17

Signal Interference

I WAS WAITING FOR Mom to come out of the dry cleaners after our grocery run when she opened my door and dumped a pink bakery box on my lap. “Hold that,” she instructed, and slammed my door.

“We’re having cake? Ooh!” I crowed, sliding my thumbs under the box tabs.

“No, Serena, don’t breathe on it!” my mother scolded, pressing a hand to the box lid before I could rip it open. She added, “We’re going to dinner at the Gerardos’ tonight.”

I frowned. “Why are we going over there?” JC and I hadn’t talked to each other in days.

“We’re going because we were invited,” Mom said. She signaled the turn for our street.

I felt a twinge of apprehension. Had Mom gotten us invited over? She knew JC and I weren’t friends right now. What if she was trying to fix things with cake?

“Mom. You didn’t say anything to Mr. and Mrs. Gerardo, did you?”

“Anything like what?” Mom backed expertly into our parking stall. “Let’s get the groceries unpacked. I want you to put on a clean shirt before we go. They’re expecting us at five thirty.”

“Wait, Mom. I don’t—”

“Hurry up, Rena-B.” Mom popped the trunk and got out of the car.

In the end, I didn’t just change my shirt—I also changed shoes, and changed my hair twice, finally settling on twisting it around my head, using my little fake pearl hairpins to anchor it where it stuck out. I dragged my feet getting to the car, but I hated being late anywhere. If the Gerardos were expecting us, walking in when they were hungry and mad about the delay wouldn’t make anything better.

I was still nervous, though. “So, no special reason for dinner tonight?” I asked as we drove out of the neighborhood.

“Not that I know of, no,” Mom said, and smiled. “Your hair looks nice, Rena.”

In spite of her smile, my misgivings grew wings and swooped through my stomach.

When Mrs. Gerardo opened the door, she was her usual self, her oval face smiling and welcoming, her bobbed dark hair tucked behind ears sporting yellow and red dangly earrings. “You’re just in time,” she said, taking the cake from Mom as she toed out of her loafers. “Are you hungry? Serena, go up to JC’s room and tell the girls it’s time to eat.”

The girls? Oh no. I could not handle Leilani and her too-perfect self, not today.

Kicking off my shoes to join the pile in the entryway, I dragged myself up the stairs. I climbed loudly, thumping my feet on every riser. As soon as I reached the top, I began knocking on the wall and calling JC’s name. I didn’t want to get too close to her room and overhear her saying something terrible about me to Leilani.

“JC! Dinner!”

“Serena?” JC stood in her doorway, looking startled. “Hey.”

“Hey. Your mom says it’s time to eat.” I shoved my hands in my pockets.

JC nodded, smoothing her hair behind her ears as if she was a little nervous too. “Cool.” She ducked into her room for a moment, her voice floating toward me through the open door. “You remember my ate Julia, right?” JC said, using the respectful Tagalog word for an older girl cousin.

A taller girl with her hair in a shiny knot atop her head stepped into the hallway looking at her phone. She shoved it into her pocket and smiled. “Hey, Serena,” she said, and went down the stairs ahead of us.

“Oh! Julia! Wow, I didn’t know you were here,” I added, relief making me a little loud.

“She’s here to look at schools,” JC explained, starting down the stairs behind me. “She’s trying to go to some arts high school in Oakland. Her parents think she should move in with us next semester.”

“Oh, really? Wow.” I glanced over my shoulder to see JC’s expression. Julia was an eighth grader. It was weird to think of her leaving home already to go to school.

JC’s dad and Julia’s mom were siblings, and Julia and JC were the two youngest girl cousins in their large, mostly boy-cousins family. The story was that toddler Julia had stolen baby JC’s bottle once, and Mr. Gerardo joked that they’d each been competing to have the biggest bottle ever since. And it was a competition. Julia surfed at home on Oahu, but JC was on a swim team at home in California. Julia got the best grades in math, but JC got better grades in language arts. Julia was two inches taller, but JC’s hair was four inches longer. Mrs. Gerardo was always telling JC she should be more like her ate Julia, which meant that JC kind of hated her cousin, even though Julia was always pretty nice. And now they’d be living in the same house for a school year? Whoa.

“Tatay said it’ll be just like having a sister.” JC’s voice was way too cheery.

I winced. My sister was a pain a lot of the time, but at least I knew she loved me, even when she ditched me to go to Sharyn’s house. I tried to think of something comforting to say. “Well, just remember, if it’s not fun, it’s a growing experience,” I whispered, reminding JC of one of Mr. Van’s favorite sayings.

“Yay, growing.” JC wiggled her fingers in sarcastic joy.

I laughed, feeling a little less weird about being at JC’s house. Between surgery, a new best friend, and Julia moving in, things had to feel a little bit strange for JC. Maybe being with an old friend for dinner wouldn’t feel like a bad visit from the past, but a good one.

The meal was loud and busy, with plates and platters passing round. Mrs. Gerardo complimented Julia on the Caesar salad dressing and told her she should give JC the recipe. Mom told Mrs. Gerardo how much she liked the woven placemats Mrs. Gerardo had gotten from the Philippines, and Mrs. Gerardo told her she’d tell her where to find some. Mr. Gerardo kept trying to get me to eat a little more of the delicious fried rice. Mom asked Mrs. Gerardo how plans were coming for JC’s birthday, which started a playful argument between JC and her dad about what JC wanted and how much he was going to spend. Mom asked Julia how she was finding Oakland schools, and that reminded Mrs. Gerardo of something.

“You girls have a project soon—those WinterFest birdies, right?” Mrs. Gerardo asked suddenly. “When do you start work on that? It’s almost November! Only five weeks left!”

My stomach clenched. I shot JC a quick look across the table. “Um . . .”

“No, don’t ask them when they’re working, tell them to get to work,” Mr. Gerardo interrupted, waving his hand. “Always, Jojo comes crying at the last minute. No—this time, we’ll choose our design and get started tonight,” he decided. “No last minute this time.”

“I used to do that, JC,” Julia said, and laughed self-consciously. “I cut it too-too close one time and lost fifty points on my project! I turn in everything early now.”

I gave JC another wary look, but she was busy scowling at her father. “I do not always come crying to you,” she interrupted, ignoring her cousin. “Jeez, you make me sound like I’m some kind of baby, Tatay.”

Mr. Gerardo laughed. “Yes, you do cry, and you’re my baby, so that’s all right, huh?”

Now both parents were chuckling indulgently at JC’s furious protests while Julia looked at her plate and rolled her eyes.

But all of this was missing the point. Was JC going to just ignore what her mother had said and pretend everything was the same as always?

“Weren’t you girls doing projects on your own this year?” Mom was studying my face. “Or did you change your mind, Rena-Bean? I thought JC had decided to make owl magnets with . . . Leilani?”

I glowered, trying to shush Mom. I wasn’t ready to hear JC talk about Leilani. Why did Mom have to mention her in front of everyone? I shot a look at JC, but she was still sulking, arms crossed, glaring at her plate.

“What’s this, anak?” Mrs. Gerardo’s perfectly plucked eyebrows raised as she questioned her daughter. “Magnets?”

When I looked back at Mom, her steady gaze held knowledge and understanding I hadn’t expected. “What’s it going to be, Rena?” she asked softly.

It sounded like Mom was asking me about more than my WinterFest project.

I chewed on my bottom lip, remembering what Mrs. Henry had said about taking the opportunity to stand up and speak out. Wasn’t doing the vlogs reminding me to tell my own stories? Why was I waiting for JC to tell me mine?

I took a deep breath. “You’re right, Mom,” I said, my voice only a little shaky. “JC decided to do magnets with Leilani.”

Mrs. Gerardo turned to JC, her expression disbelieving. “When your father already brought home all the concrete and supplies you asked for, for the bird’s bath?”

“I changed my mind, Nanay,” JC muttered, still sulking.

I looked down the table at JC, looking at her hand where it gripped her fork, while her other hand was twisting a strand of her hair like mad. Her nails were still bitten down and still painted with glitter polish. JC looked tired and upset, which made me wonder, what if the birdbath had seemed like it was too big a project? Maybe JC was looking for a smaller project because she still felt so sick that a big project like a birdbath felt like she’d never get it done.

“It’s okay, JC. It’s fine,” I said, and JC looked up at me with a small, watery smile.

“Such a waste of money,” Mrs. Gerardo was complaining, shaking her head.

“I have receipts; we can take the supplies back,” Mr. Gerardo soothed her. “Artists always change their minds,” he added with a grin. “What about you, Serena? You change your mind too?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” I said, trying to look mysterious.

JC blinked. “Wait, so you’re not doing bird magnets?” she asked. “Didn’t you say you were going to look for some different birds on Artistly, like flamingos?”

That’s what she’d told me to do. No one said I had to do it.

I shook my head, more certain now. “Nope.”

I still didn’t know what I was going to do, but for the first time I was a tiny bit relieved not to be doing it with JC’s input. I’d loved the big, fancy birdbath we’d planned on, and it had hurt—a lot—when she didn’t want to do it anymore. But now I was free to do anything I wanted, without anyone’s input. To be me, without looking at what anyone else was doing.

What was the worst that could happen? It might be terrible. It might be a disaster.

But it might not.