Time and Space The drive to Titi's house takes exactly eighteen minutes. I know because my current Rubik's Cube solving time is about two minutes, and I solve my scratched-up, faded cube a grand total of nine times. I can feel Janet watching me in the rearview mirror, probably wondering if I'm okay, and I wish for the hundredth time that I could twist my way out of her too-clean car, line my life back up as easily as the sides of my cube, erase all the ways I messed up this weekend, so that instead of driving to the rich side of town, I'd be at my parents' bright red food truck, and instead of a black bag of packed clothes at my feet, I'd be dishing up plates of yellow rice for my friends. Janet doesn't actually care how I feel. She's just here 'cause it's her job. So even though she offers to carry my bag after we park, even though I'm sweating through my shirt and my glasses keep slipping off, I carefully put the cube in my sweatpant pocket, lift my bagged-up things with my own two hands, take a deep breath, ignoring Janet, and start walking by myself toward my aunt's door and my weird weird new life. Did You Know? Most birds don't recognize their family members after more than a year has passed. So it makes sense that I'm wearing my favorite owl shirt as I stare at a woman I don't recognize, but that Janet assures me is my aunt. Titi Silvia is a doctor, but one that looks like a model, like the doctors on those TV shows my mom won't ever let me watch. And even though I usually try not to care about the clothes I wear or how they fit, I definitely care today as I feel her staring first at my hair and then at my wrinkled clothes, moving down to my socks and slides and then back up to my stomach, like everything about me is out of place, different from what she'd like. I don't know how I'm supposed to greet her, this woman that is basically a stranger and who looks nothing like me, so I just shrug at her awkward hola, wait for her to tell me where to put my stuff, and then I leave her and Janet talking and hide in the office, aka my (temporary) new room. My Room That Is Not My Room Titi Silvia's apartment is beautiful, but it almost doesn't look real. It's all white and clean and full of art that makes no sense, and I can tell my aunt's really tried to turn her office into a bedroom for a kid, because there's a big inflatable mattress in the middle and she's added a princess blanket that is pretty babyish and way too pink, which she probably bought because she doesn't know what sixth graders actually like to watch on TV. And if I was here for different reasons, I'd probably just laugh at the blanket and bounce on the inflatable bed, but the problem is, I'm supposed to actually live here. Titi Silvia already mentioned something about Ikea and furniture as I slid past her in the hall, and who wants a temporary place to act like a forever one? Especially when that place is with a rich perfect stranger who the social services people keep telling you over and over and over is "safer" than your parents is a "good" solution is someone you're "extremely lucky" to have offered you a home. My Aunt That Is Not My Aunt I hear Janet leave and I pick up my cube again. Not because I want to practice, but more 'cause I want to have an excuse not to talk if Titi Silvia decides to come in. I don't care what Janet says. This is not where I want to be. Especially when my aunt does walk in (she doesn't even knock!) and starts talking to me in soft Spanish like we're not strangers and this is our shared language, like she's always been around and this is a super-normal visit and not what it actually is. All I've ever heard about my titi is that she'd never lend Mom money when we needed it, never help Mom out when she was sick, and Dad always tells me to ask when I don't know something, to not keep my questions inside, but even though I want to ask Titi why, why didn't you help when we needed you? why did you wait until now to show up in my life? it's hard to ask questions when you don't want to know the answers anyway, hard to talk when your head feels like it's inside a bubble and your body feels like shooting up into the air, harder, even, than listening to my aunt's constant hola Laura, hola mi amor and so without looking up from my Rubik's Cube, I just lie and say: no hablo español. Yo Sé The truth is, I do speak Spanish. A little bit. Just not the way Titi Silvia does. Dad was born here and understands it better than he speaks it, so I only ever spoke it with Mom. And if I'm being honest, whatever we were saying was more of a mixed Spanglish than whatever it is that Titi talks. The food we sold at the food truck? I got you. Prices and customer service? Nobody's ever complained. But Titi is fast-Spanishing awkward stuff about her recycling system and what my new school will be like, and it's not that I don't understand her. I do. But not as perfectly as I did Mom. Unpacking Titi Silvia leaves me by myself to unpack, but it's not like I brought a bunch of stuff. How do you prepare for the unpreparable? How do you fit your whole life in one bag? And how am I supposed to trust social services, trust Janet, when she won't trust me back? Questions I've Asked Janet How long will I be with my aunt? What will happen to our trailer? What will happen to the things I don't pack? When can I talk to Mom? When can I talk to Dad? What does kinship care mean? Why do I have a caseworker? What even is a caseworker? Do my parents know where I'm going? Who knows where I'm going? How long will I be with my aunt? Is this because I called 911? Is this my fault? Answers Janet Has Given Me Did You Know? Some birds hold funerals for the birds in their families that have passed away. Other birds will cry by empty nests for a long time hoping that the bird that died will wake up come back so they can all go on with their normal bird lives. I'm not a bird, but in case you can't tell yet, I kinda wish I was. Their lives seem so much simpler so much easier to understand. My two-bedroom trailer is empty of people now, abandoned, and all because of me. And it feels like everyone just wants me to move on to be cool. But every time I think about me living with my aunt, think about my Crenwood neighbors gossiping about where we are, all I want to do is yell really really loud, shout at the world that this is not permanent this is not forever this was a mistake and my parents are getting better and if everyone would just wait a few days would close their eyes and go to sleep then everything would swirl back (like it never even happened) and we could all pretend nothing ever, ever changed. Riverview Elementary School RES is bigger than my old school, nicer cleaner with student artwork on every wall. My homeroom teacher is Ms. Holm, whose classroom is full of books and plants, and I'm happy to realize I'll get to stay with her all day, and not have to swap classrooms and memorize schedules that I know will just get me turned around. Before? Stuff like that didn't make me nervous. Now? I feel so lost I could almost cry. Too many changes, too many new things, too many goodbyes and hellos and silences in the dark, and so even though I know I'll only be at this school for a tiny amount of time, knowing where I'll spend my day knowing I have one assigned desk with my name duct-taped on, it's not something I needed before, but today? It makes me feel like a little snuggled-up parakeet. It makes me feel calm. Picture This You've been in the same town with the same kids all the way from kindergarten to sixth grade. And sure, maybe there's been a new kid here and there, but probably not a lot and usually at the beginning of the year. Then imagine you get to Riverview on a windy October day, on your very first year of middle school, on Picture Day (!) when you're not expecting any more change, and all of a sudden there's a new girl standing in front of your class, a girl you've never seen before but that clearly doesn't belong here: the food truck girl, the fidgety girl, the trailer girl from all the way across town. Just a Regular, Normal Kid I try not to stand out, really, I do. I didn't know it was Picture Day when I got dressed this morning, but I think my plain blue jeans and black hoodie are okay, the gel I used this morning keeping my thick and wavy brown hair in a frizzy ponytail that is at least semi-contained. But I'm still the new kid, which means Ms. Holm asks me to introduce myself, asks me to stand in front of the whole class, 'cause teachers somehow still haven't figured out how obviously terrifying having twenty-five pairs of eyes on you is. How it leaves you with absolutely nowhere to hide. The Introduction I Don't Make Hi. My name is Laura [LAH-OO-RAH] and I used to live on the other side of Loumack County, Virginia, in the Crenwood Trailer Park, but now (and just for now) I live with my aunt in this part of town. My parents are in rehab, which is why I'm here, in a school that hands out organic blueberry muffins for breakfast and has no writing on the bathroom stalls, in a classroom where probably everyone has a perfect family and nobody has any secrets and even though I wish you were all nice and friendly, I have a feeling you're not. The Introduction I Do Make Hi, I'm Laura [LAW-RAH]. I Miss My Friends Back Home I spend my lunch period in the library, because my amazing introduction didn't really win me any new friends, and as I play alone with the basket of fidget toys set out on one of the tables, I wish (for the hundredth time) that I knew how to explain to Remedios, Pilar, and Betsaida that I didn't ghost them, I got taken, that nobody asked me or cared what I thought about the whole thing at all, and if it had been up to me and not social services, I would have stayed with my parents, I would have never left home. Decisions I know I messed up back in Crenwood. Janet and Titi don't have to say it out loud for me to understand that it's true. But just because I let my parents down this time doesn't mean I will again. And if Janet thinks I'm just going to forget everything that happened she's wrong because I already repacked everything I had unpacked, my black bag sitting in the closet all ready to go. I just have to find a way to fix this, find a way to undo this, and then I'll be back with Mom and Dad and they'll be perfectly okay and I'll never never ever have to make another decision ever again. Someone Is Always Watching I may not have a phone, but I do have a laptop now, since every student at Riverview gets their own to take home. And when I google Harmonic Way (the place Janet said my parents are at), I see pictures of smiling people and gardens full of singing cardinals and board games and crafts and baking, though the Google reviews are only at 2.9 out of 5. I'm about to click into some of them, the reviews, to try to read what people have to say, but then my neck hairs start tingling and my arm hairs start prickling and when I look up, there's a kid with braids next to me at the table smiling and I slam my laptop shut. Trust Is Overrated The kid introduces himself as Benson, he/him. Says he's in sixth grade (but not my class), and although I eye him suspiciously, I tell him I'm Laura, she/her, and in Ms. Holm's class. Benson is Black and short and skinny, but what I most notice is his humongous smile-- like we've been friends our entire lives and are just meeting for lunch to catch up. And even though I'm pretty sure I'm frowning, he still tosses his stickered water bottle up and down, smiling at me in between sips, his eyes twinkling into a laugh. He's weird, this Benson. Too friendly. Too nice. But just as I'm about to make an excuse, say something like how I need to head back to class, the bell rings (thank you, thank you) and I hurry out, laptop and backpack in hand. Dad would tell me I'm being rude, but it's not like he's here to see this anyway. And I'm not sure what Janet from social services would say, but she definitely made it clear back at my trailer that she thought I should feel grateful for my aunt and my new school, which she talks about like it's a forever thing, a "positive" change. Basically, adults know nothing. Nothing nothing period. And as for me? I'm definitely not ready to explain to anyone and especially not any of the kids at this rich, temporary school why I live where I live. My After-School Routine Because I Live with a Very Controlling Aunt Get off the bus at the Stonecreek Apartments and walk to building 1380, then climb the stairs to apartment C. Connect my laptop to the Wi-Fi and then message Titi at work to tell her I'm here even though she could definitely just check her doorbell camera, which (like I'm some sort of prisoner) already records me on the way in. Titi Silvia Is the Worst Organized and I mean organized to the extreme. She has schedules for everything like for cleaning (yuck) and for eating or for how she washes and blow-dries her hair every Tuesday and Friday night, no exceptions, before pulling it back into a tight bun. Excerpted from Something Like Home by Andrea Beatriz Arango All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
