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So … there’s a new plan now — an ocean dinner cruise.

OK, Nbook, I’m feeling a little better.

It’s 2:17.

Time to sign off and try to sleep.

Wish me luck.

Sunday, 6/6

8:10 A.M.

Did it.

More or less.

Bad dreams again. Don’t want to write about them.

Maggie still asleep. Hasn’t moved.

When Maggie finally wakes up this morning, she’s alert and cheery. I’m a dishrag.

We eat breakfast (well, she does).

We try to study (well, she does).

I can’t concentrate at all. Too tired to focus, too wired to sleep.

She keeps asking if I’m OK — if I’m still thinking about the “incident.” That’s what she calls it.

I can’t bear to talk about it. I change the subject and ask about Tyler.

Her face tightens. She’s still mad at him, for many reasons. I hear all of them.

Soon Dawn comes over. She brings me a big white floppy hat, some homemade pie, and photos of Gracie. I feel like someone recovering from some illness in a hospital.

Of course she needs to hear everything. This time it’s not so easy to change topics.

She’s sympathetic.

I’m just pathetic.

I try to be a good friend. I try to let her cheer me up. But I feel nothing.

Around noon, Reg picks up Maggie. Takes Dawn too.

Alone again.

Back to the books.

7:30 P.M.

The mice are attacking, Nbook.

At least that’s what it sounds like. While Mami and Papi are at a church meeting, Isabel’s trying to do a highs-speed cassette dub — the best hits of Tito Puente, Celiz Cruz, all the good old stuff that the relatives like.

Tomorrow after school we’re shopping for party goods. Then we’ll hide them at Simon’s.

I should be so excited about this party.

I’m not.

What will the neighbors think?

What are we doing, Nbook?

Is this party a good idea?

Here? In Palo City?

Why are we asking people we love to come to a place like this — a place where you can’t even stand on a public sidewalk without being assaulted?

I’ve learned something, Nbook. I’ve learned I’m a fool.

I trusted too much. I let myself be a target.

I didn’t realize that people will hate you for no good reason, and you can’t control it. It doesn’t matter who you are, how you dress, what you sound like, what’s in your brain.

It’s how you look. Period.

And if you run into people whose minds work that way, ain’t nothing you can do.

So my question to you today, Nbook, is, How many of them are in Palo City? Is it 5%? 20%?

75%?

Are those girls the only ones, the only racists in Palo City?

Yeah. Right.

They had to get their attitudes from somewhere — parents, brothers, sisters, friends. Anti-Latino sites on the web. Whatever.

It took me awhile [sic] to realize how bad it is. But now I know. It can happen anywhere, anytime.

How long will it take for it to happen to Abeula Aurora? Or Hector or Cristina?

Maybe while they’re walking through the airport.

Maybe on Sunday morning, when Abuela takes her traditional walk to the bakery for fresh rolls.

I have this creepy feeling, Nbook, that we should cancel.

Nguyen.

Asami.

Jose.

Kareem.

Asif.

Luis.

Benazir.

Do you know who these people are, Nbook? They are characters in the math word problems.

Now, I never really noticed these names before. But today I do. And I think, Hmm, the writers are really trying to make people of color feel included.

“People of color.” Those are the exact words that pop into my head.

And here’s what I realize: That is the world’s stupidest expression.

What does it mean anyway? Of color compared to whom? Who isn’t of color? Everyone I know is — brown, tan, pink, yellow, olive, beige.

OK, Nbook, you’re not “of color.” Your pages are white.

And that, dear Notebook, is the real answer. “Of color” means “not white.”

Think about it. It means we Latinos are defined by what we’re not.

But who is white?

Those girls at the theater — they’re white. At least in their own minds. This obviously means a lot to them. “Of color,” to them, translates as “different.” Which, I guess, is a short jump from

“bad” and “threatening.”

But this is what I just don’t get. Threatening to what? Who could be threatened by me?

Correct me if I’m wrong, Nbook, but I was born in America, right? And that makes me an American citizen. Which means I can go to their schools, shop at their stores, see their movies, stand on their sidewalks without fear of being attacked for the way I look.

MY schools. MY stores. MY sidewalks. They’re mine too.

The truth is, if Maggie had been standing in front of the theater the other night, those girls would have passed right by.

This is what Maggie can’t understand — I mean, really understand. In her soul. Or Dawn or Sunny or Brendan or Cece or Marina. Maybe Ducky, a little bit. The boys make fun of him for being different — but that’s just because of his mannerisms and the way he dresses and the fact that he hates sports.

Now, I love Maggie. She knows it too, otherwise she wouldn’t be over here so often. She feels the warmth and closeness in our family. She wishes she were in our family. And she is, in a way.

But she could never know what it is like to be a Vargas. She has something none of us have.

She is wealthy. She is white. And what happened to be will never, ever happen to her in her life.

Nbook, I can’t believe I just wrote that.

Midnight

Yes, I can.

It’s the truth.

Monday, 6/7

Science

Soooooooo tired.

Just read over the last 2 entries. They give me a queasy feeling.

But I can’t think about it now. Have to learn about the Krebs cycle.

Nbook, I wish there were no such thing as the Krebs cycle. It looks like this:

Lunch

Sorry, Nbook. Ms. DePhillipis caught me. She says, “Oh, have you discovered some hidden depths to the Krebs cycle?”

I say, “No comprendo Eenglees.”

(Just kidding about that last part.)

Study hall

What is with Brendan?

He’s in homeroom. He looks at me. Nods. But he splits at the sound of the bell.

OK, fine, I figure he has something important to do.

Which is too bad. After class, Cece wants to know what happened on the date. As I’m telling her, I feel I could use some moral support.

Then, at lunch, I see Brendan sitting at another table, clear across the room. I look at him. He looks back. Then his eyes dart away.

I don’t get it.

OK, Vargas, calm down. It’s the last week of school. Maybe Brendan just wants to be with his friends before heading off to East Neptune for the summer.

Or maybe he has realized for the first time that I’m Latina.

Maybe they don’t have Mexicans where he grew up in New Jersey.

8:31 P.M.

Remind me not to talk, Nbook. Remind me I shouldn’t open my big mouth to anyone until finals are over.

I can’t believe myself after school today.

I know. I’m a jerk.

I’ll call her.

9:27 P.M.

When I call, Zeke picks up the phone. He says, “Let me see if she wants to speak to you.”

Not a good sign.

Maggie doesn’t pick up for a long time. When she finally does, her voice is like this: I tell her I’m sorry. I explain that I’m really behind in studying, that I’m still kind of shook up about Friday night, yada yada yada.

When I finish, she sys, “I’m really not trying to be part of your family.”

“I know you’re not,” I reply.

“You can come over to my house if you want. We don’t always have to go to yours.”

“Thanks.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“I have to go shopping with Isabel.”

Long, long silence. “OK, fine. ‘Bye.”

Now I feel worse. Like I just blew the whole friendship. Like, if I hang up now, it’s adiós amiga.

I need all the friends I can get, Nbook.