Serena Says
Dedication
To my sister, Jessica Christina, and to my niece, Fallon, both of whom believe they should have gotten a book dedication long before now.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
1. AWOL Ambassador
2. Brand-New . . . Who?
3. Grumpy Burrito
4. Everybody Loves Lani
5. One-Woman Show
6. Punctured
7. Last-Second Solutions
8. Sipping with the Enemy
9. Moodopoly
10. Twin Day Traitor
11. Code Red Ribbons
12. Nosy St. John
13. A Word Is Dead (When It Is Said)
14. Sixth Grade Is Not Forever
15. Sorry Is the Hardest Word
16. Rockstar Regrets
17. Signal Interference
18. A Crack in the Wall
19. Minding Our Beeswax
20. The Way the Cookies Crumble
21. Diva Drama
22. Fear of Friending
23. A Kitchen Witch
24. Like a Boss
25. Say Yes to the Mess
26. Serena Speaks Up
27. All the Same and Totally Changed
28. Asked and Answered
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
SERENA|SAYS
What’s up, World? It’s Friday, and this is Serena Says, with your girl Serena St. John. It’s been a week since I’ve seen my best friend, JC, and four days since her surgery to get a new kidney, and today she’s finally well enough to have visitors! I—
Gah!
I slam my finger on the stop key, scowling as I almost bump the screen and ruin the perfect lineup of my webcam (my laptop on a stack of books), my background (a plain blue sheet taped in front of my closet door), and my lighting (my bendy desk lamp on the top of my dresser).
Ugh. Another choke. Why is my brain like this? It’s like I can’t even talk anymore. This is my first vlog, and I just want everything to be right.
My sister, Fallon, makes vlogging look fun, like just looking at the camera and saying whatever. It’s not easy, though. I feel weird talking to the camera, and I’m not sure I like how my voice sounds.
No wonder Mr. Van der Ven didn’t choose me to be one of 6A’s morning announcement reporters this semester. He said reporters for Brigid Ogan’s TV news show have to be good at public speaking and not afraid to look the camera in the eye and speak up. My sister said I just need to practice—that everyone has something to say, and I just need to put myself out there. She even said when I get good enough, if I want to, I can upload a vlog of mine onto her streaming channel—since I can’t have a channel of my own until I’m over thirteen.
Coughing out the tickle in my throat, I practice to the air.
“Welcome to Serena Says! I’m your . . . no, wait.” If I were at school, the real me, talking to people I knew, how would I say this? Determined, I restart the camera and sit up straight, staring down into its empty eye.
What’s up, World? It’s Friday, and this is Serena Says. It’s been a week since I’ve seen my bestie, JC, and four days since she got her new kidney, and today she’s finally well enough to have visitors.
JC and I have been best friends since I skipped from second grade to fourth. I was the youngest girl in our class that year, and the only black girl too. Even though I was younger and smaller than everyone, JC asked me to eat lunch with her on the first day I was in fourth grade. She dragged me out to the swings to play with her friends, and BOOM! Just like that, we were besties. We’ve done everything together ever since.
Since I’m class ambassador for sixth grade Room A, at Brigid Ogan Middle School, when I visit JC, I’ll catch her up on all the news and report back to my class on Monday during homeroom on how she’s feeling. It’s only been a week, and depending on how she’s doing, JC might be out of school for six weeks—so I’m super excited to see her when I can!
Um, that’s the story for now, but stay tuned for more! This is Serena Says, and I’m out.
1
AWOL Ambassador
IT HAD BEEN DAYS—a hundred and sixty-eight hours. It felt like forever since I’d seen JC.
We’d texted, and I talked to her on the phone every day she hadn’t been too woozy, to catch her up on all the news. Since she’d left school in September, she’d missed the social studies movie in the library, and Mrs. Vejar’s first boys-against-girls life sciences quiz. I’d missed having someone to eat all of the banana chips out of my trail mix. I’d also missed JC’s squeaky laugh, and the way she had to wave her hands around when she said anything.
JC’s doctor had finally said she could have visitors after her kidney transplant, and all the fun things I’d planned could finally happen. I’d had to wait till the weekend—Mom worked the three-to-eleven shift at the hospital and didn’t have time to take me—but I was still going to be JC’s first visitor—from school, anyway. JC’s huge Filipino family had been camped out in the hospital since day one. For my visit, I’d matched my fun outfit—black jeans, pink and white headband, pink fleece sweatshirt—to the giant greeting card in the pink envelope signed by the entire class. I also had a glittery, gift-wrapped box in a black and pink polka-dot gift bag, full of all the sorts of things that make a stay in the hospital a little less terrible. It felt like I’d been planning everything forever—but then I started sneezing so much Friday night my eyes watered.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
Before JC had even gone to the hospital, she’d explained to our science class how her kidney transplant would work. JC had been given lots of drugs to squash her immune system so her body would accept the new kidney. Some of those drugs JC would have to take for years. The drugs meant that JC’s immune system remained too squashed to fight off germs at all, so after surgery she could only have very healthy visitors, one at a time, who washed their hands in sanitizer goo and wore hospital masks over their faces. Even when she got out of the hospital, JC couldn’t use public transportation, go to school or church, or even go to the movies for weeks and weeks, until her doctor gave her the all-clear.
People sneezing like their heads were going to fall off should not even think about going near her. So now my mom and Leilani Camacho’s mom were going to meet downtown so Leilani could be the class ambassador and drop off the card and gift instead.
It was the worst.
Leilani was okay—she joined our class on the fourth day of sixth grade, late because her family had just moved to California from Florida. She was nice enough, and everyone liked her, but she’d hardly been around at all before JC had gone to the hospital. Mom had met Mrs. Camacho at the parent volunteers meeting, so she knew Mrs. Camacho lived close by and would be glad to help. But Leilani wasn’t me. JC was going to have a stranger from our new school that nobody even really knew coming to visit her. This was worse than awful. This wasn’t fair.
And on top of everything else, my throat was scratchy and sore, my nose was stuffy, and my ears hurt. Both of them.
“Sorry, kid,” Mom said, picking up her car keys. “I know how much you wanted to go. But you can’t visit JC in the hospital while you’re sneezing, Serena. You’re getting a bad cold, and we don’t want JC sneezing too.”
“I know, I know,” I muttered, scowling at my handful of tissues.
Mom tugged the gift bag from my grip, wiping the handle with a disinfectant wipe, as if even my fingers were leaking germs. “What’s the worst that can happen? You don’t get to see JC today, and you miss her a little more. But you can talk to her on the phone or 2Face, and I’m sure the other ambassador will tak
e care of everything,” my mother said in a soothing, “Serena, calm down” voice. “She’ll let JC know who the gifts are from, and she can give you a call if she has any questions. You can tell her everything.”
“Yeah, okay, fine,” I mumbled without any enthusiasm.
Mrs. Camacho and Mom would work it out. Mom would tell Leilani everything she needed to know, and Leilani would tell JC who had picked out every single game and book of Mad Libs and color of nail polish. Madison Hughes and Eliana Morales and everyone else from our class would visit JC and catch her up. I would talk to her on my 2Face app like we’d already done since she’d been out of surgery, but it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t be me with my best friend, together like we’d been since the fourth grade.
It wouldn’t be the same at all.
2
Brand-New . . . Who?
“AND THEN LANI’S BROTHERS came in,” JC was saying, eyes wide, “and Manny waved, and Kai was like, ‘JC, right?’ And I could not believe he knew my name.”
“Well, we go to the same school, and their sister just visited you over the weekend,” I pointed out, tilting the phone as I stretched out on the front room couch. The sun had gone, and headlights left smudgy streaks in the dimness as cars drove by. “It would be kind of weird for them to not know.”
“Well, I know that,” JC said, lowering her chin. “But it was still cool.”
“It is,” I said, not in the mood to argue. “It is cool. They could have waited out in the hall or something, and not even talked to you. It’s nice that they came in. They seem, um, . . . nice.”
At my agreement, JC’s smile returned, and she fiddled with the thin gold necklace she always wore. “They are! They’re super nice. Not like most seventh-grade boys.”
I didn’t really know any seventh-grade boys, so I stayed quiet. Three weeks ago, I wouldn’t have thought JC knew any seventh-grade boys either.
JC rushed on, waving her hands. “Get this—Mr. Camacho brought my parents coffee and a bag of custard doughnuts, which was amazing! I couldn’t eat anything, but Mrs. Camacho said they’d bring me something when I get an appetite. She is so sweet.”
I took a quick breath to agree and choked on a cough. I coughed and coughed some more. My voice sounded like a cement grinder with a granite mountain in it. “Sorry.”
“You sound like a dog barking,” JC said.
“I’m fine,” I gasped. “At least I’m not sneezing as much anymore.”
I’d been saying that for the last two days. I didn’t even have a fever, but Mom wouldn’t let me go back to school. So far, my coughing had interrupted the conversation three times now.
“Anyway, that’s not even the best thing,” JC said. “Dr. Cho says if all the scans look clear, I can go home on Friday!”
“Already?” My voice squeaked, and I cleared my throat to force it back down to normal levels. “That’s great!” On the upside, I wouldn’t be seeing my bestie with tubes in her nose and stuff. On the downside, I’d missed the whole hospital thing.
“I know, right? If everything stays good, they’ll let me come back to school in time for WinterFest!”
“By WinterFest? That’s amazing! It’s only three mo—” I held my breath as a tickle caught in my throat. It didn’t work. The cough exploded out of me, and this time my eyes watered, my nose dripped, and my mom came into the living room with a glass of water.
“Sorry,” I croaked to JC again. I slumped against the arm of the couch, trying to feel around for my box of tissues.
“That’s okay,” JC said, looking worried, as if the germs could get through the phone. “Listen, I should go anyway. Lani’s going to call, and we’re going to watch Modern Diva. It’s on in ten.”
“What?” I said, my voice crackling. “You watch Modern Diva? Since when?”
“Oh, I started binge-watching past episodes last week. Lani and Ginger caught me up on the story line. It’s completely addicting.”
“Oh,” I said kind of stupidly. Leilani watched Modern Diva too? I cleared my throat and gave a fake cough. “Well, I should go too. Mom’s probably going to say I should rest my voice before I keep doing practice vlogs anyway.”
“You probably should,” JC said. “Later, Gator.”
“Yeah, bye.”
I stared at the blank screen on the phone, not really seeing it.
I know my bestie. She doesn’t like trash TV. She doesn’t like talking on 2Face while she’s trying to watch something. Or, at least, she didn’t.
Who knows what JC likes now? Maybe she got more than a new kidney at the hospital. Maybe she got a new personality too.
Huh.
SERENA|SAYS
[sneeze]
What’s up, World? It’s Friday. Today—[coughing]
What’s up, World? It’s your girl Serena St. John, and today on Serena Says, we’re going to talk about things to do when you’re bored!
No . . . that’s stupid, and my voice sounds fuzzy. I delete, scowling, and try again.
What’s up, World? It’s morn—Delete. Restart.
What’s up, World? It’s Serena.
[coughs]
You know what, World? Actually, it is NOT a good morning. This morning BITES.
It’s Friday.
That’s all I’ve got.
It’s Friday, World, and this is Serena Says, broadcasting from Planet Sick, population 1.
I hate sneezing. I hate coughing.
I would like to be able to BREATHE out of my NOSE again someday. I would like a sense of SMELL. Is that too much to ask, World?
[glares into camera]
This is Serena Says, and that’s my story.
3
Grumpy Burrito
BETWEEN THIS STUPID COUGH and Leilani getting to visit JC before I do again, I’m a sour, cranky grump. It’s not like it’s Leilani’s fault that JC’s decided they’re friends. JC’s friendly like that. In the fourth grade, she just picked me out of nowhere to be her bestie. Maybe she’d had another bestie before me and I didn’t see it. Maybe someone was sour and cranky with me and I never knew.
It’s not like Leilani isn’t nice either. Mom and I met Leilani and her mom at the store once, and Leilani wasn’t weird about seeing me; she waved and said hi like normal. At school, she’s good at sports and offers to share her food at lunch. She doesn’t even make a little face like JC does when Mom packs me vegan corn dogs. But Leilani’s also one of those people who knows everything. And I mean everything. Mr. Van calls on her like five times a day, and she’s always raising her hand.
She’s always prepared.
She’s always polite.
All the teachers like her.
I have no reason to not like her. None at all, except that it seems like JC likes her . . . more than me. Maybe.
You know what makes things worse when you’re miserable? Annoying siblings.
Fallon burst into my room, braids flying, a millisecond after barely knocking once.
“Ree? Where are my metallic paint markers?”
“I don’t know,” I said, and pulled my blankets up to my shoulders. “I don’t have your markers.” Fallon’s in eighth grade, and she’s always losing stuff and blaming me—everything except her phone, which is, like, glued to her hands.
“How do you know you don’t have them? You didn’t even look,” Fallon accused. She walked to my desk and opened the top drawer.
I scowled. “I don’t have to look. I didn’t borrow them. Get out of my desk.”
“Yes, you did,” Fallon said, opening another drawer and looking through my pen tray. “I distinctly remember seeing them next to your stuff in the dining room, like, a week ago.”
“I was doing homework at the table. You were doing something else . . . with your markers. Did you look in the dining room?”
Fallon didn’t answer. She just slammed my desk drawer and whooshed out of the room.
“Close the door!” I yelled, but of course she didn’t.
Of course
, yelling also made me cough again.
“Arf, arf,” Mom said, tightening her ponytail as she stood in my doorway.
“Ha-ha,” I said. “Could you shut my door?”
“I could,” my mother said.
I groaned. My mother is sometimes a serious pain. “Fine. Would you shut my door, please?”
“In a minute. How’s JC this afternoon?”
“Oh, she’s fine, just fine—she’s great,” I lied, not really knowing how she was doing at all. I’d texted her a couple of times but had only gotten one-word answers.
“That’s good to hear,” Mom said, smiling warmly as my conscience twinged. “Are you hungry? I can warm you up some tomato soup.”
“Meh,” I said.
“Your other choice is carrot,” Mom said. “That’s all we have for soup, unless you want to eat rice pilaf and salmon with us. There’s kale.”
“Ugh,” I said again, and rolled over, winding my blanket around me to mummy tightness. Kale is fine, but I hate fish worse than anything.
“Well, you need to eat something,” Mom persisted. “You can’t hole up here all afternoon like a grumpy burrito.”
“Why not?”
My mother sighed. “Wash your hands, straighten up your hair, and come down to the table, please,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard. “Five minutes.” She moved to close the door.
I groaned and rolled to the edge of the bed.
“And ditch the blanket,” Mom swung open the door again to add.
My voice rose to a whine. “I’m cold.”
“And I’m old,” Mom whined back. “We all have problems. Put on a sweater and some thick socks. Four minutes, Serena.”
Just once, I’d like to have the last word talking to my mother. Just once.
4
Everybody Loves Lani
CLOUDS HUGGED THE TOPS of the brown hills like a puffy white sweater the Thursday Mom finally let me go back to school. It was the first week of October, and it looked like it might rain again, which would be great for our dry California town. At school, everyone was buzzing with the energy that cooler weather brought. During morning announcements, I learned that it was 6A’s turn to organize the Friday morning student assembly, which we have every week from seven forty-five to eight fifteen. Mr. Van, who knows I’m trying to get better at public speaking, tried to assign me a part. That is, until he heard my creaky, croaky, crackling voice.