1 The Invitation Jo Papi lays the envelope next to my dinner plate. I put my fork down and stare at it. I've been waiting three months for it . We mailed the application back in August, just before I started seventh grade. "It won't open itself," Mami says. Papi smiles. His large black eyes sparkle. "Go on, mijita." I turn the envelope over and slowly pry it open. I'm worried about tearing it--like any mistake now could change what's inside. Mami scoots her chair next to mine at our small kitchen table. She smells like bleach and lavender from a day spent cleaning houses with Señora Reyes. "You can always apply next year," she says. "Si sabes, verdad?" "I know." But I don't want to apply next year--I want to be there next year. I break the seal and pull out the letter. Mami whispers a prayer to La Virgencita. Papi leans forward, his elbows on the table. There is no sound in the apartment except for my pounding heart. I unfold the piece of paper and read the typed note. Dear Ms. Josefina Ramos, We are pleased to invite you for an audition . . . I don't read the rest. Instead, I laugh--and get smothered in a family hug. Maple Hill Conservatory, here I come. 2 Cheese Is in My Future Ronny I'm dreaming about cheese when Bianca wakes me up with her weird sleep talking. "Dragonfly," she says. I'm real confused because where am I? I sit up and bang my head on the ceiling because these rooms are super small and I been sharing a bunkbed with my fifth-grade sister for two years now. " Dragonfly," she says again. "No dragonflies in here." The little clock on our desk says 5:38 so I get off the top bunk to get dressed for school and check on Bianca. Her hair is all over her whole face like a brown blanket. "Are you okay?" She says something but she's sleeping again in a couple seconds. I pull the covers up and she has like a hundred animal books in all these stacks on the floor so it's hard to not knock them all over and wake her up. I'm getting my socks on and see a bedroom light in one of the townhome windows right across the street. It's way up high because the garages there are on the bottom and I remember always going up a ton of steps to get to my room which is funny because now our apartment has zero steps and is really tiny. Probably the kid who lives in my old room doesn't have to share a bunkbed with his little sister and deal with her weird dreams. I go to the kitchen and there's my mom in her blue nurse clothes for work. She's eating breakfast and doing her favorite thing which is reading one of the papers from the giant blue folder of bills. "Hey bud," she says. "How'd you sleep?" "Good." "Any dreams?" "Cheese." "Again?" "Yeah, I know." "Not turkey?" "Ha come on," I say because last week she got this big Thanksgiving food box thing at the grocery store with the good stuff. She made this giant turkey and I ate so much but there was more turkey left so we had to keep eating it for dinner. "No, it was cheese." "Hmm," she says. She always sits up real straight when she does her bills, like she's in the army or something. Her hair used to be long like Bianca's until she cut it shorter than mine last year. "You do like cheese." "Probably it's a sign. Like cheese is in my future." "Or maybe it was my amazing dinner last night, which included cheese." "Yeah, probably it was both." I eat cereal and she's staring at this bill that says FINAL NOTICE in big red letters. I see her do bills every morning but I never seen her face get real serious like this. Now she's looking under the table at my jeans and grabbing the bottoms. "Are those pants too small?" "Come on, they're fine." "You're getting taller." "Yeah, I'm a seventh--grade giant," I say which is zero true because I'm barely taller than my friend Jo Ramos and she's a girl. "They look small." "Mom, come on." "You're growing so fast." She makes this weird face like something hurts and now she's looking at the FINAL NOTICE bill again. It's real quiet and I can hear my dad doing his back exercises in him and my mom's room. It stinks because they hurt him but the doctor said it's the only way to get better after the surgery. "Probably you should get Bianca's brain checked out," I say. "What?" "She talks about bugs in her sleep." "I can't tell if you're serious." "Mom, I'm serious," I say but I'm sort of laughing. "It's always so hard to tell." "She could have a condition. Probably you should scan her head with one of those machines at your work." She's laughing too. "So now you're a doctor?" "I mean there's something happening up in her brain cage you should get checked." She's pushing her plate across to me. "Eat some toast." We eat toast and now the people above us are stomping around their kitchen. Bianca gets up and is banging around the bathroom. "I'm gonna go play games on my laptop," I say. "Maybe I should have them scan your brain." "Ha yeah and ask about the cheese dreams." "You need to eat some fruit." "No, I'm good," I say. "I have cheese in my future." I go into the living room and pretend to play games but really I'm googling FINAL NOTICE . It says a final letter or other communication sent to somebody by a creditor warning that if payment is not made on a specific date, legal action will be taken. Now I'm looking up creditor and it says a person or company to whom money is owed. My breakfast feels like slushy snow in my stomach because I've seen legal action before. It was on that big orange sticker they put on our townhouse window right by the front door and like a week later we were moving into this super small apartment. Jo knocks on the door and my mom is hugging me. "Have a good day, buddy. Love ya." "Yeah," I say, and she's looking at the FINAL NOTICE bill again all serious. 3 The Secret Jo I walk down the Apartment's sidewalk with Ronny. I'm excited--and nervous. I didn't tell him I applied to Maple Hill. I wanted to wait until I actually got the invitation. And Esther--I need to tell her too. I have to do it soon. Today? "I think it was cheddar," Ronny says. He fixes his snow hat and pushes a dark clump of hair out of his eyes. "Like it was all shredded." "What color was it?" I ask. "Orange. Or the yellow kind." We climb onto the school bus. I sit with my cello, and Ronny plops down in front of me with my backpack. Inside is my music folder. Inside that is The Secret. I say, "You were swimming in it?" "Maybe I was drowning." "Was it a pool?" "Probably it was an ocean." He puts his chin on the seat back and stares at me. "It's gotta mean something. People just don't have cheese dreams for no reason." Our bus driver shuts the door and we lurch forward. Ronny draws circles on the foggy window with a finger. Should I tell him now? No--the ride is too short. So at lunch, then. But Mason and Esther will be there. After school? We drive the long loop around the Apartments to the exit. The light turns yellow, and the driver slams on the brakes. My book bag flies into the aisle and bursts open. I see my music folder on the ground, wide-open. The envelope sticks out of the left pocket. "Have you ever heard of final notice?" Ronny asks me. He tucks the envelope back in the pocket and puts everything in my book bag. "Like on a bill in the mail." How did he not see it? I say, "I don't know." "Man, I really need to see that bill again." Today--I will tell him today. On the way to lunch, when it's just me and him walking. I have to. He needs to know. It changes things--for both of us. At school, we walk to the string closet to drop off my cello. Mr. Newsum, the orchestra director, sits at his desk pouring hot water into a fancy glass container. He examines the dark droplets falling to the bottom, nodding to himself. From the pocket of his big winter sweater, he pulls out a little sand timer and sets it on the desk. "Ronny," he says. "Jo-Jo Ma. How goes it?" I say, "Good." "More cheese dreams," Ronny says. "Swiss?" "Oceans of cheddar," Ronny says. "Probably I should see a brain doctor." Mr. Newsum folds his hands behind his head and sticks his legs out. He isn't that tall, but it seems like it because he's always lounging. Like most of the teachers at Kennesaw, he's white. "I had a weird dream last night too. I was in the middle of the school gym with hundreds of folding chairs lying on the ground." "Ha," Ronny says. "That sounds like a nightmare." "What happened?" I ask. "I picked them all up and arranged the place into an auditorium." Mr. Newsum shrugs and tucks some curly dark hair behind his ear. "Seemed like a good idea. And then I started singing the happy birthday song. This is where it gets weird." "Oh man it's just getting weird," Ronny says. "Mrs. Fastbender, our fearless school leader, walks in with a birthday cake. She holds it out in front of me, to blow out--and then shoves the whole thing in my face." Ronny laughs---hard. I say, "That is weird." "Indeed." Mr. Newsum checks his coffee timer and then takes a sip. "So: Jo. Get anything in the mail over the weekend?" I freeze. "Oh man, right in your face," Ronny says. "That definitely means something." I look at Ronny, and then shake my head. "You should've gotten it," Mr. Newsum says. "They usually mail them out the week of Thanksgiving." "I think something embarrassing is going to happen to you soon," Ronny says to Mr. Newsum. "And you should definitely stay away from cake for a while. Like if there is a party happening, you should go as far away as you can. Probably take a week off of work." Ronny's never-ending joke cycle can be very helpful sometimes--it gives me time to think. "We should get breakfast," I tell Ronny. "Before the eighth graders take all the hash browns. Let's go." I wave to Mr. Newsum and walk out. I feel sick. I can't wait any longer--he needs to know. We get in line for breakfast. I say, "Ronny." "Present." "Remember when I went to that orchestra camp last summer?" "Yeah." His voice sounds far away. He points to a sign near the food trays. WE ARE OUT OF CHEESE. "Is this a dream?" he whispers. I laugh. "Wow." "WE ARE OUT OF CHEESE!" he yells. The cafeteria ladies frown at him. We get our food, and then go to the register. Ronny and I give the lady our student numbers, and she rings us up even though we don't have to pay for breakfast or lunch--most kids who live in the Apartments don't. "My brain should be studied," he tells her. "I had a dream this was gonna happen." "Please don't yell like that again," she says, and waves for the next student in line. We sit at the end of a long lunch table. Ronny eats his hash brown in two bites. "Probably there's a milk situation happening. Like the cows forgot how to do it." "Ronny--" "Or like all the cheese workers got sick or something--" "Ronny!" He takes a big bite of bagel--his cheeks are packed with food. " Wha ?" "I might be leaving next year." 4 Jo Is Maybe Leaving Next Year Ronny "Leaingwah? " I say. "What?" I swallow but everything gets stuck and now I'm choking on sausage and bagel with no cheese. Jo is whacking me on the back and I'm coughing it all up on the wrapper. "Are you okay?" she says. I cough a bunch more. "Oh man, probably you're a hero." She's staring at me all weird and playing with her giant black braid. "I'm sorry--I should've told you that I applied to Maple Hill." "It's okay," I say real quick and now something weird and not bagel--choking related is happening in my gut. It's really cold and hurts like two snowmen are punching each other. " So where are you going ?" Jo gets her music folder and is showing me this fancy pamphlet thing that says Maple Hill Conservatory: Premier Music School in swirly letters. I look through it and there's kids playing instruments outside and then on a stage and wow in a big auditorium that's way nicer than ours. Pretty much every place you can think of they're playing instruments. "This is where you did the cello camp thing," I say. She's nodding and now she's showing me this letter that says Dear Ms. Josefina Ramos. We are pleased to invite you for an audition with the Maple Hill String Faculty blah blah blah I don't want to read the rest. I give it back and man my barfed--up bagel looks pretty gross on the wrapper so I'm crumpling it all up. Jo gives me half of hers and I'm eating it but I'm not really hungry anymore. "Mr. Newsum has a friend who works there," she says. "He said I should apply because there's not much more he can teach me. Private teachers are too expensive." "Yeah and you want to be the next Carlos Prieto," I say, because he's this big famous cello guy on a poster in her room. There's one of Yo--Yo Ma too and Jo says they're like the LeBron James and Michael Jordan of cello. "You want to play cello all the time and be like him." Jo is nodding. "I'll still go to the regular classes, but more of the school day will be cello--with special teachers. They can even pay for my tuition too." "Whoa that's good." "But it's not for sure yet," she says real quiet. "I have an audition in January--in front of all the string teachers. Then they'll decide to let me in or not." "Yeah but you're gonna get in." Man she's pulling hard on that braid. "I don't like . . . solos." "Yeah but come on," I say, but now I'm thinking about all the orchestra stuff I been to and has she ever done a solo at one of those? Esther has done a bunch but Jo is way better than her. "I mean you play like eight hours a day. You're gonna get in." The big giant guidance counselor Mr. Killroy starts letting kids go to first period. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Jo says. "Yeah but it's okay. I mean you saved me from choking on a bagel." She's sort of laughing and snowmen are like body slamming each other in my stomach and now I'm going to first period where I do zero paying attention. Excerpted from Operation Final Notice by Matthew Landis All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.