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 afterall. 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 lovesreading, 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
So, it’s turning out to be a special Fourth of July afterall. 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 lovesreading, 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
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