“Was that why I was signing all those postcards for you girls?”
I try not to giggle, but I can’t help it when Sara starts laughing.
“Don’t worry, we didn’t charge anyone. I promise,” I say.
“Ah, you never collected, eh? Your conscience got to you … that’s good.”
Sara then looks up at me like she just remembered something. “It was fun.”
Hayley writhes around like she’s sitting on a pile of her own lip gloss or like she’s just seen the ghost of friendship past. She and Sara don’t have memories like Sara and I do. Take that, Hayley!
“In the documentary, it said you joined when you were only seventeen years old. You lied to the army recruiter to get in. Why was it so important for you to go to war?”
Bisabuelo leans forward. “I signed up for two reasons. Hitler was an evil man that needed a good hard smack, and I thought I could help the United States deliver that smackdown.”
Now we all laugh.
“And second, I wanted a better life for my mom, my little brother, and any future family I might have. I knew there was a good chance I’d die, but it seemed worth it. I had to try to get that American dream everyone talked about, and I knew I’d have to go to war to get a piece of it.”
“Do you feel like you’ve achieved it?” Sara asks. “The American dream?”
My heart thumps hard in my chest. Before he even knew me, Bisabuelo was thinking of me. Thinking of his future family and willing to sacrifice his life for us. I sit at the edge of the chair waiting for his response.
“Yes, mija. I do,” he says, lost in some deep memory. “It came at a cost. A high cost, but I believe I have achieved the American dream.”
I know that when he says “high cost,” he means his little brother who died from illness while he was in the war and then mother, the mother I remind him of, that he lost shortly after he returned. For so many years after the war, my bisabuelo was alone without any family to help him. I want to cry, but I don’t dare. Not in front of Sara and Hayley. I take a sip of lemonade and think about something happy like baby sloths, chocolate ice cream …
“Did you see anyone die?” Hayley asks.
“Hayley!” I snap. I watch Bisabuelo’s face tighten like when he has a coughing fit. Haley just gets on my nerves.
“You don’t have to answer if it’s too difficult, Bisa,” Sara says.
“It’s a good question,” Bisabuelo says. “It’s an honest question. And I’m going to give you an honest answer that I hope you can understand even though you’re so young,” he says with a tender smile.
Sara sits up straight and readies her pen and notebook.
“Young men died all around me the whole time I was in the European Theater. In the movies they glorify war, but it’s ugly business. I was only a few days into it when a buddy of mine died in front of me. I can barely remember my phone number and address these days,” Bisa says. “But I still remember his face and name.”
“What did you do?” Sara asks.
“For a moment, I lost it. I stopped doing my job. So my sergeant pulled me up by my collar and yelled at me, ‘Men don’t cry.’ He shoved the radio back into my hands and told me to get up and move.” Bisabuelo leans back into his La-Z-Boy. “I realized later that my sergeant was teaching me to survive.” He pauses and closes his eyes. I wonder if he’s back in Italy. “And the truth is men do cry and there’s nothing wrong with that.” Bisabuelo reopens his eyes. They are wet and I know he can’t continue.
“Are you okay, Bisabuelo?” I ask. “I think that’s enough, Sara,” I say, and Sara nods.
“Couldn’t you just answer a few more quest—” Hayley presses.
“Hayley, that’s it,” Sara says and closes her notebook. “It’s enough. I’ve got enough.”
Sara’s tone of voice startles me. Hayley pouts. I want to throw a couch pillow at Hayley, but Sara’s apologetic expression stops me.
“Sorry,” she says. “We didn’t mean to make you sad, Bisa.”
Bisabuelo grabs our hands. “No, I’m sorry, mija. It’s just tough. You both would have a better chance of winning if you picked a better subject and not a viejo like me. Who wants to hear a song about an old man?”
“I do.” I nod.
“Thank you so much. I promise that I’ll write a decent corrido for you,” Sara says, and stands to leave. Hayley follows her. “I’ll try my best.”
“I know you’ll do a great job, mija.” Bisabuelo gets up slowly and hugs both of them good-bye.
Sara turns to me. “See you at school, Allie. Don’t forget Monday is April Fool’s Day,” she says as she slips out the door with Hayley.
“Oh, that’s right,” I answer back. I’m grateful for the reminder because April Fool’s Day is a big deal at Sendak.
I don’t close the front door behind them right away. Instead, I watch as Sara exchanges a few words with Hayley. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but from the looks of it, Sara is not happy. It’s the closest sign I’ve seen in days that there may still be a chance for Sara and me to be best friends again.
Monday may be April Fool’s Day, but today, Saturday, March 30, is Adriana’s seventeenth birthday. And since it’s the day she tutors ESL at the community center, my family is taking a huge ice cream cake and a star piñata to the center. Adriana loves celebrating her birthday with all the kids. Last year, some of the older tutors performed a choreographed dance number to her favorite song. At the end, they made all of us get up and dance too. We had a blast. After that, the little kids serenaded her with the Spanish birthday song “Las mañanitas.” It was super cute.
When we get to the center, it’s already decorated with red balloons and there’s a big banner that reads Happy Birthday, Adriana! hung from the ceiling. Mostly, the center is quiet because tutoring is in session. Everyone is either in the English or math room. Only the program manager, Mr. Cushinberry, is there to greet us and show us where to set up the cake. While Aiden and Ava get to work taking red paper plates, napkins, and forks out of the grocery sack, I help Mom prepare the fruit punch because she says she wants to talk to me.
“How’s your Trailblazer contest submission going?” she asks me. “Do you have everything you need?”
“I think so. I worked on it last night. I still have more to do.”
“Good girl. The reason I ask is because I have something for you.” She stops pouring ginger ale into the punch bowl and pulls a camera from her leather bag. “It’s an old camera from work. I thought you could put it to use for your contest.”
“What’s that antique?” Aiden slaps his hands together and points at the camera. “Ha! Now Allie has to lug a clunky camera around all day.”
“Hey, mister! It’s a state-of-the-art digital camera,” my mom says. “You just worry about those napkins.” She turns back to me. “I thought it might help. Those cell phone pictures of yours won’t cut it in a contest like this. I want you to have a fighting chance.” She kisses me on the forehead. “Remember, the best photographers can tell a whole story with one single image.”
“Listen to your mom—she’s an award-winning news anchor and will once again be crowned best news anchor tonight,” Dad says, and kisses my mom’s cheek before jetting off to hang the piñata with Mr. Cushinberry.
I drape the camera around my neck. It’s heavy, but I’d lug a boulder the size of Mexico around my neck if it’d help me win.
“Are you going to win again, Mom?” I ask.
She wipes her hands on her apron. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve won three years in a row. Maybe it’s time someone else won for a change, you know?”
“Would you be upset if you didn’t win?”
“I’m not going to lie, it feels better to win, Alyssa.” She grins slyly. “The recognition is nice. It’s validation for the work I’m doing.”
“And you get a trophy, right?”
“Yes, Alyssa. There’s a trophy involved, but it’s the recognition I value most.”
I hold the camera up and look through the lens. Maybe this camera is exactly what I need to take a photograph of Great-Gramps with his Medal of Honor. I take a photo of my mom, and she laughs. She poses with the punch bowl like one of those ladies on a TV cooking show. “My mom, the award-winning news anchor and punch maker,” I say.
“Mom, it’s so not fair! Aiden has a birthday card for Adriana, and I don’t!” Ava groans. “I just put cash in an envelope.” Ava pulls out a white envelope from her purse. “Do you think that’s okay?”
“How much are you giving her?” Aiden grabs the white envelope from her hand.
“It’s not for her. It’s for the scholarship,” Mom says as he opens the envelope.
“There’s fifty dollars in here!” Aiden exclaims. “You’re banking it from all those commercial gigs you’re getting, huh?”
“That’s right, I win again!” says Ava.
“Aiden and Ava, it’s not about the amount. It’s about the cause you’re helping,” Mom says, and shakes her head.
I walk over to see the crisp fifty-dollar bill. Ulysses S. Grant stares back at me. I can’t believe it. My little sister has serious moolah. Adriana makes it clear to everyone that she doesn’t accept birthday gifts. Since she started the program, she’s asked family and friends to instead make donations to the It Takes a Village scholarship so that two deserving tutors can receive a scholarship for school.
“I’d have more, but Mom and Dad make me save it in my bank account,” Ava pouts. “Mom says it’s for my future.” Ava grabs the envelope from Aiden and puts it back into her bag. “My future is in Hollywood.”
Aiden snorts. Mom rolls her eyes.
“Yes, Ava. But it’s still good to have a backup plan and to save for a rainy day,” Mom says.
“Backup plans are for losers,” Aiden says. “That’s what my coach told us.”
Mom lets out a long sigh.
I stack the cups next to the punch bowl. Mom kisses my head and moves on to help my dad with the piñata. Tucked inside the homemade birthday card I’ve made for Adriana is twenty-five dollars. I know it isn’t much. It certainly isn’t fifty dollars. Unlike Ava, I’ve earned all the scholarship money from doing extra chores around the house. Plus, Bisa gave me five dollars for going to the store for him, although I told him he didn’t need to pay me. I only accepted it because I told him it’d go toward the scholarship. Speaking of scholarships …
“Aiden, do you know a kid named Victor Garcia that comes here for help with math? He’s from Texas,” I ask.
“He’s the kid always wearing those big belt buckles, right?”
I nod. That’s Victor Garcia for sure.
“He comes here, but not for help. He’s a math tutor.”
I stop messing with the napkins. “What?”
“Yeah, he’s almost as good as me when it comes to math. Almost. Can’t say the same for his soccer game, though.” Aiden chuckles.
“Are you sure he’s a tutor?”
“Um, yeah. I know because I’m a tutor. Duh.”
I’m confused. This whole time I thought Victor was being tutored because math class is so tough this year.
I leave the napkins in a neat stack and walk to the math room to see for myself. Once inside, I spot Victor right away at a table with four other kids. He’s wearing a red It Takes a Village T-shirt, which is what all the tutors wear. As I approach, Victor sees me and shouts, “Hey, volcano girl!” He gets up and meets me halfway. “Here for Adriana’s birthday party?”
I nod. “Why didn’t you tell me you tutored?” I ask.
Victor chuckles and looks down at his feet and then back at me with his warm brown eyes. “I told you that I knew Adriana because of the tutoring program. You just assumed that I was being tutored.”
I feel my face turn red, and so I look down at my dumb flip-flops. He’s right. I did assume that he was being tutored. I don’t know why I did that. Victor gives me a gentle nudge.
“It’s okay, Allie. I’m used to people underestimating me. You’re not the first.”
“That’s a first I don’t want.” And I really mean that. I feel like a big dork.
“When my parents enrolled me at Sendak, my score on the entry exam was so high, they thought I cheated. They didn’t say that, but I think they took one look at my family and me and assumed that—”
“You weren’t smart enough.”
“Exacto.”
“That’s unfair,” I say, and think back to the story my bisabuelo told me about how he was refused at the door of a school because they also prejudged his mom and my great-gramps.
Victor shrugs. “Anyway, I had to take the test again, and this time in the vice principal’s office. He watched me until I finished. Talk about uncomfortable, but I passed again.”
“Way to go, Victor.”
He nods and smiles. Around the room, there are posters of famous scientists, astronauts, and technology pioneers like Steve Jobs and Bill Gates. However, I move toward the poster of Sonia Sotomayor, the first Hispanic Supreme Court justice.
The day she was sworn into the Supreme Court, Adriana celebrated like it was New Year’s Eve. “Do you know what this means, Allie?” she had asked. “For nearly forever, the Supreme Court has been all male, and now there are two women on it and one is a Latina like us.”
Since then, Elena Kagan had joined the Supreme Court, bringing the number of women up to three. I focus on Sotomayor’s smiling face. “I wonder if when Judge Sotomayor was a little girl she ever thought she’d be the first Hispanic Supreme Court justice someday. Did she dream about it? Was she first at other things too?”
“She was the first in her family to go to an Ivy League school. I read that. Just like Adriana will be,” Victor says.
“Did Judge Sotomayor have a little sister that didn’t want her to go so far away?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Why are you so against Adriana going to Harvard? Not everyone gets into Harvard, you know? You of all people should be happy about that,” Victor says. He’s right. I should be happy, but I will miss Adriana too much.
“I just don’t want her to be so far from me. She’s the only one that helps me.”
“The only one?” Victor crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at me. “How about your great-gramps? What about me?”
The way Victor looks at me makes my whole face warm up. He’s right again. He’s been a good friend.
“Have you heard anything from Bishop Crest about being accepted or getting a scholarship yet?”
Victor shakes his head. “Not yet. The wait is driving me crazy.”
I remember waiting for my acceptance letter. For me, there was never a doubt I’d get in. I’ve attended the right school since kindergarten, and my dad and Adriana both graduated from Bishop Crest Middle. Aiden is a star athlete and student there now. There was no question I’d be accepted, but I still remember the painful wait for the official letter. The longer the letter took to arrive, the more nails I chewed away. Sara and I texted each other every day about whether or not our letters had shown up. When that glorious cream-colored enveloped with the Bishop Crest logo arrived over the summer, Sara and I celebrated with homemade smoothies.
“Don’t worry, Victor. When that letter arrives, we’ll celebrate,” I say.
The door opens, and Victor’s four younger siblings run into the room and latch on to him. They are as cute and tiny as I remember from when we met at the science fair.
“How’d you do in class today?” Victor asks, and ruffles his little brother’s hair. Each of them shows off the gold star stickers they received. “I’m so proud of you.” Victor gives each of them a kiss on their heads, and they light up like candles on a birthday cake. “Are you ready to sing ‘Las mañanitas’ to Adriana?” All four nod excitedly and giggle. “Qué bien.”
“Let me get a quick photo of you guys.” As I take a few more photos of their beaming faces, chills run through me. Victor’s tenderness toward his young
er siblings reminds me of my bisabuelo.
“Nice!” I say.
I’d miss Victor if he weren’t at Bishop Crest with me next year. I bite down on my bottom lip with worry. I have to ask Adriana for a favor. There’s a way she could help Victor. But first, I have to know once and for all if she is really leaving for Harvard. I wish she’d never applied. If she is truly heading to Harvard, leaving me, then why am I the last to know?
After the piñata, the serenades, dancing, and cake, we return home, pooped. Victor taught me how to dance Texas cumbia, and we danced for an hour straight. It was super fun. I took tons of photos with my new camera of Adriana and Bisabuelo dancing too.
Adriana has already showered, changed, and left with her girlfriends for a birthday pizza and movie night. From my bedroom window, I watched her jump into Michelle’s Jeep. I can’t wait till I’m old enough to go off with my girlfriends for a pizza and movie night. It’d be so cool to be out and not have parents around nagging at you to finish the crust. The way things are going with Sara, I’ll be lucky if I have any amigas to take me out for my birthday. At least there’s Victor. Maybe someday Victor and I will be running off to go see a movie and have pizza together on my birthday. That’d be cool.
Mom and Dad quickly changed into fancy clothes for the award ceremony. I’m sure tomorrow there will be a new shiny trophy next to her other awards on the shelf. Before leaving, Mom announced, “Aiden’s in charge,” which is fine with me because that means he’ll play video games all night and leave me alone. I have serious work to do on my presentation.
I’ve completed my storyboard and scanned all the old photos. Now I just need to organize everything and write up some text. I type true trailblazer into my first slide, but now I’m questioning my choice of the photo of Great-Gramps digging a foxhole for the first image. Maybe I should start with the photo of him in Italy with his buddies? Or the photo of him in his uniform looking too young to be going off to war?
Allie, First at Last Page 7