June 20 or 20 junio (Who Knee Oh)
Dear Diary,
“What is that awful smell?” I heard Mom ask as I stepped out of the shower. Matt and I answered, “Mice” at the exact same time, then both yelled, “Jinx!”
The mouse cage needed cleaning (obviously), so Matt got out our dinky second cage and put shavings in it with the exercise wheel and an empty toilet paper roll. We temporarily transferred the mice, including the teenage ones and nine tiny new ones (Peanut, Butter, Hickory, Dickory, Dock, Sunshine, Snowball, Snowbell, and Speedy Gonzalez), into our second, smaller cage. After the transfer, Mom picked up the big mouseless cage, turned it upside down, and dumped its stinky shavings and pooplets into the giant trash can in a hallway outside our apartment.
Suddenly Matt burst into tears and said there were only EIGHT babies in the dinky cage instead of NINE! I panicked. Mom grumbled that cleaning the mouse cage shouldn’t even be her job. But Matt was bawling, so she went back to the trash can and started sifting through the garbage in search of the missing mousie/mouseton/mouselet/mouseling.
It was pretty gross and Mom was pretty mad. Matt and I offered to help, but she said that since I had just showered and Matt had just taken a bath, there was no point in our getting dirty again. After another few minutes, she announced, “Matt, I’m not finding the mouse, and I don’t think I threw it away. Could you take one more look in the small cage?”
Matt looked, and guess what? There, hidden inside the toilet paper roll, was Missing Mouse Baby #9, safe and sound. It was either Snowball or Snowbell; we’re not sure. Matt was really happy. Me too. Mom was half happy, half annoyed.
Well, all’s well that ends well!
I guess I shouldn’t have gotten so so so worried—but that seems to be my specialty.
Dear Diary,
“There ees no beeznees like show beeznees,” Uncle Angel said, looking proud of himself. Matt high-fived him.
We were at a Broadway musical! Our seats were in the middle of the row, which meant we had a good view but also that we had to disturb a lot of people just to sit down.
The lights dimmed, and an announcement reminded people to turn off their cell phones and unwrap any crinkly candies. Matt whispered to Mom, “We should have brought candy! They expect you to!” Mom said, “Shhhh!”
Everyone shushed, the conductor waved his baton around, and hummable music sprung up from the sunken orchestra.
Uncle Angel and Miguel were both smiling—I peeked.
I was next to Miguel and we were sharing an armrest, but our arms never ended up resting at the same time. The armrest was actually too skinny for both of our arms.
Mom was happy that Miguel and Uncle Angel were getting to see a musical—and that we got half-price tickets. She wanted to take them to a classic like West Side Story or Showboat or Guys and Dolls or Annie Get Your Gun. But musicals open and close (like fans), so you have to pick from what’s playing.
Well, I’ve heard of Great American Novels, like To Kill a Mockingbird and Of Mice and Men, but I’d never heard of Great American Musicals. Are there Great American Movies too? Maybe E.T. and The Wizard of Oz? (Random thought: E.T. kept wanting to phone home and Dorothy kept wanting to go home. I guess I’m glad I am home!)
ANYWAY, Oklahoma! was perfecto for Miguel and Uncle Angel because it had lots of singing, dancing, costumes, and scenery. Mom had to whisper a few explanations in Spanish to Uncle Angel—but she had to explain stuff in English to Matt too.
The most embarrassing song in Oklahoma! is about a boy-crazy girl who LOVES kissing. She thinks she should play hard-to-get, but she never does. She says she’s just a girl who can’t say no.
I don’t think I play hard-to-get. I hope I don’t play too easy-to-get. Do I play medium-to-get?
At the end of the musical, and the end of all the clapping, we went outside and Mom started humming, 
where the wind comes sweepin’ down the plain …” But the wind was sweeping around Times Square!
Miguel and Uncle Angel couldn’t believe all the flashing colorful lights and enormous billboards and nonstop action. It felt as if we were surrounded by humongous TV sets, all high above our heads with different commercials on. A ring of moving words was giving headlines. A billboard for noodle soup had steam coming out. A billboard for Coke was supersized (Mom says too much soda makes people supersized). There were ads for plays and movies and bras and underpants. And you could buy deli sandwiches, popcorn, perfume, sunglasses, sweatshirts, incense, and hamburgers or hamburguesas (Ahm Booer Gay Soss). Miguel liked the Toys “R” Us store with the giant sixty-foot-high Ferris wheel inside it and the chocolate store with the giant, glittery Hershey’s Kiss outside it.
Crowds of tourists were looking up, families were leaving theaters, couples were getting in and out of yellow cabs and white limousines, Uncle Angel and Miguel were taking pictures, and more and more people kept streaming out of the subway.
Matt and I played a new game he calls Tourist or New Yorker? Some tourists were easy to pick out because they had maps or name tags or they dressed funny or had matching T-shirts. But often, we couldn’t tell who was who.
Tourists like looking at our town—
but we like looking them up and down!
Now I wonder if I stick out when I’m a tourist. Today I was half tourist, half tour guide. Could anyone tell?
Well, Dad met us and we all six went … underground! He led us down down down and through a turnstile and a bunch of wide tunnels like an endless rabbit hole. Mom held Matt’s hand tight as we paused to watch Peruvian musicians playing flutes, a Latin man dancing to salsa music with a big rag doll, teenagers doing backflips and spinning around on the hard floor, and a woman with a guitar singing love songs.
On the subway platform, while we were waiting for the express train downtown, Mom kept telling everyone to stand back from the tracks, and Dad suddenly said, “Shhh,” because the air filled with beautiful music. A Chinese man was playing the violin, and Dad said, “He’s a virtuoso!” which means really talented. And we were getting to hear him for free! Or almost—Mom gave Matt a dollar to put in the man’s open violin case.
Our subway arrived, and we got into the very first car. Mom sat down on the orange plastic seat, Dad and Uncle Angel stood and held the skinny silver poles, and other subway riders were reading books and Bibles and newspapers. Matt said, “Miguel, follow me!” So Miguel did. Me too. We went to the front window and watched the subway beams light up the dark, lonely tunnel tracks and listened to the roar as we shot through the earth beneath Manhattan.
Miguel LOVED it! “No me lo creo” (No May Low Cray Oh), he said. “I don’t believe it. We are racing under skyscrapers! In a tunnel.”
“Fifty miles an hour,” Dad called out. “The subways opened over a hundred years ago and they run twenty-four hours a day.”
“All the day?” Uncle Angel asked.
“All day long,” Dad confirmed.
When I was planning out Miguel’s visit, it didn’t even occur to me to write down “subway” or “tunnel”—or túnel (2 Nell). I wished I were a better tour guide. For a second I almost felt like a tagalong with my family, the way I’ve been feeling with Cecily and Suze.
The subway got shmooshier and shmooshier because every time a voice said, “Stand clear of the closing doors,” more and more people got in. Finally, on Canal Street, we got out, walked up the stairs—and emerged in a whole nother world! (Is “nother” a word?)
Signs are in Chinese; phone booths are pagodas; almost everyone is Asian; and street stalls sell everything from live baby turtles, paper lanterns, and tree bark to weird herbs and colorful slippers. Chinatown is as different from Times Square as Times Square is from my neighborhood!
The markets had bundles of dark leafy greens and vegetables that didn’t even look familiar. The fish stores sold silver minnows, shiny big-eyed fish, squirming crabs, crawling lobsters, and sea creatures I couldn’t name. I held my nose, but Uncle Angel and Miguel recognized the fish and shellfish because most of Spain borders the sea, so Spaniards eat a lot of seafood.
We walked past restaurants with dead ducks hanging from hooks in the window. Ugh! But we were starving, so when Dad said, “How about this one?” Miguel held the door open for everyone and in we went.
Some things on the menu sounded disgusting, like pig knuckles and jellyfish. But we ordered yummy normal things like spare ribs and dumplings. And pork buns! We ordered too much—but ate it all up anyway! We were B.P.s or Big Pigs!
Uncle Angel said that in Valencia, you have to work hard to get a waiter’s attention, but that in New York, some waiters keep asking, “Is everything okay?” until you want to say, “Leave us in peace!” (Mom translated.)
After dinner, we went north up Mulberry Street to a café in Little Italy. White Christmasy lights draped from one side of the street to the other in glittery mini canopies.
We sat at an outside table on a narrow street and had pastries called cannoli. Uncle Angel also had a cigarillo (C Gar E Yo) and was blowing smoke in gross little rings. He said, “Broadway, China, Italy: Tres continentes en un día” (Trace Cone T Nen Tace N Oon D Ah). Miguel translated: “Three continents in one day!”
Mom said, “I’ve never thought of it like that.”
Matt said, “You should tell him not to smoke.”
Mom whispered, “Adults don’t tell other adults what to do. Besides, we’re outside.”
Matt said, “But it’s bad for him.”
Mom whispered, “You’re right, but it’s his choice.”
Matt said, “Can’t he change his choice?”
I said, “Can’t you change the subject?”
“Okay okay,” Matt said. “Who wants to go to the bat room with me?”
Miguel laughed and said, “I.” He thinks my family is funny even when I think they’re weird.
I guess Miguel really has become a friend of the family, the whole family.
For better and worse!
A few minutes later we were all double-kissing and saying goodbye. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but tourists and natives need shut-eye!
Dear Diary,
To celebrate the first day of summer, Dad took today off, and he and Mom took Miguel, Matt, and me to Jones Beach or Playa (Ply Ah). Uncle Angel had to work.
Jones Beach is beautiful! It’s about an hour and a half away by car and has perfect waves for boogie boarding. At first, I told Mom I didn’t want to go because I might feel self-conscious in a bathing suit. But she reminded me that I love the beach and said I look cute in my bathing suit and should appreciate my body for what it does not how it looks, and besides, the beach was full of bodies, not just mine. I told her she was being teacher-y and added, “I still might wear a shirt on top.”
But I didn’t. Just sunscreen!
I will say this:
And Mom’s right: I love the beach. Especially boogie boarding. I love catching waves and holding on tight as they take me to shore. And I love grabbing my board and running back in and catching another wave and riding that one to shore too. It’s like flying.
In the ocean, nothing stays the same. New waves come crashing in, morning and night, here and in Spain. And you can’t plan everything out. You also can’t worry about boys or friends or crushes or enemies or anything. You have to just pay attention to where the water takes you. And go with the flow. Go for the ride!
Well, Miguel and Matt and I were having fun, but then Matt got cold and asked Miguel to get out with him. I had a lot of sand in my bathing suit (!) and wanted to fix that in the water, so I said, “Go ahead, I’m taking one last ride.”
But here’s what happened. I caught one last wave, and just when I was about to hop out, I heard a familiar grown-up voice in front of me.
“Melanie Martin? Melanie Martin!”
I looked up from where I’d landed and saw two feet, two ankles, two shins, two knees, two thighs, one pink bikini, and one head that I couldn’t make out because the sun was too bright. I started getting up and realized that next to me, wearing nothing but a drippy bathing suit, was … Principal Gemunder!
Trust me, nothing is more embarrassing than bumping into your principal in a bikini! And I almost bumped into her literally!!
“What a nice surprise!” Principal Gemunder said.
I jumped up so we’d be face to face and I wouldn’t accidentally find out whether her belly button was an innie, an outie, or an in-betweenie!
“Hi,” I mumbled. I was not at my conversational best.
Matt saw us, but he stayed right where he was on the sand. I could tell that he was trying to look sorry for me—but also trying not to laugh.
“Do you have summer plans, Melanie? A camp or a trip?”
“We’re not sure, but right now a friend from Spain is here, so we’re mostly doing New Yorky things.”
“How splendid! What part of Spain is she from?”
Ms. Gemunder’s eyebrows went straight up, but she got them to go down again. We weren’t at school, so it would have been inappropriate for her to call Miguel’s visit inappropriate.
“I hope you have a wonderful time!” she said.
After we said goodbye, I felt stupid and realized I should have asked about her summer plans, but I swear, I’d never thought of her as a person with summer plans.
Maybe I thought principals went into a frozen state at their desks all summer, then got thawed out on the first morning of the next school year.
Crazy, right? I mean, my mom’s a teacher and I know she has a life. She loves snow days and summertime as much as Matt and I do. But still. I’d just never pictured Ms. Gemunder, my mom’s boss, at the beach in a bikini!
Thank God she didn’t have a tattoo or anything. I don’t think I could have handled that.
P.S. Matt understood how dumb I felt at the beach, but I don’t think Miguel quite quite quite got it.
Dear Diary,
This is going to sound strange, but it’s almost as if Mom, Dad, Miguel, and I just came back from a double date, a date that ended in a weird way.
Mom and Dad had reserved seats to listen to music with grown-up friends, but the friends had to cancel at the last minute, so Mom and Dad decided Miguel and I were old enough to go instead. Not Matt, though. Baby Matt had to stay home with the babysitter. And not Uncle Angel because he had a business dinner.
Mom asked Uncle Angel if it would be okay if Miguel slept over in Matt’s room tonight (!) so we wouldn’t have to take him back to the hotel. Uncle Angel said sí.
Personally, I think Mom and Dad liked being with us as much as they would have liked being with their boring regular friends. I know they like showing Miguel around.
In the car, Dad said, “When people say ‘New York City,’ they don’t mean just Manhattan, they mean all five boroughs.”
“Boroughs? ¿Burros?” (Boo Rrrohs). Miguel looked at Mom. “Donkeys? Asses?”
Dad laughed, but Mom said, “In English, a burro is a donkey—or ass—but in New York, a ‘borough’ is a neighborhood or area.”
If Matt had been in the backseat, he would have been peeing in his pants.
New York City’s five boroughs are:
1. Manhattan (the island where we live)
2. Brooklyn (where we went tonight)
3. Queens (where Miguel and Uncle Angel landed)
4. Staten Island (where you go by ferry)
5. The Bronx (home of the Bronx Zoo and Yankee Stadium)
Dad said, “Tonight we will see the best of Brooklyn.”
And I think we did!
It’s amazing how much of New York I’ve seen since Monday. And it’s only Thursday!
When a family has a guest, they have dinner conversations and don’t fight. When a family has out-of-town guests, they get to be tourists in their own hometown.
I can’t believe I’d never walked across the Brooklyn Bridge! It’s been around since 1883, and I’ve been around eleven years, and tonight was the first time I ever walked across it.
It’s enormous! It has stones and arches like a cathedral, and it attaches Brooklyn to Manhattan, and cars drive over it. Above the cars are paths for walking or biking and benches for sitting.
It was half scary, half exciting.
Our feet were safe on the wooden walkway, but it was as if we were tightrope walking. The East River was below us, and all around was air and steel cables. It was so cool I hated to blink! It felt as if we were in the middle of the sky!
Dad said, “When the Brooklyn Bridge was built, people were afraid to cross it, so a famous circus master, P. T. Barnum, led twenty-one elephants across to prove it wasn’t dangerous.”
Miguel laughed, and Mom took a picture of him and me with the lacy white Woolworth Building sticking up behind us. It used to be the tallest building in the world—until the Chrysler Building came along, and many others after that.
I said, “It’s beautiful.”
Miguel turned right to me and repeated, “Beautiful.”
I looked at him and wasn’t sure if he was complimenting the skyline—or me. Well, after that I couldn’t say anything! But my stomach butterflies started flapping around. They are so confused! They keep migrating back and forth against my ribs.
In Spain, I went crazy trying to figure out Miguel. Then, when we started e-mailing, I cared too much about whether he wrote back. Which may be normal for first love or whatever, but it was a lot of anxiety for a worrier like me. So now I’m trying to figure out how to care about someone without losing my mind.
I mean, I need my mind. I don’t like when it’s lost.
Anyway, we had pizza for dinner at a restaurant right under the bridge called Grimaldi’s. It had red-and-white-checked tablecloths. Miguel cut his pizza into pieces and ate with a fork and knife! That’s what they do in Spain. So I did too. Mom looked surprised, but she smiled and didn’t say anything.
For dessert, we ate chocolate chip ice cream cones outside at the Fulton Ferry Landing. Bright yellow water taxis docked at a fancy restaurant called River Café. Miguel said, “I have never seen a taxi boat.” I hadn’t either, but I didn’t want to admit that.
A big red sign flashed 77 degrees Fahrenheit (which made sense to us), then 25 degrees Celsius (which made sense to Miguel).
Mom looked out toward the lights of Manhattan and said, “Feel the summer breeze. The brisa” (Bree Sa).
Dad put his arms around her, and for a second, I wondered whether Miguel would put his arms around me. He gave me a shy smile and I smiled back. But no touching.
We read part of a poem stenciled into the railing. It’s by Walt Whitman, who lived in Brooklyn. One line is: “throw out questions and answers!”
At first I thought Whitman meant “throw out” like throw away, discard, delete, or get rid of. (Not to sound like a thesaurus.)
Now I think he probably meant: Keep coming up with questions and answers. Keep asking and answering! Keep thinking!
Here’s the thing: Sometimes I can’t stop thinking. I’ve even been asking myself things like: How different are friendship and love? If that were a math question, would friendship and love be separate spots on the same line, or would they be intersecting circles? What about obsession?
At 7:30, the Bargemusic concert started, so we went into a big room that actually floats right on the water. On the East River! The room rocked a teeny bit! It had big picture windows, and we looked out at Manhattan and saw boats and birds gliding by and saw the sky s-l-o-w-l-y change from pinkish blue to deep blue to black. The buildings changed color too. They went from beige gray to sunset gold to black (actually, black with twinkling office lights).
Mostly we watched the two pianists.
Miguel and I sat in the front row. We could see their hands as they touched and pressed and stroked and pounded and banged and caressed the keys. It was not the kind of music I usually listen to, but it was pretty and romantic and boring only in parts.
It’s cool how different musicians get such different sounds out of the same notes. And different writers get such different books out of the same letters. And different artists (Mom would add) get such different paintings out of the same colors.
Well, the two pianos were facing each other. They weren’t baby grand pianos or regular upright pianos or dinky electric pianos but great big jumbo grand pianos. The stretch limos of pianodom.
There was a man pianist and a woman pianist. (When Matt says “pianist,” it sounds like a totally different word, which I’m not going to write but which, I will say, only one of those two pianists has.)
Anyway, the two pianists started out far away across from each other on the separate pianos.
Later they sat down again, but together on the same bench so that they could play side by side.
I liked how they were far away, then got closer. Is that what Miguel and I are doing—getting closer?
Miguel leaned over and whispered, “May Lah Nee, I will never forget this night.”
I whispered, “Me neither.”
The final piece was a two-piano version of George Gershwin’s Rhapsody* in Blue. At the end, everybody clapped loudly—except one man who blew his nose honkingly.
The melody got stuck in my head and I didn’t even mind, which I usually do. On the drive home, we all hummed it—for about a minuto (Me New Toe). Dad said George Gershwin died young, but first he and his brother, Ira, and another guy wrote a Great American Opera: Porgy and Bess. Mom started singing “Summertime, and the living is eeeeasyyyy,” and Miguel smiled at me because he’s getting used to Mom’s singing—and my getting embarrassed.
When we got home, Mom and Dad said good night, and Miguel and I hesitated in the hallway. I was on my way to my room and he was on his way to Matt’s room, where Matt was already asleep.
Suddenly Miguel gave me Spanish double cheek kisses and cupped his hand around my upper arm. His fingertips felt warm, and he pressed very gently. I took a baby step toward him. The evening had felt romantic (duh! no Matt the Brat!) and we were looking at each other without saying anything, and I thought un besito might feel really nice. I even thought the moment was right.
But instead of puckering up and maybe half-closing my eyes, I chickened out and accidentally broke the mood. I talked! “So are you having fun in New York?”
“New York is a marvel,” he said. “And your parents are very good to me.” Then he said “Buenas noches,” and taught me how to say “Sweet dreams” in Spanish. It’s Sueña con los ángeles (Sway Nya Cone Lohs On Hell Ays), which does not mean “Dream of Los Angeles.” It means “Dream with the angels.”
I said it back to him. But his eyes looked a little serious. Or sad. Or as if something might be bothering him.
*Diary entries aren’t supposed to have footnotes, but I had to look up “rhapsody” because I had noooo idea how to spell it. My dictionary says it’s an “extravagantly enthusiastic expression of feeling.” Sometimes I feel extravagantly enthusiastic and expressive, but right now, I’m more pensive than rhapsodic. I’m also sleepy. Is Miguel? I hope the mice on the Ferris wheel don’t keep him up. Matt’s room can be pretty noisy at night. Then again, maybe he is already asleep.**
6/22 Friday
Dear Diary,
This morning was seriously embarrassing!!! I know I get embarrassed easily, but I could send what happened today into a magazine! Not that I would! That would be even 
embarrassing!
It was about eight. I heard Matt and Miguel talking, so I figured I might as well get up too.
The problema (Pro Blame Ah) was that when I wake up, I never stay in bed trying to remember my dreams or plan my day or think my thoughts; I head straight to the bathroom.
Well, I didn’t want to stagger down the hall in my pajamas with Miguel in Matt’s room, but I also didn’t want to have to get all the way dressed, especially since I was going to have to undress to shower.
To make matters worse, my hair was spiky. I looked as if I were entering a Statue of Liberty look-alike contest. I needed to pat the spikes down with water—but I needed to get to the bathroom to get to the water.
Who knew it would be soooo complicated to have Miguel sleep over? It made me glad he slept at the hotel the first nights!
I thought about putting on lip gloss, but that seemed like a dumb thing to do before brushing my teeth. So I decided to make a run for it. Five, four, three, two, one. I figured I probably wouldn’t bump into Miguel and how bad would it be if I did?
Answer:
Right when I was about to walk into the bathroom, who should walk out of the bathroom? Miguel! Looking great! He was all showered and dressed and his hair was combed and he looked very handsome or muy guapo (Mooey Gwa Po).
I couldn’t exactly shove past him or pretend I didn’t recognize him! So I mumbled hola and he mumbled hi and we both smiled and that’s when I realized I still had my retainer in my mouth. I never wear it in public! But I never think of my hallway as public!
It was so mortifying I shut myself in the bathroom and ran the tap water while I peed. (I didn’t want anyone hearing!!) Then I took a ridiculously long shower because I was not ready to face Miguel again.
Finally I knew that if I didn’t come out, I would shrivel up. My fingertips were wreally wreally wreally wrinkly, and it was definitely time to get out. So I did. And I was all set to towel off when I realized something terrible: There was no towel.
No towel!!!
I said, “Mom! I need a towel,” but she didn’t hear me. I knew Dad had gone to work, so I called out, “Mom! Matt! Towel!!” but again, nothing. Then I shouted, “TOWEL!!!” fairly loudly, sure that this time Matt might tease me or even try to charge money but at least come to my rescue with a stupid towel.
No such luck.
I assumed they had the TV on and couldn’t hear me, so finally I yelled at the top of my lungs:
Miguel’s voice gently asked, “May Lah Nee, is something wrong?”
I said, “Is my mom nearby?”
“She went to the corner to buy eggs.”
“And Matt?”
“He has accompanied her.”
“Oh,” I said from my side of the bathroom door, sopping wet and stark raving naked (if you don’t count my necklace). I could either stand there and drip-dry, which would take a while, or ask Miguel for a towel. Two terrible options.
I remembered that in Spanish, “towel” is toalla, so that’s what I said, but really softly.
“Could you hand me a Toe Eye Ah please?”
Believe it or not, I could hear Miguel laugh a little. Not a cracking-up Matt the Brat laugh. And not an Oozy Soozy hyena laugh. Just a sweet amused laugh.
“Where are the towels, May Lah Nee?”
“In the closet in the hallway. Behind you.”
I heard footsteps, a door open and shut, and more footsteps. “I hold it for you?”
“Sí,” I said, and stuck my damp arm out the bathroom door. He handed over the towel, and I took it and shut the door and dried off and tried very hard not to die of embarrassment.
Has anyone ever died of embarrassment? Probably not because if so, I wouldn’t be writing in you, I’d be resting in peace! R.I.P.
I dried off and brushed my teeth and was about to gargle. But I didn’t want Miguel to hear me go Swish Swish Gurgle Gurgle Splat, so I decided not to.
I hadn’t brought any clothes to the bathroom, and I didn’t want to come out wrapped in just the Toe Eye Ah. So I got back in my pajamas and prayed I wouldn’t run into Miguel again until I was fully dressed.
And I didn’t.
He probably stayed out of the way on purpose to be polite. Me, I’ve been hiding in my bedroom writing in you. I know I need to go have breakfast, but this day has already been traumatic and it’s not even nine.
Dear Diary,
“¡Riquíssimo!” (Rrree Key See Mo) That’s what Miguel said about Mom’s chocolate chip pancakes and blueberry pancakes. Delicious! He’d never tried either kind before.
Afterward, though, while we were doing the breakfast dishes, he was being very quiet. The way he’d been in the hallway last night. I was really really really tempted to ask, “What are you thinking?”
I wasn’t sure if he’d say, “About you—I had missed you, May Lah Nee!” Or “May Lah Nee, I would like to kiss you!” Or, God forbid, “I must tell you, May Lah Nee, about a girl in my math class …”
One way to find out.
But I wasn’t quite brave enough. So I decided to say something easier. Something about the necklace he gave me that was now back on my neck.
I said, “Plátano. Bonito.”
He said, “Pretty banana?”
“Banana?!”
“¿Plátano?”
“I meant silver.”
“¡Plata!” He laughed, so I did too.
“I just wanted to say that my necklace is pretty.”
“It is pretty on you, May Lah Nee.”
I smiled and asked, “Miguel, are you homesick?”
“Sick?” he repeated. I explained the question, and he answered, “No. I am not homesick. I like being with your family.”
I figured now or never. “What were you thinking before? When you were being so quiet?”
Miguel took a breath and met my eyes. “I am not homesick, but I was thinking about my home. I am hoping my parents can to get along with each other as I get along with them. While I am here, they are taking a trip and trying to resolve problems. You know this?”
“Yes.” What I didn’t add was that I’d completely forgotten about it.
“They argued and had many discussions this spring. It was difficult for them. And for me.” I handed Miguel Matt’s breakfast plate. I knew it was Matt’s because Matt had smeared his leftover melty chocolate chips into two blobs and a curve. Miguel looked at the smiley on the plate, dunked it into warm water, then handed it back to me, blank. “I am sorry I didn’t write to you many e-mails during that time.”
“No, Miguel, I am sorry.” And I was. Sorry he was sad. And sorry that I’d been so concerned about me and my feelings that I hadn’t thought about him and his feelings. I mean, poor Miguel! The whole time I was worrying about whether he liked me, he was worrying about whether his parents could still like each other. “I hope things work out,” I said.
“Work out? Exercise?”
“No. Get better. Get fixed up.”
“Oh yes, work out.” Our eyes met. “Thank you, May Lah Nee.”
Matt raced into the kitchen and said, “Miguel, do you like dinosaurs?”
Miguel winked at me. “I have never met a dinosaur.”
Mom joined us. “Well, it’s high time. But before we set off, Miguel, why don’t you send a quick e-mail to your parents?”
While he’s writing to them, I’m writing in you.
Tonight, after the dinos, Dad and Uncle Angel will meet us for a picnic on the Great Lawn in Central Park to hear a free opera. ($ince opera i$ $o expen$ive, Dad love$ when it’$ free.)
The opera is called The Elixir of Love, which means “Love Potion.” Sounds embarrassing, but it doesn’t matter since it’s in Italian. Dad said it’s about a girl, Adina, who didn’t know she loved a guy, Nemorino, then realizes she does. I asked, “What about the Love Potion?”
Dad smiled. “Wine.”
“Love” in Italian is amore (Ah More Ay). In Spanish, it’s amor (Ah More). Is that how love might sometimes feel? Ah, More! Ah!! More!! Ahhh!!! More!!!
Dear Diary,
Ever since Miguel arrived, I’ve been hoping to have some time alone with him, just us. (The towel emergency does not count!) Today Mom helped that happen.
We entered the American Museum of Natural History through the door next to the statue of Theodore Roosevelt. Matt said, “Tell Miguel about teddy bears.”
I said, “You tell.”
Matt began, “You know DogDog and Hedgehog?”
“Why would Miguel know about our stuffed animals?” I practically hissed. “Besides, they have nothing to do with this story.”
Matt shrugged. “President Teddy Roosevelt liked to hunt, and once, in Mississippi”—Matt looked at Mom and she nodded—“he went hunting, and there was a bear cub that he could have killed but decided not to. He spared it. Well, newspapers ran cartoons about it, and a toymaker began making soft little bears and calling them teddy bears because of Teddy Roosevelt. Soon every kid wanted a little bear.”
“Osito” (Oh Sea Toe), I said, since I knew that word.
“I don’t mean every single kid wanted a teddy,” Matt went on. “I have a dog—DogDog—and Melanie has”—he looked at me, I glared, he stopped midsentence, and Miguel looked amused. Then
One is an unbelievably tall Barosaurus with an unbelievably dinky head.
“Dinosaurio” (D No Sour E O), I said.
Mom gave us paper bracelets to put on (at the Met, they give you metal buttons), and Matt said, “Let’s go see the thirty-four-ton meteor!”
Mom said, “I don’t think Miguel should miss the other dinosaurs. You do want to see them, don’t you, Miguel?”
Miguel said, “If it is possible.”
“Posible” (Poe See Blay), I said, because I was on a roll with my one-word translations.
“Tell you what,” Mom said, “Melanie and Miguel will do the dinos, and Matt and I will see the meteors and—”
“Shrunken heads!!” Matt said. “And naked cave people!!”
“Whatever. Then we’ll meet under the whale in exactly one hour. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said, though I was shocked. I’m always b-e-g-g-i-n-g Mom to let me go places without her, and she always says no. When I say, “Why not?” she says she trusts me but not the world.
I must have looked funny because Mom said, “Unless you’d rather we all stick together?”
“No!!”
“You two will be fine inside here,” Mom said. “Just take care of each other.”
That sounded embarrassing, but it was worse when she added, “Don’t look like you’ve never been on your own before. Look confident. And if someone approaches you, walk away or—”
“I know, I know, find a guard,” I said.
“Right.” Ever since I was born, Mom has been lecturing me about how if someone creepy says, “Would you like some candy?” or “Can you help me find my lost puppy?” I should run away or scream or find a police officer or mom or doorman or Safe Haven. Not that this has ever happened. People think New York City is more dangerous than it actually is.
“We’ll be fine, Me Ron Dah,” Miguel told Mom. “We will meet you at twelve minus fifteen.”
“Eleven forty-five,” Mom said. “That’s how we say it. Or a quarter to twelve.”
“A quarter to twelve,” Miguel repeated. Then we took off—alone! At first I kept turning around to look for Mom because it was hard to believe we were really on our own.
Next thing you know, Miguel and I were staring at the enormous, bony, sixty-five-million-year-old head of a Tyrannosaurus rex. The caption said it got dug up in Montana in 1908, but all I could think of to say was that it was big big big. So I said, “Grande grande grande” (Gron Day Gron Day Gron Day).
Nearby was a giant put-together skeleton of a carnosaur. The caption said it was probably aggressive and ferocious, but all I could think to add was that it was old old old. So I said, “Viejo viejo viejo” (Byay Hhho Byay Hhho Byay Hhho).
It was weird. There I was with triceratopses and stegosauri and woolly mammoths and Miguel all to myself, and I couldn’t think of anything worthwhile to say.
I almost started wishing Little Science Boy were there to babble about Jurassic ecosystems.
We passed a nest with dino eggs. “Huevos” (Way Vohs), I said.
He said, “It’s hard to believe that birds and dinosaurs are cousins, true?”
“True. Miguel, in Spain, do you have the old TV show Friends?”
“Amigos (Ah Me Goes). Sí.”
“This is where Ross works! He’s a paleontologist.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And I wish I were because I’d be a better tour guide. All I know about dinosaurs is that they’re grande, viejo, and extinct-o.”
“Extinto” (S Teen Toe), Miguel corrected. “May Lah Nee, I do not expect you to be a tour guide or paleontóloga (Pa Lay Own Toe Low Ga). I came so my parents could have time alone, sí, but I also came to be with your parents. And Matt. And you.”
He smiled and I smiled back and our eyes locked and suddenly I couldn’t have looked away even if I’d wanted to. Which I didn’t. It was as if we finally were all alone in the museum, in New York, in America, in the world! It was like a Perfect Moment or MomentoPerfecto (Mo Men Toe Pair Fec Toe). Miguel stepped a little closer, and for a second, I was pretty positive that he was reaching for my hand. And that I wanted him to. It was practically making me dizzzzzy.
Then, out of the corner of my eye (or maybe the angle, since eyes don’t have corners), I saw someone bounding up to us. At first I thought it was Matt the Brat. But it was … Suze the Ooze! With her older sister.
I wanted to hide Miguel behind the duck-billed hadrosaur, but it was too late (and dino skeletons are see-through anyway).
“Melanie!! Hi!!”
Suze was staring at Miguel, so I had no choice but to introduce them. Miguel gave her little cheek kisses, which (I now of course know) everyone does in Spain. But it was soooo frustrating because seconds earlier it had seemed like he and I were finally going to hold hands—and now he was kissing Suze!! Suze!!!
“I am Miguel,” he said, and instead of saying, “I am Susan” or “I am Suze” or even “I am a horrible person with horrible timing who specializes in ruining everything for everybody,” she turned to me, her eyes popping out, and said, “Omigod!! Your Spanish boyfriend!!”
Omigod, I wanted to die! But I wanted to kill her first!! I did not want Miguel to think that I go around calling him my boyfriend, especially since I don’t.
I also didn’t want him to think that I hated the idea!
She lowered her voice and added, “No offense, but I pictured him older.”
Now I really wanted to punch her little face in! I wished Miguel and I had gone with Mom and Matt to the disgusting shrunken-head exhibit. No! I wished I could have shrunken Suze’s head!
I somehow managed to say, “Miguel is my amigo. And he speaks English!”
“Oh!!” Suze turned to him and started talking loudly and slowly as if there were something wrong with his ears. 
This was torture!
“Yes,” he said. He gave me a little smile.
“Three more days.”
I wanted to say, “He’s Spanish, not hard of hearing,” but I just stood there.
“It is stupendous,” Miguel said, probably because estupendo (S 2 Pen Dough) is a normal Spanish word.
This was worse than a dentist appointment! Finally I announced, “Well, we have to go.”
“Wait, Mel,” Suze said. “My mom’s letting me have a pizza party tomorrow. A lot of people are coming. Justin said he’d be there, but Cecily is away.”
“I know,” I said. “With her dad.”
“Want to come?”
“That is a nice invitation,” Miguel said, just when I was trying to figure out how to say, “In your dreams!” I couldn’t believe Suze. In no time, I’d gone from Perfect Moment to Stinky Moment. Plus, when she mentioned Justin, part of my brain started thinking about him, which was distracting—and not what I needed.
“My parents may have plans for us,” I informed Suze. “I’ll call you, okay?”
“Okay.”
In the elevator, Miguel said, “A party—I could meet your friends.”
“Maybe,” I said, “but my best amiga isn’t here this week.…” I didn’t add, “And besides, it’s easier to have you all to myself.”
Truth is, I would have liked for Miguel to meet Cecily. But I couldn’t picture him meeting Justin. (“Miguel, meet Justin. I sorta like him too!”)
On the long walk to the Hall of Ocean Life, I told Miguel that Suze is not my favorite persona (Pair Sohn Ah). I even told him about her dumb habit of always saying “No offense” right before saying something offensive.
Matt saw us and came running over. “Isn’t it cool?!?”
Miguel said, “What?”
Matt said, “Moby Dick!!” He pointed at the life-size whale hanging down from the ceiling.
Miguel said, “He’s bigger than the dinosaurs!”
“Blue whales can be almost as long as three school buses,” Matt said. “This one is ninety-four feet and has a belly button!”
“He is stupendous!” Miguel said.
Matt laughed. “No one says ‘stupendous’!”
“No?” He looked at me. “Then he is phenomenal!”
“That’s even worse. Just say ‘awesome.’ ” Matt smiled. “Or ‘cool.’ ”
“Cool!” Miguel said, and I wished I had been comfortable enough to tell him that.
Mom said, “When Melanie and Matt were little, we lived here, especially in the winter! The kids loved this place—the gems and minerals and running under the whale—”
“Mom!” With my eyes, I begged her to quit reminiscing about my Pigtail Childhood. Fortunately she changed the subject. “I got tickets to a show at the planetarium. It’s called ‘Passport to the Universe.’ ”
“Did you bring our passports?” Matt asked, but Mom said we wouldn’t need them.
We walked to the planetarium, and instead of thinking about long-ago dinosaurs or far-off galaxies, I was thinking about Suze and how mad I was at her for interrupting Miguel and me and getting me thinking about Justin, who had nothing to do with anything and should not have been taking up any of my brain molecules right then.
Too late. My brain was off and running. Miguel and Justin are both my amigos. One lives far away and one lives nearby, and thinking about either one of them can get me good nervous (excited) or bad nervous (upset). They’re both smart and cute and nice. Miguel is gallant and gave me a necklace and my whole family likes him. Justin is funny and lives nearby and I usually feel comfortable with him. I like e-mailing them both, and I like when they explain things to me, whether about Spain or math or anything.
So what am I supposed to do about stupid Suze’s stupid party??
Mom led us to a waiting area, where TV monitors explained light-years and said it takes eight minutes for a sun ray to reach Earth.
Matt said, “What are a Martian’s favorite candies?”
Miguel said, “I do not know.”
“Milky Ways and Mars Bars! I made that up!” Mom had to translate.
Tom Hanks’s voice came on the monitor. A camera zoomed in on people rushing around, then pulled back back back until it showed the street, the neighborhood, the city, the Earth, the planets, and a gazillion stars!
Tom Hanks announced, “There comes a time in each of our lives when it dawns on us that we are not the center of the universe.”
Well, that got me thinking. Have I reached that time in my life yet? I can tell you, since you’re my diary, that I know I should worry about war and homelessness and global warming and terrorism and other people’s parents, and I do (a little), but I also have to admit (just to you) that I worry more about Miguel and Justin and Cecily and Suze and Matt the Brat and my mice and my parents and myself.
We finally entered the planetarium. The room was dark and the ceiling was round and a light made Matt’s shoelaces purple.
We sat down and it got pitch-black, and I realized how tired I was from waking up early, staying up late, walking walking walking, and trying to figure out boys and friends and whether I was just an itsy-bitsy teeny tiny speck in the vast, gigantic observable universe.
Miguel sat next to me, and I could just have reached over and held his hand. Thirty minutes ago, we had almost held hands. Now that feeling seemed as far away as the Milky Way. How come the connection between us sometimes feels so strong and sometimes feels so fragile?
I leaned further back in my comfortable seat, and a million billion trillion stars appeared above us, and soft calming music surrounded us, and Tom Hanks droned on about the golden age of astronomy and how we are all citizens of the cosmos.
It was humbling. And overwhelming.
I closed my eyes for a split second, and then, somehow, I … fell asleep! I slept through the entire show! My brain was on overload and must have just shut down and crashed, like a computer.
When the lights went back on, Mom nudged me and said we should go home and get some rest before the opera.
So we went outside, and I stuck my hand up—which I’ve been doing since I was a little kid. (Mom says “taxi” was one of my first words.)
Miguel said, “There’s one!”
I said, “No, it’s got someone in it.”
He looked at me. “How do you know?”
I explained that when a cab is available, its top light is on. Lots of yellow cabs streamed by us, but their top lights were off, meaning the taxis were full. Some had two little top lights on, but that meant that the drivers or taxistas (Ta Sees Stahs) were off duty.
“Should I get a gypsy?” I asked. Mom nodded, so I flagged one and it pulled over.
Miguel said, “This car is not yellow and it has no light. How did you know it was a taxi?”
I explained that I’d spotted the sign in the passenger-seat windshield and had noticed just one person in the car.
“Oh,” Miguel said.
“We call them gypsy cabs,” I added.
“Gypsy?” Miguel asked, and next thing you know, he and Mom were talking about a Spanish writer named García Lorca, who wrote poems about gypsies, the moon, and even New York. Mom said Lorca also wrote a tragic play called The House of Bernarda Alba.
Well, as we got closer and closer to The Apartment of Melanie Martin, I started thinking about all the differences between Miguel and me. Different ages and languages and countries and cultures and experiences. Miguel was squooshed next to me, but I don’t know if he even noticed because he and Mom were talking a mile a minute in Spanish. Is that how she’d babbled to Miguel’s father, Antonio? She switched to English to tell me that Lorca got murdered in the Spanish Civil War. I said, “That’s terrible,” but until that minute I’d never heard of Lorca, so it’s not as if I was sad sad sad.
More like: I felt estúpida (S 2 Pee Da) for not caring about the Great Spanish Poet.
While they talked, I also felt a little left out. But I reminded myself that if Miguel and I are really amigos, I should be hoping things get better between his parents, not just that they get “better” between us. I should care about him, not just how much he cares about me.
I was also thinking that it’s hard to care about two boys at the same time, especially when they are from different worlds.
We got to our apartment, the cab stopped, and Miguel started to open his door on the traffic side—not the building side. New Yorkers know never to do that. The driver shouted, “Close the door!” and Mom gave Miguel the little lecture she used to have to give us.
At home, Mom sliced up a cantaloupe, and Matt said it tasted melony, and Miguel repeated, “May Lah Nee?” and everyone laughed. Then he told Mom about Suze’s invitación (Een B Ta Syone), and Mom said that sounded fun. Fun?!
Miguel and Mom are now at Zabar’s buying cheese, salami, bread, pasta, fruit, and brownies for our picnic at tonight’s opera. I stayed here. Guess what I have been doing? Hint: Scribble, scribble, scribble.
I also cleaned my room. First I hid Hedgehog in my sock drawer, but then I felt guilty and sorry for her, so I pulled her out and put her right back on my bed where she belongs.
one hora (Or Ah) or hour later
Dear Diary,
Miguel just came into my room and saw the heart-shaped frame with the photo of us at the castle. I should have hidden that in my sock drawer! I was soooo embarrassed, as he could tell. He said, “May Lah Nee, I have a very nice photo of you on my—how do you say?—bullet board.”
“Bulletin board?”
“Sí sí. Bulletin board.”
I confess. That made me feel better!
Dear Diary,
I have to tell you something.
Things keep changing.
Tonight in Central Park, Miguel tried to put his arm around me.
I’m pretty sure he did anyway.
We were sitting on our blanket behind Mom, Dad, and Uncle Angel, who were totally into the opera. Matt was busy driving his favorite red car around an imaginary racetrack on our blanket. (Pathetic but true.) Miguel was on my left, and he moved closer and stuck his hand out behind me—not actually over my shoulder or anything—but behind me in what I guess my life-skills teacher would call my personal space. Then he lifted his arms up like he was about to yawn, but he didn’t yawn, he kind of lowered his right arm on my back and shoulders.
I didn’t move. I didn’t plunk my arm around him or scrunch closer or rest my head on his shoulder or anything. I just sat there frozen and pretended I hadn’t noticed.
Which was dumb. Of course I’d noticed! Who wouldn’t notice the weight and warmth of a boy’s arm on your back? But I swear, I’d turned into a melon. May Lah Nee the Melón (May Loan). I’d gone completely still inside and outside. I’d become a thing instead of a person. An it instead of a she.
Why why why? Was it because I couldn’t bring myself to do anything with my parents right there? I tried sticking my arm up and over Miguel’s back. But it wouldn’t go. Gravity was holding it down.
I was the opposite of that Turandot lady in the other opera. When she got kissed, she melted. But when Miguel tried to put his arm around me, I went into melon mode!
Thing is, when a boy and a girl are dancing, they’re supposed to smoosh together. It’s expected, so it feels easier.
Well, I finally got myself to lean into Miguel a teeny bit, and I even put my left arm behind his back—though it was not touching his back.
Miguel turned his head and smiled at me, and I smiled back, and then with his hand, he pulled me a little closer to him. Which felt okay … but not one hundred percent perfecto.
Dad turned and asked if we liked the opera, and Miguel dropped his hand straight down to the blanket, where it stayed for the rest of the opera. (I doubt Dad even saw.)
When Dad looked away again, Miguel put his right hand on top of my left hand. And it was nice-ish, at first, but then (is this dorky?) I wanted to eat another brownie, and I worried it would seem unfriendly to pull my hand away. So I let it stay there, trapped.
Is there something wrong with me? Is it normal to think like this?
Probably. A lot of weird stuff is normal. But still, you’d think I would have wanted his hand to be covering mine. Hearts really are hard to predict! I guess you can’t plan love out. Because sometimes a guy and a girl who like-like each other start just plain liking each other, and sometimes maybe two people who start as friends can become more.
After a while, I said, “Miguel, I have cards.”
“Cards?” I pulled out my hand and pulled out my deck, and we taught each other card games while the opera singers serenaded us. We played until the evening twilight became nighttime darkness. Then Mom lit two candles and we played some more. To tell you the truth, I think Miguel liked playing cards. He didn’t seem heartbroken or anything. He seemed fine.
I wonder if he’s ever thought, as I’m starting to, that if you really care about someone you’ll barely ever be able to see, it’s mostly going to hurt. I mean, if you love an actor or musician or athlete, you don’t sit there hoping for e-mails or IMs or calls or kisses, so it’s not hard. But if you love someone you actually know who is far away, you start wanting that person to be closer. You do. And that is not fun. It’s also probably the last thing Miguel needs if he’s already worried about his parents.
At the end of the opera, Mom and Dad and Uncle Angel were all happy happy happy and Matt was out cold. Uncle Angel said, “It would be nice to leave here.”
Mom assured him that we were leaving.
Uncle Angel said, “No, I mean to say, ‘to liiiiiive here.’ ”
Mom laughed. “It is nice to live here, but it is also time to leave.”
She nudged Matt awake, and we walked with a crowd of other people to the edge of the park. Mom was holding our blanket, Dad was carrying Matt, Uncle Angel was smoking (I could see the fiery glow of his cigarette), and Mom told Miguel and me to get taxis.
“We could get a gypsy,” Miguel said.
“Gitano” (Hhhe Tah No), I said, and he smiled. I think he likes my little one-word offerings. I also think that somehow Miguel and I will be able to be friends, even if we may not become a mushy couple.
“I see a yellow cab with a light on top!” Miguel said, and put his hand up. The cab screeched to a stop.
Miguel looked proud of himself, so I said, “You’re becoming a real New Yorker!”
We all double-kissed in the dark, and Miguel and Uncle Angel got in that cab, and we four M’s got in another.
And now here I am, at my desk.
If this were a novel, not a diary, by now Miguel and I might be madly in love and making out every minute—or we might hate each other and be in a big fat fight.
But real life is foggier than fiction.
Really yours,
