The Tori Trilogy (10 page)

Things that happened to black people.
I feel guilty having that thought, but I guess, because of all those history lessons, that's who I've always thought about when I've heard about racism. But maybe that's wrong. Maybe that kind of thinking is racist in itself. After all, hadn't I considered myself to be safe from that sort of discrimination, just because I'm not black? I mean, if you had asked me, I would have looked at you like you were crazy.
Who, me? Why would anyone be racist against me?

Because I
'm different.
The answer hits me like a punch in the stomach. I'm half-Latina. My skin and my eyes and my hair and everything about who I am makes that clear. I've always been proud of my Peruvian background, my Spanish-speaking grandparents, the trip to Peru that I'll (hopefully) take someday soon. But to Anastasia, I realize now, that's a bad thing. It wouldn't matter whether I was part-black or part-Asian or part-anything-else. The point is, I'm different. Racism is all about people who can't handle other people being different, and that's that.

I feel very wise as I open the back left door of Mom's car and slide inside. But that's not all. I feel sick and hated and dirty, too. It's so awful. My eyes sting as I slam the door (a little too hard) after me, and lean my head back on the seat, not even saying hi to Mom and Joey, who she just picked up from the middle school.

“Hi, sweetie,” Mom greets me. The way she's looking at me in the rearview mirror makes me think she's a little worried. “Everything okay?”

Can she tell how bad it is? I force myself to sit up straight and smile a wobbly smile. “Of course. I'm just tired.”

“Long day at school?”

“Uh-huh.”

Mom drives to the end of the pick-up lane, where she makes a U-turn and heads back the way she came, toward the street.

As we pass the playground, I notice Anastasia sitting on one of the benches, surrounded by girls from my class. Bryn and Abigail are there, and most of the others she was chatting with this morning, plus a few more. They are all smiling and laughing, talking and moving their arms around excitedly. Anastasia perches in the middle of it all, like some kind of queen on a throne. She definitely seems to be soaking up the attention.

My head pounds and I press my fingertips to either side of it.

“Tori?” Mom turns carefully into the street. “You're sure everything's okay?”

“Yes,” I lie, wishing she would stop asking questions. “I told you, I'm tired.”

“All right, then.” She sounds like she doesn't believe me at all. Why do moms have to be so smart?

Joey makes it even worse. You can always count on him for that. “She's totally
not
okay, Mom,” he says. “For someone who's supposed to be such a good actress, she sure doesn't cover up well.”

“Shut up, Joey!” I snap, unable to stop myself.

He turns around in the passenger seat, looking surprised and amused at the same time. “What's the matter, Gory Tori? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the universe this morning? Or does this have something to do with that new girl in your class? What's her name--Annabelle?”

My eyes go wide, and I gasp. Sure, I've mentioned Anastasia to my family, but only a few times, and I haven't shared any of the bad stuff with anyone but Nate. I didn't even know Joey knew there
was
a new girl in my class. Sometimes he really scares me.

“It has nothing to do with her!” I snap, a little too quickly. “And besides, her name is Anastasia, not Annabelle.”

“Whatever.” Joey rolls his eyes. “So what is it about her, Tori? Don't tell me she doesn't like you?”

I don't answer. Sometimes, if you ignore Joey, he actually shuts up for a little while.

Not this time. “That's it, isn't it?” he exclaims, taking my silence as an answer. “She really doesn't like you! Finally, a fifth-grade girl with some taste!”

“Joey,” Mom says firmly, “that's
enough
.”

But Joey has no idea. This is so much more than Anastasia Adams simply not liking me. I wonder what he'd say if I told him she wouldn't like
him
either...just because he's half-Peruvian?

If Tuesday was bad, Wednesday is even worse.

When I get to my classroom, that same group of girls (minus Shannon) is gathered around Anastasia by the windows on the far wall. They are all holding slips of glossy pink paper, batting them in the air and talking a mile a minute. Anastasia, who is dressed in an expensive-looking soft pink sweater over black leggings and pink fluffy boots, has that smile on her face that I've come to hate. The smile says a million different things, such as, “I am so much better than you, it's funny” and “Don't you wish you could
be
me?” and “Aren't you just so lucky I'm paying attention to you?”

I try my best to ignore her, but it's really hard. For some reason, most of the girls in 5L think Anastasia Adams is something special, and it's like being in class with a superstar. A stuck-up,
racist
superstar.

I glance around the room and notice Gina and Shannon huddled together by Gina's desk, whispering. I walk over to them, and they glance up, their eyes filled with a strange expression.

“Hi,” I say, a question in my voice.

“Hi,” they reply together, sounding flat and serious.

My heart thumps against my ribs. Something is wrong. I know it. And I'd bet anything it has to do with Anastasia. “What is it, you guys?” I drop my voice to a whisper and lean into their huddle.

“Take a look at this.” With stiff, jerking movements like a robot's, Shannon reaches into her jeans pocket and pulls out a folded piece of glossy pink paper, identical to the sheets that the other girls are holding. She spreads it out flat on Gina's desk, and I read:

You are invited!

Join us for a night of pleasure and pampering as we celebrate Anastasia Adams' new life in Forest Grove! We will be enjoying hors d' oeuvres, dinner and dessert buffets, and unlimited Shirley Temples as we focus on getting to know one another. Mr. and Mrs. Adams have been so kind as to arrange for Ms. Melanie Banks, owner of Goldilocks Salon for Girls, to treat us all to extravagant hairstyles and original makeovers. Please come equipped with an overnight bag as there will be a sleepover immediately following.

Date: Saturday, November 14

Time: 5:00 P.M. to 10:00 A.M., Sunday, November 15

Place: The Adams Home

617 North Evergreen Lane

Forest Grove

Please RSVP by Thursday, November 12

When I am finished reading, I look up at my friends in disbelief. “That's this Saturday,” I whisper. “Anastasia's having a fancy party to celebrate moving here? I didn't even think she was happy about it. I-” I break off, not sure what else to say. Hors d'oeuvres? Buffets? Shirley Temples? A
hairstylist?
Even the wording on the invitation is more formal than some wedding invitations I've seen. These people must be crazy loaded!

“Tori,” Shannon says softly, “I think you're missing the point.” She glances meaningfully at Gina.

My cousin clears her throat, shifts in her chair as though she's trapped, and finally whispers, “Shannon found that invitation in her locker this morning. So did all those other girls.” She tilts her head toward the windows. “I guess Anastasia must have slipped them under the doors....” She bites her lip. “I didn't get one, Tori.”

Like a punch in the stomach, I finally understand. I didn't find an invitation in
my
locker, either. Me and Gina. And if Reid were a girl, he wouldn't have gotten one....My head pounds. I look around the room wildly, my gaze landing on Elissa Chung, a Chinese-American girl who's super-sweet and very quiet.

She's sitting at her desk, writing in her flowered notebook. Her long, silky, dark hair falls into her face, and she keeps pushing it behind her ear.

Without thinking it through, I snatch Shannon's invitation off Gina's desk and march over to Elissa, waving it in her face. “Elissa!” I cry, a little too loudly. “Did you get one of these?”

Surprised, Elissa looks up, takes the slip of paper from me, skims it, and hands it back. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “But...” her voice drops “...I can't say I'm shocked. I don't think Anastasia likes me very much.”

That does it. I whirl back around, madder than I ever remember being. My face is hot. My whole
body
is hot. Everything looks blurry and swims in front my eyes. I don't understand it at first, but then I realize that I'm crying. Tears of hurt and anger race down my cheeks, and I wipe them away as quickly as they come.

“Tori?” Mr. London is at my side, his hand on my shoulder. “Is everything all right?” I guess he must have heard the edge in my voice when I showed the invitation to Elissa. By now, most of the boys who hang out in the hall before class have straggled in, and it feels like everybody's watching me. I don't even want to
look
Anastasia's way.

Dumbly, I nod my head and slump into the chair at my desk. “I'm okay, Mr. London.” I try my best to sound normal, but it doesn't really work.

He's still watching me closely. “You sure?”

I close my eyes and draw a shuddering breath. “I'm sure.”

Then the first bell rings.

I lock eyes with Reid as he passes my desk to get to his own. He saw what happened with Mr. London, and I know without a doubt that he has a good idea of what--or should I say
who?
--made me so upset.

After school, I find Reid on the playground, grab him by the arm, and pull him away from the group of boys he's playing with. “I need to talk to you,” I hiss, dragging him over to a bench.

Reid's taller and bigger than I am, and it's hard to
really
drag him. He laughs. “Okay, cool down, Tori. I'm coming.” We sit together on the bench, and he throws me a curious look. “What's this about? Wait. Let me guess. The thing that happened this morning. It had to do with...” he lowers his voice “...Anastasia, didn't it? I could tell by how upset you were.”

I don't need any encouragement. As quickly as I can, I tell Reid about the party invitations, about the fact that Gina and Elissa and I didn't get one, while the rest of the girls in our class
did
. “You were right,” I finish, fighting to keep my voice under control. “She
is
racist. I mean, I knew that yesterday, but I guess I kept hoping we were wrong.”

Reid lets his breath out in a puff. It hits the air, which is colder and damper than it was on Tuesday, and creates a tiny cloud. After a long pause, he asks, “Do Elissa and Gina know what's up with Anastasia?”

I shake my head. “No. Well, at least I haven't talked about it with them. They could've figured it out. I don't know....” I look pleadingly at him. “It doesn't make sense, Reid. No one's ever been racist against me before. I guess...I guess I never thought about myself that way.”

“You don't have to say it.” He smiles. “Most people don't realize this, but racism can happen to
anybody
. Black people. Asian people. People like you, who are mixed. Even white people.”

“
White
people?” I gasp. “Like my mom, and Emily and Shannon...and
Anastasia?”

“You bet,” says Reid. “I've met people who are racist against whites. It's stupid to be racist against
anybody
, but that's life, I guess.”

“Wow.” In the past few days, my views on racism have really begun to change. I zip up my jacket to shut out the sharp fall wind. “So, what do you think I should do, Reid? Should I let Gina and Elissa know what's going on?”

“It depends,” he replies. “If you feel like talking to them about it will help them understand and make things easier for them, then go for it. But if you think it will only hurt them, then there wouldn't be a reason to.”

I nod. Reid's advice makes sense. I wonder if he knows how much he's given me to think about?

Chapter Six

For dinner that night, Mom makes spaghetti and meatballs. Usually it's one of my all-time favorite meals: long tender noodles and big juicy meatballs drenched in Mom's super-flavorful spaghetti sauce, with garlic bread on the side (
good
garlic bread, not like the stuff at school). But this time, I hardly notice all the delicious smells in the kitchen.

And when Mom asks me to set the table, I simply fold the paper napkins in half and slide them under the forks at each person's place, not even bothering to pull out the origami book that Gina gave me and fold them into fun shapes like animals or Japanese lanterns, the way I usually do. I am too upset by all that's happened with Anastasia and the lousy day I had at school.

After we all sit down to eat (minus Nate, who is working a double shift at the college bookstore), Joey notices the napkins right off. “Hey!” he exclaims, snatching his up with a look of astonishment on his face. “It's a bird! It's a plane! No...it's just a
napkin
. Tori...could it be...are you
past
that annoying phase?”

“Get a life, Joey,” I mutter. “I just didn't feel like doing origami tonight.”

“Since when?”

“Since
now
,” I snap. “Could we please drop this?”

“Ouch!” exclaims Joey. “
Someone's
in a bad mood.”

Dad clears his throat. “Let's eat.”

Thank you, Dad, I think as we all dig in. Well, all except for me. As hard as I try, I can't force more than a few bites of the delicious dinner down my throat.

By the time my brothers are ready for seconds, my plate is still nearly full. Joey walks to the stove, serves himself a heap of spaghetti and four big meatballs, and returns to the table. But Ben takes one look at me, then reaches for my plate.

“If you're not going to eat that,” he says, “I'll eat it for you.” Before I have time to reply, he has tipped down my plate and is raking my meal onto his.