Paper Cuts E-Book

Yvonne Collins

• Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 388

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

Sixteen-year-old Luisa is not looking to win any awards for school spirit. So when her English teacher volunteers her to be an anonymous columnist for the school paper, Luisa's first impulse is to run. But she does want to go to college and it would be nice to have something on her applications. Her first assignment is to cover her school's latest fundraiser, which pits the girls against the boys. Luisa will cover the events from the female POV, while another anonymous writer provides the male perspective. The two columnists soon find themselves engaged in an epic battle of the sexes - just who does this guy think he is, encouraging his peers to act like Neanderthals with their girlfriends? And why can't Luisa shake the very sinking feeling that her new unidentified nemesis might also be her new boyfriend?

Leseprobe

For our mothers, Maria Collins and Bea Rideout

Contents

Title PageDedicationChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenAdvertisementAbout the AuthorBy Yvonne Collins and Sandy RideoutCopyright

Chapter One

I glance around the auditorium, trying to take everything in without looking like I’m remotely interested. ‘You’d think they’d at least hose the place down over the summer,’ I say.

‘What good would it do?’ Izzy asks, leading Rachel and me into our usual row. She stoops to inspect the rainbow of dried chewing gum on the underside of a folding seat before pushing it down with the stenciled tip of one long fingernail. ‘They should knock the building down and start over.’

‘It’d be a wreck again in a month,’ Rachel says, settling into the seat beside Izzy. ‘No one cares enough to keep it nice.’

The evidence supports her claim. Graffiti covers most of the seats, paint hangs from the walls in strips, and one of the curtains framing the stage has a large reddish stain in the shape of a human body. Mrs Alvarez – more commonly known as Principal Buzzkill – probably leaves it there to remind us what could happen if we screw up. That’s what school assemblies are all about.

‘Welcome back to Dumpfield,’ I say. Everyone uses the nickname, although the tarnished lettering over the stage reads COLONEL DUNFIELD HIGH SCHOOL.

Climbing over my friends’ legs, I take the seat beside Izzy and plunk my backpack into the one beyond that. I always reserve an empty seat beside me during school assemblies for my FB (future boyfriend). I haven’t met him yet, but if he shows up at the end of our row, I’m ready to wave him into position like an air traffic controller bringing in a plane.

At the moment I don’t have a CB (current boyfriend) or even an EB (ex-boyfriend). In fact, the letter B appears to be missing from my personal alphabet. I’d be more alarmed about that if Izzy and Rachel weren’t victims of the same curse. In a school with a population of just over three thousand there must some cute, normal guys, but we never seem to meet any.

Still, I try to keep the faith, and for a few moments at the start of each assembly, I wait for my Dumpfield prince to arrive. It’s about the only fun I have at school.

That and counting the hours until it’s over. ‘Only seventy-four days till we’re out of here for winter break,’ I announce.

Rachel groans. ‘Please tell me it’s less than that. Did you subtract Thanksgiving?’

‘Of course. And professional development days. Plus a sick day. We can count on one cold each term, I figure.’

‘I feel sick already,’ Rachel says, winding her dark curly hair into a tight bun and securing it with a pencil. ‘If you’re trying to depress us, Lu, it’s working.’

Izzy reaches over and pulls a few strands from Rachel’s bun. I’ve seen this move dozens of times, and it always makes me smile. Izzy’s parents own Ortega’s House of Beauty, and she’s a born stylist.

‘If I were trying to depress you, I’d have pointed out that it’s one hundred and eighty-six days till summer vacation,’ I say. ‘Not to mention nearly six hundred until we graduate.’

Rachel turns to check out the stream of students filing into the auditorium. ‘On the bright side, that’s six hundred days to meet the guys who are trapped in this dump with us.’

‘We didn’t meet any last year,’ Izzy says. She’s usually the optimist of our trio, but I can’t blame her for being a little down. Our freshman year was bleak, both socially and academically, and this one probably won’t be any different.

‘Heads up,’ Rachel says. ‘The queen is in the house.’

I generally use a different five letter word to describe Mariah Mendes, who is striking a pose at the double doors of the auditorium, but I’m in the minority. As she lifts her shades to scan the room, sophomore hands fly up all around us. Most of them belong to guys who are eager to wave Air Mendes in for a safe landing beside them. This has less to do with her future girlfriend potential than her blatant defiance of the school dress code. She’s wearing stiletto boots, Lycra warm-up pants, a short tank top, and a trucker hat, brim turned to the left. The ensemble breaks three rules: tops are required to meet bottoms, and both hats and sunglasses are prohibited inside.

Mariah has been above rules since she arrived in kindergarten wearing a pink tutu and bragging about being a ballerina. By fifth grade, she realized she needed backup and imported two friends from her dance classes. I call them the Understudies, because they’re ready to step into Mariah’s shoes at a moment’s notice.

It doesn’t seem possible (or remotely fair), but Mariah has gotten even better looking over the summer. Her tawny hair, golden skin, and amber eyes seem to glow. Her ego is probably bigger than ever, too. Last spring, Mariah made it onto a dance show called The Right Moves, one of twenty finalists out of the thousands who auditioned. That she was the first to get voted off the show hasn’t fazed her in the slightest.

‘She actually looks happy to be here,’ Izzy says.

‘That’s because she’ll have a captive audience, five days a week,’ I say, as people around us call out to Mariah.

‘Imagine what it would be like to have hundreds of people know your name,’ Izzy muses.

‘I wonder what it would be like to have ten people know my name,’ I say.

‘Ten people do know your name,’ Rachel says, smiling. ‘Ten people have your name.’

She’s referring to the nine other sophomores who share the name Luisa Perez. It’s impossible to stand out when people have to scroll through a mental list of identical names to place you. Which Luisa Perez? The one with brown hair and eyes? Oh, right, that’s all of us. The Luisa Perez who plays flute? The math whiz? Or the one who runs track? None of the above. I have no distinguishing talent of any kind.

‘Eleven,’ Izzy corrects. ‘There’s a new transfer in my homeroom.’

‘Great,’ I say. ‘I’m officially invisible.’

Izzy sits up a little straighter in her seat and says, ‘Maybe not. Mac Landis is trying to get your attention.’

I snort. Mac – short for MacEwan – Landis never wastes a second glance on me, despite the fact that he, like Mariah, attended my elementary and middle schools. Back then Mac was an average kid, but the God of Puberty was kind, and now he’s Dunfield’s answer to David Beckham, all blond good looks and athletic wizardry. Because of Mac, Dunfield made it into the basketball semifinals last year for the first time ever. More than four hundred students packed the stands to watch the last game. That might not be a big deal for some Chicago schools, but for Dunfield, known far and wide for its complete lack of school spirit, it’s nothing short of a miracle.

‘Izzy’s right, he is checking you out,’ Rachel confirms. ‘Maybe Mac’s the FB who’s finally come to claim his throne.’

‘Or not,’ I say, more relieved than disappointed as Mac and his pals file into the row behind us.

‘He’s probably too cool to sit right beside a girl he likes,’ Izzy says, still hopeful.

Mac folds his six-foot-plus frame into a seat behind mine, and I turn to steal a look at him.

‘Hey,’ he says.

To me. Mac Landis said ‘Hey’ to me. I must have changed more than I thought over the summer. Sure, my hair’s a little longer and I’ve started wearing eyeliner, but I wouldn’t have dreamed I’d ascended to Mac’s league.

Rachel pulls the pencil from her hair and prods me into responding.

‘Hey, Mac,’ I say. It’s not much, but it’s the closest we’ve come to a conversation since third grade, when he realized he was too cool for me.

I suppose it’s possible that Mac became a nicer guy over the summer. Things like that happen sometimes, say, after a serious illness or accident. If Mac has experienced either one, however, it doesn’t show. His face is still flawless.

One of Mac’s pals points an index finger at me. ‘Can you move?’

‘Move?’ I ask. ‘Why?’

‘Duh. Figure it out.’

The guy looks to Mac for approval, but Mac simply smiles at me and says, ‘Sorry, the juice makes him edgy.’

I’m too stunned to process what he’s saying, let alone reply. There are popping noises in my head, possibly triggered by the brilliance of his teeth.

Mac’s pal flexes his arm. ‘You’re the one on ’roids, dude. This is all natural.’

A cloud of perfume closes in, and I look up to see Mariah standing over me, her belly ring twinkling at eye level. ‘Move, Coconut,’ she says. ‘You’re in my seat.’

She calls me that because she thinks the quality Puerto Rican genes I inherited from my father have been smothered by those of my Irish American mother, who raised me alone. Mariah is a full-fledged Latina, thanks to two proud Puerto Rican parents, and Spanish is her first language. I barely knew a word of Spanish when I started class last year, but I’ve already picked up enough to know that what she’s saying about me to the Understudies right now isn’t flattering. There are so many dimensions to Mariah’s bullying that I never tire of studying her – preferably from a distance.

‘Not so fast,’ Mariah calls as I scramble after Izzy and Rachel. ‘I want to hear all about your summer, Coconut. Still slinging hash at the grease pit?’

Dan’s Diner is a bit of a pit, but Dan himself is the nicest guy in the world. ‘Yeah,’ I say, taking a seat in the row ahead. ‘I like my job.’

‘Good, because you’ll probably be there for life,’ Mariah says. “Just like your loser sister.’

Grace isn’t a loser, but she quit school three years ago and works at Dan’s full-time. Although we’re not exactly close, I feel obliged to defend her. ‘She’s—’

Izzy squeezes my arm. ‘Don’t.’

I take her advice and let it go. Mariah has been known to turn the entire student body against someone with a single e-mail. It’s one of many techniques she uses to bring insurgents in line. Normally I’m too far beneath her in the school hierarchy to warrant such attention, but better safe than sorry.

Mariah waits a moment and tries again. ‘Want me to sign a photo for the diner wall? You could pretend we’re friends.’

I’d love to point out that her fifteen minutes of fame expired when the reality show dumped her, but instead I smile sweetly. ‘That’d be great. We can put it beside Solana G.’s.’ As an up-and-coming R & B singer, Solana is one of the few people Mariah admires.

‘Solana comes to Dan’s?’ Mariah asks skeptically.

‘All the time.’ Once, actually, but I served her.

‘She’s had her nails done at my parents’ place, too,’ Izzy offers.

‘Quiet,’ Rachel whispers. ‘Unless you want Mariah hanging around all the time.’

‘What are you saying about me, Klienberg?’ Mariah demands.

Principal Alvarez saves us by clearing her throat at the microphone. As always, she’s wearing a sharp suit, and her hair, with its distinctive slice of gray, is swept into an elegant bun. She dresses to intimidate, but underneath the starch and hair spray there’s an attractive woman.

‘Welcome back to Colonel Dunfield, sophomores,’ she says in the commanding voice that strikes fear into the hearts of all students – and many parents. ‘Let us begin by reviewing our code of conduct.’

She directs a laser pointer at the screen and walks us through dozens of rules. But just before everyone completely tunes her out, Mrs Alvarez switches gears.

‘I have some exciting news,’ she says. ‘The mayor’s office and the public school board are staging a citywide contest to see which school can raise the most money for literacy. The victor will be released for winter break two weeks early.’

There’s a long silence, broken at last by Mac Landis. ‘You mean we’d get a full month off?’

‘Correct, MacEwan,’ Mrs Alvarez says. The auditorium erupts into cheers, and she waits for the noise to subside before explaining that we still have to cover all of the same material in our classes, only faster.

‘A full month?’ Mac repeats, to be sure there’s no mistake.

The principal sighs. ‘Only if Dunfield wins, MacEwan. The competition will be very stiff, I’m afraid. More than a hundred schools are participating.’

Mariah elects herself spokesqueen. ‘We’ll win, Principal Alvarez, I promise.’

I notice that Mariah’s hat and sunglasses have vanished, although her belly ring twinkles on.

‘Glad to hear it, Maria,’ Mrs Alvarez says, dropping the H in her name. Our principal is less impressed with reality dance shows than she is with sports trophies she can display in the empty glass case outside her office. ‘Especially since Colonel Dunfield has a rather poor record for extracurricular participation.’

There’s another cheer, and Principal Buzzkill cuts it short. ‘That’s nothing to be proud of, people. With that attitude, Turnbull Academy will walk away with the prize.’

Turnbull is located in one of Chicago’s best neighborhoods, where students could probably raise big bucks just by hitting up their parents for donations. On the other hand, the prize might be a bigger incentive for Dunfield’s students; Turnbull is so nice I bet no one even wants a vacation.

Mrs Alvarez ups the ante a little more. ‘I want the girls to organize half of the fund-raising events, and boys the other half. Let’s make it a battle of the sexes.’

At the word ‘sexes,’ wolf whistles ring out.

‘Oh, grow up!’ Mariah shouts, and the girls back her in a shrill chorus. ‘We’ll wipe the floor with you guys.’

‘Bring it on,’ Mac calls, and the whistles get louder.

Mrs Alvarez cuts in. ‘Elect your own leaders. And if Dunfield wins, I’ll give the team that impresses me most an extra three days’ vacation for spring break.’

Mrs Alvarez is still talking, but no one can hear her over the applause.

English is the only class Rachel, Izzy and I have in common this year, so we arrive early to stake out adjacent desks at the back of the room.

Rachel caresses the seat ahead of her. ‘Jason can sit right here.’

She’s had it bad for Jason Baca since seventh grade, but her parents will only let her date Jewish guys.

‘Have your parents given in?’ Izzy asks, applying a fresh coat of lip gloss.

Rachel shakes her head. ‘They’ll never give in because the whole “Jewish boy” thing is just a cover for the fact that they don’t want me dating period. Why else would they send me here, where eighty percent of the population is Hispanic? They want to keep me a virgin forever.’

‘If they want Jewish grandkids, they’ll have to relent someday,’ I say. ‘Maybe that’s why they sent you to work at your uncle’s lodge this summer – to meet the right kind of guys.’

‘Please. The only male counselor was gay. It was the worst summer job ever.’

Izzy rolls her eyes. ‘You spent the summer far from your controlling parents, whereas I had to work for my controlling parents.’

Although Izzy complains about her parents’ salon, I notice she hangs out there even when she’s not scheduled to work. She certainly enjoys the perks: free color, cuts and manicures. No one has seen her natural, mousy brown hair for years.

‘At least you came home from work looking – and smelling – better than when you went in,’ I say. ‘I stank of stale coffee and french fries.’

And my perfume isn’t likely to change anytime soon, because I work at Dan’s Diner year-round. Rachel and Izzy aren’t allowed to work during the school term because they have to focus on their studies. With Dunfield leading the district only in the area of dropout rates, a lot of parents worry. Rachel’s mom does more than that. She reviews Rachel’s homework daily, sweeps her bedroom for drugs weekly, meets with her teachers monthly, and performs irregular – and unannounced – locker checks. It’s pretty embarrassing for Rachel, but at least her mother cares.

My mother cares about me, but she’s not interested in my schoolwork, or education in general. She dropped out of Dunfield herself after tenth grade when she got pregnant with Grace. Now she’s a nursing assistant at Cook County Hospital, working mostly nights for the higher wage.

Even with all the extra shifts Mom picks up, we don’t live in luxury. There’s always food in the fridge, and I never have to scrimp on school supplies or class trips, but Mom’s paycheck doesn’t stretch much farther than that. I need my job if I want to have a cell phone and decent jeans. Plus, if Mom’s feeling the pinch at the end of the month, I have to help out with the bills.

Mr Sparling steps into the classroom and drops two boxes on his desk with a thud. ‘Oh, good,’ he says. ‘Volunteers.’

We complain for effect as we distribute the textbooks, but Mr Sparling taught us last year as well, and we actually like him. He’s the only teacher I’ve ever had who bothers to try to make his lessons interesting. I didn’t even mind the homework, and that translated into my first B plus ever. I was planning to aim even higher this year, but with a natural sedative like Greek mythology on the program, it could be tough.

The classroom fills up, and Mr Sparling starts talking about how Zeus and his siblings defeated the almighty Kronos and divided the universe. Poseidon got the seas, Hades the underworld, and Zeus the heavens and the earth.

After a while my mind and my pen start to wander. What would happen at Colonel Dunfield if Izzy, Rachel and I dared to revolt against the almighty Mariah?

The battle raged for days. Hair clips flew, mascara ran, and Lycra pants burst at the seams. The Dancers spent so much time posing for each other and the Jocks that they underestimated their opponents and missed the fatal ambush.

When the dust finally cleared, the Dancers had surrendered to the Mighty Trio. Medusa agreed to turn the Dancers to stone, freezing them for all eternity in the hamstring stretch. The Mighty Trio sentenced Mac and the Jocks to a perpetual game of basketball, in which the hoops are smaller than the balls.

Their enemies thus neutralized, the Mighty Trio divided their territory according to their interests:

Rachel became the Goddess of Fitness and Nutrition, ruling over Dunfield’s athletic facilities and cafeteria.Izzy became Goddess of Beauty and Drama, ruling over the girls’ locker room, restrooms, and auditorium.Lu became Goddess of Uniqueness, granting each student a special trait of his or her own.

The Mighty Trio ruled for years with gentle grace, allowing the males ofthe kingdom to compete for their favor. They selected only the fairest and most decent as their consorts.

It was a peaceful time, in which gold ran like water from the fountains and—

‘Ms Perez?’

I look up from my notebook to find Mr Sparling standing over me. My classmates lift their heads from their mythology textbooks to watch.

‘I stopped talking five minutes ago,’ he continues. ‘Unless you want me to read your diary aloud, you’d better close it and start reading.’

I scramble to put my notebook away and open the textbook, as Rachel and Izzy stifle nervous giggles.

Mr Sparling walks back to his desk. ‘I’ll have a word with you after class, Ms Perez.’

Rachel pounces as the classroom door closes behind me. ‘Tell me he didn’t give you detention for writing in class?’

‘No detention,’ I say. ‘He wants me to write a column for the Dunfield Bulletin.’

‘The what?’ Izzy asks.

‘The school paper,’ I say.

‘Since when does Dunfield have a school paper?’ Rachel asks.

‘It was news to me too, but apparently it comes out every Friday. Mr Sparling has taken over as editor, and he wants to run an anonymous column about the literacy fundraisers.’

The girls assume their regular positions on either side of me so that they can talk over my head if they feel like it. They both have five inches on me, and Izzy is taller still with heels and backcombing.

‘Why anonymous?’ she asks.

‘Because we can be more honest if no one knows who we are. Buzzkill thinks the column will help encourage the ‘battle of the sexes.”

‘We?’ Rachel says.

‘A guy is going to have a column, too. I’ll write one week, he’ll write the next.’

Izzy stops walking to look at me. ‘You said yes?’

I understand why she sounds so surprised. Avoiding extracurricular activities is a point of pride for us. ‘Sparling really turned the screws.’

It’s not true, but for some reason it’s easier to lie than admit he said my essays from last year showed a unique voice. I have no idea what that means, but it’s the first time anyone’s used the word ‘unique’ in relation to this Luisa Perez. The whole Goddess of Uniqueness thing doesn’t seem quite so farfetched anymore.

‘I guess he couldn’t find anyone else,’ I conclude.

‘You’re perfect for the job,’ Rachel declares. ‘Your e-mails kept me laughing all summer. The “Notes on a Greasy Napkin” series was hilarious.’

I’d forgotten that I made up stories about Dan’s customers and sent them to Rachel. Maybe Mr Sparling isn’t totally off base.

‘You’ll do great,’ Izzy agrees. ‘But I don’t see how you’ll get to many events, with your schedule.’

‘I’m going to need help being in three places at once.’ I give them an ingratiating smile.

‘I am not taking your shifts at Dan’s,’ Izzy says. ‘I’d break my nails.’

‘Iz, she wants us to be her moles at the fundraisers.’

‘But we have a policy against any display of school spirit,’ Izzy argues.

‘I’m sorry to let down the cause of apathy, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

‘Free fries throughout the contest?’ Rachel asks.

‘Done,’ I say. Dan usually comps their tab anyway.

Izzy starts walking again. ‘Maybe this is how other girls meet guys. You know, by getting involved.’

Rachel looks at me and says, ‘Nah.’

‘Not the right kind of guys, anyway,’ I say.

Chapter Two

I burst out of the elevator and jog down the hall to our apartment. The last time I was this excited to talk to my mother about school was in sixth grade, when Mariah showed up with a half ring of cold sores around her mouth, and Danny Cruz had the matching half around his.

My key is in the lock when I hear Grace’s voice. ‘I don’t see why Paz can’t help out more. It’s his kid too. He thinks he’s off the hook because he earns more money than I do.’

Inside, Grace is trailing after my mother while my niece, Keira, sleeps on the couch, dark curls plastered to her rosy cheeks.

‘Hi,’ I say, dropping my backpack on the floor.

Grace raises a finger to her lips. ‘You’ll wake the baby.’

‘If she can sleep through your whining, she can sleep through anything.’

I love my niece, but I’m not a natural around kids. Izzy, on the other hand, dissolves into baby talk the moment she sees Keira, and Grace has started asking her to babysit if Mom and I are working. She even pays Izzy. Money is never on offer when I’m the one changing diapers.

‘So, let me guess,’ I continue at a whisper. ‘I’m spending the night on the sofa because you and Paz had another fight.’

My mother throws me a warning look as she slips the top of her blue scrubs over a white T-shirt. ‘Lu, don’t start.’

She looks even more exhausted than usual, having followed her week of nights with two extra day shifts last weekend. Mom’s trying to put a little money aside for some of the endless things Keira seems to need, like a bigger stroller. The long hours are taking a toll, because Mom looks a lot older than her thirty-four years.

Happily, I can give her a little good news today. ‘Mom, something cool happened at school.’

‘Already?’ she asks, heading into the kitchen to take her lunch out of the refrigerator. ‘That’s great, honey. The meat loaf will be ready in ten minutes, okay?’

‘Dunfield’s participating in a fund-raising competition to raise money for literacy.’

Grace’s face clouds over. She struggled with reading, but covered it up so well for so long that no one realized what was happening until she reached Dunfield. By then she refused the remedial help the school offered, insisting that she didn’t need it. Not long afterward, she dropped out.

Mom is already jamming her feet in the shoes she keeps permanently laced, so I spit out my news: ‘Mr Sparling asked me to write a column about the competition for the school paper.’

‘Sparling’s an idiot,’ Grace says, tossing her caramel-colored hair.

I know she’s only saying that because Mr Sparling is the one who realized she had trouble reading and sounded the alarm, but it hurts anyway.

‘Grace,’ Mom says.

‘Well, why would he want her to write a column?’

‘Grace.’ Mom would say a lot more if she weren’t in such a hurry. Instead she slings an arm around my shoulders for a nanosecond. ‘Congratulations, honey.’

I fill her in on the details while she rifles through her purse. ‘The best part is that the column is going to be anonymous.’

‘Then you’re perfect for the part,’ Grace says, smirking. ‘But what’s the point of doing it if no one knows it’s you?’

‘I’ll know. And Mr Sparling and Principal Alvarez will know. If I decide to go to college it’ll look good on my application.’ Before now I hadn’t given much thought to going to college, let alone how I’d afford it, but suddenly it feels like a possibility. ‘Right, Mom?’

‘Definitely,’ Mom says. ‘Has anyone seen my bus pass?’

And thus ends the celebration of Lu’s big break.

I walk into Mom’s bedroom and extricate the bus pass from the detritus on her dresser.

‘You’re a lifesaver,’ she says, snatching her keys from the table. ‘Grace, there are fresh sheets on the bed, but you’ll have to help Lu move her things. See you at breakfast, girls.’ She drops a butterfly kiss on Keira’s cheek and slips out the door.

I turn to Grace. ‘Why are we moving my things?’

‘So you don’t disturb Keira if you need something.’

A bad feeling percolates in my stomach. ‘I’ll manage for one night.’

‘It isn’t for one night,’ Grace says, confirming my fears. ‘I left Paz. For good this time.’

Grace and I may have shared a small room for thirteen years, but we have nothing in common except genes, and even that’s debatable. She’s tall and big-boned and has the personality to match. In fact, Grace used to solve every dispute with her fists, including some of mine if she felt the family honor was at stake. I sometimes wonder if the reason Mariah Mendes hasn’t bullied me as much as some other girls is that she’s still traumatized from the day we stepped out of our third grade classroom to find a circle of kids yelling, ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’ In the middle was Grace, and she was pounding the crap out of Mariah’s older brother, Hector, because he’d called her stupid in front of her boyfriend. When she was finished pounding Hector, Grace also punched her boyfriend for not defending her himself.

I was always scared of Grace’s temper, and I still am. She has a talent for shriveling people with a single glance. Some of that power comes from multiple eyebrow studs, although she’s allowed the lip and tongue piercings to seal over. In fact, since Keira was born she’s toned her look down a lot. She can’t undo the full sleeve of tattoos on her left arm, but I notice she hasn’t gotten any fresh ones. She also cut back on profanity after Keira started mimicking her. But Grace still takes crap from no one, with the possible exception of Paz.

I, on the other hand, take crap from a lot of people, especially Grace. She hates my taste in music, clothing and television, and never hesitates to tell me so. My theory is that she blames me for driving our father out, since he left when I was still really young. The only photo we have of him shows him holding Grace the day she was born. He was about eighteen years old, and to me he looks terrified, bewildered, and maybe a little awed. I guess having a baby can do that to you.

No wonder Grace’s edge has softened. To others the change might be imperceptible, but the very fact that she now likes my friend Izzy – someone she formerly considered lame – is a giveaway. She continues to assume people are idiots until she’s proven wrong, but she’ll backtrack if someone is nice to Keira.

‘The room looks good,’ Grace calls from the bedroom.

Mom recently redecorated it as a birthday present to me. She’s a whiz with a staple gun and paint, and I’ve always been comfortable having my friends over, even though their homes are far nicer.

Coming to the doorway I see that Grace is already unpacking the first of three suitcases. My bed is strewn with Keira’s toys.

‘Did you bring everything you own?’ I ask.

‘I wish I could take all the furniture too. Paz should have to sleep on the floor.’

Grace shows up here after every fight, and moves out just as abruptly. It’s a revolving door, but Mom never complains. Although she was upset when Grace got pregnant, Mom became really supportive after Keira was born. I guess that’s because Mom never had much support herself when she was in the same predicament. Her parents disowned her, so we ended up living in my dad’s parents’ basement. Then Dad took off on us and moved to New Mexico to start another family that doesn’t terrify him.

‘You’ll be back with Paz by the weekend,’ I say. If there’s a God.

Grace shakes her head. ‘Not this time.’

She throws clothes into drawers any which way, and when she thinks I’ve stopped watching her, she wipes her eyes with her sleeve.

Okay, this is serious. As far as I know, Grace didn’t even cry when she realized she was pregnant. I feel sorry for her, but I know that any display of sympathy will send her into a blind rage. Better to tiptoe around this grenade. ‘What did he do?’

It can’t be another woman, or Grace would be in jail by now for shooting one – or both – of them. She has always been fiercely jealous of Paz, who is really cute and too flirtatious for his own good. I never got the sense that he’d cheat on her, though, because he says Grace is the best thing that ever happened to him. The more outrageous she gets, the more amusing he finds her. He had ‘Grace’ tattooed on the inside of his right wrist and ‘Forever’ inside the left.

She piles my stuff on the floor as an excuse not to look at me. ‘Nothing,’ she mutters to herself.

‘I understand if you don’t want to talk about it,’ I say, sensing she does.

‘He just doesn’t want to be a family, that’s all.’

I sit down on my bed to face her. ‘Did he say that?’

‘He didn’t have to.’

Famous last words in any relationship. I know that even though I haven’t had one. ‘What makes you think so?’

‘He hardly spends time with us anymore. When his shift is over, he hangs out with the guys for hours. And when he does look after Keira, he just sticks her in front of the TV and ignores her. He doesn’t even read to her. These are the critical years when her brain is developing really fast. The book says—’ She stops abruptly.

‘What book?’

‘Just a book about child development. Never mind.’ She stands and opens another suitcase. ‘He doesn’t care, that’s all.’

‘Paz loves Keira,’ I say. I believe it, too. He carries her picture around and shows it off to everyone. But he’s a bit selfish and lazy, traits Grace could have easily seen before she moved in with him. Mom and I did.

‘I know he does.’ Her resigned tone worries me more than anything else. It isn’t like Grace to give up a fight. ‘And I’ll make sure he gets to see her. But I had to take a stand, Lu. I will not be anyone’s doormat. I have to set an example for Keira.’

‘Maybe he doesn’t get it. He is a guy, you know.’

She zips the empty suitcases closed and looks at me.

‘He has to get it. There are no do-overs with kids.’

I stare back at her, amazed at how mature she seems all of a sudden. This is probably the most grown-up conversation we’ve ever had. She must be seeing me as her equal at last. Maybe this breakup has given us a fresh start.

‘Paz will come around,’ I say. ‘He’ll miss you.’

Sighing, she pulls me to my feet. ‘You’d better grab some dinner and get down to Dan’s.’

‘I don’t work Tuesdays. It’s your shift.’

The eyebrow studs rise. ‘I can’t work tonight. I just left my husband.’

‘Did I miss a wedding?’

‘My point is, Keira needs her mother.’

Given the circumstances I should probably let it ride, but I know if I don’t set some boundaries quickly, my sister will mow me down like a runaway stroller. ‘Grace, I have a life. You can’t just move back in here and take over.’

‘Fine,’ she says, pulling a rumpled, red-and-white gingham dress from a pile on the bed. ‘I’ll work. But I don’t have a sitter, so you’ll have to watch Keira. She’ll be upset when she wakes up and I’m not here.’

Working suddenly sounds more appealing. ‘I’ll cover your shift, but I’m not doing it all the time.’

‘Heaven forbid perfect little Lu gets off her ass to help out the family.’

All the reasons I resent Grace start flooding back to me. ‘Don’t even start. I help out all the time. It’s not my fault you decided to have a kid.’

‘It isn’t mine, either!’

Grace’s mistakes are always someone else’s fault.

The shouting wakes Keira, and she quickly works up a howl. I snatch my backpack and make my escape.

So much for fresh starts.

No matter how bad a day I’ve had, it gets better the moment I step off the bus in front of Dan’s Diner and breathe in the scent of chocolate. Donner’s Chocolate Factory just up the street cloaks the entire neighborhood in a sweet, rich cloud. A few years ago some locals complained about the smell, and the plant added new filters. Fortunately they don’t work very well.

I cross the road, watching Shirley, a full-time waitress, through the diner’s big front window. She’s refilling ketchup bottles at the counter, her bleached blond hair teased, as always, into a beehive. From here she looks quite young, but the illusion shatters at close range. She is sixty-three, and garish makeup pools in the wrinkles on her face. Her lips are lined with fuchsia pencil and filled in with frosty pale pink lipstick.

‘What a nice surprise,’ she says when I walk in. ‘Grace usually does Tuesdays.’

Shirley and Grace aren’t fond of each other. Both are brassy and opinionated, and naturally, none oftheir opinions overlap. When the baby was born, Shirley said the name ‘Keira’ was too trendy for her liking. Grace retaliated by saying Shirley’s makeup was too tacky for her liking, and they’ve never really patched things up.

I explain that Grace will cover a shift for me later in the week, which had better be true. With my new column to think about, I can’t afford to work many extra hours.

The diner has a capacity of fifty people, and on weekends we often reach it. Tonight it will be busy for a couple of hours over dinner, but manageable with two servers. The three oversize booths along the front window are already full, as are a few of the stools at the counter.

I head to the restroom to change into my uniform. Mom used to make me wear it on the bus, but I dug my heels in last year after hearing one too many yee-haws.

Dan Kennedy only spent the first ten years of his life in Texas, but the way he works a theme, you’d think he was fresh off the horse. He walks with a permanent, bowlegged swagger, talks with a Texan drawl, and wears a uniform of Wrangler jeans, denim shirts, and cowboy boots. There are chili pepper twinkle lights hanging from faux wood beams and lariats nailed to the walls.

After hanging my stuff on a fake horn hook in the tiny staff office and grabbing a cup of coffee, I join Dan on the stoop outside the back door, where he’s enjoying a cigar and reviewing his grocery list.

‘That’ll stunt your growth,’ he says, eyeing my mug.

‘The damage is already done,’ I say. ‘But I’ll give it up if you quit smoking.’

He grins at me, and our ritual is complete. He will continue to enjoy his nicotine, and I my caffeine.

‘Coming, Lu?’ Shirley calls from the kitchen. ‘We’ve got six minutes.’

The first dinner break at Donner’s starts at 5 p.m. and at precisely 5:06, workers arrive at the door.

I gulp my coffee. ‘On my way.’

Dan follows me inside and cuts me a piece of coconut cream pie. It’s my favorite, but it’s also popular with the factory crowd, so he never lets me at it until the end of the night.

‘What’s the occasion?’ I ask, digging in before he changes his mind.

‘First day of school,’ he replies. ‘How did it go?’

I hit the day’s high points, and he listens with an enthusiasm Mom couldn’t muster. He’s delighted at the idea of my writing an anonymous column and insists I bring him copies of each one.

Dan is like a fond overprotective uncle. I was only ten when Grace started busing tables here, and I had to come with her most of the time. When she dropped out of school, Dan promoted her to serving and gave me her old job. Along with the paycheck, I get plenty of advice, because Dan’s afraid I’ll follow in my sister’s footsteps. He doesn’t need to be. First, it would be hard for me to get pregnant, given the scarcity of B in my life. Second, while I dislike school in general and Dumpfield in particular, I intend to stick it out until I graduate. I admire my mother for raising us alone on so little, but I want an easier path if I can find it.

Cowbells ring, signaling the start of the rush, and I head out front at a run. You need to be on your game with shift workers. They know exactly what they want, and they want it fast. If you get them fed and back to work on time, they tip you well.

The first group in the door includes Paz Medina. I chant a silent prayer that he’ll sit in Shirley’s section, but naturally he chooses mine.

‘Swap sections?’ I ask Shirley. ‘I’ll give you half my tips.’

She shakes her head. ‘Not a chance. It’s your turn, kid.’

Paz and five other guys in brown Donner coveralls slide into one of the front booths. As shift lead on the truffle line, Paz is well respected by his crew. Despite his supreme stupidity in getting my sister pregnant, he’s actually a smart guy, and if he’d stuck it out at Dunfield one more year, he’d have graduated. After Grace dropped out, he got a chance to go full-time at Donner’s and took it, saying he’d finish school part-time. That hasn’t happened, and it probably won’t now that he’s making good money.

His Donner posse varies, but aside from different coloring and size, they’re all pretty much the same. Each is a smart-ass dropout just like Paz. They surf in here on a wave of testosterone and laugh so loud at their stupid jokes that non-Donner customers complain. I try hard to ignore them, because if they have an audience they get worse.

Be nice, I tell myself as I walk over to their table. Do not let them get to you.

‘Hey, Shorty,’ Paz says, as the rest of the guys debate the relative merits of the new burger choices on the menu.

He calls me that because he’s height-challenged himself. I have a few nicknames for him too, but in the interest of keeping the peace, I don’t use any of them. ‘Hey, Paz. You guys ready to order?’

‘Where’s Grace?’ he asks, his usually brilliant smile at half-mast.

‘Not here. Ready to order?’

‘Where is she? It’s her night.’

The rest of the crew stops talking.

‘I took her shift. And I’d love to serve you guys some dinner. How about you, Gordo? The Rodeo Burger, as usual?’

Gordo shuffles his cutlery, unwilling to order without his boss’s blessing. Meanwhile, Paz just stares, waiting for me to crack. I won’t, because I’ve already taken enough abuse from Grace tonight. ‘Look, Paz, what goes on between you and Grace isn’t my business, but serving you is my business. If you don’t want me to do my job, I can get Dan out here to take your order.’

He backs off immediately. I guess he’s so used to Grace’s attitude that it’s all he responds to now. ‘Rodeo Burger,’ he says.

‘Same for me,’ Gordo says.

And so it goes for the rest of the crew. ‘Six Rodeo Burgers, hold the fries,’ I say.

There’s an instant clamor: ‘I want fries. Fries for me. We need fries.’

Grinning, I drop their order with Dan and move on to the next table. A few minutes later, Paz corners me behind the counter and mumbles an apology.

‘It’s okay,’ I say. He’s not such a bad guy, and he is Keira’s father. ‘Call Grace.’

He leans in, in case anyone is eavesdropping. ‘She left. She took Keira and left.’

‘Like last time and the time before. Just call her.’

‘This time is different,’ he says.

His tone changes quickly when Gordo joins us. ‘She’ll be back,’ he says, puffing out his chest. ‘I give her a week tops. Grace can’t live without me.’

Twenty minutes later, the guys are teasing Paz when I deliver the bill to their table.

‘So is Grace really crying her eyes out like he says?’ Gordo asks.

‘Actually, she was heading out with some friends when I left,’ I say. ‘She looked pretty happy.’

‘Whoo-hoo!’ the guys taunt Paz. ‘Better watch your back, man!’

‘Who’s with Keira?’ Paz asks.

I shrug. ‘Not my business, remember?’

One of the guys tries to change the subject. ‘Hey, check out the shirts Paz gave us.’

The name ‘Joey’ is stitched on his overalls, but he must be new, because I don’t recognize him. Unzipping to his waist, he reveals a T-shirt in the brown-and-yellow Donner colors. It features a chocolate truffle decorated with the words ‘Paz’s Crew.’

‘Nice,’ I say. ‘I suppose tattoos are next?’

‘Hope not,’ Joey says, grinning. ‘Ink is forever. Shift leads, not so much.’

‘You’re smart not to count on anything permanent where Paz is concerned,’ I say.

Paz flips me off, but as he’s already paid – and tipped – I feel free to flip back before walking away.

‘You look fat in that uniform, Shorty,’ he calls after me.

‘And you look short in that body, Paz,’ I call back.

Chapter Three

Mr Sparling releases the class five minutes early so we can attend the first girls’ literacy fundraiser – a bake sale.

‘Save me a cupcake,’ he says, winking at me as I pass.

I wait until we’re out of earshot to ask Izzy and Rachel, ‘Do you really think I can do this?’

‘Write the column? Definitely,’ Rachel says, craning to see if Jason Baca is still ahead of us. ‘Getting cold feet?’

‘I guess so. My mother and Grace weren’t very enthusiastic about it.’

Rachel frowns. ‘When was the last time Grace was enthusiastic about anything?’

‘She’s enthusiastic about Keira,’ Izzy says.

Dissing my sister was more satisfying before Izzy started babysitting for her and misplaced her loyalties.

Rachel revises her previous comment. ‘Okay, when was the last time Grace was enthusiastic about anything related to Dumpfield?’

‘You mean, besides the guys?’

Izzy and Rachel laugh. Unlike us, my sister always had boyfriends. None were destined to become nuclear physicists, but they were all cute and treated her well. There are two elaborate dragon tattoos on her shoulders that conceal the names of Paz’s immediate predecessors. If he doesn’t get his act together soon, something colorful will happen to the ‘Paz’ and ‘Forever’ tattoos on her wrists.

‘Grace’s grades weren’t great, and it might be hard for her to see you starting to distinguish yourself,’ Rachel says.

‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘But I’m worried that Mr Sparling gave me the job because he feels bad about what happened with Grace. Or maybe he thinks he can save me from following in her footsteps.’

‘Or maybe you’re a good writer,’ Izzy says, redeeming herself. ‘Unlike some people.’

We follow her gaze to the hand-painted sign over the gymnasium door that reads: