“What about Arthur’s playlist?” I protest. He’s slumped on his stool, his hood pulled halfway down over his face.
But no one listens to me. Julia is the center of attention again, and I’m the girl most likely to smell like taco sauce. When Mr. Salazar says it’s time to go, I pick up my things without looking back—without even saying good-bye to Arthur and Amanda. I speed-walk through the parking lot.
chapter
32
I call Amanda from my cell phone right after I’ve finished my homework. This counts as urgent.
“So how bad is it?” I demand.
“Oh, hiiii,” she gushes with sarcastic sweetness. “I’m just fiiiine. Thank you so much for aaaasking.”
Point taken. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. But please, just tell me. What were they saying after I left?”
“I don’t know.” She yawns. “Not a lot. I guess some people are kind of annoyed with you. But everyone thinks the DJ thing is cool. Except Arthur, obviously.”
I’m not convinced.
Mami and Papi won’t let me stay home from school on Friday, but they can’t make me go to the dance. Not even Arthur and Amanda change my mind. They try all day, but there’s no way I’m going.
“Come on,” Arthur nags one last time as he’s stepping into his mom’s car. “If I can go, you can go. I bet everyone’s already starting to forget the whole Viviana Vega thing.”
Well, I’m not about to remind them.
I find Tía Perla waiting for me in her old spot at the far end of the parking lot—maybe for the last time, I think. Papi is leaning out his rolled-down window, talking to a woman in a knee-length skirt and pointy black shoes. She looks sort of familiar, but not until I get closer do I recognize her as Mrs. Sandoval.
“…I was able to find a sitter for her brother, but I know she’d hate to miss the dance, so if it’s really not too much trouble…”
No way. Miss Independent needs a ride?
Papi shakes his head. “It’s no trouble. I’ll take the girls to the dance and bring them home afterward. You can pick Julia up in the morning.”
Mrs. Sandoval thanks him and finally notices me. “Stef, we’ve missed you!” she says, stepping back as if she’s admiring a painting. She checks her watch. “Ooh. I better get back to work. You girls have a great time at the dance. I’m so proud of all the work you put in.”
After she’s out of earshot, I remind Papi that I’m not going to the dance.
“You don’t have to go,” he says, “but it looks like we’re taking Julia.”
Neither of us knows quite what to do next. Do I go back and get her? Do we honk? Luckily, Mrs. Sandoval has thought of that. I pick her out of the crowd that’s still milling in front of our school building. She straightens Julia’s cardigan and looks like she’s explaining something to her. All of a sudden, Julia jerks away and scowls. Mrs. Sandoval throws up her arms and starts walking back toward Tía Perla. A few seconds later, Julia throws back her head and follows.
When they get to the truck, Mrs. Sandoval gives Papi a you-know-how-they-are smile. Then she kisses Julia on the forehead and practically shoves her inside. “Have fun. Be polite.” Julia slams the door. She senses me trying to catch her eye and looks away, studying her fingernails like she just realized they’re diamond-encrusted.
None of us says a word on the ride home. Once, at a red light, Papi starts tapping nervously on the steering wheel until I nudge him to quit. We can’t be sure what might set her off.
Back at our house, Papi unlocks the front door, and Julia stalks off for my bedroom like it hasn’t been forever since the last time she visited. Papi and I shrug at each other, then I follow Julia down the hallway. I find her sprawled on my bed. She puts her hands over her face and stops me before I can say anything. “Don’t even.”
I do anyway. “Why don’t you just take the bus?”
She sits up. “Right? I’ve been riding the bus all year, and it’s like they still don’t trust me. I have to text when I get on, text when I get off, and if I’m even two minutes late, it’s, like, call the FBI or something.”
“So, we’re taking you to the dance?”
“I guess.”
“And you’re not worried about smelling like tacos?”
Julia opens her mouth but changes her mind and flops back down on my bed. “I don’t know why I say things like that. Maddie thought I was… cool, or whatever. And… I don’t know. Sorry. Anyway, you’re the one who ditched me for Amanda!”
Now I’m the one who opens my mouth, about to lob back an argument, until I realize it’s kind of true. I never thought of it that way before, but the more time I spent with Amanda, the less I spent with Julia—even before Julia started taking the bus to school. It wasn’t on purpose. Amanda and I just had more in common, I guess. Had more fun together.
“Sorry, too.” I slide to the floor, my back against the wall, and sit there until Julia breaks the awkward silence by hopping off my bed and tearing through my wardrobe.
“Make yourself at home,” I say, getting up to stop her, though I quickly see there’s no point trying.
“Well, it’s not like my genius mother thought to pack me any extra clothes,” she answers from inside my closet, her voice muffled by my sweaters and dresses. “And I’m not going in my uniform obviously. What are you gonna wear?”
I tell her I’m not going to the dance. We can give her a ride, but I’m not going.
“Don’t be dumb,” she says. “Here.” A black button-up sweater flies at my face. As soon as I manage to swat it away, a plum-colored skirt hits me.
“Hey!”
“Just put it on.”
I sigh and start changing. It’s easier than fighting with her. A few minutes later, Julia emerges from behind my closet door in a flowery pink sundress and jean jacket, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. The outfit looks like she’s been planning it for weeks, but at the same time, effortless. So annoying. “At least you don’t have completely terrible taste,” she says.
“Are you always this charming when you steal people’s clothes?”
She shrugs and smiles, sparkling-sweet as ever. “Now,” she orders. “Sit.”
I let Julia bully me into the chair at my desk, but not even she is bossy enough to force my curls to behave, I think. Nonetheless, she twists and pulls and yanks and spritzes and, somehow, it works. Mami would be thrilled.
chapter
33
We ride to school in Tía Perla, me squished between Papi and Julia on the bench seat. When we get there, Papi tells Julia he’ll be back in a couple of hours and to call if she needs anything. “See you,” I say.
Julia whips her head back around. “Come on. We’re already late. I’m not walking in there by myself.” She grabs my wrist and tugs.
“No, I told you. I’m not going.” I tug my arm back and plant myself squarely in the middle of the seat.
“Stef, seriously, just come with me?” She’s really asking me to go with her, and not just trying to boss me around. Deciding I might as well check on Arthur and see how Amanda’s decorations turned out, I slide out the door and tell Papi I’ll be right back.
I expect to hear music as we get closer to the gym. Instead, what we hear are two boys—I don’t recognize them from Saint Scholastica—on their way back to the parking lot.
“Just have your mom come get us now. No Viviana and no dance?”
Julia and I look at each other and start walking faster.
Outside the gym, students are shuffling around looking bored and disappointed. The teachers who came to chaperone are huddled up, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders. A few parents linger nearby, glancing at their watches. Mr. Salazar is pacing the breezeway, a phone held up to one ear and a hand pressed against the other.
I spot Arthur, and he walks right over, pulling his headphones down around his neck. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I’m not. What’s going on?”
“Power w
ent out in the gym. Mr. Salazar is trying to get it fixed, but the ice cream already melted and the sodas are all warm. No lights, no speakers, no music.”
That means no dance. The teachers have started refunding everyone’s admission.
And that means no art supplies, I think.
“What happened?” Julia asks.
“The DJ,” Arthur says. “Tripped a circuit breaker when he was setting up.”
Julia screams into her hands. “No, no, no, no, no!” She pulls out her cell phone and frantically dials. When her mom doesn’t pick up, she screams again and storms off. I don’t blame her. This dance is a disaster, and it’s our fault. Part of me wants to follow Julia, to crawl under my bed and hide forever. But part of me knows we can’t just leave this mess behind us. So I close my eyes and think. Hard. From the gut.
And then I have it.
I tell Arthur to find Amanda and meet me back in the parking lot. Then I chase after Julia and grab her by the elbow. She whips around. “Let’s just go.”
“No,” I tell her. “Tía Perla!”
“Tía what?” But then, as she starts to understand, the lights in her smile begin to flicker back on.
“I’ll go talk to my dad—you tell everyone the dance is moving.”
Papi is humming to himself with one arm draped out the window when I get to the truck. I throw open the door, and he starts to turn the key. “Ready to go? Shall we take Tía Perla out for a couple of hours until it’s time to pick up Julia?”
“No, wait.” Panting, I try to explain the dance debacle as quickly as I can. “Can we fire up Tía Perla, like, right here?”
He starts nodding, slowly at first and then eagerly. “Órale!” he growls. This time it means “YES!” Then he slaps his palm on the steering wheel so hard the horn blares—as if Tía Perla herself is whooping in excitement. “Órale!”
chapter
34
Arthur and Amanda come rushing to the parking lot as Papi hooks up Tía Perla’s generator and I lift open her canopy. Amanda finds a take-out bag in the kitchen, writes DONATIONS on one side in black marker, and sets it on the card table. Arthur pulls an armful of sodas from the ice chest and starts passing them around to the students and parents and teachers who followed Julia out here but still aren’t sure what’s going on. I scramble back into the cab, crank down the windows, and turn up Papi’s radio. He has it tuned to banda again. No, thanks. I twist the dial and, like magic, find Viviana Vega.
I sink down into the bench seat to catch my breath and enjoy the moment.
Arthur interrupts. “Hey, turn it back!” he hollers from outside.
I poke my head out the window.
“What?”
Arthur, Amanda, and Julia yell back at me in unison: “Turn it back!”
Oh well, I think. Órale!
The joyful, driving rhythm of Papi’s music begins to break up the clumps of middle schoolers standing around Tía Perla. A flourish of horns set Julia and Amanda swaying, shoulder to shoulder, oompah-pah, oompah-pah. Jangling guitar chords relax the worried lines on Mr. Salazar’s forehead until he’s clinking soda bottles with the other teachers. Students tap their feet as they wait in line for the nachos, quesadillas, tortas, and—for Arthur—the wheat-free, dairy-free, egg-free, nut-free, meat-free specialty-of-the-house super burrito that Papi and I slide through the window as fast as we can.
I’m dusting cilantro over the top of two street tacos when Papi stops me. “I can handle this, m’ija. You should be out there.” I look doubtfully at the line outside the truck.
“Really,” he urges. “Go.” Then he hands me a tortilla, fresh off the grill and smeared with butter. I take a big bite—it’s as warm and familiar as home—then leave the tortilla on the counter while I look for Arthur and Amanda in the crowd.
They’re selling Amanda’s origami stars, fifty cents apiece. Students are swinging them over their heads like lassos, the metallic wrapping paper winking under the parking lights. I take both their hands and pull them closer to Tía Perla, where the music is loudest. I twirl Arthur under one of my arms and Amanda under the other. Then they close the circle, and we spin until we fall over laughing.
It seems like only minutes before the first parents start arriving for pickup. Tía Perla’s kitchen is nearly empty, but the donation bag is full—so full that a few crumpled-up bills have fallen to the ground. Julia and I pick them up and stuff them inside the bag before presenting it to Mr. Salazar.
He tries to give some of the money back to Papi. But Papi just folds his arms over his chest, shakes his head, and smiles.
“Do you think it’s enough?” I ask.
Mr. Salazar looks like he can’t quite believe it. “I’d say so.” He nods. “More than enough.”
When everything is cleaned up, Papi hands Julia and me a strawberry soda each. “Saved these for you.” We climb back into the cab, crank the radio up as loud as it will go, and sing all the way back home. I don’t even care who sees us.
chapter
35
Julia and I are still up chattering in my bedroom when Mami comes home from her shift at the grocery store.
She taps on my door before nudging it open. “Girls? It’s very late. I heard you had an exciting night, but if you can’t get to sleep, at least keep your voices down. Papi has to be up early tomorrow. Someone is coming over to check out the truck.”
So soon? I deflate.
Lying on the floor with our feet propped on my bed, Julia and I reminisce about afternoons on my front porch and about Tía Perla.
“Why does he have to sell her anyway?” Julia yawns. “I mean, she’s not that bad.”
She isn’t that bad. Not bad at all. And maybe he doesn’t have to sell her.
“Get up.” I elbow Julia as I spring to my feet.
“What for?” she moans. “It’s so late. You heard your mom.”
I’m already tearing through my stash of art supplies. I’m going to come through for Tía Perla like she came through for me.
“Just get up. And put your shoes back on. And don’t make a sound.”
It’s colder in the driveway than I thought it would be, but with our extra-bright porch light, it’s at least bright enough to see. Shivering, I squirt globs of red and white paint onto a paper plate. I hand it to Julia with a paintbrush, showing her how to touch up the flaking roses on Tía Perla’s side. While she works, I add swirling blue clouds and curling green vines—the same as in the drawing I made the day of the Viviana Vega concert. Only now I don’t want Tía Perla to fly out of our lives after all. Instead, I imagine her soaring into a newer, brighter future, with all of us inside.
I carry chairs out from the kitchen, and Julia and I stand on them to reach the high spots. When we’re done, we step back on the grass to examine our work.
“Looks good,” Julia says finally. “Only, I never understood the name. I mean, do you even have an Aunt Pearl?”
She’s right. This truck isn’t just crazy, old Tía Perla—she’s so much more.
“I’m not quite finished here,” I tell Julia. “But you can go back inside.” As she tiptoes up the front steps, I squirt two more puddles of paint onto a fresh paper plate.
chapter
36
Julia is snoring on my bedroom floor when the alarm clock starts bleating. I want to pull the covers back over my head and snore along with her, but then I remember Papi’s appointment. I get out of bed, step over Julia, and race to the kitchen.
Mami and Papi are at the table, sipping their coffee.
“Estefania,” Mami says, “I wasn’t expecting you up for hours. When did you two finally get to bed?”
I wave off her questions. “Has that man come? About the truck?”
“He’ll be here soon,” Papi says. “I was about to go out and wipe down the counters.”
Not too late, then. “Good.” I look from one of my parents to the other. “I need you to come outside with me. Both of you. Now. Please.”
“Estefania?” Papi asks.
“M’ija,” Mami says, looking down at her bathrobe. “I’m not even dressed.”
“Please, just come.”
I dart ahead, open the front door, then spread my arms across it to hold them back. “Okay. Don’t be mad. Just think about it.” Then I step aside and sweep my arms toward the driveway, introducing them to:
THE TACO QUEEN.
She looks even better than she did in the moonlight. Not perfect—still dented, but not so dull. Tired, maybe, but full of life and promise.
A laugh catches in Mami’s throat as soon as she sees it, and she wipes a tear off her cheek. Papi comes closer. “M’ija… how… I don’t…” he starts and stops.
“I’m not ready to give her up,” I say, making up a new speech, there on the lawn. This time, instead of the mayor holding a gavel, I’m facing Papi, who’s holding his breath. “I know how nice those other trucks look, but if I could do this overnight with Julia, just think what we could all do. Together. And anyway, it’s like I said: Tía Perla isn’t really my aunt. But she is like family.”
Papi runs his finger over the freshly painted letters, black outlined in gold. He doesn’t say anything until we all hear a car slow to a stop in front of our house. As the man opens his door, Papi startles and walks out to the end of the driveway, stopping between the man and Tía Perla.
“Is this the—” the man starts to say.
“No,” Papi interrupts. “It was a mistake. I’m very sorry, but she’s not for sale after all.”
The man turns to Mami, who smiles and shakes her head. Then he gets back into his car and drives away.
When he disappears, I run to Papi and jump onto his back. He catches me under my knees and laughs his biggest, thundering laugh.
“Órale!” I shout, looking up at the sky and then at the miles and miles of road just waiting for us. “Órale!”
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