We wander through the aisles until Zoey stops so abruptly I bump into her. “Oh my god,” she says, gasping. “Check it out.”
There’s an entire shelf filled with nothing but old school yearbooks.
“What class was your father?” Zoey whispers.
“Z, we’re supposed to be keeping her mind off her dad, remember?” Vivi says.
“Ninety-three.” I never thought to look for his yearbook before. Papi speaks with such pride about being a Grove High alum, but I’ve never actually pictured him here.
Zoey runs her fingers through rows of burgundy, green, blue, and black leather spines. She finds the 1993 book and hands it to me. The pages are yellowed along the edges, and they smell like cardboard boxes and shoe powder. I flip until I get to the r’s in the senior section. It’s easier than I expected to spot him.
In the black-and-white picture, Papi’s mouth is curved into an awkward half smile. His face is smaller and his eyes are open wide in a surprised expression. He has the beginnings of a mustache on each end of his upper lip, though the patches of stubble don’t connect.
We begin to giggle and then our eyes must arrive at the same spot at the same time, because we all go quiet.
There’s a caption below his picture that reads “Most Likely to Become President.” Below that, someone wrote in a blue pen in all caps: “BIGGEST JERK THAT EVER LIVED.”
“Oh, Mari. Don’t let it get to you. People were immature idiots in the nineties, too, you know?” Vivi says.
I pretend to agree with her. There’s no telling how long the yearbook’s looked like that. Either someone who went to school with my dad hated him way back then, or someone really hates him now, enough to go through the effort of trashing his yearbook picture instead of saying something to my face. Maybe it’s a kid whose parents went to school with Papi and couldn’t stand him, and now their kid detests me too. Passed down through generations. How sweet.
I slam the yearbook shut and it makes a deep, hollow sound. I stick it back on the shelf. Vivi and Zoey move on to a stack of People magazines, but I can’t stop thinking about my father’s picture. I can’t stop wondering who did it, and what they’ll write on mine in a few months. Behind us, a hush comes over the library as Ms. Lindeli tries again to get everyone’s attention.
“One of our seniors, Jackie Velez, has an announcement she’d like to share with you all.”
“She’s here?” Even whispering, there’s no hiding the trepidation in my voice. Zoey practically trips over herself as she rushes out of the stacks, but Vivi and I stay behind, watching Jackie through the tiny spaces between the shelves. Jackie paces around the computer desks, handing out a bunch of sea-green flyers. Her voice is deeper than Ms. Lindeli’s, and as she moves farther away from where we’re hiding, I only catch every few of her sentences.
“This is really important . . . We’re going to be choosing a new president, a new vice president . . . see how you can get involved.” She pauses to run her fingers through her hair and I swear her eyes travel over all the desks, all the computers, and land right on Vivi and me. I duck so fast I feel a nerve in the back of my neck snap a little.
“Mari, don’t be ridiculous. She can’t see you,” Vivi says, right as the bell rings.
Even so, we wait until she and everyone else have left to make our exit. When we step through the double doors of the library into the outdoor hallway that overlooks the courtyard, Vivi goes first, then Zoey, then me.
“Mari?” Jackie’s voice is velvety and melodic, and it travels up my neck like nails digging into my skin. I swear, this girl is everywhere. Without saying a word, I hug my books tight and turn to face her.
“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. I thought you’d make a great profile for this article I’m working on.”
“No, thanks,” I say, before she even has a chance to explain what it’s about.
“Really? With everything that’s going on, you don’t want to add your side of the story?”
“I don’t want—I don’t have anything to say about that.” Never mind that I have no idea what that is. I try to channel my father’s confidence, the way he firmly but politely shuts a conversation down when he no longer feels in control of it. Jamie explained how he does it during one of our first training sessions. “Remember you have power too. Remember you can choose to engage or disengage.”
Jackie raises her eyebrows and uses her thumb to fan the corner of the pile of sea-green papers she’s been handing out. I want to know what’s on them—something horrible about my dad, I’m sure—but instead of asking her I square my shoulders and decide to quietly stare her down. Thank god I’m holding my books across my chest, otherwise she’d probably see my hands shake. Jackie looks at me vaguely confused, like I’m a blurry picture on her phone and she’s waiting for me to load. I give her nothing, afraid to even blink, until Zoey clears her throat and asks if we’re going to lunch or not.
“That’s fine. You have such a unique perspective, but suit yourself . . .” Jackie lets her voice trail off as she starts to walk away, but then she turns back around. “If you ever want to talk, Mari—”
“It’s Mariana,” I blurt out, breaking my silence to correct her. I pronounce the vowels and the r softly, so it flows the way it’s meant to. “Only my friends and family call me Mari.” I say it in Spanish, like sea, like mar. My name is like the ocean.
“I’ll remember that,” Jackie says, smiling like she’s pleased with something, though I can’t figure out what it could be. She rushes off without another word. We watch her turn the corner at the end of the hallway.
“That . . . was intense,” Vivi says.
We head to our usual lunch spot in the school’s central courtyard. By the time we sit down, I feel dazed and like I just finished darting up a flight of stairs. I try to catch my breath as I take out my lunch. Taped to a bag of Ricky’s Goldfish that Gloria packed because we’re out of chips is a napkin note that reads, “Sea you soon, Mari Mar.” Underneath it, she drew a school of fish. For a second it makes me laugh, but then it dawns on me.
The sea. Jackie’s sea of diversity. Strong and unstoppable.
“Oh my god. Of course. You guys, it was her.” Vivi and Zoey stare at me blankly. “Jackie. She’s the one who wrote on my dad’s picture.”
“I don’t know, Mari,” Vivi says gently. “It doesn’t really seem like her style.”
“Yeah . . . she doesn’t exactly hide her opinions. Why would she put it in an old yearbook?” Zoey adds.
I don’t know. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. All I know is I feel unsettled after our encounter.
“I think I should talk to her,” I say, gathering my things.
“What? Right now?” Vivi asks.
“She’s registering students to vote outside the gym,” Zoey says. We both look at her, surprised that she would know this, but she just shrugs and takes forever to chew a bite of her sandwich before adding, “She said so. At the library. You didn’t hear?”
I must’ve been too busy hiding to catch the last part of her speech. If Zoey’s right, that means she’s not far—just a quick walk across the courtyard and through the science building, and I’ll be face to face with the one person I’ve been avoiding for days.