Page 12

Chapter 12

Isa

“Really?” Everett and I said, both with quizzical expressions and cute sleeping masks dangling from our fingers (as I’d told Grace, I would be keeping mine, thank you very much). “Thisis it ?”

I will say that “it” wasn’t nothing. Independence Hall stood proudly in front of us, its bell tower and steeple shining in the blue sky. If we’d been at school, only a few rays of sunlight would stream into classrooms. People would contend for window seats.

Indeed, Independence Hall seemed to say. History was made here!

“Yes.” Grace nodded. “This is it. Our first stop.”

“Out of how many?” Everett asked.

Grace didn’t answer; instead, she turned and started walking across the lawn, toward the park’s visitor center. Everett and I fell into step behind her, briefly glancing at each other. His soulful brown eyes made my heart twist, because I knew we were thinking the same thing. “You’re going to Hershey Park?” I remembered Everett’s dad saying when the four of us were eleven. The Barbours were hosting dinner, and we fifth graders had presented our parents with permission slips. “What happened to the historic Philadelphia field trip?” He gestured to Grace’s dad. “That’s where our school took us in fifth grade.”

James had shrugged. “Times have changed, Mr.Adler.”

“Yeah, it’s no longer 1776.” Grace exchanged a smirk with her brother. They’d played off each other so easily back then. Tag-teaming was their specialty.

“This is ridiculous,” Mamá said after Mr. and Mrs.Barbour slapped smartasses Grace and James with dishwashing duty. “What educational value does the school see in an amusement park?” She shook her head as my eyes started to sting, worried I’d be the only one without a signed permission slip. “I’m going to call the principal—”

“Hold on, Pilar,” Everett’s dad said. “Do the kids deserve to ride a few roller coasters?” He pretended to consider, then winked at us. “Definitely, but I agree about the importance of an immersive learning experience.”

And so, one spring Saturday, Mr.Adler took James, Grace, Everett, and me on a field trip to historic Philadelphia. He even let us craft our own itinerary. “We should start here,” I remembered saying as James drew a big star on a map. “And after that, I think we should go…”

Now, I knew part of Grace’s motivation for kicking things off at Independence Hall was to travel back in time. Not to the 1770s, but to elementary school, when we spent every moment together. It would help Everett and me reconnect, right? Taking a stroll down memory lane usually did.

As if that stretch of road wasn’t rife with potholes.

The Independence Visitor Center had been renovated since our last visit, beautiful brick with tall glass windows. We bought tickets for Independence Hall’s next tour and had some time to kill before it began. “We should probably get properly outfitted,” Grace said, gesturing toward the gift shop.

“Agreed,” Everett said solemnly. “We wouldn’t want to appear out of place.”

“You guys,” I protested, “it’s only a twenty-minute tour!”

Even so, we soon weaved our way through clusters of tourists and tour guides leading today’s round of field trips. Children walked in a zigzagging line, all holding hands so they wouldn’t get separated. “Do not let go of the person in front of you!” one teacher said through a megaphone. I felt Grace take my hand as I saw her take one of Everett’s. We laughed and didn’t let go of one another until we reached the gift shop. I am so lucky, I thought when Grace squeezed my fingers and I squeezed hers back. I am so lucky to have a friend I love this much, and who loves me this much.

She infuriated me, but it was true.

Before long, the three of us joined the line for our tour. “Please take off the baseball hat,” Grace told Everett. “It’s ruining your look.”

We all donned black tricornered hats edged in gold cording, but Everett was wearing his on top of his Mets cap. “Nope.” He shook his head. “Ride-or-die Metropolitans.”

“I wouldn’t say that too loudly,” I whispered as we took a few steps forward in line. I gestured to a nearby passerby. “A Phillies fan might challenge you to a duel.”

“Perhaps,” Everett said, “but it won’t be any of those people—listen.”

We quieted, only to hear the group speaking in rapid French. “What are they saying?” I asked. Already fluent in Spanish, I studied Mandarin in school and Portuguese on Duolingo. James had also downloaded the app. His daily five-minute Italian lesson was the first thing he did when he woke up in the morning. Today he’d extended his 623-day streak.

“I don’t know,” Grace answered. “I stopped taking French last year, remember?”

My brows knitted together. “Didn’t you test out of Pepperdine’s language requirement?”

Grace sighed. “Yes, but that placement test wasn’t very difficult. Written French is way easier than verbal. Plus”—she gestured to the tourists—“what shot do I have against native speakers?”

“I refuse to believe that,” I said. “You’ve retained more than you think.”

Grace shrugged. “ Je t’aime ?”

“That doesn’t count,” I said. “Even I know that one.”

“No need to brag, Isabel,” Everett said lightly. “Brown is proof enough, don’t you think?”

A lump formed in my throat. Brown—no, it wasn’t enough. In fact, it was a disappointment. Mamá and Papá and I’d dreamed of an Ivy League school my whole life, but what they truly meant by “Ivy League school” was Harvard, Princeton, or Yale. I felt sick sitting on the waitlist at all three; I wanted to celebrate that I was headed to Brown! “Isa, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Mrs.Barbour had asked after presenting me with a classic brOWN crewneck sweatshirt. “Why sad tears? This is happy news!”

My parents should’ve bought me that sweatshirt. Not Grace’s. Mamá had taken one look at it and asked if Mrs.Barbour had mentioned keeping the receipt.

Now I rechanneled my frustration, and Everett took the hit when I rolled my eyes at him. “Says the guy going to Vanderbilt. ”

And as if my stare had the power to turn him to dust, Everett’s gaze dropped to his feet. “I wouldn’t have gotten in without baseball,” he muttered.

“That’s not true!” Grace exclaimed at the same time I thought, That’s not true.

We might not be friends anymore, but I knew how hard Everett worked. He deserved his acceptance letter. Grace, too.

Grace grabbed Everett’s arm. “Never say that again, okay?”

He ignored her, instead daring to look at me. “Truce?” he asked.

I nodded. “Truce.”

Tickets were soon scanned, and our group gathered in a circle around George—no, I’m not joking—our guide for the next twenty minutes. “Hello, everyone!” he said, his voice echoing off the walls. “Welcome to Independence Hall! If it’s your first visit to the City of Brotherly Love, you’ve chosen an excellent place to begin your journey.”

“What if it’s not our first visit to Philly?” a little kid shouted, and I pursed my lips so I wouldn’t laugh. I could imagine both eleven- and eighteen-year-old James asking the same thing.

The rules hadn’t changed since fifth grade. We were only allowed to explore the first floor, the hallowed Assembly Room being the main attraction. It was, after all, where the Declaration of Independence had been signed. Designed in the Georgian style, the walls and their intricate moldings were painted gray and white—similar to some paint samples in the Barbour powder room—and light green drapes hung over the large windows. Twin fireplaces flanked George Washington’s seat of honor, with the rest of the green cloth–covered tables facing his desk. Brass candlesticks, books, and quills had been staged on each one, not to mention the wooden “sack back” chair reproductions.

“In the summer of 1776,” George—our guide, not the president—narrated, “fifty-six men gathered here to defy the King of England….”

I felt my mouth twitch, a giggle wanting to escape. “What’s so funny?” Grace whispered, amusement in her eyes. Even if we didn’t know why one of us was laughing, the other person laughed, too.

It took several seconds for me to gather my words. “This was our first stop on our Saturday field trip,” I said. “James decided he wanted to set the tone right away, remember?” I pointed over to the Assembly Room’s elegant white barrier. George was probably explaining its true purpose, but all I could ascertain now was that it was to keep visitors from getting too “hands-on” with the room.

Well, that hadn’t stopped James.

Everett snapped his fingers. “Oh yeah, I remember that!” he said, one side of his mouth quirking into a smile. “When my dad went to the bathroom, James jumped the barrier to sit in President Washington’s ‘sun chair.’?”

“And not only did he sit in it,” Grace chimed in, about to snicker, “but he said he leaned back so far that his feet left the floor.”

Tears now tickled the corners of my eyes. “He almost broke it! Isn’t it the only authentic antique in the room?”

“According to George, yeah.” Everett was laughing too now, so hard that two dimples deepened in his cheeks. Grace smirked and reached to poke one.

Then pulled her hand away so fast you’d think static had shot through her finger.

Huh, I thought. It really is like we’re little kids again.

Grace would tease Everett about his dimples all the time back then, so much that I used to think she had a crush on him. But I’d gotten my answer in eighth grade, when she all but gave me a blessing to date him. They were just friends.

The three of us let ourselves laugh, now alone in the Assembly Room. Our tour group had disappeared, following George to the next checkpoint. We didn’t try to catch up to them, even once we collected ourselves. We stayed and stared at George Washington’s desk, imagining Grace’s prankster brother holding court there.

The memory was only broken when Everett said: “?‘I’m going to steal the Declaration of Independence.’?”

A quote—Nicolas Cage’s iconic quote from National Treasure. The quote that had hatched a hundred memes. Grace howled all over again. “Well, I hate to break it to you, Ben Gates,” she said, “but it looks like you already did. ” She grabbed the scroll Everett had tucked into his back pocket, one of his gift shop purchases.

He blushed a brilliant red. “It’s for Abigail.”

“As it should be.” She smiled. Everyone knew that Everett and Abigail watched the movie whenever she didn’t feel well. But instead of picturing her and her big brother on the Adlers’ couch together, I saw my home theater; I stood in the doorway, a plate of Mr.Adler’s favorite cheesecake brownies in hand. He’d never been a dessert person, but ever since starting the trial, Everett’s dad had been craving sweets. A peculiar side effect. “Jesse, I can’t believe you’ve never seen this movie!” Papá had said from his cushy chair, and Everett’s dad laughed. He sounded tired, and his dark brown hair had thinned from treatment. “I know, I know,” he replied. “I guess it just slipped through the cracks.”

They binged the Ocean’s Eleven movies that day.

I blinked. “How about we sign it?” I suggested now, holding up the quill-pens we’d all bought. “Would Abigail like that?”

Everett grinned, and it almost hurt. He looked so much like his father. “Yeah, I think she would,” he said. He pulled the scroll out of its plastic casing, dramatically unrolled the poster, and offered it to me first.

Isabel M. Cruz, I wrote in cursive before handing it off to Grace. “Careful!” Ev warned her. “That document is over two centuries old!”

“Then why aren’t we wearing protective gloves?” she asked.

In response, Everett tickled her nose with his quill’s oversized red feather.

How scandalous! the ghosts of our founding fathers probably thought as my eyebrows knitted together. Was Everett…flirting? With Grace?

“Thank you, Isa,” Everett said once he’d rolled up the scroll. “That was a great idea.”

I smiled. “You’re welcome, Everett. I do have them every now and again.”

He rolled his eyes, but good-naturedly. “So where to next?” he asked after our trio took a selfie together. Grace wanted all the pictures she could get for her future dorm room, and I took a few photos myself. “The Liberty Bell?”

“Oh my god, please no,” I said as we headed for the exit. “James dared some random kid to lick the display glass, remember?”

“Vividly,” Grace said, then pulled a face. “And believe me, I’m not eager to relive it.” We pushed through the doors and back out into the sweet-smelling spring breeze. “I have something more fun in mind….”