SERENA|SAYS
What’s up, World? It’s your girl Serena! Welcome back to my vlog on Fal’s Fotography channel!
First of all, thank you so much for all the comments from my DIY video! I was so scared to upload it, and now . . . since you liked my DIY, I’m going to do more, and upload a book vlog and other stuff, so stay tuned for that.
Second of all, it is a GREAT day! It’s finally cold enough for me to wear my new mermaid tights—and my ankle boots, which I really, really love. Also, it’s only two weeks till WinterFest. AND best of all? I got an invitation to a BIRTHDAY PARTY in the mail today! The card is black and has JC’s initials—JCSG—on the top in gold. On the next line, in thin gold lettering, it says “our tween” and then “a QUEEN” in huge gold letters on the next line. There’s a ton of gold glitter all over the edges, which means there is a ton of gold glitter all over my room, and I don’t even care. It is SO cute.
Inside it says: “It’s hard to believe in a blink of an eye that 12 years have just flown by! The pleasure of your company is requested on the occasion of Jolynne Christina’s birthday.” And then she wrote “sleepover!” and “makeovers!” and “movie marathon” in white gel pen across the bottom. It is going to be really, really cool. JC’s aunt Gina works on soap opera sets in Southern California, so she always has lots of clothes and makeup, and she’s bringing them for us to play with. And since Mr. Gerardo sings all the time, I know there’s going to be karaoke, and lots and lots (seriously, a metric ton) of food. It’s not going to be as big a party as when JC turned eleven—she can’t invite all of the girls in sixth grade because she’s not supposed to have a lot of germs around, but it’ll still be amazing, and . . .
There! Will! Be . . . Boys!
Not when we’re sleeping, duh, but before then. It’s kind of a big deal? But kind of not—I mean, it’s not like we don’t see boys every day at school. But still . . . not at sleepovers.
Anyway!
Well, anyway . . . Thanksgiving is coming, and since Mom’s on call, Bibi and Poppy are coming over! My uncle Ron is ditching us for his girlfriend’s family in Phoenix, but whatever, more food for us.
There are TWELVE SCHOOL DAYS left until Autumn Break, people! I know some people hate Thanksgiving, but I love it, ’cause it’s none of the homework and ALL the pie, and ALL the games, plus Bibi and Poppy. What about you? Do you celebrate Thanksgiving or Friendsgiving? Does your family have holiday hype, or do you do friend-family stuff? Or maybe you don’t care at all? Sometimes people hate holidays like Thanksgiving because they’re part of a negative history, but to me, they just mean hanging out with people you love—it doesn’t have to be more than that, if you don’t want it to be.
That’s my story, and I’m out.
25
Say Yes to the Mess
“NOW THIS IS CUTE,” my grandmother, Bibi, said, pulling out a red plaid jacket with a yellow stripe running through it. She held it up against herself with a little nod. “This could work.”
“Poppy wouldn’t be caught dead wearing plaid,” I said, and laughed at Bibi’s scowl.
“No, he wouldn’t,” my grandmother said, “and it’s not cut right for me. Oh well.”
She put it back, and I rolled my eyes. Bibi and Poppy, our grandparents, had driven up from Ma-drone on Friday morning. Poppy had plans to roast a turkey breast and make his special brisket, and Fallon and Bibi had been discussing pies with anticipation. We were signed up to volunteer at the veterans’ home for their Thanksgiving dinner, but I couldn’t get excited just yet. All I could think about was JC’s party that was happening tomorrow night, the party for which Bibi was supposed to be helping me find an outfit.
So far, we’d walked through the whole mall and through the smaller stores that lined the next block. We’d visited eight or nine stores with tween departments since we’d gotten here at eleven, and we’d only bought one adorable bell-shaped gray wool hat. For Bibi.
“What do you say we get a cup of coffee or something, Serena? You can tell me what you want to wear to this party so we can get serious about our shopping.”
“I’d tell you what I want if I knew what I wanted,” I said, following my grandmother from the store into the brisk and sunny afternoon. “I just want to look . . . different, you know? Not just the same as always.”
“Well, you’ve got all day to come up with different,” Bibi said, nodding toward a small bakery on the corner. “We’ll catch our breath a minute at the Butter and Bean and then we’ll find something, okay?”
The shop smelled like cupcakes and coffee, which made Bibi certain that we were in the right place. Reading the sign above the counter, I frowned when my phone vibrated. My eyebrows shot up when I saw the number.
“JC?” I blurted. “What’s up?”
“Serenaaaaaaa,” JC wailed. “Everything is horrible.”
“Hang on,” I said, and tapped Bibi’s arm. The “family time” rule applied to the phone, too, and I knew Mom wouldn’t like me ignoring Bibi to talk for too long.
Bibi looked back from where she stood ahead of me in line. “Do you need to step out?”
I gave my grandmother an apologetic grimace. “It’s an emergency.”
Mom had dropped Bibi and me at the mall on her way to work, while Poppy had taken Fallon to the camera store for Christmas shopping. They’d agreed to come get us when they were done, so Bibi and I had taken our time, mostly window-shopping while we hung out. I was surprised to hear from JC. I hadn’t really talked to her since I’d RSVP’d to her party invitation.
Bibi waved me away. “Go on ahead outside and talk, Serena. I’ll get you hot chocolate. You still like whipped cream? Cinnamon?”
I nodded. “I’ll be quick, Bibi,” I promised. Pushing through the crowd, I found a cement planter in the sun and sat down, rubbing my arms.
“I’m back,” I said, adjusting the phone to my ear. “Tell me everything.”
“It’s Tatay,” JC said, tears in her voice. “He thinks I should wear this awful dress.”
“Your dad? But I heard you had your dress,” I said, watching a red sports car attempting to parallel park in too small of a space.
“I do! And it’s gorgeous, and I told you about it, right? It’s sleeveless with black netting across the chest, with gold sequins over—”
“Yeah, I heard from Lani,” I said hastily, cutting her off before she could describe the sequined top and layers of foofy tulle. I’d also already heard from Mom, who heard it from Mrs. Gerardo how JC couldn’t figure out if she should wear her hair up or down, if she should wear her mother’s gold sandals or if she should dust glitter on her black sandals, or if her mother’s black pearls or the sparkly gold hoops her auntie brought would look best. Mom was the one who suggested JC change accessories halfway through the party—which JC thought was the coolest idea ever. All of JC’s friends and family were getting pretty good at unsticking her from party details that kept getting her stuck.
“So there’s another dress?” I prompted, when JC paused.
“Well, it’s my mother’s dress, from when she had her eighteenth birthday coming-out party, and my lola brought it over, because she had it in storage for when I have my eighteenth birthday, but they don’t think it’ll fit then, because I’m already bigger than Nanay was at her age, so my lola thought I should wear it now because this is a special birthday, because of the surgery and everything. And Nanay said she was happy to see it, but I didn’t have to wear it, but Tatay’s trying to make me, because seeing it made Nanay cry, and Serena, it’s so, so, so much lace! And it’s pink—bright pink! And back then, they worked so hard to pay for it, and my lola brought it all this way—”
“Well, can’t you just change outfits when you’re changing earrings and stuff?” I asked, smiling at a little boy who was solemnly staring, sucking his thumb as his mother led him by. “You can start out wearing it and take a family picture or something, then go upstairs and change.”
“Maybe,” JC wavere
d, “but, Rena, pink isn’t me, you know? Plus, Lani’s wearing black, too, so . . .” She trailed off.
“Hmm,” I said, turning to see where Bibi was in the line. She was almost done, and waiting by the orders counter, so I thought fast. “Well, maybe you can—”
“So, listen, I thought maybe you could wear it,” JC blurted in a rush.
“Wait, what? What?” I’d been standing to head inside but crashed down onto the planter again as if my legs couldn’t hold my weight. “Oh, nuh-uh, JC, not your mom’s dress. Why would you think that was a great idea?”
“Because Nanay and Tatay like you,” JC said, as if it made the most sense of anything in the world. “My lola likes you too. They’ll trust you not to spill anything on it. And then you can change out of it after a while.”
“JC, it’s your mom’s eighteenth birthday dress. You said a coming-out party was like a quinceañera, almost like a wedding! That makes that dress, like, a family heirloom or something. Can’t Julia wear it? She’s at least a relative, and she’s closer to eighteen than we are.”
“It won’t fit,” JC said. “Her bottom’s too big.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, what makes you think it’ll fit me? Your mom’s pretty, um, curvy, and if you haven’t noticed I’m—”
“We’ll pin it and stuff socks down the front if it doesn’t fit. Come on, Serena, you can do it for like, an hour, right? Tatay and my lola will be happy, and Nanay will be happy we helped you find a dress.”
Everyone would be happy, from the sound of things, but me. “JC, I’m at the mall with Bibi right now, getting an outfit. I don’t need—”
“Don’t answer right now,” JC said. “Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay? Come over when you’re done shopping and try it on. You don’t have to even take it home. You can come over, put it on, and take it off, just that fast.”
“I—”
“Please, please, please, Bestie? It’s for my birthday.”
Bestie? I wasn’t JC’s bestie anymore. She was buttering me up with loads of syrup. Had she asked Lani to wear the dress? Did I want her to ask Lani? What if Lani said yes? Wouldn’t I rather be the good friend who helped out?
What if this was the only reason JC had asked me to her party?
I closed my eyes, angry with JC, and frustrated with myself that her pleading words still had the power to make me wish she truly meant them. “I’ll think about it, all right? Right now, I have to go—Bibi wants me.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” JC gushed, and hung up.
Jamming my phone into my pocket, I glared out over the eager lines of holiday shoppers. Sick with my stomach’s churning, the idea of super-sweet whipped cream and chocolate made me want to heave.
Mom always says that different doesn’t mean bad, but this time I knew: wearing JC’s mother’s dress was an idea that was really different . . . and also positively, absolutely, definitely, really bad.
Maybe this would be the first one of JC’s birthday parties I skipped.
26
Serena Speaks Up
IT WAS HOT UPSTAIRS, hotter than the room full of smiling relatives singing along with the karaoke performers. Downstairs, JC’s beaming aunties were busy dishing out massive trays of lumpia and spaghetti, and in the backyard beneath the red and blue Philippine flag with its white triangle and golden sun and stars, something was sending up a plume of savory smoke from the barbecue. Upstairs, there were other, less pleasing smells, mostly of conflicting, flowery perfumes, but also of scorched hair and overheated blow dryers. A few of the older cousins in fancy slippers went in and out of the guest rooms, and I could hear someone singing loudly to a song on their phone.
“Serena! Finally,” JC exclaimed when my dragging feet found her adjusting a sparkly gold tiara in her fancy hairdo. “Did you get something to eat? You’re so late I thought you weren’t coming,” she added, then twirled, gesturing. “Isn’t this dress amazing? Did you see Lani downstairs? Doesn’t her makeup look amazing? Auntie Gina did hers too. Did you see her brothers? Oh, wait, have you been outside yet? There’s barbecue. Uncle Paul brought his guitar. We are going to have so much fun!”
“Happy birthday,” I said, wiping my hands on the legs of my black pants. To match the gold sequins on the top of her dress, JC wore gold eye shadow and a gold sequined bow in her updo. Compared to me in my silver hoops, the sleeveless white turtleneck Bibi had bought me, and my stretchy black pants, JC looked sparkly—super sparkly—and happier than I’d seen her in a long, long time.
Prickles of dread swept the back of my neck as JC beamed. “It is a happy birthday. I’ve been waiting for this forever, and my stomach even feels good today. Come look at what you’re wearing.” Grabbing my arm, JC towed me down the hall to her parents’ room.
“Um, actually . . .” I dug in my heels at the doorway to her parents’ room while JC went on alone to the closet and slid open the mirrored doors. “Does your mom know about this?”
JC ignored me and swung a full-skirted pink gown out across her parents’ bed. “Tada!”
It was . . . a lot of pink. There was dark-pink embroidered lace on top of a light-pink, scoop-necked dress. There were high, stiff, puffed sleeves made out of lace. Below, the dress pinched in at the knees, and poufed out again with layers and layers and layers of floaty pink lace netting. The dress reminded me of an upside-down pink dandelion . . . that had exploded.
“It’s . . . um.” I blinked. “It’s kind of big.”
“And there’s a little scarf thingy that goes with it.” JC dug into the closet again. “See?”
I swallowed. I’d spent last night thinking of all the things that would happen if I wore JC’s dress; how her lola would be shocked, how her aunties would whisper behind their hands. Mrs. Gerardo would be maybe surprised, or maybe angry—with me and with JC. She’d probably think Mom had never taught me anything, ever, at all, and her feelings might be hurt that JC would lend her special dress to just anyone.
I’d thought for a long while, too, about all the things that might happen if I chose not to wear the dress. The worst that could happen was that JC might scream at me and tell me I wasn’t welcome at her party if I wouldn’t wear the dress. She might tell everyone at Brigid Ogan what a bad friend I was when she came back and make everyone in our class hate me too. That probably wouldn’t happen . . . mainly because it seemed sometimes like JC already didn’t like me very much. At least our friendship probably couldn’t get any worse.
JC had said to “just think about it,” but I knew what my head was telling me—that I shouldn’t be wearing a dress that JC’s mom had worked hard to pay for, a long time ago, when her family had no money. I knew what my heart was saying—that I didn’t want to wear a dress that I didn’t pick, to look a certain way with lace and pink and sequins and scarf thingies that I wasn’t sure I wanted to look.
Even though I’d decided to accept whatever consequences came, I still dreaded saying the words. But as JC turned from the closet, I knew it was time to take the opportunity to use my voice. I curled up my fingers into fists and squeezed out the words on all one breath.
“Um, I’m not going to wear your dress, JC, ’kay? Sorry.”
JC dropped the scarf on the closet floor and stiffened. “Serena!”
“I didn’t promise,” I mumbled to the bedspread, unable to hold her furious gaze.
“No, you didn’t.” JC’s words snapped out like brittle pieces of ice. “You wouldn’t promise. Serena, you’re not being a very good best friend—”
“Am I?” I blurted, looking up.
It was supposed to sound sharp and mature, supposed to make JC stop talking and listen. But my voice wobbled and cracked. Instead of sounding womanly, I sounded weepy.
“What? What do you mean ‘am I’?” JC demanded. “Is this about the birdbath again?”
“What? No! Yes.” I waved my hands. “I thought you and Lani were besties now. I mean . . . you dressed up for Twin Day, JC. And yeah, you did
ditch me on the birdbath . . .”
“Can’t I have more than one best friend?” JC demanded. “And anyway, that was ages ago, and Twin Day was just for fun. You should have said if you were mad.”
Of course, it wasn’t JC’s fault. I scowled. “I am NOT mad!”
“Well then, wear the stupid dress!”
“No! It’s your mother’s dress, JC! I can’t wear it!”
“Well, I can’t wear it. Nothing I’m wearing goes with it,” JC shot back, holding the full skirt against her sparkly sequins. “See? It won’t work.” She threw the dress on the bed.
“It’ll work,” I said. “Look, just put on the gold sandals, like you planned, and roll with it. It’s kind of . . . old-fashioned, but so what? It’s your mom’s special dress. Wear it for five minutes.”
Silently, JC glared, her big brown eyes narrowed and fierce. I glared right back. Maybe last summer that glare would have scared me, but this school year I’d stared down madder people—like Cameron or Mateo when they messed around on our group project, or Mom, when Fallon and I fought. No matter how mad JC was, me wearing Mrs. Gerardo’s special coming-out dress wasn’t right, and I wouldn’t—couldn’t—let JC talk me into it. Not this time.
After a long, silent war, JC looked away, shoulders slumped. “I don’t want to,” she whined. “You seriously did not see my mother going on and on and on about this dress. It was for her debut party when they first moved from the Philippines. It took her and my lola a whole year to save up for it. It was the very first fancy party their family had in America. She cried, Serena! And it’s got all these pleats and this nasty, scratchy fabric, and I hate it! And I’m probably going to spill something on it, and she’ll cry some more, and I’ll never hear the end of it from the aunties. And I’ve been sick, and, and it’s my birthday, Serena. I’m sorry if you think I’m not a good friend, but can’t you just help me anyway?”
JC was finally starting to really talk to me, even if she was mad. I took a deep breath. “JC, I’m sorry too. I haven’t been a good friend, and I’m sorry this seems like I’m not helping. I’ll always be your friend. But you know why I can’t wear the dress—your lola’s here, and all of your aunts and cousins and everybody. Seeing you in your mom’s dress is going to make all of them super happy, right? And even though it’s all scratchy and gross, the dress is super special to them. Since it’s so special, your mom won’t mind if you just put it on for five minutes and take it off, right? You’ll go and walk around the living room, and I’ll be right next to you the whole time. I’ll paparazzi you and stuff, and then I’ll help you get the other dress back on. You’re in, you’re out, and your dad’s totally proud of you. Come on, JC. You know it’ll be better if you wear it.”
Serena Says Page 13