Miguel is nodding. “Me too, Tía Lola, please! You know how much this game means to me.”
Tía Lola holds up a hand to stop them. “I think I might have given you both the wrong impression. The swords are to help you. You see, we have to work our own miracles.”
This does not sound good. Miguel bows his head to hide his tears. Not only has he turned into a lame baseball player, but he’s become a crybaby as well.
But Víctor won’t give up. “Okay, fair enough. We’ll work our own miracle. Right, Miguel? First, we’re going to stay off the foot until tomorrow night. And since we don’t want to sound the alarm with crutches, you’re going to have to let me carry you everywhere.”
Miguel hates to tell Víctor: if using crutches might set off Mami’s worry alarm, what about being carried everywhere? But Víctor is sounding like a kid determined to believe in magic.
“So where are your swords?” Tía Lola asks out of the blue.
Víctor has to think a moment. “I believe I left mine in my room.”
Tía Lola nods at her nephew. “And yours, Miguel?”
He sniffles a little, wipes his nose, gets his voice back under control. “I left mine in the mudroom.” He doesn’t have to explain, because she knows why. He didn’t want to look silly in front of the guys.
“You’ll need your swords,” Tía Lola tells them. So maybe she is going to try to help work some magic after all? She did promise to use her sword to help the person who needed it most. And Miguel really needs help if a miracle is going to trump modern medicine.
“I’ll go get them,” Víctor offers. “Don’t you worry, captain. You’re going to hit them right out of the ballpark.”
They hear him hurrying down the hall at a fast clip, Miguel’s mother intercepting him on the stairs, her worried questions, his don’t-you-worry answers, their footsteps descending together. A long, thoughtful silence fills the room. Finally Tía Lola says, “You’ve helped do a very good thing, Miguel, you know that?”
Miguel is puzzled. All he can think of is the very bad thing he has done to himself, twisting his ankle, possibly taking himself out of their first big game.
Tía Lola’s nods are in sync with the rocking of her chair. “Oh yes, you did. Víctor has been a workhorse since he was a little older than you. Shouldering all kinds of responsibilities. But today, with you, he’s found that little part of himself he left behind.”
“You mean the part that wanted to play baseball?”
Tía Lola considers for a moment. “The part of him that’s a kid who believes in magic and miracles, instead of worrying all the time that the worst is going to happen.”
That’s the way Miguel is feeling right now. Maybe he and Víctor have exchanged personalities. From now on, Miguel will be super-cautious and serious and no fun to be around.
“Don’t lose that part of yourself,” Tía Lola says, as if reading his thoughts. Her tone is gentle but her gaze is fierce. “Because if you do, you will have lost the game, the big one called life.”
All of this sounds a little too profound, like the deep end of the pool of his mind that Miguel dives into only when he’s in church or taking an exam. “I just want to be able to play ball, Tía Lola,” he says, trying to keep it simple. “And I want to play this Saturday, if at all possible.” He adds this last part because maybe it won’t be the end of the world if he can’t play their first big game. Maybe it would be worse if he gave up altogether just because this once he might not get what he wants. If he turned into an adult talking to a kid about what might have happened. Just like Víctor this morning on their way to the field for cleanup.
As if summoned by that thought, Víctor comes in the door, carrying both swords. “Here you go, Michael,” he jokes, handing Miguel his sword.
“And now, Tía Lola, I want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” Víctor is using his lawyer language again, but this time it’s with a smile on his face. “Can you tell me who did this?” He holds out his sword, pointing to where a little black accent mark has been inserted over the i in “Víctor.”
Tía Lola’s eyebrows lift like two accent marks over her eyes. “No sé.” She has no idea. As she has already told them, they have to work their own miracles.
“I guess I’m turning into a miracle worker, then.” Víctor laughs. “So what do you say, Captain, we plaaaaaaaaaay ball!” He swings his sword at an imaginary ball and then puts his hand above his eyes as if he’s trying to make out a distant object.
The guy has gone batty, Miguel thinks. But he can’t help laughing; there is something very winning about a person who believes in magic.
Five
tuesday
Juanita’s Especially Special Fourth of July
Juanita sits on the back steps, her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands. She lets out a long, sad sigh. She was so excited about the Swords coming just at that point in the summer when she would be starting to miss her friends from school. Then she was so excited when Tía Lola thought up a summer camp with movies and makeovers and s’mores. But now, on the fourth day of the girls’ visit, things aren’t going as planned.
For one thing, the summer camp idea seems to have fallen apart. Essie and Victoria are down in the pasture with their father and Miguel and the team. Essie has been asked to step in for the day while Miguel’s ankle heals. Meanwhile, Victoria has suddenly discovered a keen interest in baseball. That leaves Cari for Juanita to play with. Juanita knows she promised Mami, but a baby five-year-old is not the best company for a nine-year-old headed for fourth grade to hostess.
Juanita has done her part. She read Cari her old picture book about tadpoles becoming frogs three whole times. She tried to be patient as Cari tagged along, asking questions, wanting to join in with whatever Juanita was doing. Could she also draw a flag with Juanita’s markers? Could she also help dress the dolls for a Fourth of July tea party? Could she try on Juanita’s tutu and pretend to be a ballerina fairy godmother? Finally, Juanita had had it.
“Can’t you go play with someone your own age?” she snapped at the little girl unhelpfully, as there’s no other five-year-old in the house. “You’re being a pest!”
Cari got all blinky-eyed and red-faced. Head bowed, she walked slowly downstairs to the kitchen, where Mami and Tía Lola were cooking up a storm. The odd thing, and something that Juanita wasn’t counting on, was that her outburst didn’t make her feel any better. But she couldn’t help herself. Juanita wants something fun to do and someone her age or older to do it with.
Another thing she wasn’t counting on is how she is no longer the best at anything. Before the Swords came, Juanita was the best at reading, the best at Spanish, the best at using her imagination. In other words, with only one other sibling, she was the best at least half the time, actually more. But now, with three additional kids around, Juanita hasn’t been able to distinguish herself. During the treasure hunt, it was Miguel and Victoria guessing every clue. All Juanita did was tear up a crucial clue that would have ruined the whole hunt if Valentino hadn’t come to the rescue. Even a dog has bested her!
Juanita isn’t so sure anymore that she wants the Swords sticking around past Sunday, something she has heard Mami and Víctor murmuring about. Otherwise, she’ll never again be the best at something.
As she contemplates this grim prospect, Juanita senses someone beside her. It’s Tía Lola, with that look in her eye. She knows something is wrong before you even tell her. “¿Qué pasa, calabaza?” she asks. What’s wrong, calabaza? Juanita usually understands Tía Lola’s Spanish. But today, she hasn’t a clue what her aunt is calling her.
Tía Lola points to the pumpkin vines out in the garden. “The calabaza is what grows on that vine.”
Great! Now Juanita is a vegetable, which, come to think of it, is exactly how she feels.
Inside the house Juanita can hear her mother finishing up preparations for today’s Fourth of July barbecue. Cari is helping her count out all the silverware
. They were not going to have a big party, but after Miguel got hurt yesterday, Mami talked to all the parents as they were picking up his teammates. A whole bunch agreed to pool together and have a potluck Fourth of July barbecue. Six families will be coming over later this afternoon, as well as Colonel Charlebois; Stargazer, Mami’s friend with the fun shop in town; and Rudy and Woody, as the café is closed for the holiday. The team also decided to hold a pre-party practice after all. Why not? While the weather holds.
So, it’s turning out to be a special Fourth of July after all. But Juanita feels so unspecial that what she notices is what won’t be special about it. No fireworks. They’ve been canceled due to the rain prediction. What’s a Fourth of July celebration without fireworks?
Tía Lola sits by quietly, keeping her niece company, not nagging her to say what’s wrong. From the back steps, they look out at the magnificent, thriving garden. This year, in honor of her application to be a resident of this country, Tía Lola planted the garden in the shape of the United States. “I’m going to go weed in Florida,” she’ll say. Or, “I’ll go pick asparagus in Oregon and drop by Minnesota for radishes on the way back.” Anyone hearing her would think Tía Lola was actually headed for those states to harvest their dinner.
“Everyone has something to do except me.” Juanita finally speaks up. She was feeling too cranky and upset to talk to anybody, even Tía Lola, but suddenly the words are spilling out. “I can’t do anything really special anymore,” she confesses. This must be the way her brother feels when Juanita gets praised for being the best reader, the best student, the best in learning Spanish.
Tía Lola puts her arm around Juanita’s shoulders. “You are especial, and that makes everything you do especial.”
Juanita has to smile. She has corrected Tía Lola countless times, but Tía Lola keeps forgetting and saying “especial” instead of “special” because that’s how you’d say it in Spanish. Either way, Juanita would like very much to believe her aunt. But she has a long list of all the things she has done within recent memory that are not special. “Even my s’more fell into the fire.”
“That’s because you were trying to help Cari with hers, and that was especial,” Tía Lola reminds her. Juanita used her roasting stick to lift Cari’s out of the fire, and her own marshmallow fell off. But instead of feeling special about her kindness, Juanita feels bad all over again about hurting little Cari’s feelings earlier today.
“And look at your masterpiece.” Tía Lola gestures with her arm. Flanking her United States vegetable garden is a sea of flowers, all Juanita’s, as she asked to be the one in charge of the flowers this year. And what a sight! Her lilies are up, her bleeding hearts, her sweet peas, her zinnias, her morning glories, her marigolds, her nasturtiums, her periwinkles, her ager-somethings. Juanita did go a little overboard. But then, that’s easy to do, ordering from a seed catalog in the middle of winter.
“But what good is it, Tía Lola, when no one even notices it?” There’s been so much excitement about their guests’ arrival, Cari’s brave deeds, Miguel’s accident, no one has paid attention to her work of art. Not even Juanita.
“Ay, but lots of guests are coming to the barbecue,” Tía Lola reminds her. “Wait till they see your garden! They will love it. But first, you have to love it, and that means we have work to do. Where is your sword?” Tía Lola is on her feet, looking her niece over as if Juanita is missing a critical part of her own body.
Juanita shrugs. “My room, I guess.” She doesn’t know why she is pretending she doesn’t know where her sword is. She left it lying on her window seat, where she had tried to curl up with a good book. But as much as Juanita loves reading, she couldn’t take her mind off how mean she’d been to Cari.
“Why don’t you go find it and meet me down here in a few minutes.”
What is Tía Lola up to? From the kitchen window behind them, Juanita hears Mami praising Cari for the fabulous job she has done counting out all the silverware. Far off, Miguel’s teammates are cheering. Everywhere people are being singled out for doing special things, while Juanita sits on a back stoop being ignored by the whole world. She gets up slowly, with a tired sigh. She hates to tell her aunt, but she doesn’t really believe Tía Lola can help her feel special this Fourth of July.
The funny thing about feeling sorry for yourself is that once you’re busy doing something you really love, you kind of forget to remember yourself. Juanita is so caught up in her garden, harvesting flowers while Tía Lola readies several dozen Dixie cups, that she doesn’t notice when the shouts and calls have stopped in the back pasture, the team streams by, the cars come down the driveway as the guests start to arrive.
Her sword has been so handy. The plastic edge is suddenly sharp enough to use for cutting stems, but not too sharp that she might cut herself. The letters rub off the blade as she works. Who cares? Joan isn’t really her name, after all. At one point, when she’s standing very still, a pale yellow butterfly lands right on her bee balm and then on her arm. Juanita had forgotten how much she loves growing flowers!
As they work, Tía Lola and Juanita talk to the flowers, thanking them, explaining why they are cutting some and not others. Tía Lola has told Juanita that this is very important, since all plants, and especially flowers, like it when you pay attention to them. Just like me, Juanita can’t help thinking.
“They look so pretty,” Juanita says, admiring the tray full of Dixie cups, each one filled with red and blue and white flowers. The center of each table will be lined with these patriotic bouquets. What a wonderful surprise for the Fourth of July! Once everyone has eaten, Juanita will come down the stairs in the long white robe from the angel costume Tía Lola made her for carnaval. Stargazer is bringing the hat Juanita remembers admiring in the window of her shop. Juanita can’t wait to see everyone’s face light up at this especially special surprise Tía Lola has thought up.
Almost as if drawn by the promise of a party, the clouds roll in. The random drops turn into a serious patter, and then throwing caution to the wind, the rain pours down. Good thing those fireworks got canceled.
Anticipating bad weather, Mami and Víctor set up the folding tables in the sunporch, jokingly calling it the rain porch. Out back, in their raincoats, Rudy and Woody are grilling hamburgers and hot dogs. Meanwhile, the dining-room table is piled with enough food to feed a whole village—fried chicken and potato salad, deviled eggs and cheese sticks, pastelitos and rice and beans, and every imaginable kind of pie.
Everyone is in high spirits, exchanging stories of their summer so far. Most of the talk is about gardens: what’s doing well with this rain, what isn’t. “Yours is amazing!” people exclaim when they look out at the backyard. “Would you take a look at those flowers! And those darling centerpieces!” Whether or not they know it’s her doing, Juanita’s heart swells. People are loving something she helped create.
“You’re going to have to come over to my garden,” people remark after Tía Lola tells everyone who did the flowers. At this rate, Juanita will be booked all summer as a flower-garden consultant.
“My brother and Tía Lola did the vegetables,” Juanita admits, humbled by all this recognition. She looks around for Miguel and spots him sitting on the couch, his leg propped up on the coffee table, obeying orders from “Dr. Víctor” to stay off his foot. Maybe it’s the sword tucked under her arm, but suddenly, it’s as if Juanita has X-ray vision or something. She can tell how tough a day it has been for Miguel, not being able to play, having to watch Essie pitch. And yet he’s been such a good sport. Better than she, Juanita, could ever hope to be. Juanita feels a sudden gush of love for her wonderful, sweet, selfless brother. And, surprisingly, she doesn’t feel any less special just because she can see Miguel is also special.
“You’re the best brother in the world!” Juanita exclaims, plopping down beside him. She is about to throw her arms around him, but she can see him flinching, not wanting to be embarrassed in front of his friends. “You don’t belie
ve me?” she asks because he looks wary. Juanita has been running in and out of the room, up and down the stairs with Tía Lola—always a sure sign she is up to something.
“Okay, so I’m the world’s greatest bro. How come you just realized it?”
“Having the Swords here made me realize how lucky I am I’ve got a brother, you know?”
Her brother frowns, pretending annoyance, but she can see he is gratified by this admission. Then a mischievous smile hooks up the corners of his lips. “Well, I can tell you that having them around has made me realize how lucky I am I have only one sister.”
Juanita gives him a peck on the cheek, real quick so no one sees, before she runs off to help Mami and Tía Lola carry in the rest of the platters from the kitchen. It’s only later, thinking back over Miguel’s puzzling grin, that Juanita realizes that her brother’s remark wasn’t exactly a compliment.
“Please, everybody, serve yourselves from the buffet on the dining-room table, then go out to the rain porch and take a seat,” Mami directs her guests. “Oh, and try to sit next to someone you don’t know very well, okay?” It’s a fine and dandy thought, but a little later Mami sits down beside Víctor. Glancing at Mami’s radiant face, Juanita understands why. Víctor is a new and special friend whom Mami wants to get to know a lot better.
“Everybody has a fork and a knife and a spoon inside your napkin.” Cari has stood up on a chair to make her own announcement. She demonstrates, unwrapping a sample packet. When everyone claps appreciatively, Cari’s little face turns crimson with pleasure. Juanita can see how big a deal this is for Cari. With two older sisters, it must be hard to feel important or good at anything. “Hey, Cari, come sit by me,” she calls out to the little girl, who has filled her plate and is now looking around for a seat in the crowded room.