Confetti Girl (13 page)

Everyone but Vanessa laughs.

“I don’t appreciate facetious behavior,” Mrs. Huerta says.

“Well, I can’t be facetious if I don’t know what it means.”

“It means you’re one step from detention, young lady.”

“Bah! Humbug!” I snap back.

Thirty seconds later, she hands me the detention slip. “Next word,” she warns, “gets you a trip to the principal’s office.”

I don’t want to face Dr. Rodriguez, so I keep my mouth shut. Mrs. Huerta directs her question to someone else and goes on
with the class.

When I look around the room, several students smile as if they’re proud of me, but Vanessa looks away, embarrassed. That’s
when I realize I’m reaching my Hollywood status again—but instead of Star Student, I’m playing Class Clown. Today, my behavior
goes hand in hand with my wacky socks.

Del dicho al hecho hay gran trecho –
It’s a long way from saying you’re going to do something to actually doing it

I
don’t want to tell my dad about detention, so I lie and say I stayed after school for study hall to work on my English grade.
I thought I’d earn points with that, so I’m surprised when he tells me I can’t go to the
quinceañera
with Luís.

“Why not?” I say. “I’m old enough. I’ll be in the eighth grade next year.”

“Not the way you’re going. You’re failing English, Lina. And you’re lying. You didn’t stay after school to study. You had
detention. Mrs. Huerta called to tell me about your behavior today. I’m afraid I have to ground you now.”

“But I’m already being grounded,” I argue, “from soccer.”

“Well, I’m grounding you from dances as well.”

“I’m going to make up all my missing assignments. I promise, Dad.”

“
Del dicho al hecho hay gran trecho.
It’s a long way from saying you’re going to do something to actually doing it. Besides,” he adds, “we already have plans
that weekend. I promised Irma we’d help with a wedding. We’re going to decorate the hall. She can’t do it by herself now that
she’s in crutches.”

“I don’t want to help with the wedding.”

“I already said you’d go.”

“But that’s not fair,” I argue. “All my friends will be having fun, while I’m stuck working.”

“Remember that the next time you feel like lying.”

I can’t believe he’s being so strict. I run to my room, slam my door, hang an extra thick blanket from the top bunk, and hide.

The next morning, I realize that if I ever want to go out with Luís or play soccer, I’ll have to get serious about Mrs. Huerta’s
class. So I show up on time and promise myself not to give any attitude.

Fortunately, she ignores me. I guess she doesn’t want any more bah-humbug incidents. After discussing the book for a while,
she gives us an assignment. Everyone gets to work. Even me. I take out a sheet of paper and put my name on it, but just when
I’m about to start writing, Mrs. Huerta says, “Lina, can you run an errand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say.

I close my book and walk to her desk. She hands me an envelope and whispers, “Take this to the counselor’s office. You might
want to take your books too.”

I nod, get my things, and head to Miss Kathryn, the counselor.

“Hi, Lina,” she says when I knock on her door. “Come in. I was expecting you.”

She points to a cushiony chair and I obediently sit though it seems silly when all I need to do is deliver an envelope.

Miss Kathryn’s office is big but crowded. She’s got a wall of file cabinets, a little refrigerator, a desk for her computer,
another desk with the telephone and piles of papers, and two chairs by the window with a nightstand-style table between them.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she says as she searches through a box stuffed with manila folders.

“Actually,” I say, “I’m just here to deliver this envelope from Mrs. Huerta.”

I offer it to her.

“Sweetie, that envelope’s empty.”

“Why would Mrs. Huerta send an empty envelope?”

“She doesn’t want to embarrass you in front of your classmates. Some people are very sensitive about seeing the counselor.”

“I didn’t ask to see you. I think you’re confusing me with someone else. Mrs. Huerta was very clear when she told me to give
you this letter.”

“You can open it if you don’t believe me,” Miss Kathryn says.

I’ve always wondered what’s in these top-secret envelopes, so I rip it open only to discover that Miss Kathryn is right. It’s
empty.

Just then, the secretary comes in with two sack lunches from the cafeteria. Without saying a word, she places them on the
table beside me, walks out, and gently closes the door.

“Here we are,” Miss Kathryn says. “Your file.” She waves a folder with an
APOLONIA FLORES
label. Then she opens her fridge and says, “We’ve got water, Gatorade, milk, and Coke. Which do you want?”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Instead of answering, she hands me a Coke can—only it’s not a real Coke but some generic brand that says
COLA FLAVOR
.

“I thought we could talk over lunch,” she explains. “I understand you’ve been going through a hard time lately.” She points
to the lunch bags. “Tuna or egg salad?”

Suddenly I’m imagining straitjackets and wires zapping my brain. “Are you seriously going to give me a shrink session?” I
say. “Because I’m not crazy. I’m failing English, okay. That’s all. Lots of people fail English without having to go on fake
errands to the counselor.”

Miss Kathryn calmly opens her soda and gets comfortable on her chair. She’s got a clipboard on her lap and my folder beneath
it. It’s a thick folder. I wonder where all her notes came from. Has she been tapping my phone? Interviewing my friends? Using
satellite technology to track my movements?

If I had a hole puncher, I’d make confetti out of my school records.

Miss Kathryn points to the sack lunches again. I grab one without looking at the label. I unwrap the sandwich and take a bite.
It’s egg salad, very soggy, the bread dripping with mayonnaise. It tastes gross, so I put it back. Then I open the potato
chips, but they’re crushed. The only thing worth eating is an oatmeal cookie minus the raisins.

“I understand you were an excellent student last year,” Miss Kathryn says. “But now you’re not doing so well in English. How
does that make you feel?”

“
How does that make me feel?
Is that the best you can do?”

She scribbles in her notepad, unfazed by my attitude.

“And your dad?” she asks. “How are things with him?”

“Can I go to the cafeteria now? I don’t like egg salad sandwiches very much.”

“Isn’t he an English teacher at Ray High School?”

“Yes. So what?”

“And Mrs. Huerta is an English teacher too,” she continues. “I’m wondering if there’s a connection because you seem to be
doing well in your other classes.”

“I seem to be, but I’m not.” What am I saying? I should stop myself, but I can’t. “Like in science,” I explain. “Just ask
Mr. Star. Yesterday he asked us to report on our projects, and I was the only kid who didn’t have any notes or pictures or
anything. So this has nothing to do with English or my dad. Think about it. I’m in middle school. I’m going through my rebellious
stage. Don’t kids go through a rebellious stage? I’ll get over it, Miss Kathryn. I’ll get over it today. I promise. So can
I go now?”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” she says. “I’ve been reading your rabbit story.”

“What rabbit story?”

“The one about the mother who died and the father who’s lost.”

She opens the manila folder and takes out my
Water-ship Down
quizzes.

“I don’t know why you think I’m writing a story,” I explain. “Those are quizzes I took in English. We were reading this book
and we had to summarize the chapters.”

“These aren’t summaries, sweetie.”

“I know. It’s just that… that… well, to be honest, I didn’t read the book. So when Mrs. Huerta asked us to summarize, I made
stuff up.”

“That’s what writers do,” Miss Kathryn says. “They make stuff up, and oftentimes, they make stuff up when they’re trying to
deal with an issue or a problem that they’re having.”

“I’m not trying to deal with anything,” I say. “I’m just acting rebellious like I said. I know it’s wrong, so I promise, whatever
Mrs. Huerta wants me to do, I’ll do.”

“Good. I’m going to hold you to that promise. But I want you to make another promise too. I want you to finish this rabbit
story.”

“But…”

She doesn’t let me finish. She hands me the quizzes and shows me the door, so I hurry to the cafeteria before the lunch period
ends. I desperately need to talk to Vanessa, but when I see her, she’s with Carlos. I don’t want the whole world to know my
problems, so I pretend like nothing’s wrong. But something
is
wrong. Not only am I failing and off the team, but, apparently, I’m crazy too.

Hasta el diablo una vez fue ángel –
Even the devil was once an angel

I
t’s Saturday, and Vanessa calls around twelve.

“Want to go to the movies?” she asks.

“I can’t,” I say. “I’m being grounded because of my English grade, remember?”

“What a bummer,” she says. “If I can get your dad to say yes, will you go?”

“Sure. Anything to get out of the house.”

We hang up, and two minutes later, the doorbell rings. I run to the living room. My dad’s in his favorite chair. Today his
face is a book called
The Stranger.

“Hi, Mr. Flores,” Vanessa says when I open the door. “Why are you sitting here when it’s such a nice day outside? You’re just
like my mom. She doesn’t go anywhere because she thinks she’s all broken like Humpty Dumpty. All she does is mope around.”

“She’s moping around?” my dad says, worried. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. She’s just bored, you know. A whole Saturday with nothing to do. It’s not like she can drive around with
her broken leg.”

“Do you think she’d like to go out?” my dad asks.

“Beats hanging around the house all day.”

“Maybe your mom should rest,” I say. “Isn’t that the best way to heal?”

“You have a point,” my dad tells me.

“No, Mr. Flores. All she does is rest. She’ll get depressed if she doesn’t get out.”

“You think?” Dad asks.

“I don’t only think. I
know.
”

I can’t believe how sneaky Vanessa is about setting up our parents after the zillion times I’ve told her it’s a bad idea.
Before I know it, we’re piling into the car, and just when we’ve clicked on our seatbelts, Vanessa says, “Hey, Mom, do you
think you guys could drop off Lina and me at the movies while you go for a drive?”

“If it’s okay with Homero,” Ms. Cantu says.

“Sure, it’s okay,” my dad answers.

Of course he says yes. If he grounded me now, he’d look like the bad guy.

“I’m not sure I
feel
like going to the movies,” I say.

“You
have
to go,” Vanessa says. “Unless it’s okay with my mom if I go by myself.”

“No daughter of mine is going to the movies by herself with all those crazies around. Anyway, I’ve never heard of a child
who didn’t want to go to the movies. What’s wrong, Lina? Are you feeling sick?”

“No. It’s just that… well… I’m being grounded, aren’t I, Dad?”

“You’re grounding her?” Ms. Cantu says. “But Lina’s such an angel.”

My dad shakes his head in a disappointed way. “
Hasta el diablo una vez fue ángel.
Even the devil was once an angel, Irma. And my little ‘angel’ is failing English.”

“Failing English? Is that all? At least she’s not sneaking around with boys.”

“I’m in Mrs. Huerta’s class too,” Vanessa says. “She’s boring. No wonder Lina’s failing. I bet if you were our teacher, Mr.
Flores, you’d make English interesting.”

“You’d have to ask my students about that.”

“Come on, Homero,” Ms. Cantu says. “Let Lina go to the movies.”

“Shouldn’t we all stick together?” I say. “You don’t want to hang out with a man, Ms. Cantu. They’re nothing but trouble,
remember?”

“
Some
men are trouble, but some are okay. Besides, you’ll get bored at the karaoke bar.”

“What karaoke bar?” Dad asks. “You don’t expect me to sing in front of strangers, do you?”

“It’s one o’clock in the afternoon. No one will be there. It’ll be like singing in the shower.”

“That sounds like fun,” I say. “Why don’t we all go to the karaoke bar?”

“Mr. Flores,” Vanessa says. “Will you
please
let Lina go to the movies?”

“I’m already driving to the theater, aren’t I?”

I can’t believe how gullible my father is. Doesn’t he know he’s being tricked? But what can I do? The only way I can protect
him from Ms. Cantu is by tattling on Vanessa, which is the number-one way to ruin a friendship.

Soon we’re at Tinseltown, a giant theater with arcade games, fourteen screens, stadium seating, THX surround sound, and really
cute boys at the ticket windows. There are a dozen movies listed on the marquee and posters lining the outside walls. We have
to eliminate four movies because they’re rated R and one because it’s a silly cartoon. The last thing we want is to sit in
a theater with a bunch of preschool kids.

“I vote for the comedy,” I tell Vanessa.

“I vote for the romance.”

“Want to flip a coin to decide?”

“No, let’s ask Carlos when he gets here.”

“You invited Carlos?”

Before answering, she spots him. “Hey, Carlos!” she calls, waving him over. When he reaches us, she says, “So Lina and I were
trying to decide which movie to watch. Lina wants to see a comedy and I want to see a romance. Which do you want to see?”

“Uh, the action flick,” he says.

“Sorry. It’s not on the menu. Comedy or romance?”

Of course, he picks her choice. The poor guy’s in love. First Vanessa manipulated my dad, and now she’s manipulating me—
and Carlos
!