Free Confetti Girl by Diana Lopez Page B

practice?”
    “No. I’m not bored.”
    “Hmmm,” my dad says. I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but he decides not to ask any more questions. After a few seconds,
     he lets the blanket fall and steps out.
    Then I hear the phone. It’s probably Carlos, but I don’t budge. I want my dad to answer. Maybe he’ll casually mention Vanessa’s
     boyfriend to Ms. Cantu.
    When I hear the mumbled tones of a conversation, I figure a salesperson called. Then, I close my eyes for a nap, but my dad
     calls me to the living room before I drift off.
    “Apolonia!” I hear.
    “What?” I call back.
    “Get over here,” he says. He sounds mad. He uses my full name only when I’ve done something wrong. So either I’m in trouble
     or a real pushy telemarketer bullied him into buying something like snow boots or a year’s supply of mascara.
    When I get to the living room, I catch him going through my backpack!
    “Hey, that’s private property,” I say, but I’m too late. He’s already found what he was looking for—my vocabulary test with
     the big fat zero.
    He says, “Mrs. Huerta just called.”
    I can’t believe it. It’s like she read my mind, like she
knew
I was going to forge my dad’s name. I am so busted. This must be what it means to get caught with egg on your face.
    “She told me the real reason you’re not at soccer practice.”
    What can I say? I just stand there waiting for my punishment like a sandcastle waiting for the tide to roll in.
    He looks over the test. “How could you get a zero?” he asks. “Did you fail this on purpose? And why would you do such a thing?”
    I can only shrug.
    “‘Felicity,’” he reads, “‘a city for cats.’” He shakes his head. “How could you get ‘felicity’ wrong?”
    “I did what
you
always do,” I say in my defense.
    “And that is?”
    “I took apart the word to figure out its meaning.”
    “But, Lina, ‘felicity’ is like the Spanish word
feliz,
remember?
Feliz Navidad. Feliz Cumpleaños.
We use it all the time. It means ‘happy.’”
    “I tried Spanish with
marsupial,
” I explain, “and I got that one wrong too. How am I supposed to know whether to think about Spanish or Greek or Latin or
     prefixes or suffixes or roots? And who cares about vocabulary anyway?”
    My dad winces. He’s really mad, but I don’t feel guilty at all. Who cares if I let him down? We’re even as far as I’m concerned.
    “I just don’t understand how you could be failing your favorite class,” he says.
    “English is
not
my favorite class. It’s
your
favorite class.”
    He rubs his forehead. Good. I hope I’m giving him a headache.
    “So what is your favorite class?” he asks.
    “I talk about it
all the time.
”
    “Volleyball?”
    “Volleyball isn’t a class,” I say. “It’s an after-school activity. Besides, it’s soccer season now, remember?”
    “Math, then?”
    “Math’s okay, but it’s not my favorite class.”
    I can’t believe it. He’s stumped.
    “Science,” I say. “I like science.”
    He nods. “I should have known.
Cada cabeza es un mundo.
Everyone has his own way of thinking. At least now I know why you dressed as a fish devil for Halloween.”
    “I was not a fish devil! I was the
red tide!
You never listen, do you?!”
    I’m about to stomp to my room when the doorbell rings. Before we get to it, we hear Vanessa on the other side.
    “Hurry, Mr. Flores! Hurry!”
    “What is it?” my dad asks, opening the door.
    “It’s my mom,” Vanessa says. “She fell down. She’s really hurt!”

El silencio es oro –
Silence is golden
13
Egg Under the Bed
    W e chase Vanessa to her kitchen. As soon as I see Ms. Cantu, I think of the time I pretended my Barbie was Gail Devers, an
     Olympic track star. I had put her into the hurdling position and SNAP! her leg came off.
    “Ay, Homero!” Ms. Cantu cries when she sees my dad. “I can’t move!”
    “Now, now,” my dad says.
    “I came home from practice and found her like