With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo
Pride
It’s Wednesday—two days left before the money is due. I finally swallow my pride and approach Chef Ayden. “Chef Ayden, I was wondering if I could speak with you?”
Chef Ayden looks at me with a grin. Ever since the Winter Dinner, Chef’s been smiling more, giving people high fives. I know he feels relief that the majority of the money was covered. A relief I do not feel.
Angelica was able to sell my clothes for forty-five dollars. ’Buela left a big-faced fifty near my bed this morning, and I’m not sure where she got it; her disability check doesn’t come again until next month. But that still means I have two days to find a hundred and eighty dollars.
“Emoni, the fund-raiser of the century. What can I do for you?”
I smile back at him although I feel sick inside. How can you be a good fund-raiser if you didn’t reach your goal? “I was wondering if I could maybe get a bit more time to pay the deposit? I’m still short some.” I slide the hundred dollars his way. He looks down at the bills then up at me.
“Oh, Emoni. I wish I’d known you needed assistance. We had some students ask for help early on and we were able to figure out a payment plan, and even some extensions, but it’s a bit late to scramble and make changes. . . . I’ll have to talk to Principal Holderness.”
But I can tell from his face he isn’t optimistic.
“Does this mean if I can’t find the money, I can’t go?”
He slides the bills over to me, then pats my hand. “Of course you’re going, even I have to pay for it myself,” he says. But the look in his eye is the same as ’Buela’s when she told me she didn’t have the cash. Two days just isn’t enough time for people to rearrange their holiday money for something that isn’t a necessity. He pats my hand again. “We just have to come up with a creative solution. I’ll talk to Principal Holderness. Hold on to your money for now.”
Thursday morning I wake up and everything in my body wants to stay in bed. I want to hide under my blankets and pretend the world doesn’t exist outside these walls. But Babygirl wakes out of a dream screaming and I pick her up to soothe her. It takes fifteen minutes to get her calm enough to dress and feed, and I know I won’t have time to dress myself in anything other than the leggings and T-shirt I slept in. When ’Buela asks me something about washing the dishes I almost bite her head off, I’m in such a bad mood, but I catch myself before I say something I’ll regret. If I can’t go on this trip it’s no one’s fault, especially not ’Buela’s.
Angelica must be able to tell how I’m feeling because she pulls her arm through mine as we walk to the bus stop and tries to distract me with celebrity gossip. When we are finally on the bus, I use my phone as a way to hide my face from her. I don’t want her to see the tears in my eyes. I check my email and there seems to be a message from Aunt Sarah—her name is in the subject line—but it’s a different address than the one I’m used to seeing; almost as if it was rerouted from a website.
I open the email and the first thing I see is a dollar amount:
$300
Note: Hey, niece. Sorry this is late. I know you told me in your last email the fund-raiser would end earlier this week. I pooled this together from all your other aunties and uncles and cousins; I hope you can still use it. I loved the pictures you sent from the dinner. I’ve never been anywhere farther than Raleigh, but I gather everyone needs some pocket change when they leave home, right? We are all so proud of you. Nya would be proud of you, too.
Love,
Aunt Sarah & the Family
I’m shocked, and it must be visible because Angelica grabs my arm.
“Emoni, what’s wrong? You’re trembling.”
Aunt Sarah is my email auntie, the strongest connection to my mother, my kitchen confidante, but she’s never sent money before, never organized that side of the family to send me a gift. I look out the window at the clouds parting in the same way my bad mood is, sunlight peeking through both, and I know for a fact there’s more than one kind of magic in this world.