Page 85 of Smile for the Camera

“Well, yeah, but you all look great!” I say. Turning my LCD screen, I show them my photo, and they nod once. I wish they could love it as much as I do. It’s perfect. It’s us, the Padilla family, just as we are.

We talk to Aprilette as we feast. My dad shares his Filipino knock-knock jokes, and the crunch of inihaw na Talong tangles with our laughter. As my Atè tells us about work—same old, same old—I taste the peppercorn and soy sauce from the pork adobo, then work my way to the soft milkfish that is the inihaw na bangus. We reminisce over our picnic from seven years ago, comparing it to now, the halo-halo’s cream and custard tickling my mouth with its sweetness. After we finish, we say bye to Aprilette with a round of mahal kitas.

“Come over sometime, Atè,” I say.

“Or you guys can come over here,” she says. She blows us a kiss before her screen winks away.

Ducks sail across the lake like a swarm of black boats. A few, breaking away from the flock, flap their wings and waddle onto land, their webbed feet rustling through the grass. I worry they’ll bat their wings at me or peck my skin off. The golden hour sunset outlines the ducks in light, and suddenly, they don’t look so threatening.

To my mom, I ask, “Do you have any pan de sal?”

****

I win a grin from my dad after acing another quiz. Wish he’d do the same for my photographs.

“Not only are you ready for the SATs, you’re ready for undergrad,” he says.

The lamp backlights behind him, glowing across his black hair, which is swirled across the top of his head. His glasses frame my reflection, and I wonder what else he sees through his lens beside this hardworking younger daughter who should be on the same track as her Atè. Would he still grin this proudly if he knew I don’t want to attend any of the universities he recommended? Or that I would accept a full-ride scholarship to an arts school over a full-ride scholarship to a traditional four-year university?

“Salamat po,” I reply.

In the kitchen, my mom is speaking to someone on the phone, the whole conversation in English.

“Okay, thank you so, so much, Mrs. Sanderson!” she says.

My stomach lurches. Why is she talking to Mrs. Sanderson?

“Anak,” she begins, walking over, “Mrs. Sanderson has agreed to let you make up the test.”

“Really? Oh, thank goodness!” I exclaim. Perfect. This is my chance to redeem myself for my parents.

“You’ll have to come in tomorrow at 2:00 PM.”

My stomach lurches again. That’s forty-five minutes before the cutoff time to check in for my presentation. And I’m a slow test-taker. If I arrive late, I’ll be disqualified. A heavy feeling drops from my chest to my stomach.

“Can I retake it another day?” I ask.

My mom shakes her head. “I know it’s short notice. Apparently, she’s allowing another student to also make up the test. I tried asking if she can schedule any other days, but she’s only available tomorrow.”

“Now you can put everything you learned to use,” my dad suggests.

I carve a smile across my face. I feel an urge to argue against the day and time slotted for my make-up test, but what is there to argue? I can’t say no to something I’ve already missed the first time. Especially now, with my parents expecting me to grab this opportunity that initially didn’t exist.

“Siggi, po.”

In my room, I multitask editing my photo and studying the SAT math section. If I’m going to make it on time, I’ll have to finish fast and finish strong.

Chapter Thirty-Two

In a record twenty-two minutes I finish my make-up test.

Best of all, I finish strong.

I thank Mrs. Sanderson for the second chance when I hand her my test.

As I pass by Jase, he whispers, “Good luck!”

“Thank you!” I whisper back.