Chapter Text
Hugo and his friends’ riotous laughter echoed in Mirabel’s ears as she marched to the bathroom, meatloaf sticking to her skirt and blouse. She locked herself into a stall and pulled out her phone, opening the chat between her and Camilo.
CAN YOU BRING ME MY SECOND OUTFIT?
She sent the message and stared at the blue bubble, waiting for her primo to go to the bathrooms and text her when she was ready. Her hands shook, and she wiped the tears away.
This was the third time this week he spilled food over her clothes. She didn’t buy many clothes with her limited allowance, as she didn’t want to waste much of the family budget, and most of her nicer things had to be hidden. She thought today would be different, as Hugo had soccer practice later and would need all the energy from lunch to operate, but she was wrong, and now, her custom blouse and skirt were ruined with meatloaf!
Why couldn’t she go one day without Hugo ruining her clothes and humiliating her? It wasn’t fair that she was already sidelined by the rest of the family. She had to be tortured daily at school because she was so different. And worse, she didn’t know why everything changed after her fifth birthday, but now, she wished they would at least hear her out once.
No, that was a pipe dream. The only time Abuela would look at her would be if she had done something negative, even if it was a lie or a false assumption.
Mirabel’s phone dinged, and she checked it.
OUTSIDE THE BATHROOM.
Mirabel unlocked the stall and made her way to the door, where Camilo stood guard, holding a bag.
“Here,” he said. “I packed the second nicest thing you had.”
“Thanks, Cami,” she said. “Make sure Abuela doesn’t see the mess.”
“Will do.” He sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything? We can go to the principal.”
Mirabel shook her head. “No, Cami. I don’t want to get in trouble. Not to mention what Abuela will say.”
She shuddered at the thought of Abuela scolding her for making up stories. She only told her once, and she got the worst lecture about trying to waste her time, especially since she’d been talking with Señora Guzmán about security measures in the police force.
“All right,” he said. “I mean, I would tell someone, but it’s your call.”
She nodded and shut the door, hurrying into a stall and changing into embroidered jeans and a blouse. She shoved the ruined clothes into the bag and checked her makeup, wanting to hide the tears from her family. She didn’t want them to worry about her when Isabela and Mariano were the focus of the family’s attention and concern.
She made her way out of the bathroom and handed the bag to Camilo.
“I don’t get why he wastes his time bothering you,” he said, shoving the bag into his backpack. “I mean, he doesn’t benefit anything from it.”
“He likes humiliation,” she said. “Who better to target than the Madrigal Misfit?”
A shade of protective anger came over Camilo’s face. “Tell me he doesn’t call you that.”
“He does. He also calls me False Madrigal.”
“Look, Mira, you don’t have to tolerate this.” Her primo sighed. “Why do you keep so many secrets from Abuela? She could easily handle this with one email.”
Mirabel rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t care about my problems, Cami. The last time I tried, I got scolded for getting in the way of more important things.”
“She’ll ask a lot of questions. The water bill is coming soon, and I don’t think I can use any of the old excuses.”
She winced. “Just say I got behind on my laundry, so I did a lot of loads in one week. She’ll accept that.”
“All right.” He winced. “I hate lying to Abuela, but if that’s what you want, so be it.”
The bell rang, and Mirabel rushed to her last two classes, with Camilo going off to his classes. Besides, she’d probably be reminded not to leave her laundry until the last minute again.
Abuela’s attention was the last thing Mirabel wanted, and she never asked questions, anyway. Why bother?
***
When the last bell rang, Mirabel rushed out of the classroom and hurried to the after-school sewing club. It was the one thing that she honestly liked in school. The classes were too easy for her since she did a week’s worth of homework at a time, and she didn’t have many friends, thanks to Hugo. Sure, the teachers liked her, but she didn’t get too close or suggest she wasn’t happy at home. Abuela would dismiss it as Mirabel being moody or just looking for attention, and she would be lectured about keeping the family image in mind.
The small club was already gathering around the sewing machine. The president, Mirabel’s friend Sofia Silva, smiled as she walked in. Her other friends—Carmen, a local foster kid who moved with the party planner Daniela Garcia; Diego Rosa, the son of the tailor Ana Maria Rosa; and Jorge Perez, a transfer student from a private school—moved over so she could sit next to her, and the other members, mainly freshman and fellow sophomores, warmly greeted Mirabel.
“Ah, Mirabel, good you could make it,” she said.
“I never miss a meeting,” Mirabel said, getting her supplies out.
“What happened to your first outfit?” Carmen asked. “I saw it this morning.”
Mirabel scowled. “Hugo.”
“What did he do this time?” Jorge asked.
“He spilled my meatloaf all over me.”
“On meatloaf day?” one of the freshmen asked. “Come on. How low can he get?”
“I’m still trying to figure out that question. It’s like, somehow, I’m the odd one out he can bully, and no one cares.”
“I care,” Sofia said. “Just give the word, and I’ll get Valeria to handle it.”
“And ruin her career as the assistant track and field coach? No.”
“Why don’t you tell your parents?” Diego asked. “Mamá wouldn’t let this slide if it were me.”
“Agreed,” Carmen said. “Besides, they’re better than mine.”
“Is that why you’re in foster care?” one of the sophomores asked.
“Yes, and Tía Garcia might officially adopt me by the end of the year.”
“They might, but Abuela will shut it down.” Mirabel took on a mocking tone. “‘Stop making things up, Mirabel. No one likes liars, Mirabel. Can’t you see I’m busy with something more important, Mirabel?’” She scoffed. “As if she’d care.”
“What about Isabela?” Jorge asked.
Everyone gave him hard looks like he asked Mirabel to skinny dip in acid.
Mirabel rolled her eyes. “She’s no better than Abuela with her answers. All she cares about are her looks, job, boyfriend, and social status. She couldn’t give two shits about her own hermanita.”
“So, why does she still pick you up?” Diego asked.
“Because Abuela doesn’t want me to learn how to drive until I’m eighteen.” She sighed. “It sucks not being able to go out with you guys because I need a ride.”
“You don’t have your license?” Jorge asked. “As soon as I turned fifteen, mamá pushed me to learn how to drive. Made me pay for the test myself.”
“Same with Tía Garcia,” Carmen said. “Why don’t you pay for it and ask your parents?”
“They’ll tell Abuela, and suddenly, they’re out of town for work, and no one’s able to drive me.” She sighed. “I wish Isabela was replaced with Vinestorm. She would care.”
“You mean the superhero?” Jorge asked. “I love her! Seriously, her vinework is impressive.”
Mirabel nodded. Everyone knew about the Mariposas, a group of superheroes who used their powers to help the city of Encanto. Her personal favorite was Vinestorm. Her outfits were spectacular, and her control over plant life was admirable. Mirabel had thousands of sketches of her, including her outfits. For Halloween that year, she wanted to dress up as Vinestorm, even saving her allowance to buy the proper materials. Abuela wouldn’t buy her a costume, and Mirabel knew it would be fruitless to ask, but still, it would be nice.
“All right, let’s get started,” Sofia said. “Now, who wants to go first?”
The club meeting proceeded with detailing new designs and ideas, and Mirabel added her own idea: a two-piece skirt with attached shorts underneath. Everyone lauded this idea, and Carmen asked if she could be the one to model it when it was done.
Halfway through the sketching phase, Mirabel’s phone dinged. Isabela’s name came up, and she groaned.
HERE.
“My ride’s here,” she said.
“Okay,” Diego said. “Safe ride home.”
She nodded and gathered her things, rushing out of the school. Isabela’s car sat outside, and she leaned on the horn.
“Come on, Mirabel,” she called. “Hurry up!”
Mirabel got in the car and buckled up, putting her backpack on her lap.
“That’s a new outfit,” Mariano said.
“Thanks,” she said. “Did the embroidery myself.”
“How was your day?”
“It was fine.”
“Did Hugo cause trouble?”
Mirabel frowned. “It’s not important.”
Isabela arched an eyebrow, a hint of concern in her eyes. “Well, in that case, let’s be going.”
The car ride home was tense, and Mirabel spent it updating her calendar. She didn’t have a lot of homework that week, so she could finish it in a night and get started on her personal projects. Besides, it would be better to get ahead on her project.
When they got home, Mirabel dashed inside, grabbing an arepa off the table and heading to the nursery.