“Cheers to you for opening up.”

She raises her glass.

“Cheers to you for not gloating.”

I tap my glass against hers.

“Pfft,” she says, with

a dismissive flick of the wrist.

“I’ll do that after you leave.”

I say in my best Texas accent,

“Shouldn’t you be fixin’ to

share some advice?”

“Yep,” she tells me. “How about this:

Write down the hurtful words people say

so you don’t have to

carry them around in here.”

She taps her head

and heart.

SICK AND TIRED

When I don’t go for a morning swim,

Dad knows something’s up.

He finds me starfishing in bed,

arms and legs stretched out.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m sick.”

I don’t lie.

He touches my forehead.

“No fever.”

“Sick and tired of school.”

“Anything happen I should know about?”

“Just the usual.”

“Kinda early in the year for

a mental health day, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been dealing with this

stuff since kindergarten.

I’m overdue.”

I smown.

He takes off his tie.

“I’ll reschedule my clients

and call the school.

Get well fast, though.

Mom comes home from San Antone t’night.”

Dad’s Texas twang turns t’night to t’naht.

“Sure ’nuff.”

I tip my pretend cowboy hat.

THE INVITE

“EllieEllieEllie,”

Catalina calls out as I climb

out of the pool,

where I’ve spent

most of my mental health day.

Her head pops up over the fence.

“Doyoulikefrozencustard?”

She disappears and reappears.

“Momsaysyoucanjoinus.”

She disappears and reappears.

“We’releavinginfive.”

I jump so she can see me over the fence,

which is hard because of my weight

and even harder without a trampoline.

“I’llgoaskmydad.”

I jump up again.

“Berightback.”

Catalina cracks up.

“Wegottagetyouatrampoline.

Orspringsinyourshoes.

Orstilts—”

She’s still coming up with ideas,

including getting a jet pack,

a few minutes later when I return.

I jump up.

“Hesaysyes.”

I don’t add,

“BecauseMom’snotaroundtosayno.”

I jump up again.

“I’llchangeandberightover.”

Watching us,

Dad says

it’s probably time

to put a gate in the fence.

JUST AS I AM

I reek of eau de swimming pool chlorine,

my signature perfume,

when we pile in the van.

“Hi, Ellie.” Her mom, Sonya, smiles at me.

Catalina introduces me to the rest of her family.

“Call me Eduardo.” Her dad gives a mini-wave.

“The big brother, Javier.

Second-oldest, Natalia.

Third-born, Isabella.

And I’m the youngest—

not the baby,” Catalina says.

“Same here,” I say as

I struggle to squeeze between

the second and third rows of seats.

“I have an idea,” Javier says.

I tense up, waiting for the joke.

“You two sit here.”

He pats on the second-row seat.

“Nat, Izzy, and I will take the back.”

“Good idea,” Sonya says.

“Guests should always have the best.”

They accepted me,

just as I am,

in five seconds flat.

Why can’t my family do that?

FOOD CHAIN

At the custard place,

an overweight woman

eyes me from head to toe,