Where I Belong

by Marcia Argueta Mickelson

  “Wait, Ceci. She gave it to me!” Javi catches up to her and takes it from her hands. He throws it across the field, and Ceci runs after it yelling out his name.

  Chloe laughs. “Nice way to get rid of them,” she says.

  “It’s the only way we’re going to survive this wait.”

  “It’s not so bad,” Sele says. She pulls out her phone and starts texting. I can always count on her to be the one without complaint. Mami and Papi named me after the Spanish word for “miracles,” while they named Sele after the Tejano singer from Corpus, but Sele’s the real wonder. Sometimes, Mami calls her “mi cielo,” my heaven, and I wouldn’t disagree. She never argues with the little ones; she never asks for anything.

  Still, I hate to think about how she’ll have to take care of them all on her own after I leave for college. She’s even younger than I was when Papi died. And she’s not expecting it; as far as she knows, I’ll be living at home and going to TAMU-CC for the next four years. Telling her about Stanford will be almost as hard as breaking the news to Mami.

  Another boy has joined Javi and Ceci in the field, and the three of them are running toward the fallen Frisbee. I fear a collision as the three dive for it, but the new boy holds it up victoriously over his head as Javi and Ceci spread apart, ready for the throw.

  “You have anything to eat in here?” Chloe asks as she digs through my still-open backpack.

  “Yes, but I didn’t think you would be the first one asking for it,” I say, laughing. I put the backpack on the ground at our feet so she can reach it more easily.

  “Girl, I didn’t have any breakfast. My mom sleeps in till ten on Sundays, and you made me wake up extra early.”

  “Phsh. You picked us up at eight-thirty. How is that extra early? Besides, you’re perfectly capable of making your own breakfast.”

  “I’m missing out on my mom’s eggs, so don’t get on my bad side,” Chloe says as she pulls out a granola bar. “And just so you know, I’m not waking up at five to watch those turtles this summer. You’re on your own for that.”

  “Noted,” I say with a snort. Last year, I took Chloe with me to the National Seashore to watch a bunch of baby sea turtles drag themselves the thirty feet from their nests to the ocean. She wasn’t impressed.

  The young mom in front of me looks at her phone and then at the slow-moving line in front of us, probably questioning her decision to come here. Her toddler is on the ground draining his sippy cup, but the wrestler in his stroller is now grunting loudly. He’s either going number two or seriously ticked off. She sighs and bends down to unbuckle his stroller.

  “Can I hold him?” I offer.

  She looks up at me, wipes a hair off her face, and smiles. “Sure.” She picks up the squirmy baby and holds him out to me. I try to remember the last time I held a baby. It was Ceci. I take the baby and try to balance him on my hip. “What’s his name?”

  “Christopher.”

  “Hi, Christopher,” I say in a cheerful voice I’ve never heard myself use.

  “I didn’t expect the wait to be this bad,” Christopher’s mom says. “I’m not sure we’re going to make it.”

  “It hasn’t always been like this, but every year it gets more popular as more people find out about the discount.”

  “You’ve done this before?” she asks.

  “Every year for the past nine years. It’s awesome.”

  Chloe scoffs. “You’re asking a girl who’s obsessed with fish, so it’s kind of a biased opinion.”

  “I’m not obsessed with fish, Chloe. You make it sound silly.”

  “She’s obsessed with fish,” Chloe repeats to Christopher’s mom. “And sea turtles. And jellyfish. She’d live with them if she could.”

  Christopher squirms in my arms and reaches out to grab a fistful of my hair. I gently pry it out of his hand and throw it behind my shoulder. His hand goes to my nose and he starts poking it.

  “You sure you’re okay with him?” Christopher’s mom asks.

  “Yes, just fine,” I say. I really want Christopher’s mom and her little family to make it inside the aquarium. I want this little baby with the worn, hand-me-down tennis shoes and the faded stroller to see the dolphins and jellyfish.

  The toddler, Christopher’s brother, is now running toward the field where Javi and Ceci are playing. His mom runs after him, which makes him go faster, squealing with laughter. The line moves up a little, and Sele pushes the stroller a few feet. We continue like that for about ten minutes, until Javi and Ceci come running back, sweating and begging for drinks. I give them each a juice box from the backpack, knowing I’ll still have enough for lunch.

  The moment I knew was coming has now come: Ceci says she needs to go to the bathroom.

  “Ceci, you’re going to have to wait until we get inside. We’re only about ten people away from the entrance.”

  “Millieee,” Ceci says, using the squeal-y tone that usually makes me submit to her pleas, but not today.

  Christopher’s mom looks at me in sympathy and takes him back. I kneel down to look at Ceci. I know she can hold it; she knows she can hold it. Now, I just have to convince her to do it. “We’re almost there,” I say.

  “You want to play Angry Birds?” Chloe asks her.

  “Oooh,” Ceci says, grabbing the phone from Chloe’s outstretched hand. The novelty of a smartphone is a welcome distraction to her. She quickly figures out the game with a few pointers from Chloe.

  “Thank you,” I mouth to Chloe, though I wonder if the aquarium will have any appeal for her now that new technology has found its way into her hands.

  “You’re welcome,” she says. “So, by the way, the dance was totally stupid last night. Be glad you didn’t go.”

  “Why was it stupid?”

  “Ivan is such a loser. I see why you dumped his best friend.”

  Jay had a tendency to forget when we’d made plans. He’d spend ten hours straight surfing at the beach while I sat at home, waiting.

  “When I got there, Ivan comes right up to me, starts talking to me. We dance for three songs straight, and then he spends the rest of the night hanging out with his friends.”

  “That sounds about right,” I say.

  “I’m just going to forget about him. I know he likes me, but what’s the point if he’s going to do exactly to me what Jay did to you?”

  “Did he even say good night?”

  “No. Stupid dork,” Chloe says. A second later, her phone announces a text, and she grabs it from Ceci’s hands. “Stupid dork just texted me.”

  “What did he say?” I ask.

  “Where did you go last night? I didn’t see you anymore.” Chloe starts typing. “Right in front of your face,” she says even though I know that’s not what she’s writing.

  I look over her shoulder.

  Was just hanging with Jen, she’s said. I thought you’d left.

  I was looking for you, his response says.

  “Yeah, right!” Chloe keeps texting as we finally reach the front entrance.

  At the counter, I hand the attendant a five-dollar bill, a fraction of the usual cost. After the attendant admits us, Javi and Ceci run toward their favorite exhibit, the touch tank.

  “I’ll go save seats at the dolphins,” Chloe says, not taking her eyes off her phone.

  Sele follows her. “I’ll go with you.”

  “You guys sure?” I ask. The dolphin show won’t start for another forty minutes, but the seating always fills up quickly and if you don’t go early, you end up standing.

  “Yeah, take the little ones to do their thing. We’ll see you soon.” Chloe waves me away and walks off with Sele.

  Before I can catch Javi and Ceci, their hands are immersed in a touch tank inhabited by hermit crabs, starfish, and an assortment of other small creatures. I won’t admit it, but this is one of my favorite parts of the aquarium as well. The area is surrounded by small hands searching for something to touch or pick up. I find a small spot to squeeze through
and pick up a hermit crab. It crawls around my hand in short, unsteady steps.

  When Javi and Ceci have had their fill, I make them clean their hands with sanitizer before moving on. Next up are the enormous tanks that hold large fish and small sharks, and I slip onto a bench to watch them. I quickly find my favorite small shark. I savor its graceful movements as it glides through the water, unique among hundreds of different kinds of fish and sea animals in this tank. They pass each other undisturbed, in harmony.

  Nearby, moving slowly and deliberately through the water, is a man in a wetsuit who’s cleaning the tank. It’s always fascinating to watch the aquarium staff at work. One day, I will wear a wetsuit like that and I will dive deep into the sea, surrounded by hundreds of species of fish.

  Javi taps me on the shoulder. “Let’s go, Millie. I want to see the stingrays.”

  I check my Mickey Mouse watch, a gift from Papi that I always wear even though my phone could tell me the time just as well. We have fifteen minutes until the dolphin show starts. “We’ll see them after the dolphins. We just barely have time for the jellyfish before that.”

  In the jellyfish room, I press my fingertips against the glass and focus in on a tiny one in the center; it dangles in the water, reaching its tentacles out as far as possible. I move on to the next window to stare at the angelic white jellyfish, larger than the first, the umbrella-shaped bell squeezing in and out. Ceci, somewhat afraid of the darkened room, grabs my hand and asks if we can leave. I resist for a minute as I watch a purple-striped jellyfish dancing through the water.

  Finally, Javi joins forces with Ceci, and together they manage to pull me away from the jellyfish and out into the bright foyer. We hurry outside and squeeze onto a bench between Sele, immersed in her book, and Chloe, who’s sketching. As I sit down next to her, I see that she’s drawing the Harbor Bridge on the horizon. It’s a familiar scene, but I never get tired of it. I’ll miss it next year. I’ll miss all of this.

  But that’s the future. Right now, the small seating area is full, and the announcer begins talking. Right now, as I breathe in the smell of the seawater that surrounds the aquarium and watch the marine animal trainers preparing for the show, there isn’t anywhere else in the world I’d rather be.

  Chapter Three

  Who takes weekend trips to Cancun? My weekend revolved around babysitting my siblings; the aquarium visit was the most excitement I got. Charlie Wheeler, on the other hand, spent two days ziplining, kayaking, and scuba diving with his friends.

  “We zipped down past these trees and then plunged right into the water,” Charlie tells our entire row in AP English class. “It was so amazing.”

  My friend Jen, who sits a couple rows away, turns to look at me and rolls her eyes. I just smile and shrug. With Charlie sitting in front of me, I can’t avoid hearing his vacation recap. I have, however, been able to avoid glancing at any of the pictures he’s scrolling through on his phone.

  “And this line was more than a hundred and thirty feet. Can you imagine that plunge?”

  Mindy Stincil grabs his wrist to get a better look at the picture on his phone. “Okay. I am definitely going next time.”

  I look at Ms. Cope, hoping she’ll put an end to Charlie’s already too-detailed account of his trip, but she’s still at the door, summoning in the stragglers.

  I double my efforts to review my chapter outline before class starts and it’s quiz time.

  Nearly every girl in our school who likes boys at all has had the obligatory Charlie Wheeler crush, and each one of those girls has eventually come to the realization that he is completely out of her league. I had my obligatory Charlie Wheeler crush when I was twelve. It was extinguished rather quickly and only occasionally resurfaces when he flashes me that orthodontically perfected smile.

  There’s only one girl who seems eligible for the Charlie Wheeler seal of approval, and that is Mindy Stincil. She’s the smartest and prettiest girl in our senior class, in addition to having a family almost as rich as Charlie’s. I’ve often asked God how that could possibly be fair, but I’m still waiting for my answer. Her only flaw seems to be that she’s terrible at layups; Chloe and I can’t help secretly laughing at her in PE.

  Charlie turns around in his seat. “Hey, Millie. How was your weekend?” He combs his sandy brown bangs to the side with his fingers and smiles, pocketing the iPhone.

  I keep my eyes on my outline. “Not as good as yours, apparently.”

  “It was pretty cool,” he says, missing the passive-aggressiveness in my voice. “We toured two Mayan ruins. Have you been to some of the ruins in Guatemala?”

  “No,” I say. “The few times I’ve been back were to visit family. We don’t really have time to do, you know, touristy stuff.”

  “Well, the tour guide in Cancun told us that the ones in Guatemala are awesome too. I’d love to go sometime.”

  “Knock yourself out,” I say, turning the page in my notebook. “Most people I know are trying to leave Guatemala to come here and escape, you know, poverty, gang violence, and political corruption, but I guess when people like you go there on vacation, you don’t have to see that type of stuff.”

  “People like me? What do you mean, like, white?”

  I let out a long sigh. He’s only half right. “People with money. So, sure, go to Guatemala. Take your tours. Take your pictures. Just don’t feel like you have to report to me because I happened to be born there.”

  “What are you so pissed about?” he asks me.

  “I’m pissed,” I say, trying to lower my voice, “because it was America’s intervention that started our civil war, which is the reason so many of us left. And now Americans who don’t even know the history want to vacation there and have a good time? I just don’t want to hear about that.”

  “Okay . . . sorry,” he says and turns around just as Ms. Cope starts our lesson.

  Some people might think it’s strange that I’m in AP English when Spanish is my first language. My first year of school was a nightmare. I didn’t understand anything, and I hated it. I was only five years old, but it was in Miss Smart’s kindergarten class that I resolved not only to learn to speak English, but to learn it well—to learn it better than the bright blond kids who surrounded me. And with Mrs. Lacey’s help, I eventually got there, with a near-perfect score on the reading section of the SAT to prove to colleges that I belong in my advanced classes.

  I don’t love this class. It’s not that I don’t like to read. I do. But I don’t like to beat a story to death, which is precisely what Ms. Cope does. It takes us weeks to get halfway through a book, choking the life out of what little symbolism remains.

  Currently, we’re doing that to Corrie ten Boom’s The Hiding Place. Corrie and Betsie have just been forced into a concentration camp. I would prefer to read quickly through this harrowing and painful part, but Ms. Cope is dragging us through the experience.

  “Why do you think the ten Boom sisters risked harm, risked their lives, to help all those people?” Ms. Cope asks as she walks down the aisle between two rows of desks.

  A few people raise their hands, but I lean my head down, bury it behind my open book. Ms. Cope waits a moment, wanting us all to have thought about it. I myself cannot answer the question because I honestly don’t know how Corrie and Betsie could have been so brave.

  Such bravery and selflessness is beyond what my brain can comprehend. Betsie dies at Ravensbrück. She actually dies. I wouldn’t have blamed Corrie and Betsie if they’d chosen not to be part of the resistance movement, not to hide Jewish people during the Nazi occupation. I cannot imagine opening up my home, sacrificing my family’s safety that way. My instinct is toward self-preservation. Some people might think of that as selfishness, but I don’t. I don’t believe it’s selfish to make sure you and your family are safe. So, no, I cannot answer Ms. Cope’s question.

  But Charlie Wheeler can, of course. Ms. Cope calls on him.

  “It was their desire to help others,” he says. “
Corrie ten Boom once said something about how a person’s life is measured by its donation, not by its duration. What matters in your life is what you do for others.”

  Ms. Cope smiles. “Yes, Charlie. Yes! It was their belief in helping others. And that stayed with them through hiding people in their home, through the concentration camp, and through everything else that happened.”

  When she’s finished with her excessive praise of Charlie’s answer, Ms. Cope asks another question that I don’t hear. I’m still thinking about what Charlie said, about how he can so easily say something like that. Donation. Giving to others. It sounds impressive, but it’s not practical. At least not for me or hundreds of others at this school. Sure, it’s totally doable for Charlie Wheeler, who spent spring break building houses in Costa Rica. Dr. Wheeler works at a clinic in the poorest area of town. Charles Wheeler’s law practice represents lots of pro bono cases. And of course, Charlie goes to school with people like me because his parents believe in public education. Philanthropy, generosity—that’s easy for the Wheelers. Well, what do you do when you have nothing to give?

  Chapter Four

  When I get home from school, I see Javi outside playing football with the boy who lives down the street. Justin. I know Javi idolizes him. I also know Mami’s opinion of him. “Ese niño es muy malcriado,” “No tiene respeto,” “Se porta muy mal.” Justin is rude, has no respect, and behaves very badly. She has told Javi, in both English and Spanish, that he is not to play with Justin.

  “Javi,” I yell out, walking toward him. “Come here!”

  Javi catches the perfect spiral from Justin and turns to me. “Millie, go away. Just leave me alone.”

  “Why is your sister such a downer, man?” Justin asks, catching Javi’s return throw. “Tell her she needs to get a boyfriend and get a life.”

  I take a deep breath, trying to decide which boy I will turn my wrath on first. “Javi, get in the house right now. Justin, why don’t you go do your homework? You want to stay in the fifth grade again next year?”