“I want to know. Tell me,” I say. Mr. Honig has been in our life for as long as I’ve been alive, but I don’t know how they met. “You know that when Rocky got out of the war, he opened a restaurant, right?”
A few of the other veterans nod and comment on how good the food was. Bisa’s eyes light up, and Mr. Honig continues. “Your great-gramps had a sign on the door that said, ‘Welcome home, soldiers. Please come in for a warm meal on us.’ ”
“I saw a picture of that in Bisa’s scrapbook,” I say excitedly. Bisa pats my hand.
“That’s right, mija.”
“I returned from Vietnam,” Mr. Honig says, “and was having a hard time getting back into the swing of things … finding a job and whatnot. I was hitchhiking to Colorado across Kansas and I saw his sign. I had only a few bucks on me, but sure enough, your bisa welcomed me with a handshake and a delicious plate of carne asada.”
It’s hard for me to believe that Mr. Honig ever hitchhiked or had trouble finding a job. He owns his own construction company now.
“Were you homeless, Mr. Honig?” I ask.
“For a while, but then your great-gramps got me in with the veterans’ center and they helped me get back on my feet.”
“How many brothers did you feed, Rocky?” asks Auggie. “It’s amazing you didn’t go out of business.”
Bisa lets out a chuckle. “Soldiers are too proud; they always left something. I never went broke, and they never went hungry.”
“I didn’t know about that,” Adriana says. Bisa gives her a don’t-worry-about-it wink.
“When I got back from the Gulf War, your great-gramps was there at the base,” says Mr. Silva. “He welcomed all of us with big hugs. When he found out that me and a few other guys and gals didn’t have any family to meet us, he took us out to dinner. True story. Your great-gramps is a kind man.” Mr. Silva wipes his eyes, and I trade a smile with Bisa.
To this day, Bisa and Mr. Silva go to the nearest base a couple times a year to welcome troops home. They still buy soldiers with no family a dinner too, but Bisa always says that once the soldiers find out who he is they want to pay the check. My bisa never lets them.
“I have a true story to tell too,” I say. “My fave story is about how you and your mom walked to a whole other town trying to get into school.” Mr. Honig and Mr. Silva give me a knowing nod. “And now look”—I gesture to Adriana—“his great-granddaughter is going to Harvard.”
Adriana gives Bisa and me a peck on the cheek.
“That’s the best story of all,” says Bisa.
I give Great-Gramps a tight hug. “I love you so much, Bisa,” I say. “I’m so sorry I was angry about you not having the medal,” I blurt out. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t even want to take a picture of you without the medal. I didn’t mean to make you stressed out and sick.”
“Mija, you didn’t make me sick,” Bisa says and clears my bangs from my wet eyes. “I’m a viejo. Old guys like me get sick sometimes,” he says, and pinches the tip of my nose. “I’m happy to help you with your project.” Secret lies on his lap and purrs. I wipe my eyes and gaze around the room.
The room is filled with Bisa’s friends. Where are mine? I should have been helping Victor with his project. After all, he only entered the contest for extra credit. He told me English was his toughest subject. And as for Sara, she was right to stop talking to me after the whole Furry Friend Photo Contest thing. She had lots of ideas about the photo contest, but I didn’t think any of those ideas were good enough to win. Every idea she had, I rejected. Some friend I am.
For the first time I get what Bisa’s been trying to tell me about how the best rewards are the ones that don’t fit on a shelf. He may not have his Medal of Honor, but he has this room full of people who love him. People he calls friends and family. Why have I been so dense?
I grab my camera. Bisa winks at me like he knows what I’m thinking. “May I take a photo?” Bisa gathers everyone close to him. Secret sits up to be photographed too. Now, this is a photo that could have won the Furry Friend Photo Contest for sure!
“On a count of three,” I say.
“Wait! Shouldn’t you be in the photo, mija?” Bisa asks.
“Not this time.” I shake my head and smile. “Say ‘family’!”
Beep. Click. Flash. I’ve got my picture. The best picture of all.
When I get home from the hospital, I know exactly what I have to do. I log in to my Prezi account. I go through my entire presentation again. It’s too much about war. It’s not about Bisa. Secret paws each slide with disgust. When it’s over, he even whips the screen with his tail.
“You’re so right,” I tell him. “What do you say, Secret? Are you ready for an all-nighter?”
I would like the auditorium to stop spinning. I look past Mrs. Wendy standing in front of me and see the theater swell with more and more people taking their seats.
“Alyssa, are you sure this is what you want to do?” She puts both of her hands on each of my shoulders like she needs to hold me up before she says anymore. “I know winning is important to you.”
I don’t flinch. “Yes,” I nod to make my point. “I just thought you should know what I’m planning since you have to bring up my presentation for me.”
“Okay, Alyssa,” she says, and pats my arm. “I’m behind you all the way if this is what you want to do.”
“Thank you.” I give her a big hug, because when someone says they are behind me all the way, they deserve a hug. She leaves and the room spins some more.
Thankfully, Adriana, Ava, and Aiden show up.
“Adriana, I feel sick,” I say. I grab hold of her hand and squeeze it. “I’m going to make a fool of myself.”
“No you’re not. Nerves are normal, Allie. Trust me. I know,” she says.
“You get nervous too?”
“Right before every debate, I get these horrible stomach cramps,” Adriana says. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. She always seems so calm and confident at the debates.
“Everyone gets nervous, Allie,” Aiden says. “It’s normal. That’s why I always have my headphones on before a game. I listen to music to calm me down.”
“What? I thought you did that to look cool,” I say. Aiden scoffs and shakes his head.
“Allie, do what I do before I perform onstage,” chimes in Ava. “Spin around! And bam!” She whirls around and her pretty blue skirt swirls around her. “You turn the nervous energy on itself and convert it into star power!”
“Thanks, Ava, but please no more spinning,” I beg. “The room. Everything is too much.”
“Okay, ignore her. This is what you have to do,” says Aiden. “See all those other kids out there?” He takes me by the shoulder and points out toward the crowd. “They don’t have the courage to do what you’re about to do, which is dominate the program. They are weak and—”
“Okay, thank you very much, Aiden,” interrupts Adriana. “Not cool.”
“That’s what our coach tells us before every game.” Aiden shrugs.
“Disturbing,” says Adriana, and frowns. “Okay, you two go back to your seats. I’ll get Allie through this.”
Once they’re gone, a stinging heat spreads across my scalp and over my entire body. I seriously regret wearing the purple jacket Ava picked out for me to go with my blue jeans and floral top. I whip off the jacket.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I say. I scan all the kids backstage with me, but I don’t see Victor or Sara. Here I am ready to make a fool of myself in front of the world, and I don’t have my two best friends, Sara and Victor, with me. Tonight is my chance to make everything right with them, my bisa, and just everything that’s gone wrong this entire school year. If I’m going to win Sara and Victor back once and for all, I have to go big. Mount Everest big.
“Breathe with me, Allie. I have to admit, you’re more nervous than I expected you to be. Are you sure everything is all right? Is there something else going on?”
I take a c
ouple of deep breaths. She has no idea what I’m up to. No one does except for Secret and Mrs. Wendy. I know in my heart that I’m doing the right thing. I just hope that I don’t lose my cool once they call me to present. I have one chance to make things right.
“Attention, everyone!” shouts a super-tall woman wearing a floor-length navy blue dress. “I’m Ms. Zaner and I will be hosting tonight’s contest. Unless you’re a finalist, we need you to take your seats now. We’re about to begin.”
“Okay, I’ve got to go. You’ll be great. Keep breathing and look for us in the fifth row there. See Bisabuelo? Mom and Dad? Just focus on us, okay?” Adriana kisses me on the cheek. I don’t want her to go. “You’ve got this, Allie.”
Suddenly, she’s gone. My stomach flip-flops some more. I look out toward the stage. It is set with a single microphone and eleven folding chairs. A large screen is pulled down to the side of the stage. The crowd backstage has thinned out. One guy is reading his poem out loud. As he practices, he uses his hands to set off each verse. I’m mesmerized by his performance.
“That’s Clover Denton,” says Sara, suddenly standing next to me. “He’s from El Camino Charter School. They win every year. There are like four of them competing as finalists. Insane!”
I take a good look at Sara. She is all dressed up in a pretty red, white, and blue dress.
“I look dumb, right?” Sara asks when she notices me staring.
“You look very patriotic,” I say.
“Thanks. I thought it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Where’s your familia?” I ask.
“Same row as yours, see?”
I look out to the audience and spot Sara’s parents next to my family. Since we were little, our families have always hung out together. After tonight, I wonder if everything can go back to the way it was with Sara and me. I hope so.
It was a bad idea to look at the crowd again. More families are spilling in, and I feel hotter. “Don’t let me do that again. Seeing all those people is too much.”
“My mom said to look at her when I’m onstage, but no way. That will just freak me out. My plan is to sing to that light at the back of the auditorium.”
It feels good to be talking to Sara like this. “Have you seen Victor?” I ask. “I’d really like to talk to both of you about something important.”
“He’s back here somewhere. Adriana was talking to him on her way out,” she says. “He’s like, crazy nervous. But I think you’ll have to wait, the event is about to start.”
Just then a voice booms over the speakers, “Ladies and gentleman, welcome to this year’s Trailblazer contest. Please meet this year’s finalists.” My throat tightens up and my chest hurts. I feel bad that Victor is nervous. I wish I could tell him that I wish him the best.
“Students!” Ms. Zaner calls out. “It’s time to take our seats onstage. Let’s go.”
Sara and I line up with the rest of the finalists and follow Ms. Zaner out onto the stage.
While the audience applauds, we take our seats. Once we’ve all sat down, cameras flash at us from the audience. I spot my bisabuelo and give him a small wave. He waves back.
I can do this. I have to do this. This is my chance.
Ms. Zaner introduces all of us one by one. Victor is in the very last seat of our row. When she calls his name, I clap extra hard and hope he notices. The three judges are seated in the front row with tablets in their hands.
After a few instructions to the audience about turning off cell phones, cameras, and being silent during our presentations, Ms. Zaner says we’ll go in alphabetical order. With a name like Velasco, this means I’m dead last. Why couldn’t we go by first names? Then I’d be first to read and get this all over with.
Clover Denton is the first to present. He removes the microphone from the stand and flashes a huge smile at the crowd. He tells everyone that this isn’t the type of poetry that they have to sit quietly through with their hands folded on their laps. He says if they feel like snapping or clapping while he’s reading his poem “it’s totally cool” with him. Then he jumps right into his poem about a famous Brazilian soccer player. His poem isn’t like the poetry we study at Sendak. It’s more like a rap song, and there are times when the audience laughs or claps at something they hear. Now this is the kind of poetry I could listen to all day!
Sara taps my hand. “He’s really good,” she whispers.
Clover ends his poem with a bow, and everyone gets up on their feet and cheers. I swallow hard. Standing ovation. This is going to be a fiasco for me.
After two photography presentations, we finally get to the Gs. Victor walks up to the microphone. I’m nervous for him. My whole body starts to tremble again. He’s dressed in blue jeans with an eagle belt buckle and a white dress shirt. He looks cute. If he is nervous, it doesn’t show. He clears his throat.
“I wrote this poem for my dad because he is a trailblazer,” Victor starts. His voice is calm and warm. “My dad, Gustavo Garcia, came here from Mexico to make a better life for us. Because of him, I get to go to a nice school and I’ll be the first to graduate from college someday. My poem is titled ‘A Poem for My Father.’
“My father doesn’t need this poem,
Instead he could use a new truck.
Our truck never works on cold days and that is when
My father walks miles to work in black boots with worn soles.
“My father doesn’t need this poem,
Instead he could use new shoes.
His feet are always red and blistered,
By the end of a long workday.
“My father doesn’t need this poem.
It won’t fix his truck, buy him new shoes,
Or pay for my expensive school,
“But I write it for him anyway
Because I love him,
Because I want him to know
I’m grateful.”
Wow, Victor. Along with the audience, I clap. His poem is awesome. I had no idea he had it in him to write poetry. His father wipes away tears while holding one of Victor’s littlest sisters in his arms. I hate the lump that’s forming in my throat. I need to be able to speak when it’s my turn. I need to be able to make things right.
Sara leans over to me. “Did you know Victor could write like that?”
“No clue,” I say. “I’ve been clueless about a lot of things lately.” Sara gives me a surprised look but doesn’t say anything else. As Victor walks back to his seat, he doesn’t even look my direction. I’m so mad at myself. Victor just wants a scholarship to get into Bishop Crest so he can go to a good high school and college to help his family. He wants his chance to be a trailblazer, a piñata buster for his family. And all I’ve been obsessed with is winning something shiny for my trophy shelf. How did he put up with me?
It’s finally Sara’s turn. She starts with a few words about my bisabuelo.
“This song is dedicated to Rocky Velasco, World War II veteran and recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor …” she says. “He is here with us tonight. Bisabuelo, would you please stand?”
My bisabuelo slowly stands up. The crowd gets on its feet to applaud. He waves and says thank you to everyone. The applause is louder than thunder. Sara takes a seat on the stool with her guitar. She begins to thrum a few chords while the applause fades. She recites her song from pure memory. Clover Denton starts clapping along and eggs on all of us to clap along too. When she’s done, her dad kisses her mom. They’re beaming with pride. Bisa gives her a thumbs-up.
“Good job, Sara,” I say when she sits down. Sara loves and cares for my bisa. And I’ve done nothing but punish her for wanting to write a song about him. I should have been happy that someone else wanted to honor my great-gramps. I could have helped her and that could have been the thing that brought us together. Instead I let it split us farther apart.
All this time, I thought I was being Junko Tabei, climbing my Mount Everest, but instead I’ve been a big wet, soppy avalanche trying to bring down
both Sara and Victor.
Next is Skyler St. John from El Camino Charter. Why does every El Camino student have a cool name? Skyler sings a song about a teacher who died from breast cancer last year. The song is sweet and honest. It’s as if she shared a page straight from her diary.
After a few more Prezi presentations, poems, and songs about moms, dads, teachers, and famous athletes, Ms. Zaner calls my name. I feel a sudden urge to bolt for the exit doors, but I walk up to the microphone. I find Bisabuelo in the audience.
Mrs. Wendy gives me an “are-you-sure” look. I am. I turn back to the screen and see my presentation appear. I take a deep breath and lean into the microphone. I wish my knees would stop trembling.
“I had it all wrong,” I start. My voice is shaky, but I keep going. “The presentation I submitted earlier to the judges focused on the wrong things. And even though I know I will be disqualified, I want to make it right this evening by sharing a brand-new presentation.”
My family looks back and forth at each other, confused. Bisabuelo tips his hat to me, and my legs stop trembling. I feel like I’ve found my magic pickax and I’m ready to climb this mountain. I’ve got this.
All my nerves float away when I see the first photograph up on the screen. It’s the black-and-white photo of my bisabuelo, his mom, and his brother.
“This is where everything started for Rocky Velasco. He’s the little boy in this photo with a closed-mouth smile.” The next slide zooms in on Bisa’s face. “Trailblazers start out as regular kids, just like the ten of us here on this stage. We don’t know where the future will lead us, but at some point, like with my great-gramps, we’ll be confronted with challenges and opportunities. It’s what we do with those challenges and opportunities that define us.”
The next slide is a school class picture of Bisabuelo. He is maybe ten years old in this photo. He’s off to the left of the picture, as if he wasn’t allowed to stand with the rest of the class. “For my bisabuelo, being poor and unable to speak English, he faced more challenges than I ever will, but he never gave up no matter how tough life was, because he was focused on making life better for his future family. Even though I didn’t exist yet, my bisa was already thinking of me, my family, and our dreams.”
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