Definitely Daphne Read online

  This book is dedicated to my bestie, my chica, my favorite “dork” of all, Stephanie Jones. I appreciate all the advice during early Daphne drafts. But truly, I’m excited to witness your own writing journey. I can’t wait to see you soar!

  I’d also like to dedicate this book to all of my Linden third- and fifth-grade students. Thank you for giving me the green light to follow my dreams.

  To my cousin Ruben, for sharing your funny (and sometimes sad) Air Force childhood stories with me. ¡Gracias por todo!

  Lastly, special thanks to my therapist-friend, Elizabeth Rossi, MDFT Clinician at Family & Children’s Aid in Connecticut. You helped me bring Dr. Varma to life!

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Always On the Move!

  Chapter 2: Texting Across the Pond

  Chapter 3: Linden Hates Me

  Chapter 4: Just the New Kid

  Chapter 5: The Day Gets Better

  Chapter 6: Texting from Base

  Chapter 7: Daphne Doesn’t

  Chapter 8: Hello, Daphne!

  Chapter 9: Sports Day

  Chapter 10: Vlog

  Chapter 11: Busted!

  Chapter 12: Daphne On the Rise

  Chapter 13: Breaking the Rules

  Chapter 14: Same Nightmare

  Chapter 15: Hot Stuff

  Chapter 16: The Results

  Chapter 17: New Vlog Post

  Chapter 18: Wannabe

  Chapter 19: Daphne Does Drama

  Chapter 20: Group Project

  Chapter 21: Curry and Conversation

  Chapter 22: A Connection

  Chapter 23: Last Call

  Chapter 24: It’s Showtime!

  Chapter 25: I Don’t Do Drama

  Chapter 26: Daphne Climbing

  Chapter 27: Making the Deal

  Chapter 28: Mommy Makeover

  Chapter 29: The New Kid… Again

  Chapter 30: Daphne Goes Shopping

  Chapter 31: Rethinking

  Chapter 32: Blending

  Chapter 33: I Already Know

  Chapter 34: Daphne Doesn’t Do Fashion

  Chapter 35: Being Normal

  Chapter 36: No More Hiding

  Chapter 37: I Got Some ’Splainin’ to Do

  Chapter 38: Life = Ruined!

  Chapter 39: Dancing Is Not for Me

  Chapter 40: Back at School

  Chapter 41: Mone-who?

  Chapter 42: Too Cool for Tutus

  Chapter 43: Daphne Vlogs about Dancing

  Chapter 44: Blast from the Past

  Chapter 45: Texting Mae in the UK

  Chapter 46: The Drama Returns

  Chapter 47: A Reason to Smile

  Chapter 48: This Is It

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Back Cover

  1

  Always On the Move!

  Confession #1: My life is one big movie series.

  Confession #2: Some of the movies are “in my head.” Some are as real as the ones on my MacBook computer.

  I know what you’re thinking: That’s crazy, girl!

  Crazy. Creative. Crafty. It’s all about perspective.

  Here’s the latest horror film that happened yesterday in the Louis household.

  Disclaimer: Some scenes may (or may not) be exaggerated for dramatic effect.

  The opening credits roll in, slow and bold.…

  Always on the Move:

  The Sad, Lonely Life of an Air Force Brat

  Starring: Annabelle Daphne Louis

  Directed by: Annabelle Daphne Louis

  It all begins on a dark and stormy Friday evening. Dad makes dinner — a fall-off-the-bone Puerto Rican stewed chicken dish called pollo guisado. If you have never eaten this, then you don’t know what it means to feel alive.

  “Family meeting in the living room!” Mom announces, just as I’m sopping up the last forkful.

  Mom loves meetings. I’m more of a go-with-the-flow kind of girl. Mom holds meetings about chores, meetings about “achieving goals,” and my favorite: meetings about when we’re meeting again.

  We all take a seat on the carpet, because we’re not completely moved in to the new house yet. Outside, the wind is smacking a tree branch against the window. Gotta love when nature adds its own special effects. Mom lights a few candles and clicks the dimmer on the light remote. Dad clears his throat and lets out one long-winded breath. If I didn’t know any better, I would think they were about to summon a ghost.

  And cue camera zoom…

  Mom starts talking. “Annabelle, we wanted to tell you the real reason we’ve moved to Linden.…”

  The camera is zoomed in so close to my face, I’m sure the viewing audience can see every freckle. The skin under my eyes sinks lower and lower as seconds turn to minutes and Mom draws out her speech. The audio fades in and out, and all I hear are words like “leave” and “assignment” and “alone.”

  The sounds and their words mix together. I try to shake the scene out of my head. Tell myself to quit making a movie out of every moment in my life and get back to focus. But then it hits me.

  “What did you say, Mom? You’re getting… what?” My throat tightens.

  TDY… TDY… TDY…

  Temporary duty yonder. Fancy Air Force words for Mom’s leaving — this time without us. The letters repeat over and over until the final image closes out.

  “Wait, there’s more,” Mom says.

  Ladies and gentlemen, we have a sequel.

  Dad adds in his piece. “Since this will be Mom’s last assignment before retiring next year, we’re going to stay in Linden and live civilian life. She’ll commute to Fort Dix for work until it’s time for her TDY. And with the transfer, I landed a new Cisco client based in New York, which means I have to travel into the city a few times a week, so—”

  “Slow down,” I say. “What about homeschooling, Dad?”

  Mom and Dad lock hands and look at each other, then back at me. I know what’s coming.

  I am going to middle school. Real school, with teachers and seventh graders and eyeballs and gym.

  “You guys tricked me!” I’m standing now. The camera angles upward to make me appear larger than I am.

  I should’ve known something was up. Just a week ago, we were living happily ever after in Germany, where Mom was Master Sergeant in the Air Force and Dad worked from home for Cisco, all while homeschooling me. Life was perfectly fine. Then Mom comes home one day and announces we’re headed to the city she once lived in — Linden, New Jersey, land of Targets, Starbucks, and an oil refinery that occasionally makes the whole city smell like a gigantic fart. Her words, not mine.

  She’s been acting funny ever since. Extra clingy with me. Extra lovey-dovey kissy-face with Dad. UGH!

  Mom and Dad spring to their feet too. The camera pans up and then zooms out.

  The next scene plays out like a game of verbal Ping-Pong, with me asking questions and Mom firing back answers.

  ME

  How long will you be gone?

  MOM

  Six months, not much longer.

  (A ghost whizzes by and punches ME right in the throat.)

  ME

  Why can’t Dad and I go with you, like we always do?

  MOM

  I’m sorry, Annabelle. This is not like it was before in the UK, Spain, and Germany. I cannot bring you to Afghanistan. You understand, schätzchen?

  (MOM calls ME “sweetie” in German to soften the blow. It usually works. Not this time.)

  ME

  When do you l
eave?

  MOM

  After Christmas.

  (Insert massive thought bubble above my head. That’s four months from now. DAD grabs ME by the shoulders and pulls ME in for a hug. I transform into ice, blocking out his warmth.)

  ME

  I won’t go to school with a bunch of people I don’t know! It’s bad enough you guys moved me away from the one friend I have in the UK. Now you expect me to start all over again?

  (My eyes are stinging now. I will not cry. I will not cry.)

  DAD

  This will be a big change for everyone, Annabelle, but together we’ll get through it.

  (DAD refuses to let ME go. Zoom in on MOM, wrapping her arms around us. The warmth of MOM and DAD melts my ice block, even though I don’t want it to. Outside, the rain stops falling. The tree branch no longer smacks against the window. And that imaginary ghost has faded into oblivion.)

  MOM

  Everything will be fine, Annabelle. My Air Force buddy, Pete Fingerlin, is the counselor at McManus Middle School. I called him yesterday to explain the situation. He set you up with a buddy to give you a tour bright and early Monday morning.

  ME (thinking)

  Buddy? Sounds like a code word for babysitter. Call me psychic, but I have a feeling this whole middle school thing will go horribly wrong.

  End scene!

  2

  Texting Across the Pond

  Mae: Belle! How’s life in the US? Missing you here in the UK. :’(

  Me: New country. New house. New school. New problems. Over it.

  Mae: SCHOOL? Like with other humans?

  Me: Apparently Mom and Dad forgot that I’m allergic to formal education.

  Mae: That’s awful! When do you start?

  Me: T minus 4 hrs., 38 mins. Run away with me?

  Mae: Oy! I forgot about the time difference. Get some sleep!

  Me: About to start a new novel with Dad. “Enchanted Air.” Margarita Engle strikes again! I’m missing our father-daughter homeschool sessions.…

  Mae: You’ll survive… maybe. ;) FaceTime ya before you leave. Sweet dreams!

  3

  Linden Hates Me

  The FaceTime ringer beeps just as I’m getting ready for jail. I mean, school. Mae Tanaka — best friend, keeper of promises. As soon as I open the app on my iPad, I let out a big yawn.

  “You must be tired!” Mae says.

  “You would be too if you’d spent the whole weekend having nightmares.”

  “I still can’t believe your parents sprung all of this on you!”

  When Mom was stationed in the UK, Mae was the first friend I met on base. She and I were among the rare kids who preferred to be homeschooled rather than go to a new school every other year. That’s the life of an Air Force kid. Too many moves. Too many desperate attempts to make new friends. By the time we reached our third country, I was totally over it.

  Because both of our dads were techies who worked from home, Mae and I had the perfect setup. Our dads would take turns teaching us. My dad would take the morning shift to teach us math, technology, and sciences. And in the afternoon, Mr. Tanaka taught us how to use “nature as our classroom.” We’d paint in the park, take strolls around the lake, and study foreign languages. We’d read and discuss the fine works of our favorite authors, Rita Williams-Garcia, Margarita Engle, and Kate DiCamillo.

  Ah, those were the good old days.

  There’s a knock at my door, and I already know who it is.

  “Hold on. Mom alert.” I crack the door.

  Mom weasels her face inside and looks at me, frowning because I’m still in my robe. “Need help getting dressed?” she asks, still wearing her I’m-sorry face.

  “No, Mom. I’m fine. Plus, I’m FaceTiming with Mae for a couple minutes.”

  “Tell her hello, and don’t take too long. Wouldn’t want you to be late to your meeting.”

  Honestly, I’ve had enough meetings for one lifetime.

  I hurry back to my iPad. It’s almost seven o’clock. That doesn’t give me much time, so I speed my way through everything that’s happened over the weekend. Mom’s TDY. The new school. The ridiculous school tour with a “buddy.”

  I end my rant with, “So basically my life is ruined.”

  Mae hits me with, “No, it isn’t. You’ll be amazing, Annabelle!”

  Typical Mae. All rainbows and sunshine and bubbles.

  I prop the iPad on my dresser. “Hold on while I get dressed,” I tell her.

  “Ooh, what are you going to wear?” she asks. “I can’t even picture doing algebra in anything besides my pajamas.”

  I have yet to receive all of my boxes from Germany. In my closet, there are three boxes I still haven’t unpacked. “I haven’t had time to even think about that,” I say, growing more frustrated as I look for clothes. Nothing seems good enough.

  “You know,” Mae says, “I heard Americans like color. Look for something that stands out. Ooh, like Lady Gaga!”

  “I’d rather snack on broken glass.”

  “Just trust me!” Mae laughs.

  At the bottom of one of the boxes, I find an oversized orange plaid shirt and purple leggings. I shuffle over to my dresser, still wrapped in my robe, and hold up the outfit.

  “Gaga enough?” I ask.

  “Oh, that’s perfect!” Mae says. “Now you just need shoes.”

  In the closet, I find my favorite pair — teal Converse sneaker-boots. “I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how this social thing works, Mae,” I say as I pull them on. “Like, who am I supposed to have lunch with? Aren’t there rules and reserved tables?” I sigh really heavy as I lace them up. Then I pop my face back on the screen so Mae can see me again.

  “Ta-da!” I stand back so she can get a better view of my outfit.

  At first she doesn’t say anything, just gives a long stare.

  “Oh, no. You think I look awful, don’t you?” I ask.

  “Actually, no.” Mae’s voice gets really soft. “I think you look perfect. I just miss you is all.”

  I hold two fingers to my heart and wait for her to do it back. That’s our thing, the number two. Because even though miles and seas and time zones separate us, we’re always going to be two amigas, the best two mates there ever were.

  There’s a rapid knock on my door.

  “I have to go now, Mae.”

  “Send me a text and let me know how it goes.”

  I blow her a kiss and hang up. Before I can even open my door, Mom comes in, uninvited, and plops on my bed.

  “I’m sorry, Annabelle,” she apologizes for the trillionth time.

  And I know she means it, but it doesn’t change the fact that I do not want to go to school. I do not want to just up and change everything about our family. I like the way things are. Well, were.

  “I’ll be OK, Mom,” I lie, cold and quick.

  “At least you have one thing to look forward to — having a separate girl cave.” Mom smiles.

  Usually when we moved bases, my girl cave would be in the same room as my bedroom. But with this big house, my parents promised me a room in the basement. I want to be excited, but this school thing ruined it.

  “Oh, come on, Annabelle. You have to be just a little excited for your first day!”

  “But it’s not the first day, Mom. School started weeks ago when we were still in Germany. You do know what this means, don’t you?”

  “Oh, I hope you’re not worried about falling behind. You are a math and technology wizard. And how many languages are you up to by now? Three?”

  “Actually four.” My cheeks go red. “Still, it’s not about the work. It’s just that by now everybody has formed their circles. That’s how school works. That’s why I stopped going in the first place. And now you guys are throwing me to the sharks!”

  I lo
ok at myself in the mirror and contemplate doing something with my hair. In Germany, the weather was kinder to my curls. Judging by the way my hair is poofing out, Linden already hates me.

  Mom lifts off the bed and stands behind me in the mirror.

  “You look great, schätzchen. You’ll amaze everyone with your charm and wit. Those kids will be begging to be your friend. I just know it!”

  I’m not so sure.

  4

  Just the New Kid

  Mom and Dad insist not only on driving me to school but also on going inside to meet the counselor, Mr. Fingerlin, and my assigned “buddy.”

  Side note: Is it just me, or does the name Fingerlin make you want to eat something greasy?

  We’re all silent in the car. Dad turns on the radio, blasts the volume, and starts dancing. All of a sudden the rapper starts bragging about how much money he spent on clothing.

  “Seventy-five hundred dollars on a coat? Man, I don’t get this new kind of music!” Dad yells over the beat.

  He and Mom start laughing. I can’t help it, so I laugh too. Those lyrics are pretty ridiculous! Who spends that kind of money on clothes? Especially when thrift stores are the greatest creation ever? And for the first time since Mom broke the TDY news, it feels like we’re back to our old selves again, the laugh-till-we-snort Louis trio.

  McManus is a huge school tucked among pretty houses and tree-lined streets. Dad pulls up in front, and the red entry doors seem a thousand miles away. For the two weeks I went to school on base in the UK, it was nothing like this. Just a small group of us, spread among three or four classrooms.

  Dad lowers the music, and I let out a heavy sigh.

  “We’ll do the tour with you, Annabelle. Help you ease in,” Dad says.

  “That would be super embarrassing. Please don’t!”

  Dad turns around to say something else, but Mom’s already slamming the car door behind her and marching her heels straight up to the school.

  I grab my knapsack and make a beeline toward her, stumbling over my untied Converse sneaker-boot. I could have sworn I tied it back at home. I catch myself before falling, quickly tie it again, and keep it moving.

  Mr. Fingerlin and my “buddy” are opening the doors by the time I reach Mom. I’m out of breath, Dad is shuffling behind me, and Mom is giving Mr. Fingerlin a bear hug.