Shine On, Luz Véliz!: Chapters 1–10

I’m not supposed to dribble it in the house, but I pop it into the air with the toe of my shoe and bounce it on my good knee. The knee that bends easy as a Slinky. Clean joint, perfect tendons.

Doctors would later tell me my anterior cruciate ligament tore, my shin broke, and my patella fractured.

Doctors would later tell me my anterior cruciate ligament tore, my shin broke, and my patella fractured.

Doctors would later tell me my anterior cruciate ligament tore, my shin broke, and my patella fractured.

I haul my trash bag of soccer stuff to the living room, where Dad’s up a ladder, putting a new light fixture on the ceiling fan.

I’m kind of good at mechanical things. I installed my own kitty-cat light-switch plate, and I can build anything from LEGO bricks, with or without the directions.

“If you really want to, Lucita.”
Which is my nickname. He doesn’t say it with a smile, though, and my heart wilts a little.

He was the first neighbor we met when we moved in, and guess what he brought as a welcome gift? Not cookies, not tuna casserole, not some boring welcome card.

He brought a lamp that turns on when you clap. It also works when I snap. Practically magic!

Welded to the roof is a shallow box, kind of a tray. Mr. Mac made that part himself. Inside the box tray sits a black electronic device—maybe an old, old phone?

“You could take another class.” Mom searches my face for the answer, but I don’t have one yet.
“Like what?” I’ve never thought about any electives but soccer.

“Let Luz do what she wants,” Dad breaks in.
“Of course,” says Mom, glaring at him. “That’s why we’re sitting here.”

They think I don’t notice, but they misunderstand each other more, like they’re on the same team but executing two different plays.

I press it and say, “Testing. Testing. This is Luz Véliz, formerly of Tri-City Soccer League.”

I sidestep down the steep driveway, happy to see that Mr. Mac’s still out, his garage door open.

I can’t suppress my smile.

Cabinets line the back wall, with labels like SOLDERING IRON and FLOPPY DISKS.

He presses a button, and a one-inch cassette pops out. “You know, early home computers stored programs on tape recorders.”

He always talks about his microwave popcorn, but that’s not healthy enough in Mom World. It’s easy to make, though, and he looks okay to me. I think he’s just efficient.

She has drills to do, after all, and scrimmages to play.

A replica of R2-D2 stands against the door, its red light glowing.

“Fifth graders?” My voice comes out louder than I meant it to. This is a definite drawback to having the elementary school across the street. I don’t want to go backward.

The dial in my brain keeps turning, but I’m still hearing static.

Maybe I can program something so cool that he will be interested. Like a game or an app or a simulation of how stars are born.

After supper, I trudge to my room with the last of some math homework.

I suppose he’s right, but a twinge of worry pinches me.

“Robots take their instructions from a computer, so let’s start there. Have you ever heard of binary?”
I shake my head, but the “bi” part sounds familiar. “Is it two of something?"
“Right-ee-o! Binary. Bicycle. Binoculars. Two. In this case it refers to the basis of all computer languages. Zero and one.”

Oh, man. This sounds like not just the ground floor of programming, but the prehistoric ruins under the foundations.

He hands me a tiny light bulb.
I chuckle under my breath because my name means “light.” It’s just a coincidence, but I think Mr. Mac picked a good place to start.

I flip the switch, and the light blazes, the little filament inside glowing for all its worth.

He looks at me intently.

“It’s not like I planned this!” Dad says. It’s not quite a yell, but it’s angry.
“I know!” says Mom, just as emphatically.

After school, I pat R2-D2 on his domed head and cross Ms. Freeman’s threshold.

“There’s one more thing, Ms. Freeman. I have a...a proposition.” Mom uses this word when she announces a new plan.

“It does include science projects, but it’s also where Robotics One students show their computer programs. Some students showcase actual robots; others demonstrate their code, often a game. I select the most promising students to go into Robotics Two.”