But for now, I’m going to be all alone for the First. Time. Ever. This means:
1.I can stay up all night if I want, and no one will complain. I once had a roommate throw a full soda bottle at my head because I was studying!
2.I can talk to family and friends until all hours without anyone judging me. (JK. I don’t have any family and friends.)
3.No one will be in my room:
a.Crunching Takis
b.Keeping the lights on when I want them off
c.Engaging in disgusting personal grooming rituals that I won’t describe
d.Practicing giving an oral report
e.Fighting with their boyfriend
f.Sneaking guys through the window and NOT fighting, if you know what I mean
g.Crying
h.Walking around naked
i.Doing drugs
Daisy is knocking on the door between our rooms, asking if I’m ready for dinner. I am!
Love, Jacaranda
Date: September 5, 9:18 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: And one more
Dear Mr. Smith,
I promise not to write 5 times a day all year. I guess you can ignore it. I’m used to being ignored. But, if you ignore it, you won’t get to hear all the exciting things that happen.
Like, tonight, we had chicken divan. That’s what it said on the cafeteria menu sign.
That might not sound very exciting except these were boneless, skinless chicken breasts, the kind that cost $7.99 per pound. I may know people who buy boneless, skinless chicken breasts, but I’m certainly not related to any of them.
Of course, I didn’t say anything. I took the chicken divan as if it was perfectly mundane.
A digression: I’ve always been on free lunch at school. It wasn’t bad. I mean, I never got Lunchables or a bento box lovingly prepared by my mother like the rich kids, but on the other hand, I always had lunch. I went into the cafeteria, gave my number, and no one had to know my mom hadn’t put the money in my account.
Then, one time in fourth grade, we had field day, and instead of going to the cafeteria, the PTA bought pizza and juice boxes and cupcakes, and there was enough for everyone, especially since most of the kids were so juiced about missing class and running around that they barely touched the pizza.
I was excited about pizza. We never got it at home unless it was frozen Totino’s, but as I was going back for another slice, the teacher, Mrs. Mirabal, called my name and the names of some other kids from my neighborhood. I didn’t want to lose my place in line, so I ignored her.
Mrs. Mirabal repeated, “Jacaranda?”
She gestured, and I saw one of the lunch ladies standing there with a tray that was, I guessed, mine. I shook my head. She said they were legally required to give us our free lunch even on field trips.
When she said “free lunch” I looked over at my friends, Vershona and Cristina. They’d stopped talking, so they’d definitely heard. Now they knew I had free lunch, and I knew they didn’t. I took the tray, but my stomach hurt, and I didn’t eat anything, not even the plastic cup of peaches that I usually liked so much I ate my friends’ peaches too. It would be more dramatic to say I never ate peaches again because I was so upset, but I’m not in a position to turn down food. It just never tasted as good anymore.
Today, when I lined up behind Daisy, one of her friends, this guy named Blakely (that’s his FIRST name), who is maybe the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen in person (picture a 16-year-old Chris Hemsworth), said, “Mmm, white mystery sauce! Anyone figure out what it is?”
Daisy shushed him. “You’re going to give Jackie a bad impression of the food here.”
“The food gives a bad impression of the food here,” he said.
Daisy said it wasn’t that bad. To me, she added, “Blakely’s family flies to Scotland to eat fermented lamb with kelp.”
I had no idea what those words even meant. Blakely laughed and said, “They didn’t serve the lamb and the kelp together, Daisy.”
I pretended to get the joke. At least, I thought they were joking. Do rich people like you eat kelp? I told them I was sure the chicken would be fine.
When I tasted it, it was juicy and soft and a million times better than anything from the school cafeteria in Miami. Still, I tried not to act like I enjoyed it too much or eat too fast or in any way act like someone who hadn’t always had enough to eat. These were people who worried about their carb intake. I once ate bean burritos from Taco Bell every meal for a week because that was all we could afford. This was back when they were on the dollar menu.
But no one was watching me, so after a few minutes, I relaxed. It was a big reunion for Daisy’s friends, who hadn’t seen one another all summer.
In addition to Blakely, there was a girl named Shani, who played the drums, which I thought was cool, and her boyfriend, named David, a tall black guy with short dreads, who was in musical theater. They chattered away for a while, and then they all turned and looked at me.
“So what’s your deal?” David asked.
I looked at him. I didn’t want to discuss my “deal,” considering it involved an incarcerated mom and a life without boneless chicken breasts.
“Are you rich, or are you a prodigy?” he asked.
I said I didn’t think I was either.
“Everyone’s one or the other,” Blakely said. He explained that everyone there was either a rich kid with so-so talent whose parents could pay the tuition and justified sending them away because it was so artsy, or a prodigy whose parents scrimped and saved and got financial aid so they could go there. So, apparently, even the “poor” kids have enough money to afford some tuition. They also had parents who knew this place existed.
“So which are you?” David asked while Shani shushed him.
I laughed and said I definitely wasn’t rich.
“So, a prodigy,” David said. Then he started asking me how long I’d taken voice lessons, what kind of dance I did, and where I’d studied acting. To change the subject, I asked if they did anything special for the first night, like at Hogwarts.
They all laughed, and Daisy said, “They have the sorting ceremony tomorrow.”
“But you’re rooming with Phoebe, right?” Shani said. “So you must be Slytherin.”
Blakely said Phoebe was definitely a Slytherin, and David told a story about how her mother called and complained when she didn’t get a solo part in the musical, even though the family had endowed the school or something. He imitated her, making her sound like a snooty cartoon character. So I guessed Phoebe was one of those rich kids without talent. I’d started to ask him when I saw Daisy waving her hands wildly, and they all went silent. I turned. Phoebe was behind me.
“Hi, guys.” Her eyes were a little pink, like she’d been crying. Daisy asked her to sit down, and Phoebe said she wouldn’t want to interrupt our conversation. She glanced at David.
I knew she’d heard what he had said. She looked at me. I saw her eyes blaming me, even though I just got here.
I’ve had enemies before, and more often than not, it was because of something I didn’t do. The boy who got stuck being partners on the bus because all his friends paired up without him. The girl who had her own room before they took on another foster kid. Not to mention all the people who somehow blamed me for stuff my mother did.