by Meg Medina
That’s when I notice blue glitter in Lolo’s hair.
Lolo smiles at Lena and shakes it from his shoulders. “The compadres,” he says, his face open and sweet.
Papi comes through our screen door just then. He’s freshly showered, and he’s carrying a huge salad bowl in his hands. He’s got two bottles of water tucked under his arm.
“I need a hand with this, Pops,” he says, handing Lolo the bowl.
“It’s time to eat, Fico,” Lolo says.
Papi barely flinches.
“And I’m starved,” he says. “Let’s go, Pops.” He turns to me and points to the empty shelf in the shed. “You can slide those cans over there,” he says. “The turpentine is on the bottom, next to the flashlights, if you need it.”
Then he and Lolo walk back to Abuela’s patio.
I swallow hard as I start to coil the hose, thinking about how to explain Lolo, or even if I should say anything. They’re little things. Maybe my friends won’t notice. I keep my eyes down as I work, but I start thinking about secrets and how the trouble with them is that they become lies.
“Just so you know,” I say, “Lolo has Alzheimer’s.”
It’s the first time I have said that word to anyone outside of our family.
Hannah looks up from the dustbin. “What is that, exactly?”
My tongue feels thick as I try to find words to explain. “He isn’t thinking very well anymore. It’s a kind of disease in the brain that makes you forget.” I take a deep breath. “Don’t be surprised by him, OK? Sometimes he doesn’t act like himself.”
Like the real Lolo. Like how he used to be, I want to add but don’t.
For a second we’re all quiet. All I can hear is the scrape of Hannah’s broom and the taps of Lena’s rubber hammer as she fastens the lids in place.
“My grandfather was sick for a long time,” Lena says at last. “He had cancer.” She hauls a container to the shelf. “I miss him.”
“Some days I miss Lolo, too,” I say, “even though he’s still here. Strange, right?”
There’s another pause.
“But strange can be OK,” Lena says at last.
“It’s not boring, anyway,” Hannah adds. “I hate boring.”
We finish picking up our things in silence until we hear giggling. It’s the twins, spying on us from the back of the carport.
“Do you see anyone?” Hannah says loudly.
“Nope,” Lena says.
Tomás springs out. “Bah!”
“Hey,” I say. “Why did you throw glitter on Lolo? That’s not very nice.”
Tomás rolls his eyes. “Not Lolo. We put a spell on Lolo’s garden,” he announces.
“It’s going to grow flying dragons,” Axel says. “You’ll see tomorrow.” He flaps his wings to show us.
I look across the yard at the bare flower bed. Beyond it, Lolo and Papi are setting the table in the screened porch. “How many dragons did you plant?” I ask.
“Ga-millions, dum-dum,” Axel says.
“Well, I’ll take pictures when they hatch,” I tell them.
We start walking over when suddenly Lena stops. “I have an idea. Let’s close our eyes and link arms,” she says. “You, too,” she tells the twins. “Let’s be strange and see if we can run backward to their house.”
We make our human chain and close our eyes.
“Ready?” Lena says. “Go!”
We all go stumbling as best we can, each with different strides, pulling each other and bumping along the whole way until we finally fall in a heap near the screen door, laughing.
Abuela comes out, holding a steaming tray of meat for the table.
“You’re going to bang your heads and grow lumps that will leave you silly forever,” she warns. “Then what?”
Which makes us all laugh harder.
And then, because we notice that Lolo is puzzling over which way to open the folding chairs, Lena, Hannah, and I scramble to our feet to help him with the rest. I tuck my friends close to me at the table when we eat.
THERE’S A REPORTER AND photographer who come to see our Great Tomb Project. They walk all through the chambers, snapping pictures along the way. So far, we’ve had only one problem. The back wall is wobbly, so Michael Clark and Rachel have to pretend to be royal guards and hold it steady with their backs. Rachel’s peepers are sort of stuck on golf-ball size as she stands next to Michael. From the goofy way they’re acting, I think something is going on between them. There is no maybe like in their eyes at all.
“When are they coming?” Lena asks. “This getup is uncomfortable.” She hoists her sheet under her armpits again.
None of our parents have been released from the auditorium yet. They’re trapped over in Frackas Hall with Dr. Newman, who’s reminding them about the annual giving campaign with his gigantic thermometer of donations.
Mami, Papi, and Abuela are there, and Roli, of course. They even brought the twins because the boys wanted to see Hannah and Lena, too. Tía volunteered to stay behind with Lolo, who didn’t feel up to coming out tonight.
I watch the photographer from the corner of my eye. She’s clicking her camera and checking her shots as she goes. It must be nice to have equipment like that, and not just your phone. She stops to take close-ups of the hieroglyphs, which Edna, who is lead scribe, explains. I try not to pay attention. Things have been pricklier with Edna since she got in trouble, but I’m trying my best to ignore it and move on. I want to take Papi’s advice and not have anyone as an enemy, but it’s still hard to be in the same room with her.
Finally, the reporter stops at our mummy and sarcophagus. “The main event,” she says, smiling. Lena, Hannah, and I sort of cluster together. “This is quite a creation.” She walks around it and lifts her camera. A series of fast clicks sound. “Are you the ones who made this?”
“Yes,” Lena says. “The three of us.”
“We had help,” I add. “Edna Santos was our model.” We don’t mention the eyebrow disaster, but I point to Edna across the room.
Then we spell our names and answer her questions about how we built it.
“One more shot,” the photographer says walking over. She poses us with Edna. “Say toenails,” Lena whispers to us. We do, and for once, I’m pretty sure my eye stays put.
“All right, everyone. Take your places,” Ms. Tannenbaum says, interrupting. “The parents are arriving for their tours!”
We grab our index cards with our speeches, and we’re ready.
Ms. Tannenbaum has snacks and a slide show of all of us working so that people don’t get bored waiting in the hall for their turn to tour. I can see the whole thing from where I’m standing. Funny, I don’t remember her taking these pictures, but I’m glad she did. Nobody is posing, so we all look like ourselves. There we are, out of our seats, talking, pinning things up. There’s even a shot of Lena, Hannah, and me taping plastic bags on Edna.
Roli arrives with the twins, who naturally grab two fistfuls of Goldfish crackers and stuff their cheeks like gerbils while they wait.
The line feels endless, and after a while, we get a little sick of repeating our talk about mummies. But eventually, the last visitors leave and we’re done.
Ms. Tannenbaum closes our classroom door and motions us to gather near her desk.
Rachel and Michael leave the wall, and we all watch it tip over with a ka-boom, exactly the way it has been threatening to do all night. We’re all sweaty, and most of us have raccoon eyes from our melted eyeliner.
You can tell Ms. Tannenbaum is happy by her big smile. “Hands in,” she says, and we all stack our palms in the center. Lena and Hannah huddle right next to me.
“You have a lot to be proud of, third hour. I want you to know that a project like this takes a lot of planning, research, teamwork, and problem-solving. Not everything went smoothly, but you didn’t let that stop you.”
I glance up at Michael, who’s squeezed in next to Rachel. Edna is staring at her shoes.
&nb
sp; “So, let’s all rest over winter vacation and think about what we learned about ourselves and others this first semester. We all get a fresh start in January.”
We raise our hands and cheer loudly.
It’s winter break at last.
“Merci!”
We’re almost to the van when I hear someone call my name. Abuela, Mami, and Papi stop and turn.
When I look to see who it is, I find Edna waiting for me. She’s standing between her parents.
Mami puts her hand on my shoulder. I feel Papi move in a little closer, too. “We’ll be right here,” Papi says.
“Be careful,” Abuela says. “You can’t trust people with a score to settle.”
Edna and I walk to each other. The eyebrow pencil has worked wonders, but I decide to keep that observation to myself.
She reaches inside her pouch and pulls out an official Seaward Pines Academy envelope. My name is written in her fancy writing on the front.
“Miss McDaniels made you write a note too, huh?” I ask. “How many drafts did it take?”
“Three,” she admits.
Up close I can see that Edna looks tired, but I can’t tell if it’s just that she’s weary after all the work tonight, or whether it’s more. Being the boss of the universe can’t be easy. And having people talk about you stinks.
“I am sorry about the costume. Well, mostly.”
“Mostly?” I say.
She motions with her chin at Michael and Rachel, who are walking toward the parking lot, saying good-bye before he goes to Disney the way his mom promised him if he got all As. They don’t even notice us gawking. Edna rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe I ever liked that dope.”
“Michael isn’t a dope,” I say. “He likes Rachel, that’s all. You can’t make people like you, Edna,” I tell her, shrugging. “I should know.”
Edna crosses her arms. “People do like you, Merci,” she says. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s not like you like me very much either, you know.”
“Well,” I say, “no offense, but it’s hard to like someone who is always saying mean stuff to you. About my eye. My hair. Really, everything.”
I’m expecting her to come back at me with one of her zingers, but this time she keeps her mouth shut.
The truth is that I’ve always wanted Edna to like me, at least a little bit. She’s the smartest girl in our class, and she’s funny. Plus, she knows how to get things done. But it’s the mean part that gets in the way. That makes her like a brownie with vanilla ice cream — and sardines. Those three things don’t go well together. Two out of three would be better, for sure.
“Anyway, I don’t have time to think about Michael Clark,” she says. “We’re taking the boat to the Dominican Republic in the morning for winter break, and I’m still not packed.”
Oh boy. More showing off. It takes all I’ve got not to roll my eyes. “Well, have a good vacation, then.” I start to turn away.
“My dad is volunteering in a clinic for people with leprosy,” she continues. “My mom and I are going along to help.”
I stare at her for a second. “Wow,” I blurt out. “You?”
She pushes her shoulders back and gives me a stony look. “Now who’s being mean?” she says.
OK, so maybe she’s right. “Sorry,” I say. Still, I wonder how she’ll like working with people who are very sick and poor, the way I’ve seen on some of Roli’s shows. Will she walk around feeling so much better than they are? Will she complain about not having a TV? It’s easy to complain, of course, even when you’ve got things pretty good. Look at all I say about watching the twins or helping Lolo.
“That’s nice of you to help them,” I say.
She looks at me cautiously. “What are you doing over break?”
I glance at my parents and Roli, who are pretending not to be watching our every move. Abuela is admiring the palm trees that are strung with white lights for the holiday. Farther off, I see Hannah and Lena playing tag in their togas with the twins.
For once, I’m not tempted to lie to Edna. Today at lunch, we planned our time off. Hannah is going to babysit the twins for Tía over break so Abuela doesn’t have to do it alone. If it works out, she might even do it in the spring so I can try out for softball. Lena promised to come over with her watercolors so we can paint with Lolo. We’re going to work on our business plan for the new volunteer club we want to start now that Sunshine Buddies is over. I thought students could visit the Lourdes Killington Residence for seniors who don’t see their families enough. Maybe on Grands Day, they can come as special guests for the younger grades. Anyway, our meeting with Miss McDaniels is the first day we get back from vacation. Seven forty-five sharp.
“Same as usual,” I say. “I’m hanging out with my friends and family. Have fun on your trip.”
Then, just before I turn to walk away, I add, “I’m really sorry about cutting off your eyebrows.”
IT’S EXACTLY FOUR DAYS UNTIL Nochebuena, and I don’t have much time to finish my presents. Usually, Mami takes me shopping one time and I get everything I need at once.
But this year, there’s one present that I’m making, and since it’s a little more involved than the macaroni picture frame that we all get from the twins, I need other kinds of supplies — and a ride to the store to get them.
Nobody is home today except Roli and me. Mami and Papi are checking out a used car they saw advertised in the paper. Abuela and Lolo walked the twins over to get paletas. And Tía is on the early shift at the bakery.
I find Roli resting in the hammock behind our house and ask him for a ride.
“Can’t you see I’m busy?” His eyes are closed, and his skin smells like coconut.
“Sunbathing? Come on, Roli. It’s too far for me to go on my lousy bike.” I toss him Tía Inés’s spare car keys. “Tía drove to work already, but we can ride our bikes to El Caribe and borrow her car from the parking lot. We’ll put it back before she has to come home.”
He brushes the keys away with his hand. “No, Merci. Ask Mami to take you when they get back.”
“But I don’t want her to know what I’m making,” I say.
“Crafting a weapon, are you?”
“Funny.”
He ignores me.
“Are you scared to drive again?” I say quietly.
There’s a long pause. When I don’t move, he says, “Please, Merci. Go away.”
“I know our crash was scary, but seriously, we can’t walk everywhere from now on, you know.” I push the hammock with my foot.
He opens his eyes and stares at me for a long time, so I know he’s going to play it tough. Then he reaches under his back and tosses me an envelope.
I look down and see that it’s from a college in North Carolina, the one he’s wanted to go to most of all. Mami lit a candle for it and everything.
“It came in the mail,” he says. “I’m in at Chapel Hill, and it comes with enough money.”
For a minute, I don’t know what to say. It’s good news, great news, in fact. But North Carolina is three states north, and it’s suddenly impossible to imagine that Roli won’t be here in the fall. What’s Las Casitas going to be like without him? Who’ll be here when Lolo gets really bad?
Now it’s my turn to get quiet.
“You’ll get the whole room to yourself,” he says after a while.
“Yeah, it’s about time,” I say. “And you’ll be with other people who want to learn about face transplants and stuff.” My eye starts to drift, so I blink hard to reset it.
“And about brains,” he says.
He sits up and I slide in next to him on the hammock.
“When are you going to tell Mami and Papi?”
“Tonight, I guess. When we’re all together.”
“They’ll be really happy.” My throat feels tight as I say it.
We don’t say anything else for a long time.
“I always thought it would be great to leave . . .” he says finally. He st
ares at his hands and doesn’t finish.
I look at Roli long and hard. He’s wanted to go to college since kindergarten, when he used to drag around his plastic doctor kit. That’s everything Mami and Papi have ever dreamed for him, too. So I swallow hard and say, “You can still be happy to go, dope. Remember you have to hurry up and invent stuff to help Lolo. You don’t want Ahana Patel to beat you to it, do you?”
He shoves me a little and grins. “Text me and tell me what’s going on here, OK?” he says. “And I’ll come home for the holidays.”
I give that some thought, trying to push out of my mind how it will be when he’s not across the room every day. I won’t have to change in the bathroom, at least, or keep my mess on one side.
“Speaking of which — I still need you to take me to the store,” I say. “It’s the last thing I need for Nochebuena.”
Roli sighs. “You’re relentless. What’s so important that you can’t wait for Mami, Merci?”
I cross my arms. “You have to swear not to tell.”
He listens as I explain my whole plan. When I’m done, Roli takes a deep breath and holds his palm out for the keys.
“Let’s go,” he says. “And leave your helmet with your bike, or else.”
IT HAPPENS EVERY YEAR. Las Casitas transforms on Nochebuena. And this year, because of Roli’s good news, everyone is especially happy.
Papi and Lolo have strung the patio with red and green lights in the shape of chili peppers.
Mami blasts happy Christmas music — and not the “I’m-dreaming-of-a-white-Christmas” kind. It’s merengues and salsas with horns and bongos and singers crooning about la estrellita de Belén. The sound makes Tía wiggle her hips the way she does at the Tango Palace, while she fusses with Abuela about recipes.
I’m trying to keep up with Tomás and Axel, who’ve spent most of the day making trouble with the vuvuzelas that we usually save for watching Papi at soccer games. They sneak around the house and yard, trumpeting near people to startle them.
But by sunset, we’re all showered and dressed as if we’re going to a wedding, even though we’re just going to sit in our own backyard. I’m wearing a sundress (with shorts underneath) from last year. When I look in the mirror, I notice it’s shorter than I like and a little tight in the chest now. It’ll be time to go clothes shopping soon, I guess. Maybe Lena and Hannah can come along to help.