Chapter Thirteen

Today is the big day. The busy day. The day I work on the mural and have my Sea Musketeers fundraiser. I’m ready to take them on. I am as determined as a salmon making its way upstream.

“Remember, you’ve got to pick me up from my mural at one o’clock on the dot because the fundraiser starts at two,” I tell Mom in the morning over breakfast.

“Stellita, you didn’t tell me about the times,” Mom says as she runs her fingers through her hair. “Mi amor, I was going to get a haircut. I have a big meeting on Monday, and I need to look my best.”

I frown. I think I told Mom last night, but maybe I said it too softly. That sometimes happens.

Mom looks at me and sighs. “It’s okay. I’ll see if they can switch my appointment to an earlier time.”

I feel bad. I never want to ask Mom for too much. That’s why I try not to bother her with my homework or projects unless she offers or if it’s something she enjoys like baking or sewing.

My mood quickly changes for the better when I throw my painting smock over my clothes. There are already little white specks all over it from when we primed the library wall on Thursday. I’m extra excited to get painting. When Mr. Foster presented the completed sketch for our mural, my drawing of a dolphin reading a book and some of my coral made the final design!

As I’m packing my backpack with the cookies, rolled-up poster, and tote bags for the fundraiser, I hear a knock at the door.

I tilt my head. Is it Diego? I feel a sense of dread. I still don’t want to talk to him right now. Maybe next week.

“Coming,” says Mom, walking toward the door.

When Mom opens the door, it’s Linda, with Biscuit by her feet. Linda looks a little frantic.

“I’m sorry,” Linda says in a rushed voice. “My dog walker is sick, and I’m supposed to meet my grandkids downtown. Do you think you all could take care of Biscuit today? He would only need a walk twice. Once before ten and then a second time in the afternoon.”

“Of course!” Mom replies. “We love Biscuit.”

Mom turns toward me.

“Do you want to walk Biscuit real quick?”

I look into his brown eyes. He is panting, so he looks like he is smiling. I want to say Not really because of everything I have to do today, but I can’t say no to that adorable face.

“Of course,” I reply.

“Thank you so much, Stella.” Linda pulls out ten dollars from her crocheted purse and gives it to me.

“Here, a donation for your fundraiser.”

I smile. I’m going to show up to the fundraiser with my completed poster and tote bags, and I’ll have money to add to our jar right away.

Before we head over to the school, I walk Biscuit around the block. I’ve walked him once or twice before. This time, he seems to walk especially slow. I think he likes the feeling of walking on the leaves on the ground. He also wants to stop and smell everything on our walk.

“Could you please walk a little faster?” I ask Biscuit politely.

Biscuit looks at me sweetly and then continues to smell the flowers. After a much longer walk than I planned for, we head back inside. I leave Biscuit in the laundry closet with his toys and his puffy bed. Then I rush over to Mom, who is smiling.

“Great news! I moved my appointment up, so todo está bíen!”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“You look very ready for your busy day, niñita,” says Mom.

I grin tightly and hand her the car keys. I want to tell her to hurry up, but I can’t say that to my own mom. Instead, I say, “Yup!”

Thankfully, we arrive at the school parking lot with a minute to spare. Still, I want to make the most of my mural hours. Once Mom stops the car, I open the car door and run toward the school.

“Espérame, Stellita,” she yells, telling me to wait for her. “You’re going nowhere without me.”

I stop and put my hands on my hips.

Mom walks over to me. She puts her hands on my shoulders.

“Stella, I know you’re excited, but you need to calm down.”

“Okay,” I reply reluctantly.

When we walk inside the school, it looks strange. Most of the lights are off except for the hallway lights and the lights in the library. It feels a little mysterious. I like the feeling of being the only ones in the school. I point out my made-up plant species to Mom on the way to the library.

“Hermosa,” she says, telling me that it looks beautiful.

In the library, the back corner has been transformed into a mini artist studio. Music is playing, and people are talking at full volume. It’s very un-library-like behavior! Mr. Foster and Ms. Benedetto are busy arranging paint colors on the table next to piles of brushes. There is even plastic all over the floor and covering the nearby bookcases. I feel all tingly. I can’t wait to start the mural.

Mom kisses me on my head.

“I’d tell you to have fun,” she says, “but I don’t have to worry about that.”

I beam.

“See you at one!” she adds.

“On the dot!” I reply. She gives me a thumbs-up as she leaves the library.

Mr. Foster begins, “Okay, my fellow club members, I’ve transferred the drawing onto the wall. Today we need to block in the big shapes. This is when we are going to apply most of the paint. Don’t worry about the details. That comes later.”

“We’re going to work on the background first,” Ms. Benedetto follows. “Who wants to work on the sky or the ocean?”

Of course, I raise my hand to work on the ocean.

Ms. Benedetto gives me a cup of aquamarine paint and points me to my area. “Go get ’em,” she says.

I flex my arm and then head to my section. At first, I work on the wrong square of the mural, but thankfully Mr. Foster points it out.

“Sorry, I was just excited,” I say as I move over.

When I begin to paint uninterrupted, I forget all about my stress and worries. With every brushstroke, I get lost in the process. It’s almost as if instead of painting I’m swirling in the ocean. I feel like I could paint for hours. They even have to stop me to have a snack break.

As I chomp down on a sunflower butter and jelly sandwich, Mr. Foster walks up to me.

“You’ve got a real talent for this, Stella.”

I grin despite the sandwich in my mouth.

“Do you think you’ll want to be an artist one day?” he asks.

I swallow and pause. I never really considered it. I’d already decided I’m going to be a marine biologist, but …

“Maybe,” I reply, and I’m being honest, too. It feels strange to say that out loud.

We get back to work on the mural, and before I know it, Mom shows up.

“Are you ready to go, Stella?” Mom asks.

“Just a couple of more minutes,” I beg. “I only have this last spot to finish. I messed up at the beginning, and I need to finish my square.”

Mom looks at me. “Okay, but I don’t want you to get upset with me if we’re late to your fundraiser.”

I look over at the clock. It’s only five minutes after one. What could another ten minutes really do?

Mom talks to Ms. Benedetto in the meantime. I just want to finish this one spot. When I put my paint bucket down, I look at the clock again. Oh no! It’s one thirty!

“Mom!” I say, running up to her. She’s texting on her phone. “We’ve got to go!”

“Ay dios mío,” she replies. “I got distracted, too! I was texting with Diego.”

I ignore the part about texting because there is no time to think about Diego right now. We’re going to be late.

“I’ll clean up your brushes,” says Ms. Benedetto. “Good luck with your fundraiser.”

“Thank you!” I reply. Then Mom grabs my hand, and we run out of the school.

“I checked the directions. It’s only twenty minutes away,” Mom says as she starts the car. “We should be fine.”

Unfortunately, we soon realize that it will take more than twenty minutes. A car accident is blocking traffic on the highway, and we are at a total standstill. As we sit idly in the car, I watch the clock, hoping that if I wish enough, it will stop. It doesn’t. I see it turn one forty-five, then two, and then two thirty.

I slump down in the back seat feeling defeated and angry. If it wasn’t for Diego, Mom wouldn’t have been texting or distracted and we wouldn’t have been late. Why do they like like each other?! This marvelous day has turned into a disaster.