Confetti Girl (17 page)

Today’s the due date for our marine biology projects. Vanessa and Carlos decide to present theirs together since they’re both
dealing with dunes. I can’t believe they actually had time to take pictures and gather samples with all that smooching they
did at the beach. Their presentation actually surprises me. I learn that plants make dunes. According to Vanessa, thick grasses
act like nets that catch the sand. When the sand covers them up, the grasses have to grow taller to reach the sunlight, but
all they do is collect
more
sand. This goes on and on until the big giant dunes are formed.

For my presentation, I use the PowerPoint program. I tell the class how endangered the whooping cranes are and how there were
only twenty-six one time. That really gets their attention. Then I tell them how the birds fly all the way from Canada to
Texas every year. Not to mention their wingspan, which is over seven feet long. Seven feet! Compared to ducks or pigeons,
whooping cranes must have been easy targets for the hunters. No wonder so many were shot down.

I know it’s weird, but realizing this makes me feel better. If birds could talk, I’m sure the whooping cranes and I could
have a good heart-to-heart about being targeted because we’re tall. I once read a book about Indians that have animal spirit
guides and decide that whooping cranes are going to be
my
special animals. So next time Jason sees me and says “whoop, whoop,” I’m going to take it as a compliment.

When I finish my presentation, it’s Luís’s turn. He sets up an easel and grabs several posters from behind Mr. Star’s desk.
He’s made bar graphs. Instead of coloring the bars, he’s made them three-dimensional by gluing on bottle caps to represent
the glass bottles we found, scrunched grocery bags to represent the plastic, and soda can tabs for the aluminum and metal.
First he tells us what kind of trash is at the beach and all the bad things it does to wild-life. Then he tells us what we
can do about it. Before I know it, he’s passing around a sign-up sheet so people can volunteer to clean our shores.

At the very end of his presentation, he says, “I’d like to thank Vanessa and her dad for taking me to the beach and Lina for
helping me measure the trash.”

Why would he thank me when he hates me so much? His behavior confuses me, so I don’t hear the other presentations, especially
when I notice that Luís is scribbling away. Taking notes! As if nothing’s wrong! I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. I’ve
never had an ex-boyfriend before.

After class, I quickly grab my books.

“Wait up,” Luís says.

“I can’t,” I say, backing toward the door.

I hurry out, but not before I hear Luís ask Vanessa why I’m running away.

“Didn’t you guys have a fight?” she says.

I can’t concentrate for the rest of the day. It’s impossible to tell what people are thinking, and when I
do
know what they’re thinking, they don’t know what
I’m
thinking. So all kinds of stuff get lost in the space between my words and their words. Now I know why my dad’s always hiding
his face in a book. There’s no guessing in a book, especially one you’ve already read.

After school, Luís is waiting at my locker, and my stomach somersaults faster with each step I take toward him.

“Vanessa says you’re mad at me.”

“Aren’t
you
the one who’s mad?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

How can he be so smart in school but clueless about a girl’s feelings after she’s been ignored? “Because I called to apologize
about the dance, but you never called back.”

“Well,” he admits. “I
was
mad. For a few days. So I ignored the phone when I saw your number on the caller ID.”

“Why didn’t you call when you weren’t angry anymore?”

“Because I went with my family to Mexico.”

Suddenly I remembered his mom mentioning their trip at the dance. So that’s where he was. I can’t believe I forgot he was
leaving town.

“Believe me,” he continued, “I wanted to call you from there, but my parents wouldn’t let me because international calls are
too expensive. But I wrote you a letter. Didn’t you get it?”

“No.”

“Well, the mail takes a long time from Mexico. Maybe you’ll get it this week.”

There’s an awkward moment between us. A bunch of people jostle past.

“So we’ve been boyfriend and girlfriend this whole time?” I ask.

Luís laughs. “Of course.” Then he reaches into his backpack. “I got something for you. A Christmas present. I spent hours
looking for the perfect one.”

I’m thinking he went shopping, but a boyfriend who wears a sundial on his wrist doesn’t buy stuff like jewelry. Instead, he
gets his girlfriend a beautiful purple sock with a lavender ribbon tied around the ankle band.

“Sock wrap. Get it?” he says.

And I do. Instead of gift wrap, Luís has used a pretty sock. I untie the ribbon, reach inside, and pull out a whelk, a large
shell, creamy beige with light brown spots.

“Listen,” he says, putting the shell to my ear so I can hear the echoing of waves and wind. “Remember?”

And I do remember as the sound reminds me of our special moment on the beach when we sat on the log and listened to the stuttering
of the sea. Then I realize that something about Luís is different. He stood in front of the whole class and spoke
without stuttering
! I’m
positive
he didn’t get stuck on any words. Every now and then, he
almost
stuttered, but he stopped himself, took a deep breath, and talked on.

“You haven’t been stuttering,” I say.

He pushes up his glasses and smiles a little.

“I’ve been seeing that speech therapist your dad told me about,” he explains.

I punch his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I say.

“I wanted to surprise you. I wanted to see if you’d notice.”

“Of course I’d notice. I notice
everything
about you.”

“And your dad helped too. In his own way. While I waited for my appointment, he taught me how to make up these Shakespearean
insults. Stuff like puny, dizzy-eyed maggot or vain, swag-bellied lout or slobbering, wart-skinned lizard.”

I crack up. “You sound just like him.”

“He says if I can handle Shakespearean insults, then I can handle stuff like ‘Good morning.’ You’re lucky to have him for
a dad.”

“I am?”

“Of course, you slimy, toad-spotted rock.”

“Did you just call me a slimy, toad-spotted rock? Those are fighting words, you wimpy, oozy-skinned slug.”

“Hey, that’s pretty good,” Luís laughs. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Maybe my dad never taught me how to pitch a baseball,” I explain, “but he sure did teach me how to pitch a Shakespearean
insult.”

Después de la lluvia sale el sol –
After the rain, the sun shines

A
s soon as I see my dad, I hug him.

“Thanks for teaching Luís those Shakespearean insults.”

He laughs a little. “They work magic, don’t they?”

“Sure do. He did a whole presentation without stuttering.”

My dad nods, proud. I can tell he’s imagining the scene, but after a moment, he returns to his book. He’s reading something
called
One Hundred Years of Solitude.

I wonder if that’s how he feels. As if he’s been alone for one hundred years.

“It’s your fault,” I say. “About feeling lonely for a hundred years.”

I point at the book cover, and he glances at it.

“You know how you’re always telling me that stories are important?” I say.

“They
are
important.”

“I know. I never really believed you, but now I’m beginning to understand.”

I pause, trying to figure out how to explain myself.

“I have a confession to make,” I say. “All this time you’ve been reading books, I’ve been writing one.”

“Really? What’s it about?”

“It’s about my life. I write whatever comes to mind. It started out as a joke, but then I got into it. Before I knew it, I
was writing a classic epic journey.”

“You mean like Luke Skywalker?”

“I mean like the rabbits in
Watership Down.
Sort of. I’m not sure. I can’t seem to write the last chapter.” I pause a minute. “Would you like to read it?”

“Of course,” he says. “Hand it over.”

I open my backpack and pull out my version of the Hazel and Fiver adventure. My dad notices the official-looking folder with
the
APOLONIA FLORES
label, but he doesn’t ask any questions. He opens it and starts reading. I sit on the couch and wait, watching as he winces,
chuckles, or glances at me with lots of worry.

When he finishes, he puts the folder on the end table and says, “I think Hazel’s dad needs to come out of the rabbit hole
and say something.” He leans forward and reaches for my hand. His fingers are warm and firm. “Something like I’m sorry. Like
you shouldn’t have to go through all this gloom and doom by yourself. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.” He looks down
with a bit of shame on his face.

“Do you know what I wish for?” I say. “I wish… I wish you’d get out of your rabbit hole, Dad. I mean… how am I supposed to
move on when you won’t? What happened to Mom is terrible, but…” I get stuck for a moment, then I remember what Mrs. Huerta
said. “Today I learned that we can’t make up for lost time. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. Like, I won’t get to play soccer this
year. And I’ll never get my Christmas holiday back, so I feel really stupid for wasting it with a bad mood. Soon, it’ll be
two years since Mom died. Two years of life in a rabbit hole, and I don’t think I can take another depressing day. I don’t
think you can either!”

I start crying. I feel like a tower of cards, made from the hearts and spades of sadness, anger, frustration, and shame—and
this last card, this moment of telling Dad that I miss him, that I
need
him, is the one that makes me crash down. Dad holds me, rocks me, and kisses the top of my head. I feel like a baby again,
and it embarrasses me. But being comforted feels good too, and soon I’m too exhausted and at peace to cry.

I nod to let Dad know that I feel better now. He goes to the restroom and brings me a box of tissues so I can dry my face.
His eyes and cheeks look wet too.

“Remember what Mom used to say?” I ask.

He nods.

“Después de la lluvia sale el sol.”

“That’s right,” he says. “She also liked to say,
el árbol se conoce por su fruta.
”

“A tree is known by its fruit?”

“Or, like mother, like daughter. And you are, Lina. You’re just as smart and beautiful as your mother.”

I blush. I don’t think of myself as smart and beautiful, but if Dad says so, then it must be true.

“I’ve been a terrible father.”

“Only when you serve beans from a can without heating them up first,” I tease.

He chuckles. So do I.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say.

“Anything.”

“Does reading all those books make you feel better?”

“No.” He surprises me. “They just help me forget things for a while.”

“Things like Mom?”

“No. I could never forget her.” He thinks a minute. “If I read a book, then I can be someone else for a while. And even if
they’re sad, at least they’re sad for different reasons.”

“But then the book ends,” I say.

“That’s right. And here I am in this empty house again.”

“But, Dad, the house isn’t empty.
I’m
here. And we’ve got two friends across the street who really care about us.” I pause to let this sink in. “I know you and
Ms. Cantu argued the other night.”

“You do?”

I nod. “I’ve got a confession to make. About something Vanessa and I did. We wanted to help Ms. Cantu, so Vanessa thought
it would be a great idea to…”

“Are you talking about those silly poems you wrote?”

“You know about that?”

“Of course. Irma figured it out after the first poem. She showed it to me. You really made us laugh with all that Silver Fox
stuff.”

“The thing is,” I try to explain, “you and Ms. Cantu have been so miserable, and after a while, it really wears us down. Vanessa
and I just wanted things to be normal again. I know we were wrong about the phony love poems, but maybe Ms. Cantu’s right.
Maybe you guys
should
date for a while.”

“Date? Wherever did you get that idea?”

“From you and Ms. Cantu. Wasn’t that why you were arguing?”

He laughs, a deep, belly-jiggling laugh.

“What were you talking about then?” I say, realizing I’d made a mistake. “What did you guys mean about trying things out for
a month and the kids being all happy about it?”

“Oh, Lina,” he barely manages. “She doesn’t want me to be her boyfriend. She wants me to be in the school play. The kids she’s
talking about are my students.”

“That’s why you’ve been ignoring her?”

“She’s the most stubborn woman in the world. She’s got the whole school bugging me. I can’t teach in peace anymore. Plus,
every time I’m with her, she makes me try crazy things, but you know me. I just like to…”

“Read,” I finish.

“Exactly.”

“But you have to admit, Dad, when you and Ms. Cantu are together, you seem really happy.”

He thinks for a minute. “You’re right,” he says. “We have a lot of fun. But then I feel guilty because your mom’s not here.”

“She wouldn’t want that,” I say. “She wouldn’t want you to be lonely or angry for a hundred years like the people in your
book.”

“You’re right,” he says, glancing at my Hazel and Fiver story. “I guess I have to get out of the rabbit hole, don’t I?”

We decide to visit our friends, so we cross the street and step through Ms. Cantu’s door without even knocking. She’s in the
kitchen. The vinegar smell is powerful. Ms. Cantu’s table has bowls of orange, purple, and green dye. Three or four eggshells
are soaking in each bowl while others dry on newspapers. With the pointy tip of Elmer’s Glue, she’s drawing zigzags and diamonds
on the finished
cascarones
and then sprinkling them with glitter. Her whole kitchen’s a factory.