The Do-Over, page 1
For Alice and Soledad and every student who kept laughing, kept learning, kept going—and all the teachers who supported them
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Some catastrophes seem like they crept up on tiptoe to knock you sideways. But if you replay it all in slow motion, you’ll realize you should’ve seen them coming. It’s like, if you’ve ever watched old videos of figure skaters performing at the Winter Olympics. How one second a skater could be flying into a jump. The next, she’s picking herself up off the ice. Just like that. But if you go back, if you watch closely, frame by frame, you’ll see from the moment she took off that she wasn’t going to land it.
Maybe you don’t watch old figure skating videos, though.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, I probably should’ve seen it coming. For example, there was that week when every time someone sneezed in class, someone else would point and yell, “You have it!” Or that Friday night, when instead of streaming episodes of goofy ’90s television shows like we always did, Mom made us mix a batch of homemade hand sanitizer out of aloe vera gel and some rubbing alcohol we found at the back of the bathroom cupboard.
The thing is, people say obnoxious stuff in class all the time (no offense), and Mom always has some new DIY project she wants to try. So, I didn’t think it was strange at the time.
But then, after school a week later, I was waiting for my sister outside the computer lab. As usual. She was running behind. Also as usual. I was worried she was going to make me late to my skating lesson. It was a Monday, newspaper deadline day, and Raquel always has one more story to edit or one more picture to approve so the new edition of the Manzanita Mirror can post first thing Tuesday morning.
I was about to drag her out of the lab when my phone buzzed. It was a message from Coach J’Marie. For a moment, I was worried she was texting to ask what was taking so long, but then I tapped the message.
“Hey, Lucinda. They closed the rink. It’s this new sickness that’s going around. Everyone wants to be on the safe side. Looks like we have to cancel our lesson.”
I had to read it twice. Not that it was confusing or anything. It was just hard to believe. See, I have this big competition coming up, the Pacific Coast Classic, and we were supposed to work on my sit spin. It was as if, one second I was on my way to practice. The next second, I wasn’t. Just like that.
So, to answer your question, I guess that was the moment I realized everything had changed. But I probably should’ve seen it coming way before then.
Lucinda Mendoza closed her notebook, crossed “daily reflection” off her homework list, and capped her pen. She would have to type up the assignment later and upload it to Ms. King’s online classroom in the folder labeled “Quarantine Diaries.” But for now, her twin sister, Raquel, was hogging the laptop, meeting with the newspaper club to finish the next edition of the Mirror. School was closed, but it was still Monday after all.
“Ever think about taking a break, Kel?” Mom had asked earlier that morning, her voice all thick and croaky. “Considering”—she waved her arms around—“all this?” Mom and Lucinda had woken up to find Raquel sitting in the dark at the kitchen table, revising her latest story as she crunched a bowl of Corn Chex.
“Seriously,” Lucinda added, yawning as she pulled her tangled curls into a scrunchie. “In case you didn’t notice, we’re in the middle of a pandemic.”
Raquel swallowed and looked slowly from her mom to her sister as if she expected them to admit they were joking. When neither did, she rolled her eyes and muttered, “I’m on deadline.” Then she shoveled another spoonful of Chex into her mouth and kept typing.
Eight hours later, the minute Ms. King said online school was over for the day, Raquel clicked open a new window on the laptop screen and launched the newspaper meeting. Trying to interrupt her would be pointless. So would reminding her that before Mom left for the salon, she asked them to clean the kitchen.
Instead, Lucinda nudged Crybaby, her whiny tabby, out of her lap, rolled off the couch, and took her phone to the balcony of their second-floor apartment. She needed the practice anyway.
First, she reread that message from J’Marie for what felt like the millionth time. It didn’t seem possible that only a month had passed since she’d gotten it. Last month felt like years ago. Last month felt like it happened on another planet.
Temporary. It was the same thing they said about schools closing, and not being able to see their friends, and wearing face masks every time they left the house.
That first weekend, when the mayor was on TV asking everyone to stay at home, Mom started yet another DIY project, making a mosaic-top table with the smashed pieces of coffee mugs they had dropped and broken over the years.
“Miren, by the time I’m done with this, everything will be back to normal,” Mom reassured them.
The table was still half-finished.
I guess it figures, Lucinda thought as she set her phone on top of it. Nothing’s back to normal yet, either. Then, resting her hands on the balcony railing for balance, she leaned forward, stretched her right leg behind her, and lifted it as high as she could. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was on the ice. A burst of cool air against her cheeks. Her ponytail flying. She could almost picture it. Almost. If it weren’t for a sudden bam against the sliding glass door.
Lucinda’s eyes popped open.
“In case you didn’t notice, I’m training out here,” she called over her shoulder.
Raquel cracked the door open.
“Come on, Lu, I need you inside,” she said. “It’s time to make story assignments for next week. Just try it out. You might like it.”
Lucinda didn’t budge. Ever since last summer, when Dad moved to Lockeford, five hours north in the slow, green middle of California, Raquel had been acting like she was editor in chief of their lives, not just the Mirror. She made color-coded schedules—blue for Lucinda, green for their mom, and purple for herself—and emailed them first thing every morning. And she was always sneaking off with Lucinda’s phone to set what she insisted were friendly reminder alarms.
“She is completely out of hand,” Lucinda complained when Raquel tried to teach her the right way to fold bath towels. “She is editing the laundry.”
“Just … try to be patient,” Mom said. “I think she needs to feel like there’s still something she can control.”
But Raquel couldn’t rewrite their parents’ story as if it were one of her newspaper articles, just like she couldn’t schedule Lucinda into the club, no matter how persistent she was.
“Maybe next time,” Lucinda said. “Anyway, we should probably start cleaning the kitchen soon. Mom said to have it done before she gets back.”
The salon was closed, like everything else. But Mom had been going in once a week to mix up dye and put together care packages with shampoos and glosses and creams for clients who were trying to keep up their color at home. You would think people had more important things to worry about than hair at a time like this, but at least Mom’s new delivery service meant she wasn’t worrying about money all the time like she had been at the beginning.
Lucinda tightened the sweatshirt she had tied around her waist. She took hold of the railing again and stretched her leg toward the sky.
“I remember what else Mom said,” Raquel continued in a too-sweet singsong voice. “About you needing some connection, maybe a change of scenery.”
Lucinda dropped her leg and groaned. The other night, they overheard Mom on the phone with Tía Regina.
“Marcos and I have been talking about the girls maybe going up to stay with him for a while,” Mom had said, her voice low. “Kel still has her newspaper club to keep her busy. Maybe too busy, honestly. But I’m worried about Lucinda. She’s cooped up all day and just doesn’t seem to be connecting to anyone. A change of scenery might do her some good, and Marcos has all that space.”
Marcos was their dad.
Maybe Lucinda did feel a little disconnected lately. But that was only because she hadn’t seen her friends at the ice rink—hadn’t even laced up her skates—for a month now. How could Mom think that sending her five hours farther away would make things any better?
And then there was Sylvia, whose face started appearing in Dad’s posts right after Raquel and Lucinda went up to visit him for their twelfth birthdays last fall. They even spotted her in the background of a video chat not too long ago. Lucinda wasn’t in a hurry to meet her in person.
“Mom would be so relieved to know you’re talking to actual humans again and not just a cranky old cat,” Raquel said.
“Crybaby is a sensitive soul,” Lucinda protested. “And very good company.”
“All right,” Lucinda said finally. “I’m in.”
CANCELLATIONS CONTINUE AS DISTANCE LEARNING STRETCHES INTO SECOND MONTH AT MANZANITA MIDDLE SCHOOL
By Raquel Mendoza, Editor in Chief
The spring production of Xanadu Jr. has been postponed indefinitely, sources close to the drama department tell the Mirror.
The cancellation comes one month after Manzanita Middle School abruptly closed its doors amid growing public health worries.
“I haven’t stopped crying since I heard,” eighth grader Alice Ortega said in a video chat interview. Ortega was set to play the lead role of Kira. “We’ve been rehearsing for months. I even learned how to roller skate. After all that work, I can’t believe we won’t get the chance to perform.”
The spring musical is just the latest event to be scratched off the school calendar. The basketball championship, chess tournament, and book fair have all been canceled or postponed in recent weeks.
“I understand how difficult and disappointing these decisions are,” Principal Osterwald said in an email. “But the health and safety of our students is our top priority.”
Osterwald did not respond when asked how long it would be until school reopens.
Raquel knew her sister would come around eventually. Still, part of her wished she hadn’t brought up that phone call with Tía Regina. She saw how Lu’s shoulders stiffened when she mentioned it.
“Hurry up,” she said, stepping aside so Lu could follow her through the patio door. “Everyone’s waiting.”
Lu shook out her frazzled ponytail, then pulled it back smooth again. “I don’t understand why you want me to join so badly. Don’t you have enough people to boss around?”
“Never,” Raquel said.
She was joking, of course. Mostly. There were always more stories to write, especially now when they were “living through actual history,” as Ms. King kept telling them over and over. But there was more to it than that, even if Raquel couldn’t quite explain it exactly.
It was just that, when they were younger, when Mom and Dad were still together, Lu loved all the same things she did. Wanted to be wherever she was. Listened to her. They never dressed the same. Nothing like that. And no one ever had any trouble telling them apart. But it was as if they were connected by an invisible cord. Even if they stretched out in opposite directions every now and then, they always sprang back together.
Things started to change after Mom signed them up for skating lessons two years ago, right after the divorce. Lucinda loved it, gliding away in a blur of brown curls and teal mittens almost from the start. Raquel, on the other hand … fell. A lot.
Thinking about that first day in skating class reminded Raquel of Ms. King’s latest Quarantine Diaries question. “What was the moment you realized everything had changed?” Raquel hadn’t gotten around to answering it yet. The more she thought about it, the less it made sense. The situation was always changing, if you were paying close enough attention. As far as Raquel was concerned, the most important question wasn’t “What just happened?” It was “What happens next?”
The rink shut down. Until it opened again—and who knew when that would happen—Raquel had a chance to tug on that cord and pull her sister closer again.
She sat at the table and switched the camera back on, trying not to smile when she noticed Lu blink in surprise at the dozens of tiny windows that filled the screen. The club had more than doubled in size since school closed.
“We’re back!” Raquel said. “Who has a story idea?”
Alice Ortega waved. “I do!” The background on her screen was set to an image of the stage at the Pantages Theatre in Hollywood. Her real background was too messy, she once confided to Raquel, with her little brothers around wrecking the house all day.
“Alice!” Lu said, waving back. “I didn’t know you were in newspaper club.”
Alice shrugged. “Now that the musical is postponed, there isn’t much else to do. I mean, there’s only so many times you can rearrange your bookshelves, you know?”
Raquel was adding new members to the club each week, sometimes two or three at a time, and for pretty much the same reason. The Mirror was one of the only activities the pandemic hadn’t shut down.
“Alice is going to write movie reviews for us,” she explained to Lu, then turned back to the camera. “So, what do you have planned?”
Alice’s eyes widened. Her hands fluttered in front of her face. “All right. You know how we all wish we could flash forward and get to the end of quarantine? I was thinking it would be fun to write an article that ranks the top five movies about time travel!”
Faces inside the little windows began to nod. “Not bad,” Raquel said, scribbling onto her story schedule. “I’ll put you down for five hundred words. Who’s next?”
“Wait,” Lu interrupted, squinting at the screen. “Peter, where are you? Are those … parrots?”
There was a pause while Peter found the Unmute button.
“Cockatiels,” he said. A bird bobbled on each of his shoulders. One of them lifted its head and whistled. “My parents still have to go to work. Dad’s an electrician and Mom works at the pharmacy. They’re essential workers. So I’m staying at my grandma’s for a while.”
Lu sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. Crybaby jumped into her lap. “Our mom is thinking about sending us away, too,” she said. “To our dad’s, up in the country.”
Raquel kicked her sister’s leg under the table. Stop, she mouthed. The conversation was skidding off her agenda.
“Getting back to next week’s edition,” she said. “Who—”
Daisy switched her microphone on. “Wait, hasn’t Kel told you our idea yet?”
“We don’t really have time—” Raquel started to say.
Then Lu leaned in front of her. “No. What idea?”
Raquel felt her cheeks flush pink. “It’s nothing! It was just a joke.” And it had been. Mostly. “Anyway, we still have lots of stories to discuss, so I think we should get back to—”
Daisy talked over her, eyes glittering. “It’s not a joke, it’s a really good idea. What if you do go up and spend quarantine with your dad? Except instead of going alone, you bring your mom, too! It’ll be just like this old movie I saw where the twins trick their parents into getting back together. Like a do-over.”
Raquel felt Lu’s eyes fix on her face. She fumbled with the trackpad, trying to mute Daisy before she could blab any more of what supposed to have been a private conversation. Then she froze as footsteps trudged up the stairs to their apartment.
“Mom!” Lu gasped. “The kitchen!” She leaped out of her chair, sending Crybaby sprawling to the floor with a sad whine.
Raquel spoke directly into the camera. “We have to go, guys. The meeting’s adjourned, but be sure to send me those story ideas by tomorrow morning, nine a.m. sharp!” She slapped the laptop closed and bounded after Lu into the kitchen.
“I’ll start the dishes, you take countertops,” Raquel ordered. Lucinda nodded. It was one of those times she was glad to have Raquel take charge, to make a decision and run with it. They would never finish in time—Mom’s key was already jiggling in the lock. But if she came home to find them in the middle of cleaning up, maybe she wouldn’t be so upset.
Lucinda knelt and reached into the cupboard where they usually kept the cleaning spray. But the cupboard was filled, top to bottom, with rolls of toilet paper. She pulled open a drawer. More toilet paper.
“It’s all toilet paper!” she whispered as Mom’s keys dropped into the clay bowl on the end table near the front door.
When all this had started, when everyone first began to realize that the new sickness going around was something different than the usual cold or flu and that there would be long weeks stuck at home, Mom had become strangely obsessed with toilet paper. Did they have enough toilet paper? Where could they get more toilet paper? Why hadn’t they stocked up on toilet paper when they still had the chance?
“How long do you think it will be before she finds a tutorial for DIY Charmin?” Lucinda had jokingly asked at dinner one night.
