The Tori Trilogy Read online

  “Sorry, Ebs,” I say, stroking the soft black fur on her back. “I need to use my overnight bag, so you’ll have to find somewhere else to sleep.”

  As if she understands my every word (and I’m not always sure she doesn’t), she picks herself up and stalks out of my room in a huff. Ebony is a pest and a brat, but I love her anyway.

  Now that my bag is empty, I can start packing. I pull my p.j.’s out from where I tucked them under my pillow this morning, and drop them into the bag. I add a change of clothes for tomorrow--jeans, a purple hoodie, a pair of underwear, and purple-and-black zebra-stripe socks--and my hairbrush, a couple of hair elastics, my stuffed dragon Starfire, and a flashlight.

  I hurry down the hall to the bathroom, grab my toothbrush, pop it into a travel case, and drop that in, too. As an afterthought, I pack my MP3 player and a library book just in case. There is no need to worry about a sleeping bag or pillow, because Gina and I always share a guest bed when we visit our grandparents.

  I zip up my overnight bag, sling it over my shoulder, and clatter down the stairs. “I’m ready!” I announce.

  Mom laughs. “You’ve still got half-an-hour before Auntie Luz and Gina get here. Are you sure you don’t want a snack now?”

  “Okay,” I agree, sighing. Half-an-hour seems like an eternity! I follow Mom into the kitchen, where she pours me a glass of juice and I fill a small plate with the last of the jack-o-lantern cookies leftover from Halloween, which was nearly a week ago now.

  It sure was an interesting Halloween, the first in my life that I didn’t go trick-or-treating. I was sick and had to stay in bed and miss out on wearing the gypsy costume I’d been so excited about. I was very depressed, until my brothers came through for me by throwing a very unexpected last-minute Halloween party in my bedroom! They can all be unbelievably obnoxious, but I’m starting to learn that, somewhere deep down, they just might be human.

  I finish my cookies and juice, rinse the plate and glass in the sink, and load them into the dishwasher. Then I sit back down at the table and stare at the clock on the microwave, wishing the minutes away.

  Half-an-hour finally passes. When the doorbell rings, I make a beeline from the kitchen to the entryway, nearly colliding with Joey, who is headed in the same direction.

  “Watch it, squirt,” he says, then pushes past me to answer the door himself. The human side of him is definitely in hiding right now. Then again, that’s only typical.

  “Hey, Auntie Luz,” my brother greets our aunt. “Hey, Gina.”

  “Hi, corazón,” Auntie Luz replies in her sing-song way, dropping a kiss on Joey’s short brown hair.

  The Salinas side of my family is Peruvian-American. Abuelito and Abuelita were born in the South American country of Peru, and moved to the United States in their early twenties to start a family. But even though Dad and Auntie Luz and the rest of their siblings were born in Chicago and are proud American citizens, they keep alive the Peruvian customs and the Spanish language, which they blend nicely into their American culture.

  Because Dad married Mom, my four big brothers and I are half-Latin-American and half-Caucasian, a mix of dark and light with olive skin, brown hair, and brown eyes. But Auntie Luz married my Uncle Gabe, who is Puerto-Rican, so Gina and her little sister Sofie are fully Latin-American, with caramel-colored skin, black curls, and black-brown eyes.

  Gina is not only my cousin, but my very best friend. She and I are two months apart, and in the same fifth-grade class at Forest Grove Elementary School. We’re very different in a lot of ways, but where it really counts, we’re alike, and we try to do as much as possible together. There’s nothing better than having your best friend built right in to your family!

  Now I rush over to give her a hug. I saw her just an hour ago at school, but it feels like much longer. Time has a way of dragging when you’re really looking forward to something.

  “I’m so excited!” she exclaims, dancing on the rug inside the front door.

  “Me, too!” I cry. “Let’s stay up all night and tell ghost stories!”

  Gina shivers. “We can definitely stay up all night...but your ghost stories scare me. They seem so real!”

  Mom walks in from the living room, smiling at Gina’s remark. “That’s the actress in Tori,” she says. “She can bring any character to life.”

  I love to act. I go to drama day camp for two months out of every summer, and I’ve taken several theater and improv classes with the YMCA and the park district. I blush happily at Mom’s compliment.

  “Some characters are better off not coming to life,” jokes Gina, and we all laugh.

  Auntie Luz shakes her head. “All I can say is, you girls had better get some sleep tonight!”

  “I agree,” Mom adds. “Or else we’ll have two sleepyheads on our hands tomorrow.” She bends down to kiss me goodbye. “Have a wonderful time, sweetheart. Be good for your grandparents. We’ll see you tomorrow!”

  “I can hardly wait for that,” Joey mutters under his breath. “Laters, Gory Tori.”

  I stick my tongue out at him. “I’m not exactly thrilled to be coming home to you, either,” I say.

  Mom gives us both a withering look.

  “Sibling rivalry at its finest,” Auntie Luz says. She reaches out and gives my hair a playful tug. “You ready to go, Tori?”

  “She’s been ready all week,” Mom answers for me. She helps me into my jacket, then hands me my overnight bag.

  “Bye, Mom,” I say. “I love you.”

  And we’re off! Gina and I huddle with Auntie Luz under her big designer umbrella. Auntie Luz, you see, does everything with style. We make a beeline through the cold rain to my aunt and uncle’s SUV, parked in our long, winding driveway.

  Auntie Luz throws open the doors, and my cousin and I scramble inside, where two-and-a-half-year-old Sofie is waiting for us in her car seat. We slam the doors shut as quickly as they were opened, and I toss my bag into the cargo hold. Then I slide into the space between Gina and Sofie, and begin cooing and ooh-ing to my littlest cousin.

  “Hi, Sofie-boo!” I say, poking her button nose.

  “Toe-wee!” she cries, the closest she can get to “Tori.” It rhymes with “Joey,” in fact, which is super-unfortunate. “We go see Lita an’ Lito.”

  “That’s right. We are going to see Abuelita and Abuelito,” I reply. “Well, at least me and Gina are.”

  We all settle in for the long drive to Cicero. What normally takes forty-five minutes takes over an hour, because everyone’s getting off work and going home or going somewhere, because it’s Friday.

  Gina and Sofie and I watch out the windows as the houses and yards change. At first, in the unincorporated area of Forest Grove where I live, the houses are big and the properties stretch around them for acres. Our house used to be a farmhouse, built back in the early-1900s, and it’s large and wandery and drafty in the cold weather.

  As we get back into the incorporated areas of Forest Grove and other towns, the houses and yards turn smaller, meaning that if you lived in one of them, like Gina does, you could stand on your front porch and have a good view of all your neighbors’ houses. Most people can do that, but I’ve grown up acres away from my next-door neighbors!

  And as we get nearer and nearer to Cicero, meaning that we’re also nearer and nearer to the Chicago city limits, the houses and yards change again. Now they’re really small, and so close together that you could lean out your window and your next-door neighbor could lean out hers, and you’d be able to shake hands! A lot of the houses, like Abuelito and Abuelita’s, are brown-brick and have only one room upstairs. A long time ago I asked Dad why the houses were like that, and he said they’re called “bungalows.”

  At longest last, Auntie Luz turns onto Clementine Street, and we are able to see our grandparents’ house, the very last one on the left.

  Auntie Luz walks Gina and me to the front door, balancing Sofie on her hip beneath the big umbrella. Before she has a chance to ring the bell, Abuel
ita pulls it wide open.

  “My darlings!” she cries in her heavily accented, but very good, English. “Come in, come in!” She steps aside to let us into the house, and then she takes Gina’s and my bags and jackets and starts to make a fuss over all of us.

  Like Abuelito, she’s in her seventies, healthy and full of life. She’s small, with shining eyes and hair that used to be dark-brown but now is gray, twisted into a roll at the back of her head. Her soft caramel-colored skin is creased with wrinkles. Abuelita is very dignified, “a true lady,” Mom says. Even the way she walks is elegant.

  Now she wraps Gina and me up in her arms, kissing our cheeks, and greets Auntie Luz and Sofie the same way.

  Sofie is happy and excited, waving her arms and crying, “Lita, Lita!”

  Auntie Luz laughs. “I think Sofie wishes she could spend the night, too,” she remarks. “But she’d miss her mami and papi at bedtime, wouldn’t you, baby?”

  My little cousin hugs Auntie Luz’s neck, agreeing.

  “Someday when you are older, cariño.” Abuelita drops an extra kiss on Sofie’s chubby cheek. She turns to Gina and me, winking to let us know she’ll be right with us and that our special time together will soon begin. Then she turns back to Auntie Luz, who is her youngest daughter, and they chat for a few minutes, half in English, half in Spanish.

  Partway through their conversation, Abuelito comes down from the bedroom upstairs, whistling a tune. Abuelito is always in a good mood, always smiling. Nothing gets him down for too long, which is part of what makes him so much fun. He’s shorter and heavier than Dad, with skin the same color as Abuelita’s, but more leathery. His eyes are deep-brown, and his hair is thick and white, but Dad tells me it used to be blacker than black.

  He comes up behind Gina and me, grabbing us by our waists and pulling us into one of his well-known bear hugs. For an old man, Abuelito is strong, and after Gina and I hug him and he refuses to let us go, we struggle against him for a minute, laughing and trying to escape.

  Finally, he lets us break away, and then goes over to greet Auntie Luz and Sofie.

  After what seems like a million years, Auntie Luz hugs and kisses Gina and me goodbye, and we hug and kiss her back, and hug and kiss Sofie, too. “Have fun, girls,” my aunt says, tugging the hood of Sofie’s jacket over her short curls. “We’ll let you know tomorrow who’ll be picking you up.”

  And finally, she’s off. Gina and I have Abuelito and Abuelita all to ourselves. Let the weekend begin!

  Chapter Two

  Abuelita shuts the door behind Auntie Luz and Sofie, and turns to face Gina and me. “Why do we not sit by the fire?” she suggests, waving us into the cozy living room. I notice that red-orange flames crackle noisily over logs in the brick fireplace.

  Realizing how chilly we are, Gina and I hurry to sit by the hearth. Abuelito settles into one of the armchairs on either side of the fireplace, but Abuelita doesn’t sit yet.

  Instead, she beams a knowing smile at my cousin and me and says, “You girls must be hungry. How about una entrada...” her voices trails off as she searches for the English word “...an appetizer? I have made papas a la huancaina.”

  Gina and I look at each other, our eyes wide with surprise. Papas a la huancaina is a traditional Peruvian dish made of boiled, sliced potatoes covered in a rich, spicy cheese sauce. It’s served cold, and Abuelita always decorates it with slices of hardboiled egg and pitted Greek olives. I always pick those off (yuck!), but the rest is delicious. It’s a very special appetizer that I usually only have on holidays or family birthdays.

  But now Abuelita’s made it just for Gina and me! She laughs at our shrieks of excitement, disappears into the kitchen, and reappears moments later with a tray holding four little plates full of papas a la huancaina, forks, napkins, and four cans of Inca Kola, a refreshing Peruvian pop that tastes, in my opinion, like a cross between bubblegum and cream soda.

  Abuelita sets the tray on the coffee table and passes out the appetizers and drinks. The four of us sit by the fire for awhile and talk, about family things and about school and our grades and our friends. Our most exciting news today is, believe it or not, something that Mr. London, our fifth-grade teacher, told us.

  “We’re getting a new student in our class!” I blurt excitedly. “A girl! She’s starting on Monday.”

  “This Monday?” Abuelito’s thick eyebrows shoot up. “How nice for you both. A new friend, no?”

  “We hope so,” says Gina. “As long as she’s nice. But I don’t know why she wouldn’t be. Anyway, I’m glad it’s a girl who’s coming, not a boy.”

  “You can say that again.” I wrinkle my nose. “Boys are so annoying, and I already have too many at home.”

  My grandparents laugh. “Ah, Victoria,” says Abuelito, pronouncing my name with Spanish flair. “Someday you will appreciate your brothers.”

  I decide not to tell him that once in a while, I actually do. Instead, I say, “Well, I like Andrew. He’s old enough to not act stupid like the rest of them.”

  “Muy bien,” Abuelita replies. “He is married and soon will be a father. He must not act stupid now.”

  Gina and I look at each other and burst into giggles. Hearing sweet Abuelita pronounce a word like “stupid” in her soft Spanish accent is hilarious.

  Abuelita glances from my cousin to me, a puzzled expression on her face. “What is so funny?” she asks, making us laugh even harder.

  I reach up and take her hand, which is resting on the arm of the chair where she sits. “Nothing, Abuelita,” I say. “We love you very much.”

  She shakes her head at us. “This is why you are laughing?”

  “Never mind, Abuelita.” Gina hops up and kisses her on the cheek.

  We sit by the fire talking for at least an hour. We speak mostly in English, occasionally in Spanish. Gina’s Spanish is better than mine, but I can speak and understand enough to get by, and I love to practice with my grandparents.

  The conversation turns to my oldest brother Andrew and his wife Stephanie, who are expecting a baby next month. “I will die if they have a boy,” I say. “After all these years of putting up with four big brothers, the least I deserve is a niece!”

  “Ay, qué dramática mi nieta (my granddaughter is so dramatic),” Abuelito chuckles. “If the baby is a boy, you will love him, I promise you.”

  I know he’s right. Babies are hard not to love. But still....

  Gina is still thinking about something I said. “Your niece,” she repeats, her voice low. “I’d never thought about that. Tori, you’re going to be an aunt!”

  I have thought about that, and I still can’t get used to how grown-up it sounds. Andrew and Stephanie’s baby will have a ten-year-old aunt who plays with Barbies and collects Webkinz and wears purple high-tops. It doesn’t seem real.

  “The baby’s due right before Christmas, isn’t it?” Gina continues.

  “December twenty-first,” I say. “If she’s even a little bit late, she could be born on Christmas.”

  “She?” Abuelita shakes her head at me. “Time will tell, cariño.”

  We have a delicious dinner of chicken and rice with salad tossed in Abuelito’s homemade salad dressing. When we’re through, Gina and I pitch in to help clear the table and wash dishes, and then we all return to the living room. Abuelito brings the fire back to life, and we play cards and talk some more, and after a while, Abuelita dishes up big bowls of chocolate-chip ice cream for us all, and we eat while we play and talk.

  When our bowls are empty and our third game of Go Fish has come to an end, Abuelita takes out her old photo albums, and we spend over an hour looking at them. Gina and I have seen them many times before, but we never get tired of the hundreds of pictures, carefully organized by date from earliest to latest. The pictures are black-and-white in the first albums, faded-color in the middle albums, and brighter-color in the most recent albums.

  They date all the way back to when Abuelita was a little girl growing up in Lima, P
eru. It’s fascinating to see her so young, on her way to school, or playing with her brothers and sisters. There aren’t many pictures from that long ago, but in the ones she does have, the city of Lima looks so different from the modern photos I’ve seen.

  And then there are the pictures of Dad and Auntie Luz and Auntie Crista and Uncle Javi growing up in an apartment in Chicago, then later on, in this very same bungalow in Cicero. There are pictures of them on the first day of school, sitting on Santa’s lap at the mall, in a sailboat on Lake Michigan, visiting relatives in Lima.

  “Your dad looks like Joey in this picture,” Gina points out, and I gasp in horror when I see that she’s right.

  Abuelita laughs and laughs.

  I decide to change the subject. “I like the pictures that were taken in Lima,” I say. “I can’t wait till Dad takes me there.”

  “When will that be?” asks Gina.

  “I don’t know,” I sigh. Dad took Andrew to Peru when he was twelve, and he took Nate and Ben together when they were fourteen and eleven. He’s been saying for years that he’ll take Joey and me as soon as I’m “old enough to appreciate it.” I’m ten-and-a-half now, so I’m not sure what he’s waiting for.

  “It stinks that I have to go with Joey,” I continue. “Why couldn’t we all go separately, like Andrew got to?”

  Abuelita smoothes my long hair with her fingers. “Andrew is the oldest,” she reminds me. This is not a good point, but it’s a point enough.

  I sigh loudly.

  As always, Gina and I spend the night in the small, cozy guest room at the back of the house where Auntie Crista and Auntie Luz slept when they were growing up. Their old furniture is gone, replaced by an old-fashioned four-poster double bed, a tall dresser with a tilting mirror, and two round bed tables with long, spindly legs.

  The mattress is thick and soft, and Abuelita piles cover after cover on top of us when she and Abuelito come in to kiss us goodnight. The very last one is an alpaca wool blanket that was brought from Peru. It’s brown and white with what Dad would call “indigenous designs” all over it, sort of like Native American loom weaving.