You dont know everything.., p.1
You Don't Know Everything, Jilly P!, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
Nine Months Later
Three Months After That
Three Years After That
Jillian’s First Hundred Signs
Macy and J.D.’s Glossary of Initialisms
Author’s Note
George Sneak Peek
Acknowledgments
Copyright
The house smells of homemade tomato sauce when I get home from school, a sure sign that Dad is cooking dinner. Mom lies on the couch, her laptop propped on her knees. A line of belly-white skin stretches between the bottom of her shirt and the waistline of her pants. My baby sister is inside, just waiting to join us out here. Mom has shoulder-length copper hair, a small nose, and light brown eyes. I look a lot like her, but my hair is longer and I’m not pregnant.
Dad is sitting in front of the television. His short, wavy hair is black, except for a small off-center tuft at the front that’s been white since he was eighteen. His Italian skin is a few shades darker than Mom’s and mine.
A photograph of a Black teen in a blue tank top fills the television screen. She is smiling, and Mickey Mouse earrings dangle from her ears. The news anchor introduces us to “Ella Davila, age fifteen, fatally shot in an incident with police in Santa Rosa, California.” Details at eleven.
“Again?” Dad says. “This world gets scarier and scarier.”
“No kidding,” says Mom.
Dad shuts off the TV and turns to me, wiping the concern from his face as quickly as the image on the screen disappears. As if it didn’t happen if we don’t mention it. “So, Jilly, how was school?”
“Nothing special.” That’s true. It was an utterly boring day. “Tests in math, science, and social studies.”
“Ugh,” Dad says. “Sounds like a bummer.”
“Pretty much,” I say, and head to my room.
I flip open my laptop and log on to De La Court. The books in B. A. Delacourt’s Magically Mysterious Vidalia trilogy are my favorite books in the world, and De La Court is the official website for news and information about the series, as well as for connecting with other fans.
I open Young Vidalians, a chat room specifically for kids ages eleven to thirteen. I’m twelve, right in the middle. Officially, that’s who the books are for anyway, but a lot of the chat rooms are for people fourteen and older. It’s not fair, but there are lots of adults who read the books too. And how could you blame them? I plan to keep returning to Vidalia as long as I’m able to read.
Kids younger than eleven aren’t allowed on the site, but I’ve seen a few, at least based on the way they type. I got an account on my eleventh birthday and I’ve been to De La Court almost every day since.
JillyinP has entered the chat.
Hi, JillyinP. BADisGreat, profoundinoaktown, PureGreenElvenGrl, and SwordWielder42 are already here. Pull up a chair (or a tree branch if you’re a wood elf) and join in.
JillyinP: Hey everyone
BADisGreat: hi J
PureGreenElvenGrl: hey Jilly. Profound was just trying to tell us that the real hero of Vidalia is Cecil.
JillyinP: But he’s ORANGE!
Everyone in Vidalia has an aura based on how good they are. Generally, good people glow green. People who are more questionable glow yellow. People who are downright evil glow red. Lots of peoples’ auras are somewhere in between, and your aura’s color can change based on your actions, like when the Great Red Rat of Demonicus saved a whole bunch of elves, turned yellow, and was chased out of the ancient Rat Pack.
profoundinoaktown: i’m not saying cecil’s all good. i’m saying he’s effective. the books are about what cecil wants and gets. that’s the definition of a protaginist. i should know. last week we studied them in my literature class
PureGreenElvenGrl: Well, you sure didn’t pay attention when they taught spelling. It’s protagOnist.
profoundinoaktown: whatever. you know i’m Deaf. english is my 2nd language. come back to me when you can sign protagOnist
SwordWielder42: Wow. I didn’t know you were deaf. That’s cool.
PureGreenElvenGrl: Then you must never have been in a conversation with Profound before. He mentions it every chance he gets. Also, he lives in Oakland, California, and he’s black.
SwordWielder42: So? I’m Black too.
PureGreenElvenGrl: Nothing. It’s fine. He just brings it up a lot.
profoundinoaktown: it better be fine. and yeah i bring it up a lot. being Deaf, Black + Oaktowner is who i am and i’m hecka proud of all 3
SwordWielder42: Yeah man. Black pride. But I never heard of anyone being proud of being hard of hearing before.
profoundinoaktown: Deaf, dude, Deaf. #DeafPride #DeafPower
PureGreenElvenGrl: This isn’t twitter. You can’t hashtag stuff.
profoundinoaktown: i have powers you don’t know
BADisGreat: so who’s your favorite character, SwordWielder?
SwordWielder42: Who me? Gotta either be Verdi-Toh or Gwenella.
JillyinP: YES!
SwordWielder42: What?
BADisGreat: She’s just happy because Gwenella’s her fave too
JillyinP: Gwenella is so going to be the first half troll ever to glow full green
profoundinoaktown: never happen
Profound is like that sometimes, a bit of a downer. Most of the time he’s pretty cool, though.
BADisGreat: so, J, any word on the baby sister?
JillyinP: Not yet. But if she doesn’t come soon, my mom might topple right over onto her stomach.
PureGreenElvenGrl: babies are SO cute!!!
profoundinoaktown: have you ever lived with a baby?
PureGreenElvenGrl: I’m an only child.
profoundinoaktown: let me tell you. they might seem cute, until you get one. then you realize they just look like that so you won’t toss them off a cliff. trust me. i have 2 little sisters
SwordWielder42: So twice as bad?
profoundinoaktown: more like 8 times. and you have it worse than me
JillyinP: what do you mean?
profoundinoaktown: babies cry all the time, even at night. i take out my hearing aids when i sleep but you can’t take off your ears
JillyinP: well, I’m excited to have a little sister. Anything’s better than a pregnant mom.
That’s when Dad knocks on the door and tells me to log off and get my homework done.
Sometimes I wish I could live in Vidalia, and not just because they don’t have language arts homework. It must be nice to know who to trust. Like, if someone tells you in advance that your mom being pregnant is no big deal, you would just need a glimpse of their aura turning yellow to know that they were flat-out lying.
Just like Mom is still flat out on the couch. She skips dinner entirely. She ate a late lunch and her stomach isn’t feeling great, so it’s just Dad, me, and a tray of ziti at the dinner table, looking at each other, wondering when my baby sister will decide it’s time to vacate Mom’s body.
Macy and I are in her living room, making cards for my baby sister-to-be. Mom and Dad are at the hospital now, and I’m about ready to explode, waiting for an update. Macy has black hair in a pixie cut, green eyes, sand-colored white skin, and has been my best friend since first grade.
I’ve written Happy 0th Birthday! in rainbow letters on the front of my card. I was going to write Happy 1st Birthday!, but Macy pointed out that her first birthday won’t be until next year. I could have just written Happy Birthday!, but I wanted to be specific.
“Do we know her name yet?” Macy asks.
“Nope. They’ve tried just about every one in the book, though.”
Mom and Dad have been tearing apart a book called Finding the Perfect Name for Your Baby for months, testing out which names sound best with the last name Pirillo, which have the best nicknames, which are unique but not too unique, creative but not too creative, simple but not too simple. Naming me was a lot easier because I’m named after my grandpa Julian. Mom hates the name Julia, and so I became Jillian Pirillo.
“Well, they’ve got to make a decision at some point,” says Macy.
“I think they already have.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The text I got from my dad that says, Picked a name.”
“Have you been holding out on me?” Macy raises an eyebrow. “I see how it is. You Pirillos are all alike.”
“Yeah, but the rest of the text says, I’ll tell it to you in person.”
Macy’s face folds into a pucker. “That’s cold, J.D. Ice cold.”
“No kidding!”
J.D. stands for Jillian’s dad. I’ll bet you can guess what J.M. stands for. I tried calling Macy’s mom M.M. once, but she just looked at me and said, “Tricia will be perfectly sufficient, thank you very much.” She smiled as she said it, but her point was clear. Tricia it is. I still think of her as Macy’s mom, though.
“Whatever,” says Macy. “I’ll just write, Welcome, Baby Pirillo! Pass me the
I pull out the purple glitter pen and stare at the card I’m working on, trying to find spots that need more sparkle, when my phone buzzes. This is it! A text from Dad! Baby sister—signed, sealed & delivered! On my way!
“She’s born! She’s born! Dad’s coming to get me now!”
Macy and I get up and do the dance we’ve named the Baby Sister Slide. First you put your left hand on your left hip to a count of three, and the same on your right. Then you shake your hips three times, extend your foot out to the side, and swoop your body over to meet it (that’s the slide part) and clap. That’s it. So easy a baby sister could do it. You can dance it together in a line, mirror a partner face-to-face, or, if you’re like me, go solo in the middle of your bedroom dance floor.
When the doorbell rings, Macy and I run for the door. The smile on Dad’s face is so big it makes my cheeks hurt. He throws his arms wide open and announces, “She’s beautiful! Just beautiful! Get over here, Jillybilly.” He picks me up and spins me around the room.
“Hi, Tricia,” he says once I’m back on the ground. “Good to see you.”
“You too, Dominic. Congratulations!”
“So?” I ask. “What’s her name?”
“Yeah, J.D. Spill it!” says Macy.
“Emma.” The name sounds like a sunbeam radiating off his tongue.
“Emma,” I repeat. “It’s lovely.”
“Well done, J.D. Worth the wait.”
“Thanks, J.F.”
“J.B.F.F.!” Macy corrects Dad.
“O.I.S.I.N.D.I.A.” Oops, I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again. That’s one of their standards.
I’m glad my dad and my best friend get along so well, but right now, there’s a brand-new baby to see, and now is not the time, so I grab Dad’s hand and pull him toward the door.
In the car, Dad can’t stop talking about what a great job Mom did, and how Emma is such a perfect little baby, and he just knows I’m going to fall in love with her the moment I see her. He drives into a parking garage as tall as the hospital across the street. We wind around and up the concrete structure until Dad finds a spot in level 3, section B.
“B for Baby!” I announce.
“B for Baby!” Dad confirms. We take an elevator downstairs to cross the road and enter the hospital itself.
On the maternity ward, Dad lets me open the door to Mom’s room. She’s wearing a thin blue hospital gown. I can tell she was asleep because her head jerks up and she blinks a few times before smiling. Her face is pale and her hair is stringy, but the smile in her eyes is bright.
“Hey, you two! Emma’s sleeping.” She nods over at the corner of the room, where Emma is nestled inside a plastic-and-steel crib. I go over to peer in, but all I can see is a mass of fabric with a smoosh of pink peeking out between her hat and her blanket.
“Come on over here, Jilly, so your mom can give you a big hug and kiss.” Mom groans when she shifts in bed, but she wraps her arms around me and it feels cozy. I don’t want her to let go. I missed her last night and this morning. And even though people have babies all the time, I was a tiny bit worried about her. Maybe even a little more than a tiny bit.
“Oh, these are so sweet,” she exclaims when I give her the cards Macy and I made. “And Macy used turquoise. We must really rate.”
Once Mom is done oohing and aahing, Dad props the cards up on the bedside table. Then he takes a seat right behind Mom, his arm around her waist and their legs pressed against each other. I sit at the foot of the bed. It feels good and family-like, even though we’re in a hospital.
Mom asks me about my day, but I stop talking the moment a small noise comes from the far side of the room. It’s something between a gurgle and a yawn, the voice of someone who doesn’t know what to say because she has never said anything before. Dad retrieves the bundle of blanket-wrapped newness and places her in Mom’s arms.
“Ready to meet your sister?” Mom asks.
I nod like wild and scooch toward the head of the bed. Even scrunched up, with bright pink and red blotches on her face, Emma is adorable. I can’t believe she’s coming home to live with us.
Hi, Emma. I’m your big sister, and I love you already.
“Would you like to hold her?” Mom asks.
“YES!”
Dad hands me a pillow and lays Emma on it. We sit on the bed together, tiny Emma in my lap and Mom in Dad’s arms, all of us transfixed by Emma’s every movement until she falls back asleep. It isn’t long before Mom’s head starts dropping too.
“Almost ready to go?” Dad asks. He’ll be driving me to Aunt Alicia and Aunt Joanne’s for the night. Aunt Joanne is Mom’s sister, and Aunt Alicia is her wife. Dad will be coming back to the hospital to keep Mom and Emma company.
“I could stay too,” I tell him. “I don’t take up much space, and I’d even go down to the cafeteria to get you coffee in the morning.” I love spending time with Aunt Alicia, Aunt Joanne, and their kids Justin and Jamila, but I see them all the time. This is only the first time I’m meeting Emma.
“That’s very sweet of you, honey, but only people over the age of eighteen are allowed to stay on the maternity ward overnight.”
“What about the babies? They’re not eighteen years old. They’re about as far as you can get.”
“Welcome to life, Jilly,” is all Dad has to offer, along with a tousle of my hair. I swat his hand away.
Dad picks Emma up from the pillow on my lap and settles her into the bassinet. Mom blinks a few times and, with a grunt, sits up higher in bed.
Dad checks his pocket for his keys and phone. “All right,” he announces. “The six o’clock special for points west is preparing to head out. All customers, please follow your driver to your transport.”
I give Mom a careful hug.
“And would the lovely lady at the station please consult with the driver before departure?” Dad leans over Mom and their lips lock. I’m glad that we’re alone in the hospital room. People who don’t know my parents awwwww when they see how they kiss, and then they give me a big smile like I should be proud of them or something. To be honest, it’s a bit much.
On the way out the door, I look back at Mom, her head already falling back on her pillow. Emma’s bassinet is too tall for me to see over, but I know she’s curled up inside. I can’t wait until they’re released from the hospital and we can all celebrate at home together.
Dad doesn’t even bother to get out of the car at Aunt Alicia and Aunt Joanne’s. He just waits until Aunt Alicia lets me in before heading back to the hospital. Inside, the dinner Aunt Alicia is cooking smells savory and delicious, like I could snack on the air itself.
Aunt Alicia is Black, with dozens of straight, long locks running down her back. She’s wearing dragonfly earrings and a red headband covered in tiny ladybugs. She gives me a huge hug and sets me a pile of carrots to chop.
The first floor of the house is big and open, with windows on all four sides, letting in light and a view of Oakland. One corner of the room, portioned off by a low bookshelf, is filled with blocks, dolls, cars, and other toys that belong to my cousins Justin and Jamila, who are three and five years old. Officially, they’re Aunt Alicia’s kids, from a marriage she calls “the biggest mistake of my life that just happened to include the two best things that have ever happened to me.” To which Aunt Joanne says, “Number three ain’t bad.”
“And how do you feel about chocolate cream pie to celebrate being a big sister?” Aunt Alicia asks.
I give her a giant cheesy grin until the sides of my face hurt.
“I take that as a yes?”
“Ye-ee-esss!” I nod ferociously, my jaw banging against my collarbone. Aunt Alicia’s chocolate cream pie is like diving into a chocolate sea with a graham cracker beach and fluffy meringue waves.
When I’m done cutting carrots, I sit at the table and keep Aunt Alicia company while she juggles pots and pans on the stove. She asks what it’s like to have a baby sister, and I tell her all about my visit to the hospital, and seeing Mom in the bed that folded in the middle so she could sit up.
“Yeah, sure, that’s what it’s like to have a mom giving birth. But what about Emma? Are you excited to be a big sister and show her how things are done in the Pirillo home?”
