Tata walks inside the house. “Where’s that tablecloth your mo … where’s the tablecloth we use for fiesta?”

He almost sounds like the old Tata, trying to take care of things. I open a drawer near the sink and dig out the red tablecloth we use to cover the picnic table for barbecues and fiestas.

“The iceman was supposed to come yesterday,” Tata says. “Give him a call, okay? Jesus, everybody is going to want ice today. Of all days for him not to show up!”

Hearing Tata gripe makes me feel so good for some reason.

There’s a knock at the door and I know it must be Mary Kelly. Olivia has hardly eaten the eggs I’ve scrambled, and Frank hasn’t even made it to the table.

“Olivia, answer the door while I get Frank.” Now I feel like Tata—of all days for Frank to sleep in.

Frank’s room is dark and he’s curled in a ball under his sheet. Two glassy eyes stare out at me.

“Come on, Frank! Today is fiesta! Don’t you want to have fun?”

“I’m sleepy. I’ll be over later.” He covers his face.

I think of forcing him out of bed, but Mary Kelly’s voice pulls me away. For once, just for today, I’ll forget about Frank. I’ll have fun at fiesta with my friend. I’ll cheer for a contestant in the queen’s pageant, play silly games at every booth, cha-cha to the music. Just for today.

Primping

We play games, eat snow cones, and watch Olivia take eight turns on the Tilt-A-Twirl. But we’re like everyone else, waiting for the queen’s court to prance across the stage. Thirty minutes to go.

Until then we watch the contestants do their final touches. Lipsticks glide across lips. Powder puffs pat noses. Hair spray fumes fill the air.

While the rest of the court primps, Teresita sits on a Coca-Cola case, frowning. The hem of her blue dress puddles at her feet. Auntie Bernadette nears her with a comb, but Teresita jerks back and shakes her head. “Enough!”

“Who is she?” asks Mary Kelly.

Teresita looks beautiful. Long hair flowing past her shoulders, practically touching the ground. The makeup she wears magnifies her brown eyes, and I realize now why the boys melt in front of her, even when she cusses them out.

“Who is she, Isabel?” Mary Kelly repeats.

“Teresita,” Olivia says. “And she’s going to win.”

“She couldn’t care less about being queen,” I say.

“Sure,” Mary Kelly says. “Why would she run, then?”

“It’s complicated,” I tell her.

Auntie Bernadette lifts Teresita’s hem. When women walk by and admire the blue dress, she smiles proudly. “Yes, I made it. But Teresita would make burlap look like satin.”

My cheeks sting. I don’t even know why. It’s just a prissy blue dress and a stupid contest.

“If you ask me,” Mary Kelly says, staring at Teresita, “that girl wants to be queen.”

A Familiar Face

A woman with a familiar face stands between Teresita’s auntie and uncle. Finally I realize she’s Teresita’s mother.