contraption next. It’s made of balsa wood, but instead of a basket, they made sort of a three-dimensional hexagon. Sadly, it crashes into the ground, too.

  I flash Jenny a sympathetic look.

  She says, “Thank goodness we didn’t have our egg in there.”

  “Yeah, I’d be sad if little Sebastian died,” says Chris.

  Stanley and I look at each other. They named their future egg, too. This makes us all burst into laughter. I laugh so hard I can barely catch my breath. Once we calm down, we stare at the wreckage of our projects on the ground below. This project is going to be a lot harder than we thought.

  Chapter Twelve

  Splash! Splash!

  I flutter my legs in the water as fast as I can. It’s my second swim lesson, and I have plenty of pent-up frustration. The heavy kicking helps distract me from everything that is stressing me out. Ben is a huge part of it, but most of all, I’m thinking about this coming Saturday.

  We made some big progress on our mural at yesterday’s art club meeting. Mr. Foster collected all of our sketches, and he is going to present the official final sketch tomorrow. That’s also the same day we’re going to prime the walls white with paint rollers. I get to wear messy, baggy clothes and get paint all over me. However, I also found out we’re starting the mural on Saturday—the same day as our Sea Musketeers fundraiser! Fortunately, our mural session is in the morning, and Mariel’s soccer game is in the afternoon. But it’s going to be a long day.

  So, for now, I just keep kicking with all my might. I kick so hard that I think I could create a tsunami-size wave in the pool. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder. Jenny looks at me.

  “Are you okay? You didn’t say much in the car ride over here, and you’re kicking really hard. I feel like I’m on a boat about to capsize in a storm swimming next to you.”

  I pause. There is so much I want to say. I really want to tell Jenny about Ben, but part of me thinks that if I tell her Ben is saying stuff about Stanley and me, she’ll believe it, too. While Jenny is friends with Stanley, I hang out with Stanley more than she does. I’m also afraid that Stanley and I are the weirdos and that we missed the memo with the rules for fourth grade. Instead, I tell her only part of what’s bothering me.

  “I’m just a little worried about my new schedule and the egg-drop project.”

  “Me too,” she replies, swirling around in the pool.

  “Really?” I ask. Jenny seems so unbothered by everything.

  “Well, you saw that our first egg container didn’t work, and we don’t know what to try next,” she says. “And while I love dance class, it keeps getting harder! I’m no longer the best one in the class.”

  “I doubt that,” I reply.

  She shakes her head.

  “It’s true. I’m still very good, but I need to work extra hard. Then with more homework and Sea Musketeers, I just sometimes want a break.”

  I nod. I feel bad that Jenny is stressed out, but it makes me feel better that I’m not alone. I have been feeling the same way. Just to think, I was so bored at the beginning of last summer not doing anything. How things have changed! I’d love for one day to do absolutely nothing. A day to draw for fun or just wander around the Shedd Aquarium.

  I give Jenny a hug in the pool.

  She tells me, “Don’t worry, Stella. If anyone can do it all, it’s you. You make things happen.”

  I smile. At least Jenny believes in me.

  When I get home, Nick looks wiped out. He’s lying down on my thinking spot, the rug in the living room. I notice he’s still dressed in his work clothes. He must have had a shift at the pizzeria tonight.

  “How was work?” I ask, looking down at him.

  “Fine.” He sits up on his elbows. “Just tiring. I like making pizzas, and my coworkers are awesome, but school is just so much harder this year. It’s hard not to get exhausted.”

  “Same for me, too.” Then my stomach rumbles. All the swimming made me hungry. I grab my tummy and look at him.

  “Did you bring home any breadsticks this time?”

  Nick throws a pillow at me jokingly. “You bet.”

  As we dip our breadsticks into marinara sauce on the kitchen counter, Nick vents about high school.

  “It’s just weird. I’m in all the honors classes, which is exciting, but I actually have to work hard for my grades. Before high school, all I had to do was read some, write a paper, and then I got a good grade. Now I have to memorize or do more ‘critical thinking.’”

  He puts air quotes around “critical thinking.”

  “And it’s crazy because I really care about my grades now. They keep talking about college, and it’s so expensive. But if I get good grades, I could maybe get a scholarship, and then Mom wouldn’t have to worry so much about paying for it.”

  He drops his head on the counter. I frown a little. My poor brother has big things to worry about.

  “That’s a lot, Nick,” I say. “Can I help you?”

  He looks up at me and smirks. “I’m just venting. I’ll be okay, kiddo.” He hands me another breadstick. “What about you? What are you so worried about?”

  I don’t want to bother Nick too much with my personal stuff, especially since he is so busy, so I stick with the smallest issue.

  “Have you ever done an egg drop before?” I ask Nick.

  “Oh, those are fun! I think we used plastic straws to make ours.”

  I shake my head. “No plastic straws.”

  He puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure there has to be an alternative.” Then he throws his arms up. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we trade homework? I’ll do your egg drop, and you can do my biology homework?”

  “If it’s marine biology, count me in,” I say, kidding.

  Nick messes with my curls. “Deal.”

  I look around. I suddenly realize I haven’t seen Mom since I got home an hour ago.

  “Where is Mom, by the way?” I ask.

  “She texted me while I was at work. She’s hanging out with Diego. He wanted to buy a new couch, and she offered to help him pick out one. She should be home soon.”

  I squeeze my eyebrows together. Sometimes I get frustrated that I don’t have a cell phone. I want to check in with Mom and send her fun emojis, but I’m not allowed to have a cell phone until high school. But what bothers me the most is the possibility of Diego and Mom becoming boyfriend and girlfriend. I take this opportunity alone with Nick to ask, “Do you think Mom and Diego like like each other?”

  Nick laughs. “Whoa, I’m not sure. We haven’t really met him yet. It’s hard to tell.”

  “I think it’s a little weird,” I confess. “Kids at school are saying that boys and girls can’t be friends when they get older.” I don’t point out that it’s specifically Ben and Jeremy who are saying it.

  “That’s not a real rule,” he replies.

  I feel partially relieved. If Nick says it, it must be true. Then Nick looks at me sincerely.

  “The most important thing is, Mom deserves to be happy.”

  I nod. He’s right.

  “And if they do start dating, then it’s our job to spend time with this Diego and see if he is worth Mom’s time. She deser
ves only the best.”

  I stare at Nick. It’s strange; we’re only a month into school, and he seems more mature than ever. He almost seems like an adult.

  “When did you get so wise?” I ask Nick.

  “Oh, they teach it to you in ninth grade,” he replies with a wink.

  I think he’s joking, but with all his textbooks, I’m not so sure anymore.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Today is the big day. The busy day. The day I work on the mural and have my Sea Musketeers fundraiser. I’m ready to take them on. I am as determined as a salmon making its way upstream.

  “Remember, you’ve got to pick me up from my mural at one o’clock on the dot because the fundraiser starts at two,” I tell Mom in the morning over breakfast.

  “Stellita, you didn’t tell me about the times,” Mom says as she runs her fingers through her hair. “Mi amor, I was going to get a haircut. I have a big meeting on Monday, and I need to look my best.”

  I frown. I think I told Mom last night, but maybe I said it too softly. That sometimes happens.

  Mom looks at me and sighs. “It’s okay. I’ll see if they can switch my appointment to an earlier time.”

  I feel bad. I never want to ask Mom for too much. That’s why I try not to bother her with my homework or projects unless she offers or if it’s something she enjoys like baking or sewing.

  My mood quickly changes for the better when I throw my painting smock over my clothes. There are already little white specks all over it from when we primed the library wall on Thursday. I’m extra excited to get painting. When Mr. Foster presented the completed sketch for our mural, my drawing of a dolphin reading a book and some of my coral made the final design!

  As I’m packing my backpack with the cookies, rolled-up poster, and tote bags for the fundraiser, I hear a knock at the door.

  I tilt my head. Is it Diego? I feel a sense of dread. I still don’t want to talk to him right now. Maybe next week.