The Tori Trilogy
Authors: Alicia Danielle Voss-Guillén
The Tori Trilogy
Just Tori, Tori and the New Girl,
and Tori's Wish
Alicia Danielle Voss-Guill
én
Price World Publishing
www.PriceWorldPublishing.com
Copyright © 2012 by Alicia Danielle Voss-Guillén
All rights reserved. Neither this book, nor any parts within it may be sold or reproduced in any form without permission.
eISBN: 9781619841666
Table of Contents
Just Tori
Chapter One
All my life, I've wanted a sister. Sometimes I want an older sister, someone who could drive a car and take me places and style my hair and tell me exciting secrets. And sometimes I'd like a little sister to play Barbies with and teach about things so she'd think I was really mature and smart. But only in my imagination do I have sisters.
In real life, I have brothers. Four of them! And what makes this even worse is that I'm the baby of the family. Andrew's the oldest and he's really not so bad. He's twenty-four and married to this great girl named Stephanie who is the closest thing to a sister I've ever had, and they're even going to have a baby in December! Both Andrew and Stephanie are teachers, and they live in an apartment about half-an-hour away, so that whenever I see Andrew, I usually find that I've missed him a lot.
After Andrew comes Nate. Nate is twenty and goes to a community college around here, which means that I'm out of luck as far as him going to school out of state or something. He is also the cockiest person I've ever met. He's going through this stage (I sure hope it's just a stage) where he thinks he can conquer the world. You know, that no-one's-better-for-the-job-than-I-am-let-me-handle-this kind of thing. It's really funny, but also really annoying.
Next in line is Ben. He's seventeen and a senior in high school. He isn't cocky like Nate, but he's sure enough got his own set of problems. Namely, his girlfriend Jaine. All we ever hear around this house is Jaine-this and Jaine-that and I'm-sorry-I-won't-be-here-for-your-birthday-dinner-Tori-but-it-is-prom-after-all-and-that's-a-very-big-night-for-Jaine-and-me.
Finally, there's Joey, who's got to be the worst of them all. Joey is almost-fourteen and thinks he's really cool and important because he's a big eighth-grader and next year, he'll be in high school. But the really terrible thing about Joey is that somewhere along the line, he committed himself to making my life miserable with his nasty insults and stupid practical jokes. I try not to let him get to me...but it doesn't always work.
I come last, of course. I'm ten. You might think that being the only girl in a family full of boys would make me into a tomboy or something, but that's not how I turned out at all. Sports are okay, but I could live without them. My real passion is acting. I go to this drama day camp at the YMCA for two months every summer, at the end of which we put on a stage production. I love the rush of being front-and-center, with everyone's eyes on me, and wearing stage makeup, and speaking into a microphone, and feeling as though, at least for a moment in time, I'm not Tori Salinas at all, but some entirely different person, a character I've brought to life. I can't wait to get to middle school so I can join the drama club.
“Victoriaaaa!” Mom's voice rings up the staircase, interrupting my thoughts. Uh oh, it sounds like trouble. I inch toward my bedroom door and open it slowly.
“What is it?” I call back.
“Tori, I've been calling you for five minutes,” she says, a bit impatiently. “I need you to come downstairs and set the table for me. It's almost dinnertime.”
It is? I glance at the clock by my bed. To my surprise, it's after five o'clock. I sigh. Dad will be home soon, and we'll all eat, and I haven't even done most of my homework....I was too busy daydreaming. I have a problem with that. “I'm coming!” I say. I turn off my light and walk downstairs.
Mom is in the kitchen, which is warm and cozy, glowing with the yellowish light that shines from above the stove and the big jar candle on the table. The air in there feels warm and smells good, sharp and spicy. “Are we having chili?” I ask. I open the silverware drawer and begin to take out knives and spoons.
Mom nods. “We are,” she says, then sighs. “Tori, it beats me how you couldn't have heard me till just now. You've got to get your head out of the clouds sometimes and come back down to earth.”
I gulp. Not another lecture about this! “Sorry, Mom,” I say, and then decide to change the subject. “I love chili,” I tell her. “It smells extra-spicy tonight.” I don't make eye contact with Mom as I begin to fold six paper napkins.
Ever since my cousin Gina gave me this great origami book for my birthday, I've loved folding paper and napkins and anything else I can get my hands on. Tonight I make our napkins into the shape of frogs. Frogs really work better on paper, because then when you press down on them, they hop. But, oh, well. Frog napkins are still cute.
I'm relieved that Mom lets the whole not-answering-her thing go. Instead, she says, “You know Dad's picky about his chili.”
I do know. I don't think there's such a thing as too spicy when it comes to Dad. He's second-generation Peruvian-American, which means that he was born here in the United States, but his parents, my grandparents, were born all the way down in Lima, Peru, South America. Dad grew up on all kinds of spices, thanks to my Abuelita's cooking.
Mom, on the other hand, says she had to learn how to like spicy food. My grandma on that side of the family is just about the plainest, blandest cook you can imagine. Luckily, Mom didn't follow in her footsteps.
We Salinas are an interesting family. Dad has dark skin and black hair (well, now it's getting a little gray) and eyes that are so dark they're almost black. But Mom has very light skin and ash-blonde hair and blue-gray eyes. My brothers and I fall right in the middle. We have medium, olive-colored skin and brown eyes and brown hair. My hair is long and a couple of weeks ago, Mom let me get it cut into layers, which looks really cool. I have my ears pierced, too.
I take our big ceramic soup bowls out of the cupboard where they're kept and put one at everyone's place. Next I add little plates for bread (I carefully arrange the frog napkins on top of them) and glasses for pop. We always have pop with chili, which means I don't have to drink milk at dinner, which is a good thing because I hate milk.
I go to the refrigerator and take out the tub of butter and plop it in the middle of the table. Then I ask, “Mom?”
“Hmmm?” She's busy slicing the loaf of wheat bread she bought fresh from the grocery-store bakery.
“What do you think I should be for Halloween this year? It's only ten days away, and I want to have a really good costume, but I can't come up with any ideas.”
Before Mom has a chance to answer, Joey wheels around the corner and slides across the hard wood floor on his stocking feet. “Why don't you dress up like the bride of Frankenstein?” he suggests, then slaps his forehead as if he's just thought of something. “Oh, I forget! You don't need a costume for that!”
I glare at him. “M-o-o-o-o-m .”
She turns away from the cutting board and frowns at my brother. “That wasn't necessary, was it, Joey?”
He shrugs easily. “Tori was asking for advice. I was just trying to help her out. So shoot me.”
Mom's lips settle into a hard, tight line, but she doesn't say anything more. She's too used to Joey. Instead, she goes back to slicing the bread, and when she is finished, she starts arranging it in a wicker basket.
I just don't get why he has to be so mean. I mean, would it really have killed him to give me a good suggestion about what I should be for Halloween? Or at least to help me think about it? Sometimes I think Joey might actually be happy if I'd never been born.
I pretend not to see him as I walk straight past him to get the pepper flakes and hot sauce for Dad. Obviously, no one's going to say anything else about my Halloween costume right now.
There's an awkward silence in the kitchen until Joey (of course) breaks it. “Aw, man,” he says, noticing the napkins at everyone's place, “what are those? Are they frogs? Tori, you really outdid yourself with the stupid-napkin-shapes tonight.” And then, to add insult to injury, he picks up the frog at his place and blows his nose on it. Loudly!
I cry out automatically. “Mom!”
“Joey!” she gasps. “That was very rude. You know Tori works hard on those napkin shapes.”
“Yeah, and we all end up wiping our mouths on them, anyway.”
“Joseph.” Mom's voice holds a warning now.
“Okay, okay,” he gives in, looking just the tiniest bit scared. “Sorry.”
I don't dignify that with a response. If I did, I might cry.
Less than twenty minutes later, Dad is home. Before he even opens the door, I can hear his car crunching through the crispy fall leaves that litter our long driveway, followed by his footsteps on the creaky back porch.
Almost everything about our house is creaky. It used to be a farmhouse, and it was built all the way back in the early-1900s. It's big and rambling and, even though it's been modernized, it still gets drafty in spots during the winter. The best thing about our house is that it's set smack in the middle of the biggest yard I've ever seen.
We live in an unincorporated part of a town called Forest Grove, Illinois, about thirty miles from Chicago. Mom says that we're unincorporated is the reason we have so much property. I like it that way. Compared to my yard, all my friends' yards seem puny.
Inside the door, Dad stubs off his shoes and sets down his briefcase. He's an accountant and works in an office a few towns over.
I rush to give him a hug. “Daddy!” I cry.
He scoops me off my feet. “How's my
princesa?”
Then he spins me in a circle like he always does and sets me right back down on the rug by the door. Sometimes, there are advantages to being the youngest and the only girl. Mom says that Dad's always had a special soft spot for me. And I see just what she means. Sometimes he spoils me.
Dad sniffs the air. “Smells good,” he says. His eyes widen. “Chili?” he asks Mom.
She smiles and nods, then steps over to greet him. He wraps his arms around her and they kiss, which is kind of gross, but still it's nice to see my parents so much in love after all the years they've been married.
My brothers obviously heard Dad come in, because now they all descend upon the kitchen. Joey makes his re-entry, practicing his sock-sliding again, followed by Nate, and finally by Ben, who's talking on his cell phone. Joey and Nate call hello to Dad, and Ben waves his hand in greeting. They all plop themselves down at the table.
I gather up the bowls for Mom to fill with chili, and Dad gets the ice tray from the freezer. He and Joey begin to fill the glasses with it, and Nate pours Coke on top. Only Ben sits, doing nothing but still talking on the phone.