And so what if my older, obnoxiously perfect sister also runs and is sort of responsible for me blazing past all these sixth graders like a boss? That’s not the point. The point is that I figured this out for myself.

  I’m feeling pretty confident until they start separating us and direct us to run one by one. I liked that cross-country was about finding my pace, but here, with everyone looking, the competitiveness kicks in and I want to be really fast.

  After the mile, Coach gathers us all near the bleachers. He pitches his voice loud and calls out, “Okay, great job on that jog, everyone.”

  Jog? Hold up. That was just a jog?

  “Now let’s get into some dynamic stretching!”

  I’m trying to figure out the difference between dynamic stretching and the regular kind when my worst nightmare comes true and Caro walks out onto the track. I freeze in place. Coach lets out a cheer. I muffle a whine.

  Why is my sister here? This isn’t fair! Today is about me, not my sister’s looming shadow. But by the sounds of it, Coach and his assistant are ready to start a parade over her arrival. This is ridiculous!

  “Carolina Diaz is an accomplished runner visiting us from the high school. She’ll be helping with tryouts today and at our future practices.”

  My eyes widen. Excuse me!

  “Everyone be sure to listen to her, because she knows her stuff!”

  Sammy Marquez—another seventh grader who was on the track team last year—leans close to me. “Isn’t that your sister?”

  It’s controlled chaos as we all spread out and follow Caro’s upbeat instructions. She never sounds this cheery when barking at me to pick up my feet as I race around the block. Positive reinforcement? She’s never heard of it. But now all my fellow classmates are suddenly Olympic athletes as they try to impress my sister, while I’m the grumpy gremlin in the back.

  I take all my frustration out during the different events. And when it’s my turn to take off, I don’t mind the spotlight. My drive to be the fastest is even bigger now. It’s a whole monster with sharp teeth and very fast feet. Cheers go out from others as I turn the corner.

  I spy Coach saying something to Caro as they both conspire against me. Or maybe they’re just checking my time. Either way, I ignore the pinch in my chest and pick up my pace. When I cross the finish line, I’m breathing hard.

  I found something I was good at and actually liked, and my sister came along and ruined it.

  That’s it. She leaves me no choice.

  * * *

  “¡Señoritas no gritan en esta casa!” Abuela shouts from the kitchen. She stirs whatever’s for dinner and the smell of roasted garlic, onion, and peppers makes my stomach grumble.

  “I have a good reason for my shouting today, Abuela.” I lift my backpack and binder onto the kitchen table, and they fall over with a heavy thunk. The amount of stuff I have to carry around all day is no joke. “Carolina is bossing me around at school. The one place I’m supposed to be free of her.”

  “I was not bossing you around.” Caro fills a glass with water. “I was coaching you.”

  “You are not my coach.” I whip open my binder and check my agenda again. I actually write down my homework now and it’s helping me not forget stuff. “You are a high school student. Go back to high school.”

  “I’m volunteering.” She shrugs. “It looks good on my college applications.”

  Abuela sets down her wooden spoon. “Yo también soy voluntaria!”

  “Ugh, no fair! I want to hang out with dogs!” I complain.

  “Well, you sure smell like one,” Caro shoots back.

  “Abuela!”

  Abuela turns up the radio on an old-school salsa song.

  Caro skips past me. “If you don’t like it, you can quit. Unlike you, I’m going to take a shower before dinner.”

  I’ll keep running. But not because of Caro. Because when I make the team, it will be my name on the trophies.

  This Friday is the best Friday ever. And let me tell you, I love a Friday. Pizza Friday. Movie Friday. Fun Friday. But this Friday? This Friday is Amazing News Friday.

  I made the track team! I mean, most people who tried out also made it as long as they had a good attitude. But still! I made the team!

  And we’re going to Saint Augustine for our spring break trip!

  We’re not just staying in south Florida to roam the Everglades. No camping in the humidity at Crystal River (I do love the manatees, though) or melting all day at Jungle Island again. Saint Augustine is historical and weird and haunted. And it’s probably way better than Tampa.

  The update spreads fast, and by lunch, the entire seventh grade is buzzing with the news.

  “Can you believe it?” I ask, excited. “Saint Augustine. This is going to be amazing. I just have to get my parents to sign the permission slip, but after honor roll? Come on, I’ve got this.”

  Zoey is distracted and doing schoolwork instead of eating lunch again. I feel like Abuela when I nudge her forgotten tray closer to her.

  “Aren’t you excited?” I ask her.

  “Sure,” she says, sounding distracted. “But I won’t be allowed to go if my grades sink.”

  “That’s never going to happen,” I tell her confidently. When she looks like she doesn’t believe me, I laugh. “Zoey. Miami will sink before your grades.”

  “That’s super depressing and also kind of sweet.”

  Julian drops down onto the bench beside me. “That’s Maggie’s specialty.” He turns his wide eyes on me. “Did you hear?”

  I grin. “I’m halfway to a full itinerary, buddy.”

  Julian laughs and digs right into his cheese calzone. “I don’t think we’re the ones who get to plan the trip.”

  “As a former Future Leader—”

  With a mouth full of food, Julian cuts in. “You were in that club for barely a month.”

  “And you had to quit because you got in major trouble,” Zoey adds without looking up from her huge binder.

  Leave it to your friends to support you. And call you out mid-bite and -sentence.

  “It’s called growth, thank you very much. Oh! And I made the track team!”

  Zoey and Julian let out a cheer. Julian grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me dramatically until I’m cracking up. My friends are the best.

  Behind us, someone calls out Julian’s name. His head whips around as his face breaks out into a big, goofy grin. He’s oblivious to the marinara sauce all over his chin from eating so fast.

  “Hey!” he says, and jumps to his feet with his empty tray. “This is Vanessa. She’s new here.”

  It’s not weird for Julian to have other friends. But never another girl. This feels … new.

  “She’s who I gave the tour to the other day.”

  I subtly point at my chin and he gives me a confused look for a second before understanding and hurriedly wiping away the marinara on his face. He then checks his shirt in a panic. He’s usually covered in stains from his art supplies. Why does the idea of marinara on his shirt scare him?

  “Do you want to sit with us?” he asks Vanessa, and it surprises me. We have other friends, but except for that awful fight with Zoey last semester, it’s only ever the three of us at lunch together. The terrific trio. The three caballeros. Getting back to that routine assured me that everything was okay again and back to normal.

  Vanessa sits down across from Julian, next to Zoey. Julian starts talking her ear off and it’s nothing about Saint Augustine or making field trip plans for the three of us. But it’s fine. We have time to coordinate everything later and I’m sure Vanessa won’t sit with us every day.

  * * *

  Thanks to my expanded bike-riding privileges, instead of having to fly straight home from school, my parents now let me stop at my favorite bakery on the way.

  These days Pablo’s hair has gone from bright blue to a darker red that reminds me of guava. His family runs the market, while he’s in charge of the bakery window. He’s also responsible for all my favorite sugar-loaded, deliciously baked after-school snacks.

  “Have you talked to your parents about—” I start to ask, but Pablo’s eyes go all frantic and he quickly waves his hands to quiet me. Over his shoulder, I spot his dad. I shake my head and, sounding way older than me or him, I ask, “Pablo. Really?”

  “I know, I know,” he says, sounding tired. He drops his head as he leans his elbows against the counter. Pablo wants to bake more than just the guava pastelitos everyone in this very Cuban American neighborhood expects. He loves experimenting with all kinds of fancy desserts that he lets me taste test for him, and honestly, he’s amazing. It’s all fluffy pastries, creamy chocolates, and unexpected flavor combinations.

  One time he even made me cookies with flowers in them! They looked weird but tasted amazing, like everything else he makes. Some fancy restaurant in town offered him a job working under their baker, and Pablo is dying for the experience.

  But it means telling his parents that he wants to leave this window. And turns out that no matter how old you are, telling your parents something they don’t want to hear never gets any easier.

  “You just have to make a plan,” I tell him, and it feels repetitive, sure, but it totally works. The fact that I’m even here right now without parental supervision and my mom doesn’t think I’ve been kidnapped or fallen into the ocean is proof of it.

  Pablo smiles before offering me an extra pastelito for the road.

  * * *

  Much like Pablo, I have to be careful when presenting my parents (read: Mom) with any new plans or big ideas. This trip will be my first away from home and without my family. I know that a lot of kids my age are allowed to do a lot more stuff than I am and hang out without their parents or family all the time. Meanwhile, I can count on one hand how many slumber parties I’ve been to.

  So, a sleepaway, four-day field trip is a Very Big Deal. And because conversations are very important in my family and my mother is a nerdy accountant who loves facts and data, I prepared an after-dinner presentation all about the upcoming field trip.

  “Just imagine if you put this much effort into actual schoolwork,” Caro says. “Or track.”

  “Not. My. Coach.”

  “And there will be lots of chaperones, right?” Mom asks. “Wait, why didn’t I get asked to chaperone?”

  “You’re very busy, Mom,” I say. “Tax season,” I explain under my breath, because I want to keep her stress levels in check until she signs my permission slip.

  “No estoy muy seguro de esto,” Abuela says, and I’m shocked to my core. Ever since we were roommates, Abuela has had my back on a lot of stuff. We’re supposed to be allies and so I never imagined I would have to convince her to let me go. “Esa ciudad está embrujada.”

  “Saint Augustine is not haunted,” I argue, even though that was one of my selling points.

  “It’s just a few ghost tours,” I say, and before Abuela can interrupt, I quickly add, “And they’ll be very chaperoned and educational!”

  “I’ve been plenty of times for work,” Dad offers. He works the cranes for a salvage company and has traveled to a bunch of port cities. “Nice place.”

  Mom thoughtfully studies my presentation as I wait for my verdict.

  Yes! I’m going to Saint Augustine!

  Maggie: permission slip status check

  Julian:

  Maggie: me too!!!

  Maggie: Z

  Julian:

  Zoey: my mom wants to talk to my dad first

  Maggie: no worries I KNOW they’ll let you go

  Zoey: hopefully

  Julian:

  Julian will love the museums and Zoey will stop to listen to all the buskers along Saint George Street. We’ll run around the hotel and stay up late. We’ll take a million pictures and buy goofy souvenirs and it will be awesome.

  At lunch on Monday, I race to the cafeteria, grab a tray, and then hurry to meet Zoey and Julian at our table. If anyone can understand having strict parents, it’s me. Luckily, Ms. Pérez told me permission slips aren’t due yet, so Zoey has time for her parents to warm up to the idea. Zoey’s brilliant and never gets into trouble. There’s no way they won’t let her go. Outside, I notice that there’s already three people sitting at our table. Vanessa is back.

  I set my tray down. “Guess what I heard—”

  “You’ve been to New York City?” Julian asks excitedly.

  “What? No—” I start to say, confused, but realize he’s talking to Vanessa.

  She nods. “Yeah, with my family last summer.”

  “Well, it’s no Saint Augustine,” I joke.

  “Saint Augustine is just an older Daytona Beach compared to New York City,” Julian scoffs.

  Even I know that New York is a big deal with more fancy stuff than anywhere in Florida, but it bothers me that Julian is so impressed by it. Especially since Saint Augustine is easily one of our top five coolest cities.

  “Saint Augustine is amazing,” I argue, feeling defensive.

  “Have you ever been?” Vanessa asks me. And her tone sounds nice, but I have my suspicions.

  “No … but it has trolleys that take you everywhere.”

  Julian laughs. “New York has subways.”

  “Since when did you become obsessed with New York?”

  Everyone at the table looks at me. My tone does not sound nice.

  “Vanessa and I have to go.” Julian grabs his tray and gets to his feet. I want to apologize so he’ll stay, but I glance at Vanessa and feel too embarrassed. I dig into my grilled cheese.

  “Where you headed?” Zoey asks them.

  “We’re going to stop by the library before next period. Art club project.”

  “See you,” Vanessa says to us, and then they’re gone.

  “The library?” I look at Zoey. “Since when does Julian ever go to the library?”

  Zoey is staring after him, a frown tugging her brows low, as she sips her water. “It does seem out of character.”

  I gasp as it hits me. I’ve seen this ailment before. “Oh no.”

  “What?” Zoey asks.

  “I think Julian has a … crush.”

  Zoey gasps.

  Wide-eyed, we both stare after our fallen brethren.

  * * *

  And then … suddenly I notice a definite shift in the vibes at school. As I glance around, it becomes clear that it’s not just the Diaz household. Everyone around me is pairing off or crushing on someone these days.

  It’s not that I have anything against crushes. I’m not immune to butterflies over anime characters and even once considered buying a Vampire Knight poster but chickened out when Mom asked me a hundred questions about it.

  But ever since winter break, it feels like everyone has been losing their minds over who is or isn’t in a relationship. Like it’s suddenly of dire importance. And listen, I’m not being a baby about this. Ever since the second grade, we’ve had classmates pretending to be in these big, great romances … before breaking up by the end of the school day. It just seems ridiculous. Because even when they do finally start going out with someone, instead of being all ridiculously romantic like Caro, couples my age seem to avoid each other. I’m pretty sure I talk to Julian way more than some of these kids talk to their boyfriends.

  A giant waste of time, if you ask me.

  “Hey, can I borrow a pen?” Eddie asks, and I reach into my bag for one. When I offer it to him, his hand touches mine. My fingers tingle like when my hand falls asleep.

  Huh. Weird.

  * * *

  At track practice after school, we run like I expect, but there are also games. Coach calls out different animals and we have to change our running tempo based on that animal’s speed. We’re all out of breath and laughing until we fall over.

  But there’s no escape from the lovesick zombies.

  When we take a water break, Sammy and her best friend, Alicia, pull me in close (despite how sweaty we all are) to whisper to me about an eighth grader.

  I know his name is Josh. I go to school with a lot of Joshes, though, so I’m not sure which one he is. He’s no anime character, but I guess he’s cute. He’s definitely taller than the other boys. Maybe that’s all it is: height. Is Vanessa tall? Am I tall?

  When Mom picks me up from school, I ask her if Dad is taller than her.

  “A little, but not by much. Why?”

  “Just curious.” I remember Dad asking me to do a little research for him and his big Valentine’s Day plans. “So … what’s your favorite food these days?”

  “Hmm. I’ve been craving good ramen lately.”

  We have a nearby café that makes really good milk tea and the spicy ramen Mom loves.

  “But our usual spot for that will be way too busy for Valentine’s.”

  “Don’t worry, I already knew,” she says. “Your dad is terrible at being sneaky. Don’t tell him I know.”

  “Okay.”

  “But I do not want Italian this time.”

  Couples are so weird.

  This weekend is my first official track meet. I spend Thursday afternoon running around the neighborhood. For the first time in weeks, Caro isn’t bothering me or barking out orders. I can’t help but be both suspicious and annoyed, because as it turns out, her bossy help has been somewhat useful. But thanks to Valentine’s Day, I get daydreaming, distracted Caro instead of aggressive-coaching Caro.

  Don’t ask me how, but it’s worse.

  “Another lap?” she asks when I keep running past our driveway.

  “No, thanks!” I shout back, breathless as I spot Mrs. García in her garden. Mrs. García lives next door and I’m pretty sure she’s another neighborhood bruja. While Abuela is all about taking care of us with her vitamins, soups, and saint candles, Mrs. García has the wildest yard filled with all kinds of tropical fruits, the brightest flowers I’ve ever seen, and vines that grow between the trees and sometimes block out the sun. She also dresses in very shiny robes, and big, flashy gemstone rings dot all her fingers.

 

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