Melanie in Manhattan Read online

  This week in English, we learned about foreshadowing. That’s when an author writes, “The swimmers did not hear the distant thunder” or “No one guessed that the car’s brakes were faulty,” or when any sentence makes you go “Uh-oh.”

  Well, that whole painting made me go “Uh-oh”!

  It was as if Goya was daring us to see that in real life, happy endings are not guaranteed. And maybe telling us to appreciate the present?

  Mom said I’d made “a perceptive interpretation.”

  Before we left, I took a final look at poor Don Manuel of the long last name and the maybe-about-to-be-dead pet bird. Too bad he couldn’t just grab his bird and run. But the paint was dry. He was totally stuck.

  Not me, though. I am not stuck. I might have wanted to fall in love, but I never wanted to fall into a rut.

  Well, if I got myself into it, I can get myself out!

  On the way home, Mom the Mind Reader asked if I’d heard from Miguel. I said, “Not for three weeks.”

  “That’s not so long, Kitty Cat.”

  “Yes it is. It’s eternity.”

  She said that in the olden days before e-mail, pen pals traded letters just a few times a year, and no one expected constant instant answers.

  “But now they do,” I said. “It’s different.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe Spanish time is different from American time. Or boy time is different from girl time.”

  “Doesn’t matter anyway,” I said. “I’m swearing off boys. Life is stressful enough.”

  Mom smiled. “You remind me of someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Whom.”

  I rolled my eyes. “WHOM?”

  “Atlas.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, on Fifth Avenue, across from Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. The statue of the man holding up the whole wide world.”

  “I look like Atlas?”

  “You’re cuter! But you both carry a lot of weight on your shoulders.” Mom didn’t mean it meanly, but it felt like when spell check suggests Meanie for Melanie—and never even adds “No offense.” (Of course, if it did add “No offense,” I’d be extra offended because I’d think it was picking up cues from Ooze!) Mom continued, “Cupcake, Atlas can’t put down his load, but maybe you can.” She put her hand on my neck and gave me a mini backrub.

  You know what? It felt pretty good.

  Dear Diary,

  I’ve been working on a poem with imagery (which we studied in Writing Workshop):

  The young boy in the perfect pose

  is wearing fancy blood-red clothes

  and has white and lacy bows

  on his collar, belt, and toes.

  He’s unaware that danger shows.

  But thorns do grow on every rose,

  and even children have their woes,

  and birds know cats aren’t friends—they’re foes.

  Yours in poetry and prose

  (and in highs as well as lows),

  May 21

  Dear Diary,

  Justin ignored me in school today.

  Yours,

  May 22

  Dear Diary,

  Cecily said I should just talk to Justin, so in Spanish I wrote a note that said, “Did you get my e-mail?” He wrote: “I haven’t been online.” So I whispered, “Too bad—you missed a friendly e-mail from me.” I even made myself smile. He seemed curious, so I scribbled out the whole “Friendship” thing and told him to count the F’s. He wrote right back: “3.” I said, “Double plus one!” He said, “7??” I nodded and he looked again carefully and found the other F’s. He wrote: “Amzanig.”

  Señora Barrios got mad.

  But it was worth it.

  Fickly yours?

  May 23

  Dear Diary,

  Remember I told you about the boy who didn’t know something bad was about to happen? Well, I’m the girl who didn’t know something good was about to happen!

  The phone rang and I picked it up.

  “May Lah Nee?”

  “Miguel???”

  “Hello, May Lah Nee!” He sounded nervous. “I have never telephoned overseas. But our computer was not functioning and—”

  “Really?? I’m so glad!” That came out wrong because I didn’t mean I was glad his computer was broken. “Is it fixed?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Miguel laughed. “However, I call you because I have my good news.”

  “What is it?”

  “My Uncle Angel has a trip for business to New York after my school year, and my father said that if it is okay with your family, I could visit you for one week if you are not too busy. Would this be possible?”

  Possible? It would be perfecto! I said so and then we put our parents on the phone.

  All I can say now is: Uncle Angel is an angel! I can’t believe it!! One minute I was feeling like an idiot for caring about a faraway guy, and the next I’m about to be a Big Apple tour guide! Mom talked to Dad, and now everyone agrees that Miguel’s visit or visita (B C Ta) sounds fun.

  I wrote:

  Dear Miguel,,,

  I can’t believe you’re coming to New York City! That is fantástico! I want to show you the Empire State Building and also places that regular tourists do not know about. I am going to start planning! I will write you again very soon!!!

  ¡Hasta pronto!

  Melanie

  I tried to send the e-mail, but for some reason, my computer said the system wasn’t “responding” and it couldn’t connect to the Internet. It was soooo frustrating! I tried to send it two more times, then gave up and pressed Send Later. After dinner, I clicked on Mail Waiting to Be Sent and sent my message across the squiddy, shark-filled, algae-dotted ocean.

  But guess what? I just checked my Sent Mail, and my e-mail to Miguel was there. Four times!!!! It did get sent all those times after all! Which means it is now in Miguel’s New Mail box four times!

  Last time Miguel got four e-mails from me, at least they were different. This time, they are identical. I’d said, “I will write you very soon,” and then I wrote him very very very very soon over and over and over and over.

  5/24

  Dear Diary,

  Miguel wrote:

  MELANIE,

  MELANIE,

  MELANIE,

  MELANIE,

  THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU

  FOR YOUR

  MESSAGE MESSAGE MESSAGE MESSAGE.

  MIGUEL

  MIGUEL

  MIGUEL

  MIGUEL

  That made me feel better better better better.

  At dinner, Mom said that while Miguel’s uncle will be working in New York, Miguel’s parents will be working on their marriage by taking a trip alone, just them. She also mentioned that on the fourth night of Miguel’s visit, she and Dad already have concert tickets, but that the rest of the time, we can all show Miguel around together. Dad may even take one or two vacation days.

  I wanted to say, “I can show him around myself,” but I’m not exactly an independent teenager or anything. Not yet anyway!

  During dinner, I got out a lined piece of paper and said we should plan out Miguel’s trip. It was exciting to think of all the possibilities! Everyone started talking fast and making suggestions.

  Matt said, “How about a Yankees game? Or Madison Square Garden?”

  Mom said, “How about the Met? And the Roof Garden?”

  Matt said, “We could go rock climbing at Chelsea Piers!”

  I said, “Or have lunch at Chelsea Market!”

  Dad said, “Let’s start with something one hundred percent New York: the Entire State Building.” Matt used to call it that when he was littler.

  We all approved the idea and I said, “Miguel would have liked that boat party.”

  “He’d like the Intrepid,” Matt said. “Or South Street Seaport!”

  “Let’s take him to a Broadway show,” I suggested.

  “We could also just walk around different neighborhoods
,” Mom said. “Soho. Greenwich Village. Gramercy Park. Battery Park.”

  “What about Central Park?” Matt’s eyes lit up. “We could climb Balto and go to Belvedere Castle and see the Marionette Theater and ride the merry-go-round.”

  “Miguel is a little old for merry-go-rounds,” I pointed out, even though I could almost picture the two of us going side by side and round and round on the carousel’s fancy, hand-carved horses. Truth is, I suddenly wanted to show Miguel . I was thinking of Bloomie’s for shopping and American Girl Place for tea and Serendipity 3 for frozen hot chocolate—but then I realized they’re better for girls and I was out of my mind.

  Mostly I was thinking how nice it would be to have some time alone—the two of us. Without my family. (Very nice!)

  “Wait! I’ve got it!” Matt said, as though he’d just hatched the idea of a lifetime. “The Macy’s Parade! Miguel could see Santa!!”

  “The parade is on Thanksgiving, you turkey,” I said. Matt gobbled, but you could tell even he was embarrassed to have said something so extraordinarily estúpido (S 2 Pee Dough).

  Dad said, “We’ll pack in as much as we can. But he won’t see everything. And we don’t have to plan every minute. It’s okay to wing it.”

  “We can go with the flow,” Mom agreed. She added that the trip would be good for Miguel’s English because he’d learn expressions like “wing it” and “go with the flow.”

  Me, I like to plan things, not wing things. And I like to know, not flow. Still it’s true that:

  P.S. Mom and Dad’s passports arrived in today’s mail. The passports are navy blue with silver eagles, and the photos now have blue stripes on them and red stars next to them.

  I’m afraid Dad’s photo is even worse than I remembered. Mom was right. Dad should have opened his eyes a teeny bit more because he does look a teeny bit old.

  Just being honest.

  May 25

  Dear Diary,

  I wrote Miguel:

  Hi Miguel,

  How are you?

  How was your day?

  Are you ready for the trip?

  Are you getting packed and excited?

  Did you like the shape of this e-mail?

  XO,

  mm

  5/26 at 5:26

  Dear Diary,

  Miguel wrote back:

  ¡HOLA MELANIE!

  YOU MAKE ME SMILE.

  I LIKE TRIÁNGULOS TOO.

  I’M NOT READY FOR MY TRIP,

  BUT I AM GETTING CURIOUS. TELL ME:

  WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU WILL SHOW ME?

  I felt like answering, “My smile!” But of course I didn’t!!

  P.S.

  May 27

  Dear Diary,

  It was a pretty day and Mom offered to buy me a Popsicle if I took an afternoon walk with her.

  “That’s a bribe,” I said.

  “It is,” she agreed, and out we went.

  We walked along the Boat Basin west of Riverside Park and watched the boats bobbing on the Hudson River. A few floating ducks and flying seagulls were enjoying the sunshine too, and my pink Popsicle got very drippy.

  Mom said, “Cecily hasn’t been over much lately. Everything okay?”

  I shrugged. “Not really.” I told her all about Soozer the Loser. I even said that Suze was supposed to wait before replacing her starter studs with new earrings, but that she’d made the switch this morning, then spent the whole school day making sure everyone noticed. I didn’t add, “Especially the boys.”

  At first Mom just listened. Then she said, “You know what, Sweet Pea? I asked about Cecily, and the only person you’re telling me about is Suze. You have to focus on your friends, not your enemies.”

  Maybe she had a point, but I said, “Sometimes you just don’t get it.”

  Mom sighed and led us to a sculpture of Eleanor Roosevelt. “You know who she is, right?” I shrugged because I wasn’t sure if I did or if I didn’t. “She was F.D.R.’s wife and a famous first lady, and also quite a writer. She said one of my favorite quotes.”

  “Which one?”

  “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

  “Huh?”

  “It means you are in charge of your feelings. You can’t give other people the power to make you feel bad about yourself. If Suze isn’t nice, let that be her problem, not your problem.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  Mom put her arm around me. “I can’t disagree,” she said, which is a double negative.

  May 29

  Dear Diary,

  I must be growing. When I woke up, my feet looked so far away that my first thought was:

  Off to school—

  the very last day

  of the month of May

  Dear Diary,

  I have way too many butterflies in my stomach! If I flapped my arms, I’d wind up at the top of the Empire State Building!

  Here’s what I can’t figure out:

  If one person is thinking about another person, does the other person think about that person back? If one person feels a spark, does the other person too? Is it the same spark or a bigger or smaller spark? And how can you be sure?

  I like to be sure!

  Maybe it depends. Do questions like these even have answers? Are they math problems? Or chemistry problems?

  The reason I’m asking is because I went online and Justin IMed me. I felt kind of warm just seeing his name.

  He wrote: hi

  So I wrote: hi

  He wrote: r u going 2 spring fling?

  I had to read that over about ten times because I couldn’t believe he was asking. Spring Fling is the end-of-the-year fifth-grade dance in our gym, and it’s supposed to be really fun.

  I felt bad for not sending an instant reply, but I didn’t know what to answer.

  First of all, was he asking IF I was going or was he asking me TO go? I considered calling Cecily for advice, but I couldn’t leave Justin hanging there.

  Finally I wrote: r u? which I thought was pretty safe.

  Now he took forever to reply (well, sixty seconds at least). Then he wrote: c u there!

  So I wrote: great! With one matching exclamation point. I was going to add another, but I figured one was good.

  I saved the conversation and signed off, and now it’s a Butterfly Zone in my stomach. Some are American butterflies and some are Spanish mariposas (Mar E Poe Sahss).

  Spring Fling is coming up in nine days.

  Then school ends.

  Then Miguel comes.

  June 1

  Dear Diary,

  Did Justin ask other people if they were going too? Was he taking a poll of the whole grade so he could help the committee figure out how much pizza to order? Or did he just ask me?

  I called Cecily.

  “Did Justin ask if you’re going to the dance?”

  “No. Why?”

  “No reason …”

  “Wait! Omigod! Did he ask you?!”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  I started to explain, then said, “Go online and I’ll show you.” I pasted in our conversation and sent it to her even though I know that’s against “e-mail etiquette.”

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “I think you should wear that silky blue top you showed me!” She laughed and added that she was wearing a new shirt to the dance and was going to change her earrings that day for the first time ever.

  I was tempted to ask, “What’s Suze wearing?” but I didn’t want to ooze up our phone call. By the way, one of Suze’s earlobes got a little infected and is a teeny bit pink and crusty. Hee hee. (That’s mean. I know.)

  June 5 in bed

  DD,

  Dear Diary,

  Tomorrow is the big dance. I keep wishing I had the guts to go up to Justin and say, “Are we friends—or more?” But 1. I don’t, and 2. I wouldn’t want him to ask me that, especially since Miguel is coming in exactly ten d
ays and I don’t know if he and I are friends—or more.

  I don’t even know if Cecily and I are best friends—or less.

  Today was Field Day. After lunch, Cecily and I were talking about how instant messages can sometimes be confusing. She said, “Suze and I once got in a dumb fight because we were going to a movie and I typed: ‘I can’t wait!’ and Suze took it wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She thought I was saying, ‘Sorry, but I cannot wait,’ when all I meant was, ‘I’m looking forward to it! Can’t wait!!’ She got all mad for nothing. And another time,” Cecily continued (I have to say, I was enjoying this conversation), “I wrote: ‘I resent it,’ and she thought I resented something when, really, I meant I’d sent a message two times not just one time. And once” (Cecily was on quite a roll), “I wrote: ‘So there,’ meaning, ‘I am soooo there,’ but she thought I meant it like, ‘Ha ha so there.’ ”

  I felt like saying, “I told you Suze is trouble,” but I didn’t.

  I felt like saying, “So never IM her,” but I didn’t.

  I felt like saying, “You said I talk about Miguel a lot but you talk about Suze a lot,” but I didn’t say that either.

  I mostly just listened, then said, “I guess things are clearer when you’re actually with someone, person to person.”

  Yesterday, I took a magazine quiz called, “Are You a Worrier?” It said some people worry too much and some don’t worry enough. I scored my answers, and you can guess where I landed!

  Well, I wish I weren’t a worrier. I even worry about worrying! But I am trying to change, to worry about certain things instead of everything. I am also trying to take Mom’s advice about trying to care about my friendship with Cecily instead of Cecily’s friendship with Suze, or my enemyship with Suze.

  P.S. Here’s a poem I’ve been working on: