Page 32 of The Rebel
“Yeah. It does,” Valencia mumbled, head down.
“Is it just crab legs? Are you allergic to shrimp and lobster too?” I couldn’t believe I was having a conversation about shellfish and allergies, but I wanted to keep her talking.
Valencia shrugged. “I’ve never tried those.”
“Sometimes people can be allergic to one but not the other,” Mom offered with a smile.
“I don’t think I’ll be trying any others,” Valencia said.
“What about fish? Are you good with that?” I said, thinking ahead to our upcoming British night with fish and chips, an English tradition.
“Yeah, I’ve never had a problem with that,” she said, sounding thoroughly bored. “Uh, may I be excused? I’ve got homework to do.”
“Uh, well...” Mom looked flustered, Valencia’s plate only half eaten. “Uh, what’s your schedule look like? Do you need a ride to school? Jade, what time do you leave?”
“It’s okay,” Valencia started to say at the same time that I said, “Sure, I can take you.”
“Your mom said you usually ride with your friend?” Mom said.
“Yep. I’ll be okay,” Valencia said.
“And what about after school?”
“I’m fine after school,” Valencia said.
“Well, if I’m working in the office, I usually finish at three, so if you ever need a ride, just text me. And maybe you should have Jade’s number, just in case too?”
“Sure. Good idea,” I said too quickly.
“I should be fine,” Valencia said, but I wasn’t sure if she was meaning she didn’t need my number or she had a ride lined up. “I have to help in the art room this week and on Mondays I volunteer at the blind center so I’ll be late that day.”
“Oh, what do you do there?” Mom asked.
“I help people with art, like painting and stuff. They’re not totally blind, they have low vision.”
“That sounds like a wonderful thing to do,” Mom said. “It must be very rewarding.”
Valencia nodded, pushing back on her chair impatiently.
“Are you doing any sport this semester?” Mom asked. It felt like she was drawing blood out of a stone.
“No, volleyball finished.”
“That’s right, you played volleyball,” Mom said. “You’re not playing any tennis?”
Valencia shook her head and shifted her cutlery. I reached for the potato dish and scooped another serving onto my plate.
“I’ll probably join the recreational swimming club,” Valencia suddenly said.
I frowned, not knowing there was a recreational swim club, but sometimes there were different activities offered for juniors.
Mom nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds great.”
Valencia took that as her cue to leave and excused herself to her room before I got the chance to ask her if she wanted to come and watch our soccer game. You know, to make her feel included. But then I figured she was probably keen to unpack her bags and sort her room.
When Oliver and I came home, Mom was alone in the living room half watching television with her laptop and a bunch of papers spread about. She wanted a play-by-play account of the game and Oliver and I gave a combined version of events, from the goal I scored in the tenth minute to Sawyer’s amazing penalty shot. Sawyer was the kicker for the football team but he joined our indoor soccer in spring, and his skills were impressive. With the football team this year’s state champions, we were lucky to have him. In a way, I was sad that I’d missed all the hype and celebrations. But the dream of going to England and seeing Manchester City play had been totally worth it.
“Has Valencia gone to bed already?” I asked in a low voice, after a commentary of our 5-2 win had been completed. I didn’t want it to seem like it was at the forefront of my mind, even though it was the first thing I’d noticed.
