Caridad Ferrer - Its Not about the Accent

F irst off, many thanks to my great editor, Jennifer Heddle, and of course to Lauren McKenna, Erica Feldon, and the entire team at MTV Books.

Huge hugs and thanks to the worlds bestest, most fabulous agent, Caren Johnson, who not only understands but also shares my deep need for Cute Shoes.

This book benefited hugely from some fantastic early readers, so to Jen, Erin, Allie, and Brandie, thank you so much. All of your suggestions were invaluable and Im so grateful to have had your input. (And a very special shout-out to Steph for the legal advice/knowledge.)

To my treasured online communities, TeenLitAuthors, PASIC, LiveJournal, Backspace, the Treehouse, and the Playgroundyou all rock with your unflagging support and many, many happy hours of procrastination. And always, always, to the darling Cherries, a big, huge sloppy hug and Dating Game Kiss. You guys are amazing and really, BTCKE!

Many thanks to Thomfriend, website guru, and one of the most kickingest cartoonists around.

Alesia, you are easily one of the best partners in crime/sounding boards/friends a girl could have. Cant wait for you to move back so we can be Pretentious Coffeehouse Writers again!

Torrie, as always, couldnt have done it without you. You know just when to smack me upside the head.

Musical Geek AlertIts almost all about the girls this time: Shakira, KT Tunstall, Natasha Bedingfield, Pink, Jonatha Brooke, and Faith Hill for being strong, unique voices who kept me company throughout the creation of this story. And in the Not Girl category, to Taylor Eigsti, whose Lucky to Be Me truly resonated with the themes of this book. Finally, thanks to Alejandro Sanz and his beautiful melody, Labana, a love song to the city of my ancestors.

To my very, very patient and loving extended familyyoull never know how much it means to me to have your unflagging support. Nate and Abby, Im so proud to be your mom, and Lewisas always, there just arent words.

W hats next, Nana?

Now we return the chicken to the pot, add the stock and wine, and let it come to a boil.

With Nana Ellies help, I put each piece of chicken back into the big pot, along with the other stuff, and gave it all a stir before stepping down from my stool.

You make the best chicken and rice, Nana. I sniffed the air, practically drooling. And I had to wait nearly another hour.

We do, sweet girl. My great-grandmother sat in her chair at the table, slicing the funny bananaswhat did she call them again?oh, yeah, plantains. They looked totally gross, with their almost-black skins and the way they were sort of slimy under the skins, but when she sliced them and fried them in oil, they turned golden and tasted as sweet as candy. She always made the plantains when we cooked any Spanish dishes, even though it usually required a trip to West Side Market to find the good ones.

Actually, cause Nana was way picky about her food and could cook stuff from all over the world, she had to make lots of trips to West Side, which had ingredients from everywhere and was totally the coolest place in Cleveland. Outside were stalls where the vegetable and fruit vendors haggled with the old ladies, saying they had the best green peppers or whatever. And inside the big building, it was completely awesome. There were bakeries, where grandmas from the Old Country would give you stuff like baklava or biscotti, just out of the oven, trying to convince you to buy, like, two dozen more. The butchers were also inside, with all sorts of meats and sausages and things you couldnt find anywhere else. Actually, some of it I was happy not to find anywhere elsebecause a whole pig staring at you from inside a glass case? Ew . But Nanas roast leg of pork? Way good.

Nana also made stuff like blinis, which she served with sour cream and caviar, which I thought was kinda eugh , but Nana said I needed to expand my horizons and what better way to understand a culture than through its food? But a culture where they ate fish eggs and liked it? Not sure how much I wanted to understand it. Better, though, was when she made little pancakes that were sort of like the blinis, but sweeter, and stuffed with strawberries and cream. She called them crepes. I just called them yummy. Almost as good as her apple pie, which had been Papa Josephs favorite.

Following Nanas instructions, I picked up a peeled plantain and started cutting it. Nana, how did you learn to cook so many different things?

You know how, Caroline.

Yeah, I know , I admitted, but I loved hearing her tell the stories anyway because there was always something new. Shed had so many adventures. Ill bet my great-grandmother could live to be a hundred and forty-six and wed never get through all her storiesshe was just one of the coolest people ever. But come on, Nana, please? We have nearly an hour before dinners ready. I showed her the plantain Id just slicedit looked just like hers, long strips cut on the diagonal.

She smiled and one white eyebrow went up. I so wished I could do that. Spent ages standing in front of my mirror holding my left eyebrow (same as Nanas) up with my finger, trying to train the muscles to keep it up there. So far, not working.

Well done, Caro. All rightI suppose helping me so much in the kitchen earns you a story. Which do you want?

Awesome! I put another plantain on my cutting board. Oh, living in the same house as the Russian expatriates in Paris. Orno, nohow about Greece? I nibbled the inside of my cheek, thinking. Or the winter you spent in Venice? Or augh! I cant pick. You pick.

By this point shed put down her knife and was just laughing at me. But youve heard these stories a hundred times.

And I could hear them a hundred more and never get tired of them, Nana. I mean, come on, youve had adventures. Your life has been totally exciting. While mine was totally boring, living in boring old Hampshire, Ohio, and going to boring old Hampshire Elementary and just doing boring old things. Boring, boring, boring . With a side of dull.