Confetti Girl (6 page)

A few people walk by, see the
cascarones,
and move on.

“I don’t know,” Vanessa says. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“Are you upset about losing money or having to take the eggs back home?”

“Losing money
and
taking back the eggs,” she says.

Eventually someone stops at the booth—Sum Wong, who likes to be called Sammy. I’ve known Sammy since the fourth grade.

“I like your fish devil costume,” he says.

“I’m not…”

“So what’s with these eggs?” he interrupts. “Is this some kind of Latino thing?”

“Yeah,” Vanessa says. “You’re supposed to sneak up on people and crack the eggs on their heads. All this confetti comes out.
It’s lots of fun.”

“Really?” He raises an interested eyebrow, then reaches in his pocket for some money. He spends a long time staring at the
carton, finally picking an egg with an evil-looking expression. He walks straight to a pep squad girl in front of the
taquito
booth and
CRACK!
breaks the eggshell on her head.

She shakes off the confetti. “Sammy!” she yells as he runs to hide. “I’m going to get you!” She marches to our booth, pays
for an egg, and runs off. A few minutes later, Sammy comes back for a dozen more. Before we know it, we’ve got a line. It’s
a
cascarones
war out there.

“This is wonderful!” Ms. Cantu says. “This proves my theory.
Cascarones
are fun
all year long
!”

My shift is almost over when a guy from my history class, Jorge, walks up. He’s dressed as a policeman.

“Sorry, Lina,” he says. “But I’ve got a warrant for your arrest.”

“I can’t go to jail,” I say. “I was just getting ready to start enjoying the carnival.”

“Rules are rules,” he says.

“Go on,” Vanessa says, “I’ll get you out as soon as I’m finished here.”

What a bummer, I think, but Jorge is right—rules are rules—someone paid fifty cents to put me in jail and someone else has
to pay fifty cents to get me out.

The jail booth is outside in the courtyard. It has bars over the window, two benches, and a guard dressed as a mariachi. There’s
one prisoner, Sammy Wong.

“I guess the pep squad girls got tired of getting confetti out of their hair,” he explains.

I take a seat to wait for Vanessa. Five minutes go by, nothing. Ten minutes, nothing. Where is she? Aren’t friends supposed
to look out for each other? When one of Sammy’s friends pays his bail, I get more impatient.

“Okay, Lina,” Jorge finally says. “You’re free to go now. That guy over there paid your bail.”

He points across the courtyard where Luís is leaning against the tree. He’s holding a headless Superman piñata. He’s wearing
a neon green T-shirt with a bright yellow “K.”

I’m a little nervous when I approach him because we haven’t spoken since our misunderstanding about the Christmas concert
tryouts. Every day in science, I think about saying something, but I’m too scared. He probably hates me.

“You either have a really bad memory or a very forgiving heart,” I say.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t deserve to get out of jail.”

“Be c-c-careful,” he says, “anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Well, consider this a full confession. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings last week. Honestly. I don’t even
care
if you stutter.”

He smiles. He smiles big. I think I’m forgiven.

“Excuse me,” Jorge says, “but I’ve got another warrant for your arrest, Lina.”

“I just got out.”

“I know, but…”

“Don’t tell me, rules are rules.”

He leads me back to the jail, but this time, I barely step in when Luís bails me out. Five minutes later, Jorge returns, this
time with a warrant for Luís too.

“You must be really, really bad,” Luís says.

“Who’s doing this? I can’t spend my whole night in here.”

As if to answer my question, Jason sticks his head through the jail bars. He’s dressed as Rey Mysterio, a famous Mexican wrestler
who wears a cape and a black mask with the profile of a golden eagle head. “Try getting out now!” he says as he walks away.

“You jerk!” I call after him. Then I turn to Luís. “Don’t worry. Vanessa will get us out soon.”

“It’s okay,” he says.

We sit quietly and wait. In the meantime, three ROTC guys get arrested. They’re wearing their uniforms. They’ve got everything
but the guns. The mariachi guy has been replaced by someone dressed as a royal guard for Buckingham Palace with the red coat,
white pants, black boots, and tall furry hat. Like Jorge, he’s in my history class where we saw a film about the guards last
month. The ROTC guys try to bribe him for their freedom, but he’s taking his code of silence seriously.

“You’re talking to a statue,” I tell them. “Give it up.”

“We don’t take orders from fish devils,” they say.

“She’s n-n-
nnnot
a fish devil,” Luís says. “She’s the
red tide.
”

I can’t believe it! Finally, someone understands my costume. Last month, Mr. Star talked about the red tide, this algae stuff
that travels along the Gulf Stream and kills lots of fish. That’s why I have my poster with dead fish and S.I.P. tombstones.

“Whatever, piñata man,” the ROTC guys say.

“Hey, he’s not a piñata man,” I tell them. “He’s
kryptonite
.”

“Oh, yeah?” they say. “Whatever.”

“You’re the first one to guess my costume,” I tell Luís.

“You, you’re the first one to guess m-mine,” he says.

“So I’m off the hook about the Christmas concert thing?”

“Hmm.” He pretends to think about it. “Let’s just say I’ll be recommending you for, for parole.”

Finally I see Vanessa walk by. “Hey,” I call through the bars.

She turns around, and her eyes get wide when she realizes I’m still in jail. “You must
hate
me,” she says. “I forgot all about you.” She quickly pays the bail for both Luís and me.

“It’s been almost an hour,” I complain.

“I’m
soooo
sorry. I promise to make it up to you.”

I’m about to ask where she’s been when I see Carlos behind her. He’s holding a big coffee can with a construction paper heart
glued on.

“Hi, Lina,” he says. “I’m the tin man. Get it?” He taps the tin can and shows me an empty quart of Quaker State oil.

“That’s real cute,” I say to Vanessa. “You’re the scarecrow and he’s the tin man from the
Wizard of Oz.
” I can’t believe she didn’t tell me their plan about matching costumes. What else is she leaving me out of?

“It was all Carlos’s idea,” Vanessa says. “Doesn’t he have a great imagination?”

“I’m sure your mom would think so.”

“My mom?” She grabs my arm, takes me aside, and whispers, “Look, you can’t tell my mom I’ve been hanging out with Carlos.
You know how she feels about boyfriends. If she could, she’d send me to an all-girls school. She
hates
men.”

I’m very tempted to tattletale after spending an hour in the jail booth. But Vanessa’s my best friend, and best friends are
supposed to cover for each other, even if one “forgot” to mention planning her costume with a boy. I look over her shoulder.
Carlos is reaching into the neck of Luís’s headless Superman. He pulls out a piece of bubble gum.

“Okay,” I say. “I won’t tell your mom about Carlos. You have to stay in the courtyard so they won’t see you. Meet me here
in forty-five minutes and we’ll head back to the cafeteria together.”

“You’re great with the covert operations,” Vanessa says, giving me a grateful hug before disappearing with Mr. Tin Man.

“Looks like I got ditched for Carlos,” I explain to Luís.

He gives me this pretend frown. Then he points to the free-throw booth. For two dollars, he buys five free throws and wins
me a glow-in-the-dark necklace. Then we eat turkey legs and
buñuelos,
my favorite cinnamon and sugar pastries. Then we try dunking Mr. Star in the dunking booth. Every time we see Jason, we hide,
hoping he’ll forget we exist. Luckily, he does.

Soon our forty-five minutes is over. When Vanessa and I return to the cafeteria, my dad and Ms. Cantu are taking down the
Halloween decorations.

“We sold out!” Ms. Cantu announces.

I can tell because there’s confetti all over the floor.

“I think we should celebrate,” my dad says. “Let’s go out to eat.”

Vanessa and I start hopping like kids in a candy store.

“Can we go to Snoopy’s?” we ask.

My dad winces. At first I wonder what’s wrong with Snoopy’s, then I remember how far it is.

“Of course,” Ms. Cantu says. “I’ll drive. How about it, Homero?”

He says “sure”—not with any excitement but like someone who doesn’t want to spoil the party.

We get in Ms. Cantu’s big truck. She’s got the kind with an extended cab. Vanessa sits up front with her mom, while my dad
and I squeeze into the back. As soon as we hit the road, he asks about
Watership Down.
He wants to know what the rabbits are up to.

“Have they met those complacent rabbits yet?”

“Yeah,” I say, even though I don’t know what “complacent” means.

That’s enough to get him started on another lecture. Doesn’t he know I’m taking other classes too? Doesn’t he care? I’m grateful
he helped with the carnival, and I’m
really
grateful we’re going to Snoopy’s, but this is my free time, time to talk about anything and everything
except school.
Mom would have known better. She’d have her fingernails painted orange and black, and instead of talking about homework,
she’d ask about the games I played, the food I ate, and the costumes I saw.

I tune Dad out, and when he notices, he stops talking. All we hear is Ms. Cantu bragging about her
cascarones.

“Maybe I should open a flea market booth,” she says. “I can call it Cascarones Corner.”

Then we get past Flour Bluff and reach the strip of road with nothing but the ocean on either side. I
love
living near the sea. I’ve seen pictures of mountains and forests and canyons. I can tell they’re beautiful, but they don’t
carry the promise of a “forever” the way the sea does—especially at night when the black water and the black sky melt into
each other, making me feel like I’m in the center of infinity. Tonight’s a full moon, its light on the ocean like a glow-in-the-dark
road. After seeing Vanessa and Carlos dressed as the scarecrow and the tin man, the light reminds me of that song from the
Wizard of Oz,
“Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” a song about traveling across the rainbow to another land. That’s how I feel about the moonlight.
I want to walk on it and see where it takes me. Will it take me to my mother?

Finally we get to the bridge, and there below us is Snoopy’s.

Snoopy’s is a great place, right on the water. It has two parking lots, one for the cars and one for the boats. Inside there’s
a huge fireplace in the middle of the dining room. There’s a dock along the back for people who want to sit outside. It’s
all very casual, no waiters, just an order and a pickup counter, a bar for the condiments, and lots of cats and seagulls begging
for scraps.

Tonight they have a “Southern Special” on the menu, catfish and shrimp with a side of fried pickles. Vanessa and I order it,
of course. We’ve never eaten the fried pickles before. They come sliced with a cornmeal batter, sour and crunchy at the same
time.

Vanessa and I yap about the carnival. We’re so hyped we talk with our mouths full. We’re so hyped we don’t notice how quiet
our parents are until we run out of things to say. Now that I think of it, this is the first time my dad and Ms. Cantu have
been forced to talk for more than ten minutes. No wonder they’re so quiet.

“Are we boring you?” Vanessa asks them.

“No,
m’ija,
” her mother says. “We’re glad you’re having fun. It’s just like old times.”

Then it hits me—“just like old times.” Now I know why my dad winced when I mentioned this restaurant. Mom
loved
coming to Snoopy’s. There was a time when we came to Snoopy’s at least once a month, all of us, my family and Vanessa’s family.
We paired off with our conversations—me and Vanessa, our moms, our dads. But this is the first time we’ve come since Mr. Cantu
left and since my mom died.

Thinking about it makes me really sad. I start to get a lump in my throat, the kind that comes before crying.

“I’m going to walk down the pier,” I say, wanting a moment alone.

They all understand and let me go without following.

The pier isn’t very long but it’s private and dark. I get to the end of it and sit on the edge, my feet dangling over the
water. Little waves splash against the posts. My tears plop into the ocean. I’ve tasted tears before. They’re salty, just
like the water below, and I wonder if the ocean is made of tears from all the people and all the animals that have lost their
mothers.

After a while, my dad comes and sits beside me.

“I miss her,” I say.

He says, “I miss her too,
m’ija.
”

Then he puts his arm around me and we spend a few minutes filling the ocean together.

Lo mismo el chile que aguja, a todos pican igual –
Both the chile and the needle sting

T
he day after Halloween is
El Día de los Muertos,
The Day of the Dead, a time when the spirits return, not to haunt us, but to visit. And, of course, that means Dad and I
will spend some time with my mom. And since it’s the first time we’ll be honoring my mother, we want to make it extra special.

First my dad drives to La Guadalupana Bakery and buys skull-shaped sugar cookies. Then he stops at a flower shop and buys
marigolds in a pot covered with blue aluminum foil and a dozen pink roses.

When we get to the cemetery, hundreds of people are already there. Most are picnicking by the tombstones. Some are raking
away the leaves and watering the grass. They say hello as we walk by. Then we reach Mom’s stone, where Dad and I kneel to
say a few prayers. When we’re finished, Dad offers the roses to Mom’s spirit, and I offer the marigolds. Then we sit on the
grass and eat the skull cookies.