Chapter Seven

The next morning, I write my first handwritten letter to Stanley asking if he wants to be pen pals this summer. I make sure to include my address. I suspect he knows where I live since we’ve ridden bikes together, but better to be safe than sorry.

“You’re not going to include anything about Mexico?” asks Nick. He’s standing by the kitchen counter, snacking again. He’s already finished a bowl of cereal. Now, he’s carefully unwrapping individual cheese slices and stuffing them into his mouth one at a time. Mom says teenagers need to eat often because their bodies are growing fast, but I think he must be growing extra fast by the amount he eats.

“I think I want to keep the trip a secret. I’m sure he’ll flip out once he finds out.”

“Sneaky, sis.” He taps my forehead.

“Nick, can you tell me about Mexico again?”

“Why do you want to hear it from me? You’ll see it soon enough.”

He looks annoyed. I don’t know why Nick is so moody now. When we were younger, Nick used to love to tell me stories about our abuelo’s house and playing in Chapultepec. I miss his long stories about the park full of palm trees and a castle.

“Fine. I’ll ask Dad,” I reply, pouting. “He remembers more than you anyway.”

“Whatever,” says Nick, walking away with another cheese slice in hand.

Dad lives in Colorado and usually calls once a week. My parents divorced when I was five. He’s not always the best dad, like he sometimes forgets to call or makes promises that he doesn’t keep. But he’s not all bad, and I know he tries the best that he can. This week, fortunately, he remembers to call. That’s great, too, because I have many questions to ask him about Mexico, like the weather, what our old house was like, and of course Oaxaca.

When I finally tell him about our trip, he replies, “¡Qué bueno! You’re going to love Oaxaca, Stella.”

“Is there anything I should do while we’re there, Papá?”

“You should eat the chapulines.”

“What are those?”

“I won’t tell you.” Then he adds, “It will be una rica sorpresa.”

I’m cautious. Dad surprises aren’t always as great as Mom surprises. They are usually little disappointments more than anything, like the time he surprised us by introducing us to his new girlfriend, but I’m willing to give it a try.

The remaining days till our vacation zoom by, and before I know it, we’re heading on our trip. I make sure to pack my ocean books, journals, drawing materials, and sunscreen. I try to jam more books in my backpack before the taxi arrives.

“We’re only going for five days, niña,” says Mom.

“I just want to make sure I’m ready for my first ocean experience. It’s my job as a future Shedd Aquarium camper.”

Mom laughs. “Okay, one more book.”

Nick rolls his eyes and I give him a hard stare.

On the taxi ride to O’Hare airport, I double-check my to-do list. Only two items remain:

• Stanley’s Address
• Passports

I put check marks next to both. Stanley’s dad emailed Mom their address yesterday, and Mom triple-checked our passports. I ask Mom if I can hold the passports in the taxi, but she says they are too important. Mom lets me look at them instead. On the front it says ESTADOS UNIDOS MEXICANOS. As I touch the lovely green cover, I wonder about the United States part.

“Mom? How many states are there in Mexico?”

“Thirty-one and one federal district. Mexico City is like Washington, D.C. It is its own tiny state. That’s why we used to call it D.F., Distrito Federal, but it recently changed. Now we just call it la Ciudad de México.”

Suddenly, I feel butterflies in my stomach. Even though Mexico is my home, I realize there is so much I don’t know about it. Once we’re on the airplane, my butterflies double in size when I hear the overhead announcements in Spanish. Is everything going to be only in español? I breathe a sigh of relief when they repeat them in English.

“Whoa, there is a TV,” says Nick, elbowing me. It’s the most excited he’s sounded all morning.

“See, there’s a documentary on the oceans and some animated movies,” he says and then hands me a pair of headphones. I clap my hands with joy.

My nerves are completely gone once the snacks are served on the flight. They serve us these packages of zesty cacahuates japoneses. I don’t quite understand why a Mexican airline hands out Japanese peanuts as a snack, but I’m not complaining. They are crunchy, salty, and superb!

When the flight attendant checks on us, I try practicing my Spanish. I want to ask her when the flight lands, but it doesn’t go so well. She speaks so fast; I can’t understand her. I think I heard the word agua, but I’m not sure. I turn roja.

“Do you want some water?” she asks again, this time in English.

I reply softly, “Si, por favor.”

I look at Mom. My stomach is feeling a little uneasy again.

“How come I can always understand you?”

“It’s okay, Stellita. There are some people I can’t understand in Spanish either.”

“Really?”

“Don’t get me started!” she replies, laughing.

I tilt my head at her in confusion.

“It’s complicated. There are many Spanish-speaking countries, and each country has its own unique words. Like in Spain, they call a pen a bolígrafo, but in Mexico we call it a pluma. If I’m speaking with someone from Chile, for example, and they use words that I’m not familiar with, I can get confused. It happens to all of us.”

Hearing that Mom struggles sometimes with Spanish makes me feel a little better.

Though the flights are long and we have a layover, I’m not tired at all when we land in Oaxaca. In fact, I feel all tingly with excitement. It bubbles over when I see my tía Maria. Maria is the easiest of my relatives to talk to. She speaks so many languages, not to mention English, perfectly.

She welcomes us with hugs and kisses. “¡Bienvenidos!”

She looks at us and shakes her head. “Qué bonitos, but you all look too skinny. Let’s go home quick, and I will feed you.”

Exiting the airport, I can feel the heat on my face. It’s so much warmer here than in Chicago. I also don’t hear a single word of English outside of Maria and Mom. Some of the Spanish I can understand perfectly, but some of it doesn’t make sense! It’s a little overwhelming, so I hold on to Mom’s hand tighter. The streets are also littered with those bug Volkswagen cars. I immediately start tapping Nick with my free hand. “Slug bug white. Slug bug taxi.”

He looks a little annoyed. “Kiddo. There are a bunch of them here. You’re going to get tired of this game if you keep it up.”

I look out the window. “I’ll take a break then.”

Then I whisper softly, “For now.”