Merci Suárez Changes Gears

by Meg Medina

  “Hello,” Edna says, pushing up her sunglasses.

  “Hi.”

  I took special care to look nice today, which was Roli’s advice. “Defendants should look their best,” he said. So I washed my face with his soap three times and put on a fresh headband.

  I try to sit up tall, but it’s hard in these rolling chairs, so I grab the edge of the tabletop to steady myself. The walls are made of dark paneling, and of course there are portraits of our former heads of school and the current board of directors, complete with Dr. Santos on the end. There are framed posters of our school advertising campaigns, too. Every kid in them looks shiny, like Sunshine Buddies on steroids. Roli was the model one year. They stood him near test tubes in the lab with the text: SEAWARD PINES: MORE THAN 50 YEARS OF EXCELLENCE IN INDEPENDENT EDUCATION.

  Miss McDaniels clears her throat, and Dr. Newman clicks off his phone.

  “Ah. You’re here. Well, I hope you ladies had a restful few days with your families over Thanksgiving?” he says. Dr. Newman is known for being pleasant, especially to people who give money to our school for things like athletic fields and greenhouses.

  “Yes, sir,” Edna says. “We were in Sanibel.”

  “Ah. Lovely.” Then he looks at me and smiles. “How about you, Miss Suárez? Lots of turkey and stuffing?”

  My mouth is too dry to explain, so I just nod.

  “So, I understand we had a bit of a mishap recently,” he says.

  Edna shifts in her seat. “Yes, sir. Merci cut off my eyebrows. On purpose.” She lifts her sunglasses to prove it.

  It’s even worse than I remember.

  “Is this true, Miss Suárez?” Dr. Newman says, turning to me. “Did you willfully cut off a classmate’s eyebrows? That seems like an odd thing to do.”

  I wonder about this question. “Well, I did cut them off on purpose, but only because she was stuck inside a plaster mask. It was the only way to get her out.”

  “I see. And you didn’t think you should ask your teacher for help?”

  My face burns. Another hard one. I can’t say for sure if we would have asked Ms. Tannenbaum what to do. She likes us to think for ourselves. But I don’t want to say that she wasn’t in the room; she’ll get in trouble.

  Before I can think of what to say, though, Ms. Tannenbaum comes to my rescue.

  “Actually, Dr. Newman, that wouldn’t have been possible. The girls were working on our Great Tomb Project, which I hope you’ll come tour in a couple of weeks. I had stepped out of the room to return some equipment,” she says. “It’s my fault they were unsupervised. It was foolish of me.”

  Dr. Newman frowns and clears his throat. “We should discuss that later.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He turns to Edna and steeples his fingers. “I spoke to your parents, and they are, of course, upset. But I wonder why you feel that this was done maliciously, Miss Santos.” He pauses to let that sink in. “Do you know what that word means?”

  Edna gives him a cold look. “Language arts is my best subject,” she says, which is true. She looks over at me. “Merci does mean stuff like that sometimes,” she continues. “She hit a new student with a baseball not too long ago and really hurt him.”

  Miss McDaniels nods when Dr. Newman glances at her to check.

  My eye starts to travel. Edna’s words are very prim and matter-of-fact, even though they’re deadly.

  “The baseball thing was an accident,” I say. “I hit Michael Clark by mistake.”

  Miss McDaniels narrows her eyes at me like a cat. “And . . .”

  “And, well, because I didn’t remember to follow the rules.”

  I look around the table and suddenly remember what Papi said. Dr. Newman can decide that I’m too much trouble to keep here, especially with my track record. So I pull out my envelope and slide it across the table toward Edna as far as my arms will reach.

  “What’s this?” Edna asks.

  “Something to help your eyebrows,” I mutter.

  Edna purses her lips, but she doesn’t take it. Across the table, Dr. Newman and Miss McDaniels exchange looks.

  Miss McDaniels opens one of her folders and starts speaking as she looks through the papers inside. “It’s regrettable that two of our most charismatic students have decided that they are incompatible. It seems a shame. But for right now, I think there is another pressing matter for all of us to discuss. Dr. Newman, if you will permit me?”

  He nods, and with that, she pulls out a printout of a sign-in sheet and lays it down in front of me. It’s dated October 30.

  “Is this your electronic signature from the tardy log?” she asks me.

  I look down and see my own writing. “Yes, miss. That’s the day I came in late. It was my brother’s fault, though.”

  She nods and opens her second folder and hands me a printed pass that says DUPLICATE across the bottom. “And can you tell me about this item?”

  I read the date and name carefully. “It’s a copy of the pass you gave me to class,” I say.

  “To which class?”

  “First hour,” I say. “Which is language arts for me.”

  “And the time on the pass?”

  “You wrote 8:12, see? I asked you to add a few minutes so I could drop something off in Ms. Tannenbaum’s room.”

  “That is my precise recollection, too,” she says. “In fact, you were carrying a costume brought from home, as I recall. Is this correct?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “And what happened after you left the office?”

  As soon as she asks, I feel as though an ice cube is dripping along my spine. Edna stares straight ahead. I feel completely trapped. I glance at Ms. Tannenbaum, who is looking especially somber now. She gives me a nod.

  “Speak freely,” she says.

  My heart is suddenly thundering. Roli said I shouldn’t accuse someone without proof, so I stick to the facts.

  “I left the costume in Ms. Tannenbaum’s room and went to class,” I say.

  “And was it there when you returned?”

  I blink hard and try not to look at Edna. “Yes, but it was ruined and stuffed in the trash.”

  “Yes. And you have filed a destruction of personal property report, which I have right here.”

  Miss McDaniels turns to Edna next and opens a second folder. “Is this your electronic signature on the tardy log of that same day, Edna?”

  Edna stares at the sheet. Her lips are pressed tight.

  “I don’t hear an answer.”

  “Yes.”

  “It is also for October thirtieth. I notice the time is exactly twenty minutes after Merci is documented to have arrived at school.”

  Edna shrugs. “I didn’t see her that morning.”

  “And my notes here say that you reported having bike trouble on the way to school.”

  Edna nods. “I did. My chain slipped.”

  “That’s unfortunate.” She shows her another duplicate pass. “And is this the duplicate copy of the pass I wrote for you?”

  Edna nods again.

  “It says you were on your way to shop class. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.”

  Miss McDaniels picks up the remote control next to her folder and presses play.

  The flat screen behind Dr. Newman’s head flickers on, and we all turn to look.

  It’s a still shot of the hallway outside our social studies classroom — and it’s not grainy, like some sort of fuzzy security clip you see on the news that makes you think your neighbor might be a bank robber. This is super clear.

  There’s no sound, but a timer on the bottom lists the date and time. From high above, I see black-and-white me coming down the hall with my bag. Abuela’s mask is sticking out of the top. I knock, then check the door and call inside. Then I let myself in. Two minutes later, I walk out without the costume bag.

  Miss McDaniels speeds up the tape a bit. We stop again at the same empty hall. Finally, two people appe
ar in the frame. It’s Edna, with Jamie in tow. It looks like they’re giggling and talking. They look inside the door window and whisper. Then they go inside. Four minutes later they race out of the room and disappear through the doors that lead outside.

  The tape runs for two more minutes, which feels endless to watch. No one else visits the room until Ms. Tannenbaum comes back, balancing a huge stack of books and an apple on top.

  The conference room is totally silent when Miss McDaniels stops the footage and puts down the remote.

  Edna takes one look at Ms. Tannenbaum, puts her head on the table, and starts to cry.

  WHAT A MESS.

  Sure, Edna got what she deserved for ruining Michael’s costume. I’m not sorry about that; it’s fair.

  But by lunchtime, everyone was whispering about Edna and Jamie’s troubles: a week’s worth of detentions and sacked from Sunshine Buddies. People looked happy about it. And then Michael told Chase, who came over and told Rachel in a loud voice, that no, Michael definitely does not like Edna Santos. Not at all. In fact, he said she was mean and ugly.

  How does it work that the same kids who followed Edna around all the time really seemed to like seeing her in trouble? How can somebody popular have so many people glad to see her crash? Maybe like might be confusing, but popular is even weirder. Turns out, it’s not the same thing as having friends at all.

  Papi is waiting for us in the maintenance parking lot on Friday like I told him to. Lena, Hannah, and I lug our cardboard there after the last bell. We need to finish our sarcophagus. We’re running behind, so Ms. Tannenbaum thought it might be best if we work on it at home. We’ve only got a few more days to finish it.

  “You can sit up front, Lena. It has a seatbelt,” I say. “And, um, a seat.”

  I turn and wave at Hannah, who’s going to follow behind us in her mother’s car. She looks like she’s dying of embarrassment. Her mom insists on driving her and meeting our family before Hannah can stay.

  I climb into Papi’s van and balance myself on the paint bucket as usual.

  “Ready to roll?” he says, which is usually a private paint joke when we head off to one project or another.

  “Ready,” I say, although, really, I’m not so sure.

  Yesterday, Lena put all our addresses in her phone to see whose house was most convenient, and bingo, Las Casitas came up smack in the middle. At first I argued against it, saying I didn’t like working at our place. The truth is that I was worried about Lolo. What if he had a bad day? What if he yelled at Abuela in front of them?

  But Lena insisted. “Besides,” she said, “nobody has a car long enough to load up all the cardboard. A van is perfect.”

  “I’ll bring the gold paint,” Hannah said before I could weasel my way out. “And glitter. And the gemstones.”

  It was settled.

  So here I am, fingers and toes crossed that everything is calm at home.

  The van squeaks as Papi makes the turn out of the lot.

  “Hey, it sounds like your van is singing!” Lena smiles, but then she rubs her bottom. The pesky spring is poking through again.

  “Here. Sit on this.” I hand her one of my binders. “It helps.”

  As soon as we pull in, I look around the yard cautiously. Lolo is in his flower bed with the twins. He turns to wave, but he doesn’t walk over, thank goodness. I’m pretty sure he’s pulling out the flowers Abuela planted just a few days ago, but I can’t worry about that now.

  “You say you live in all three of them?” Hannah’s mom asks, looking around Las Casitas.

  “Sort of. I sleep in this one,” I say, pointing, “but the rest is sort of flexible.”

  Lena bends down to scratch Tuerto’s ear. “Meow,” she says in greeting, like it’s the most normal thing to speak in Cat.

  “Are you guys hungry?” I ask.

  “Starved,” Lena says.

  “Same here,” says Hannah. She turns to her mom. “So, can I stay?”

  I guess we’ve passed inspection because she gives Hannah a peck on the cheek. “Text me when you’re ready to come home,” she says.

  “Let’s try Tía’s fridge,” I say. “She’s got the best stuff.”

  Tuerto follows us the whole way.

  We work all afternoon, until dinnertime. Papi supervised us every once in a while to make sure we didn’t saw off our fingers as we shaped the thick cardboard. Then we put on masks and used the sprayers to paint all the pieces gold. We drilled with his power tools and attached the sides with plastic fasteners.

  “You have to admit this is a masterpiece.” Hannah glues on the last bead. “Look at the sparkle! I want to keep this when the Great Tomb is done.”

  “It does have bling,” I say, which is an understatement. There’s barely a square inch of space that isn’t decorated. There’s a mess at our feet from all the work we did, too. Tuerto bats leftover beads among the tools and scraps lying around.

  We’re just starting to clean up when the twins appear.

  “What’s that?” Tomás and Axel are at my elbow, staring.

  “A coffin,” Lena says. “For mummies.”

  “It’s still wet,” I tell them. But Tomás only sticks out his tongue. I’m about to yell for Papi to come get them when Hannah steps up.

  “You want some magic dust?” she asks them. “I have some left over.”

  They turn to her and stare.

  “Hold out your hands like this,” she says. Then she taps out what’s left of the glitter from her test tube into their dirty palms. “I can only give each of you a tiny bit,” she says. “It’s very powerful, especially the blue pieces, so be careful.”

  “That girl’s hair is blue,” Tomás whispers, eyeing Lena.

  “Like berries,” Axel adds. “And it looks like sticks.”

  “Yep. And how do you think I got it this fabulous?” Lena says, running her fingers over her spikes. She bends down to let them touch her head. “Hannah’s magic dust.”

  The twins poke at Lena’s hair carefully. They exchange knowing looks and then, without warning, they tear across to the other side of the yard, their cupped hands held high.

  “Good thinking. How did you know how to get rid of them so easily?” I ask. “It’s always a struggle for me.”

  Hannah shrugs. “It’s in the babysitting manual. Lesson four, I think.”

  “Magic dust to distract troublemakers?” I say.

  “Redirection,” she says. “Everybody wins.”

  Just then, headlights pin us in place. We turn to see Mami pulling her rental car into her spot in the driveway. I notice that Roli is in the passenger seat — again. I shake my head. He hasn’t been behind the wheel since the crash. He’s too young to drive the rental car, and Mami and Papi haven’t found a new car we can afford.

  He checks the mailbox, waves at us, and goes inside.

  “Wow,” Mami says when she gets out. She tiptoes around the tools. “Impressive.”

  “We have to let it dry for a while before we put it back in Papi’s van,” I say. “We’re just picking up now.”

  “Preciosa.”

  Lolo’s voice makes us all turn. He’s still in his gardening clothes, dirty at the knees, and his hands are sandy. I freeze in my spot, studying his face to get any clue about his mood. “Preciosa,” he says to me again. “Abuela says it’s almost time to eat.”

  “I’ll be right there, Lolo,” I say quickly. “Hannah, can you grab that broom?”

  Mami comes close to him and kisses his cheek. “You’ve been in the garden today, I see?”

  He smiles. “I was pulling the weeds. Always weeds.” He looks back toward his house, thinking. And it’s in that beat of time that I start to get worried. Then he turns to me again. “It’s time to eat,” he repeats. He holds out his hand to me. “Come on.”

  “I just have to clean up, Lolo. You go on,” I say. “I’ll be there in a minute.” Please leave, I think. Please.

  But he doesn’t move. And neither do Hannah and Len
a. I can feel their questions in the air. I look to Mami, asking for help with my eyes, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Merci, have you introduced your friends?” she asks.

  “This is Lena and Hannah,” I mumble. “They’re about to call their moms to go home.”

  But Mami checks her watch. “Why don’t you girls stay for dinner?” she says. “I’m sure there’s enough. Abuela always makes plenty. Merci, can you clean up and help Lolo wash up while I tell Abuela?”

  I try not to glare at her. Dinner? With our whole family?

  But before I think of what to say, Lena sniffs the air and reaches for her phone. “It does smell good. My stomach has been growling.”

  “Picadillo and rice,” Lolo says. “My favorite.”

  “My mom hates to cook.” Hannah digs in her purse for her phone. Lena is already texting on hers.

  I turn to Mami as soon as they get their moms, but she’s already disappeared back inside, leaving me there with Lolo. I’ve never been ashamed of my grandfather before. And I don’t want him to know how I feel.

  My face is hot as I turn to him. Lolo is at the spigot, but he can’t seem to find the nozzle on the hose. It’s tangled, as usual.

  “Hang on.” I start to fix it, already imagining the disaster that’s coming at dinner. Maybe Hannah and Lena will think he’s weird. Maybe they’ll laugh at him behind my back. Maybe they’ll tell people at school.

  “Put your hands out like this so I can get your elbows.” Does he hear the little knives in my voice? But I can’t help it. I have no patience for him right now. I hate that I’m standing here, washing him as if he were one of the twins.

  Hannah appears at my side. “I’m in for chow,” she says. “She’ll pick me up at eight.”

  She starts sweeping up the glitter, but I can feel her watching me as I rub the rest of the mud from Lolo’s elbows and hands. I’m embarrassed by how he’s standing there, letting me clean him, but if Hannah thinks it’s strange, she doesn’t say so. When I’m done, she just walks over and hands me a paper towel from the roll on the shelf. By then, Lena has joined us, too. She’s about to start hammering the lids back on the paint cans when she notices something on Lolo’s shoulders.

  “Uh-oh. The twins must have gotten to you, sir,” she says.