MAMÁ LET ME BUY a small notebook that came with a tiny pencil so that I could carry it around in my pocket and write down words that I didn’t know, or expressions for which I needed to ask the meaning. It filled up fast, with things like “Close but no cigar,” which means that you came very close to accomplishing a goal but didn’t quite make it. Or funny ones, like “When pigs fly,” which means something that will never happen, and completely gruesome ones, like “It costs an arm and a leg,” which means something is really expensive.
One thing was clear to me—English was a very strange language. I would go to sleep with my head so crammed with new words and expressions that my dreams were filled with flying pigs and rainstorms of cats and dogs. I wondered if I would ever be fluent, really fluent, like I was in Spanish. Sometimes, though, I’d catch myself thinking in English instead of Spanish. Señora Owen, my English teacher in Buenos Aires, always said that thinking in another language is a sign of fluency, so I figured there was hope. But so many times I found myself frustrated, trying to think about how to say something, worrying if the words that left my mouth were the ones that actually expressed what I was trying to say. And sometimes, after the words came out, people would look at me strangely or start laughing, and I’d know that those words weren’t the right ones, or I’d pronounced them incorrectly, and I’d wish for the nine hundredth time that day that I was back in Argentina, speaking in my native tongue.
I hadn’t managed to IM Roberto in a few weeks. We never seemed to be online at the same time. I’d send him long e-mails about Twin Lakes, about Jon, about Evil Jess, about everything that was happening in my life except for my conversations with Brian Harrison and what was happening at home. The e-mails he sent me back were short: “Hola, just got back from the beach, hope you are making new friends, miss you, R xo” or “Guess what—we won our football (ha! Not soccer Í) match 4–1 and guess who was the lead scorer? Hope all is well with you— Besos, Beto xoxo.”
I was scared that he was slipping away from me, that his e-mails would get shorter and shorter until finally he stopped writing to me at all. And if that happened…I didn’t want to think about losing Roberto, about not feeling like he was somewhere in America, loving me.
At least Gaby was still writing to me regularly.
Shalom, chica! Greetings from Tel Aviv, where we have finally ended up after leaving the absorption center. Papá is going to be working in one of the hospitals here. Tel Aviv is cool—very modern and bustling and the beach is fantastic. You have these ultramodern highrise hotels and then the Carmel market with all the fruits and spices and coffee roasters.
For all that Tel Aviv has so much going on, I miss the absorption center at Ra’anana. I’d made a lot of friends there, and we were all in the same boat. Here I’m much more conscious of being an extranjera—like when I get a strange look and I know what I meant to say in Hebrew just came out really wrong or I’ve made a grammar mistake that a three-year-old would know better than to say. The teachers at school recommend that our family try to continue speaking Hebrew when we get home, but most times by the end of the day my brain hurts from having to think about what I’m saying all the time, and I just need to be able to open my mouth without having to plan out the sentence first.
I’m sorry to hear things aren’t so good at home. Do they provide any immigrant counseling in America? It’s such an enormous change for anyone. Maybe it’s just going to take your dad a little longer to adjust than it does for other people.
I miss you so much, Dani!! I heard about this new program called Birthright Israel, where when you are eighteen you can get a free trip to visit Israel for ten days. I know it’s a few years away, but you should look into it. You seem so far away from me, but I’d be happier if I knew we’d at least see each other again, sometime.
Give your parents my love and give Sari a big hug.
xoxo Gaby
I looked up Birthright Israel on the Internet, and Gaby was right. It was amazing that anyone would just give away an expenses-paid trip to Israel just because you were Jewish and between the ages of eighteen and twenty-six, but apparently that’s what Birthright Israel does. I didn’t care what Mamá and Papá thought—when I turned eighteen, I planned to apply for a trip. It was the only way I’d ever be able to afford to see Israel, and Gaby, my best friend halfway across the world.
I’d settled into a routine at school. At least I finally knew my way around and wasn’t constantly worried about getting a detention. I kept to myself mostly, because it was hard enough trying to make friends in a language you knew really well and I was still not 100 percent confident with my English. My only real friends were Jon and Rosalia—and Brian, in a way that made me feel strange. It had gotten to the point that one day when I walked into History to find his seat was empty, I felt a wave of disappointment, surprising because I hadn’t realized how much I’d been looking forward to seeing him. It’s not because I like liked him. He was just smart and funny and I enjoyed speaking to him. Okay, yes, and he had really lovely brown eyes, I’ll admit that.
Anyway, history class dragged horribly the day Brian wasn’t there, and I had to walk to my next class alone.
The hallway was even noisier than usual, and there was a crowd down at the far end. As I got closer, I heard Jon’s voice and he sounded distressed, almost like an animal in pain. I pushed my way through the crowd and saw that Derek, Martin, and Trevor had managed to get hold of Jon’s notebook and they were playing a game of keep-away. I’d never seen Jon so agitated; his face was bright red and streaked with tears and his fists were clenched. He walked toward Trevor, who taunted him with the notebook.
Just as Jon reached for it, Trevor threw it to Martin.
“GIVE IT TO ME!” Jon shouted. “IT’S PRIVATE!!”
Martin threw it back to Trevor.
“Private, eh?” Trevor taunted. “Let’s have a look what Freak Boy here spends so much time scribbling.”
I’ll admit that I had a burning curiosity to know what Jon wrote in that notebook all the time—but only when he wanted to show me. I didn’t want some jerk like Trevor to just barge his way into Jon’s innermost thoughts. The look of panic and horror and utter despair on Jon’s face when he saw Trevor open the notebook spurred me forward.
“STOP IT!” I shouted, dropping my books and pushing my way through the crowd until I was close enough to Trevor to get my hands on the book. “GIVE IT TO ME!”
“Get lost, puta!” he said, trying to yank the book away.
I couldn’t believe that this guy who didn’t even speak Spanish would use that word, would dare to call me such a thing. I heard people laughing, so it must be a word that a lot of Americans understood. My face was burning with shame and anger, and without even thinking of where I was or the potential consequences, I slapped Trevor hard across the face. Shocked, he let go of the notebook, and I snatched it away from him and clutched it to my chest.
“How DARE you call me that!” I hissed.
I heard gasps and watched in slow motion horror as Trevor raised his hand like he was going to hit me back.
“MR. RICHARDS! I hope you aren’t planning to use that fist to hit another student,” said Mr. Perez, a teacher from one of the classrooms nearby.
Trevor’s hand fell to his side.
My heart was beating so hard I was sure the crowd of gawking, muttering students could hear it.
“Okay, people, time to get to class,” Mr. Perez said. He took in Jon’s tearstained face, the red mark on Trevor’s face, and me, clutching Jon’s notebook as if my life depended on it.
“We’re going to take a trip down to the principal’s office,” he said. “NOW.”
“It’s not my fault, Mr. P!” Trevor complained. “That chick is crazy. She hit me!”
He made me want to hit him again, even though the teacher was standing right there. How dare he pretend that it was my fault, when he was tormenting Jon like that?
Jon was standing with his arms around himself, rocking back and forth and whispering something I couldn’t make out. He reminded me of the way Paquito, my late abuela’s dog, used to get during a thunderstorm—like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.
I was afraid to touch Jon in case I upset him more. But his distress was so palpable, it was radiating off him in waves. I put my arm around him and he jumped, but I rubbed his back gently.
“It’s okay, Jon. Look, here’s your notebook.”
I handed it to him. It looked like one of the pages was slightly torn, but otherwise it was in one piece.
His back, which had been as tense as a steel plate, relaxed slightly.
“Th-th-thanks, Dani.”
He fingered the cover and I saw his eyes fill with tears again.
“Okay, people, let’s go. Principal Williams’s office, on the double,” ordered Mr. Perez.
My stomach was churning the entire way down to the principal’s office. I’d never been in trouble before, ever. I’d never even had a detention. And now I was being sent to the principal’s office for hitting someone—even if he did deserve it.
Trevor was sent in to see Mr. Williams. Jon and I had to sit outside his office, waiting. I was scared to death that I would be suspended, that I’d be labeled a troublemaker, that I’d end up with even fewer friends than I already had.
“I’ll tell him that you did it for me, Dani,” Jon said. “I’ll tell him it’s not your fault.”
I didn’t want to tell Jon that I’d actually hit Trevor for me. Hitting him felt so good, so right, I wished I could do it again and again and again. It was like all of the unfairness, all of the teasing, all of the humiliation, had been right there in Trevor’s taunting smile, and to wipe that look off his face, BAM! Well, I only wish I’d hit him harder.
“Thanks for getting my book back,” Jon said, opening it and fingering the pages lovingly. “It’s…very special to me.”
He took a pen out of the back pocket of his jeans, turned to a clean page, and started to write.
I’d always tried to give Jon privacy when it came to his notebook, but I couldn’t control my curiosity any longer.
Anyway, at that point, I figured I’d earned the right to ask a question or two.
“So, Jon, what exactly do you spend so much time writing in that notebook?”
He was still scribbling away when he answered.
“Letters.”
I was about to ask him letters to whom when Principal Williams’s door opened and Trevor sauntered out.
“I’ll see you next, Mr. Nathanson,” Mr. Williams said. “Mr. Richards, please sit down at the other end of the office AWAY from Miss, er…”
He looked at me inquiringly. I was tempted to give him someone else’s name. It was too bad Jon was Jessica’s brother, or I’d have given him hers. “Bensimon. Daniela.”
“Keep away from Miss Bensimon, Mr. Richards, if you know what’s good for you, until your mother comes to pick you up. I don’t want any more trouble from you today.”
Oh no. Mother picking up? Please don’t let him call my mother. She’ll kill me. And when she’s finished killing me, my father will take over.
The principal’s door closed, leaving me to stew in my anxiety, imagining the various methods of demise my parents were going to devise for me when they found out I was in trouble. Me, Daniela: the responsible, good, never-gets-into-any-trouble daughter. I felt overwhelmed with guilt that I was going to make my mother worry. But then I wondered, Why should I feel guilty? Standing up for Jon felt so right. Even though my hands were trembling and my stomach was churning with nerves, I didn’t regret anything, even slapping Trevor’s face. Especially slapping Trevor’s face.
“He saw the mark on my face where you hit me,” Trevor called from across the office. “You’re gonna get suspended, you crazy bitch.”
“That’s enough, Trevor,” snapped Mrs. Pierce, the school secretary.
I ignored him, but inside I was seething, and my palm tingled as I replayed how my hand made contact with Trevor’s jaw. I never knew I had that sort of violence inside me. It was almost as if slapping him had let something loose inside me, something dark and terrible, and I was afraid it would take me over. I’d always thought of myself as such a good girl, as calm, mild-mannered Daniela. And now…
Maybe Trevor was right. Maybe I was a little bit crazy.
“My brother, where is he? Is he all right?”
I looked up. It was her, Evil Jessica. Perfecto. Just what I needed right now. Maybe I should just slap her face, too, since I was already in trouble. I could just let it all out and get one massive punishment.
But her face wasn’t its usual ice shell of cruel perfection. She was worried about her brother.
“Did you see Jon? Is he okay?” she asked me.
“He’s with the principal,” I told her. “He was very upset, but I think—”
“What happened?” Jessica asked me.
She glanced over at Trevor, who was eyeing her appreciatively. I suspected the feeling was not going to be at all mutual, especially once I told Jessica what he did.
Which I proceeded to do. For once, her cold stare wasn’t directed at me—it was aimed at Trevor, who was still giving her a flirtatious glance, the fool.
“How DARE you!” she said, stomping over to where Trevor was sitting. “From now on, you leave my brother ALONE!”
Trevor looked confused.
“What brother? You mean…that geekazoid is your brother?”
If I’d had the money to wager, I’d have bet that if we weren’t right outside the principal’s office, Trevor would have been hit in the face for the second time that day. But instead, Jessica just said, “MORON!” and stalked back to where I was sitting.
She perched in the chair next to me.
“Such an asshole,” she muttered.
“I hit him.”
Jessica sat back in the chair and looked at me. A real look, like she was seeing me, Daniela, for the very first time.
“Seriously? For real?”
“For real. That’s why I’m in here, in trouble.”
She stuck up her hand to do a high five.
“Good for you!” She glanced over at Mrs. Pierce and whispered, “I wish she wasn’t here so I could hit the jerk.”
“It felt very good,” I confessed. “Especially because…well, because he was being so horrible to Jon. I couldn’t believe all the other kids were just watching it happen without doing anything to stop it.”
Jessica’s face became hard, masklike. “No, none of those cowards would stick up for Jon against a guy like Trevor.”
Her eyes met mine and for once they were warm and almost…friendly?
“But you did. Thank you.”
She sounded like she really meant it, too.
“Jon’s different, you know,” she said. “You’ve probably noticed that.”
Was that a trick question?
“Well…yes, I have. But…”
“He has Asperger’s syndrome. He’s really smart but he doesn’t always get how to interact with people. And kids like Trevor have always picked on him. It makes me want to tear them limb from limb.”
So maybe this Asperger’s syndrome explained why Jon seemed like un tipo raro.
“Is that why he knows so many facts?”
“That’s part of it—he’s got an incredible memory for things that he’s interested in. And he’ll tell you about them whether you’re interested in them or not.”
“And…is this why he didn’t understand about ‘raining cats and dogs’ and your aunt wearing her ‘heart on her sleeve’?”
Jess laughed.
“He told you about that? Omigod, Mom was so embarrassed! Yeah, that’s all part of it, because he tends to be really literal about language. Like when Jon was little, Dad called home from a business trip and asked Jon what he was doing and Jon said, ‘I’m talking to you on the phone,’ because that’s what he was doing right then. He didn’t realize Dad meant what was he doing before he got on the phone.”
So much about Jon made sense once Jess told me this. But at the same time, I couldn’t help wondering how she could be so angry about Trevor and all the other kids being mean to her brother when she had been so unkind to me.
Principal Williams’s door opened and he walked out, followed by Jon. Jess jumped up and hugged her brother, who looked uncomfortable in her embrace but glad to see her nonetheless.
“Are you okay?” she asked Jon. “Do you need to go to the nurse for some extra meds?”
“I’m okay now,” he said, pulling away from her. “I’ve got my book.”
He held it up, looked over at me, and smiled.
Principal Williams wasn’t looking quite so friendly.
“Miss Nathanson, could you please take your brother back to class? As for you, Miss Bensimon, I’d like to speak with you in my office.”
I could almost hear the funeral bells tolling. I could definitely hear Trevor snickering from across the office, the burro. I refused to let him see that I was scared to death at the thought of being in trouble, that this was the first time I’d had to go see the principal in my entire life. I squared my shoulders and started to head into Mr. Williams’s office, when Jessica stopped me by putting her hand on my arm.
“Hey—I really mean it. Thanks.”
There was still a part of me that wanted to say that I didn’t do it for her, I did it for Jon. But the better part of me just said, “De nada,” as I continued into the principal’s office to meet my fate.