We had lost our three acres of strawberries, and I felt sad for Papá. But I was also relieved, because I did not have to work late in the evenings and miss days of school anymore. I had more time to study. I caught up in math and took the second seat in the first row. Margie Ito continued to take the first seat. She was unmovable. In social studies I scored ninety-nine percent on the final test on the United States Constitution. I struggled in my English class but always did well on spelling tests, which we had once a week. I wrote the spelling words in my notepad and studied them as I worked.
The hardest task for me was writing a final paper for my science class. We were to pick any science topic, research it, and write a report on it. I had a hard time deciding on a topic. Nothing came to mind. Then one day as I was flipping through a history book, I came across a brief section on Christopher Columbus and the discovery of the New World. As I skimmed it, my eye caught the name Hernán Cortés. I was fascinated. It was the first time I had read about someone with a Spanish name. I read the paragraph several times and said the name Hernán Cortés out loud. I liked the sound of it. His name ended with a “z” sound just like my family’s last name. I felt proud. I began to wonder what it was like to be an explorer over four hundred years ago.
Then an idea for my report came to me: I would explore the solar system. I went to the library, checked out books on the moon and the planets, and read them, taking notes. I created a story about a group of six scientists who decide to explore part of the solar system. The scientists were Roberto and I, cocaptains; and Trampita, Torito, Rorra, and Rubén, our assistants. We built a spaceship and traveled to seven planets and the moon. We explored each planet, in order of increasing distance from the sun: Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Neptune, and Pluto. I kept a journal on our explorations and made drawings to illustrate our findings. Mr. Milo, also my science teacher, gave me an A+ on the report, even though I had made several grammatical mistakes in it. He told me I had a good imagination and said he had displayed my report at Open House the night before. I did not know what he meant by Open House, and I was more confused when he said he missed meeting my parents on that evening.
A few days before the end of the school year, our class practiced for graduation in the auditorium, which also served as the cafeteria. We lined up outside in the corridor in alphabetical order and marched in to music played on a record player. We walked up the stairs to the stage, where we sat in cold metal chairs. We repeated this exercise several times until we got it right. We were told to wear dark pants and a white shirt. Girls were to wear a white blouse and dark skirt.
All day Saturday, I kept thinking about graduation. I was excited about leaving El Camino Junior High School and starting Santa Maria High School on time in the fall. When Papá and I got home from work at six o’clock, Mamá had already heated water in a pot for my bath. I washed my hair with Fab detergent and scrubbed my hands extra hard with Ajax to get rid of the strawberry stains. I put on a clean pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. “You can’t wear that T-shirt, mijo,” Mamá cried out. “It’s yellowish and frayed.”
“It’s the best one I have.”
“Here, Panchito, wear this one. It’s whiter than yours,” Roberto said, handing me one of his T-shirts. I tried it on. It was a little big, but it was better than the one I had. “You look pretty good,” he said, chuckling. “All you need are a few more muscles like me to fill it.”
“Thanks, Mr. Atlas,” I said, laughing.
“You’d better hurry. It’s getting late,” Mamá said. She rubbed Tres Rosas oil in my hair and helped me comb it. Papá, who was in a rare good mood, splashed some of his Old Spice aftershave lotion on my face. His large, callused hands felt like old leather gloves.
“I don’t want you to smell like rotten strawberries,” he said, smiling. “If you smell like me, nobody will want to get near you.” He took off his Saint Christopher medal, which he wore around his neck, and handed it to me. “Here, mijo,” he said, “I want you to have this. It will guide you.”
“Gracias, Papá,” I said, admiring the worn-out image between my fingers. The medal was linked to a chain similar to the pull-cord attached to the light bulb hanging in the middle of our kitchen. Papá had worn the medal ever since I could remember. “Are you sure you want to give it to me?”
“Of course,” he answered. “It’s your present for finishing the eighth grade.” He stood up slowly and hugged me. I noticed the necklace had left a white ring around his sunburned neck.
“You’d better get going!” Mamá insisted, giving Roberto and me a slight shove. “May God bless you.”
Roberto and I arrived at El Camino Junior High School a few minutes late. I ran down the corridor looking for my spot in line. My classmates were already waiting. I saw Robert Lindsay and moved in front of him. I was glad to see that he was wearing a T-shirt too, because most of the boys were wearing collared white shirts. They looked like penguins. Mr. McEacheron, the P.E. coach, walked up and down the hall, trying to keep us from making too much noise. Parents and friends milled around the cafeteria, waiting for the ceremony to start. As soon as we heard the music, we quieted down and began the procession. When we entered the auditorium, I spotted Roberto in the audience. I imagined Papá and Mamá sitting next to him, their faces glowing as my name was called to receive my diploma.