Join the Club, Maggie Diaz: Chapters 5–12

I hate when Abuela asks me to steal avocados from our neighbor’s tree. It’s undignified. It’s criminal.

Mrs. García doesn’t say anything for a very long and distressing moment.

Her ominously clicking and clacking wind chimes are the only sound between us.

I really need to ask Mom for some help, but I don’t want to lose the headway I’ve made with her. She has finally stopped looking at me like a baby and considers me kind of responsible now.

“Yes, explore all the facets of yourself,” Mom says, still looking at Caro. “It’s really important when you’re young.”

Mom loves school, but it makes no sense for her to be so worked up about tutoring.
“¿Qué pasó?” Abuela asks, sounding as bewildered as me.

Then there was a tumbling phase before I realized I really just wanted to run and jump into the pits of foam blocks instead of becoming a gymnast.
So, I have a reputation for being a little flaky in this department.

There’s a mirror in front of her that she’s leaning close to while wielding a pair of tweezers.

Abuela irons my freshly laundered khaki shorts and dark blue polo shirt.

Maybe instead of all these math and biology tests, we should be taking personality ones. I could pick my favorite season, school subject, and snack, and then some algorithm could just tell me everything about myself so I wouldn’t have to figure all this out on my own.

When I meet Zoey and Julian at school, they are both very impressed with the sharp creases in my khakis.
Julian cups his hands around his mouth. “Respect the pleats!”

I get a B on a pop quiz in English, and in PE, Coach Schwartz commends my posture.

He tips his chin to acknowledge me.

“You’ve always been super smart, Maggie.”
I give him a skeptical look.

Being his official taster is a pretty great gig.

I can’t imagine the straitlaced Future Leaders kids being in a food fight, but then again, I only just met them.

I’m finishing up the list of custom commands for the server.

Apparently in seventh grade, we need to start learning pre-algebra topics. Equations and inequalities. Probability and polygons. Variables everywhere as they expect me to solve for the unknown.

Dad is building her a tiny house in our backyard. He calls it an in-law suite.

Before Caro and Coach Schwartz start reminiscing about her glory days in cross-country at West Memorial, I shoo her away by reminding her she was on her way to get iced coffee.

I’m slathered in sunscreen and ready to work.

I meet Eerie Eddie outside Mrs. Giles’s class and he hands me a heavy box packed full of reams of tickets.

“This just proves how much I do need a real phone,” I say in a small voice, out of sheer desperation.

Mom considers me for a long moment before coming to her verdict.

I trudge back to my room and watch Mom take the laptop.

It keeps my hands and head busy, which I’m grateful for, because it’s better than enduring the silent treatment from Mom or panicking over all the headway I’ve lost when it comes to her considering me responsible enough to earn some real independence.

“Maggie Diaz, on the honor roll!” Dad sings, his eyes bright, giving me a high five.
“Well, not yet,” I hedge.

Instead, she’s pushing the rice on her plate around like Caro does whenever she’s moody.
Something about Abuela’s sullen mood makes me feel like I shouldn’t be too obvious about my impatience for independence.

“Orthodontics appointment.” He bares his teeth in a grimace before heading past me to the front office.

Everyone else is already grouped up, their tables picked out and established.