How Moon Fuentez Fell in Love with the Universe

by Raquel Vasquez Gilliland

  “I thought you and Star hated each other.”

  Belle opens her mouth to respond, but she shakes her head. “Ah. Well, we used to be close.”

  “Really?” I have never heard this. “When?”

  Belle lifts a hand. “Oh, a while ago. Hey, do you want me to grab you another omelet before they close the bar?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  And a little while later, she returns with a feta cheese and shallot creation that tastes so good, I want to start a religion worshipping it. Belle laughs when I tell her, but she never does answer my question about her and Star.

  22. Looking for My Future in Cards like Scattered Seeds in a Moonless Night

  EVERYONE OKAY? TÍA emails me. You haven’t updated your pages.

  Tía is the only person who knows about my FG account. Well, besides my 42,868 followers. She’s the only real-life person who knows, I mean.

  Sometimes I fantasize about telling Mom that I have my own brand and it’s got nothing to do with Jesus and everything to do with the creepy old religion. But I can’t.

  I’m not scared of her. Not anymore. I just know she’ll find some way to take it from me. She’ll confiscate my camera, my phone, food and water until I’m on the brink of death and have to give up my art. She’d take me by the ear directly to Father Luke so they could pour Jesus’s blood on me by the gallon to cleanse me of my sins. And then she’d personally nail me to a cross and parade me in the streets. Think I’m exaggerating?

  “Bad people got burned by the church,” she told me when I’d sullied my God-given purity. “You would’ve burned for this, Moon.” And then she lost her shit with kitchen knives.

  Later, she did apologize. After I asked the father for his opinion on the matter in front of her. Afterward? “Don’t you ever embarrass me in the Lord’s house ever again.”

  Right. It’s my fault she implied I should be murdered.

  So I dunno what she’d do if she found out about the university housing and the tarot and being right next to her lifelong enemy, Tía. But a public street crucifixion sounds about right to me.

  * * *

  I set my little book lamp and a string of fairy lights I stole from the living area all around my bunk. It’s lovely, even with Santiago shifting under me and rumbling and creaking the frame. Still not used to bunking with my nemesis, but it’s gotten slightly better the last few days, I guess.

  Okay, so most people say you’ve got to shuffle the cards, thinking about the questions you want answered, and that’s fine. But Tía likes to shuffle with nothing on the brain first. She lets the cards surprise her. “Just like with mirror stones,” she says.

  But I’m going to do this the question way. And my deep, supersecret, desperately loserish question is, Is Andro Philips kind of into me?

  Even just thinking it makes me cringe. Of course he’s not. But he’s been so nice, noticing me. Complimenting me. Or, at least, my photography. So I know I don’t repulse him. And it makes sense that I’d want to make sure there’s nothing more, right?

  A three-card spread. The Lovers, the Hierophant, and the Knight of Swords. I take a breath. It’s good to go with first impressions. It feels weird attempting this without Tía, but I’ve seen her do it enough times. My first impression? Andro just got out of a relationship. One where he felt like he was in love. The Hierophant tells me that Andro is focusing on his business. No secret love for me. Bah humbug.

  And I have no idea about the Knight of Swords. Swords represent conflict and butting heads and… Oh crap. Who else could this be but Santiago? What is my sworn enemy doing here?

  Let’s do a one-card spread. Just to see what happens. I shuffle and shuffle and pull one out triumphantly, watching it flutter to my bedspread, where I see, once again, it’s the Knight of Swords.

  I pull another. Knight of Wands. And another. Knight of Cups.

  Seeing them all lined up together gives me a little jolt. Twinkling nebulas sit against my chest and belly, blinking on and off like a thousand suns being eclipsed and uncovered by endless moons.

  That’s my first impression. A nebula. Otherwise known as a cosmic shitstorm.

  At that moment, the bus hits a bridge. I stifle a scream with a pillow and look out the window. Oh, thank the Lord, it’s not a water bridge. Those tend to freak me the flip out.

  I take several deep breaths and do the only thing I can think of. I take a photo of the spread and email it to my aunt with the words “What the hell is going on here?” That summarizes everything well enough, so with that, I hit send.

  23. Pondering a Human-Formed Nebula

  WE HAVE THREE “mini” stops in three days, so it’s chaos. Mini stops mean that we park at some amphitheater, unload as fast as possible so we can set up as the influencers give their speeches and high-five their fanatics. Sometimes we put out the very last of the merchandise just as the people start to pour in. It’s kind of anxiety-inducing. For charity, I have to keep reminding myself.

  I barely speak to anyone, except business stuff with Santiago as we set up and sell. Occasionally, I let myself stare at him for a beat or two, wondering how on earth this cantankerous bastard is a nebula. Nebulas aren’t rude. They don’t resemble the Hulk as far as disposition. They’re thousands of light-years wide, and they give birth to planets and moons and rings made of dust so beautiful, everything looks as blue as the sea. This whole thing is driving me bonkers, along with the fact of his biceps. I’ve been estimating what they resemble, and the closest thing I can think is soup bowls. I don’t understand how they stay flexed and firm even when he’s standing around, not holding anything.

  I’m lifting the boxes into the back of the bus when Santiago walks past me, double the amount of what I’ve got in his arms. After he bends to drop them on the pile, I keep my eyes on his arms. The soup bowls on them, to be precise. How does that even work? Isn’t he afraid his muscles are going to come alive and eat him in his sleep?

  “What are you looking at, Loki?” he asks. He actually flexes. He flexes his arms! The soup bowls seem like they reach out to touch me. And the idea of touching Santiago is a little much. So, like a total loser, I drop all three boxes right at my feet. One of them explodes and Brixsticks go tumbling all around.

  “I was wondering how the hell you even stay upright,” I tell him as I bend to grab the makeup.

  He looks at me up and down as I lift the lipstick box. “What are you looking at?” I demand.

  He shrugs. “Just wondering if you get your hair that black from dye or if it’s naturally the color of your soul.”

  “Oh, ha ha ha.” I make a face of disgust.

  “Moon!” Star says, walking up. Her hair is about as white as it gets at the ends, light honey on top. It bounces from her high ponytail, making me squint as it reflects the sun. “Oh, hey, Santiago.” She says his name casually, almost too casually. If I were a cat, my ears would be turning toward her.

  “Yeah? What’s up?” I say.

  “I saw a bunch of blooming wisteria back that way.” She points. “I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Oh.” I’m stunned. I can’t remember the last time Star has told me something that didn’t somehow deflect back to herself.

  “Maybe you could bring some back for me? And photograph me with it in my hair?”

  Ah. There it is.

  She gives Santiago a smile, one of her good smiles. “You think purple would look good in my hair?”

  It’s a waste of time for her to ask. Everything looks good in her hair. But Santiago gives her a weird look and grunts something that sounds affirmative.

  “Sure, Star,” I say.

  “Great! Santiago, if you want to come to see the shoot too, you should!” And then she walks away, her hair a sun glare in this light.

  “What the hell is a wisteria?” Santiago asks me.

  “If you were civilized, you would know.” I slide my bag over my shoulder.

  “Well, you can’t leave now.”

  I pu
t my hands on my hips. “And why not? We’re not starting for another two hours!”

  “Some people get in early.”

  I scoff. I mean, it is true that every now and then we get the enthusiastic fan who’s convinced they need to get ahead of the crowds, but we’re a whole 120 minutes away! Surely he can handle those himself.

  Santiago scowls at me. “Andro’s not paying you to wander around in nature and shit.”

  I feel so angry. I know it’s irrational, but it’s wisteria. There is almost nothing in this world that smells better than wisteria. It’s okay, I tell myself. You can wait a couple of hours for this. So I sit down, but not without saying, “You are such an asshole.”

  “Likewise, Judas.” He’s got the smirkiest smirk on his face. Honest to God, I have to sit on my hands so they don’t reach out and strangle him.

  * * *

  I refuse to even look at Santiago while we wait, much less speak to him. I wasn’t sure things could be more silent and weird between us, but they are, and the worst part is it stretches on, pulling us into its tide. Well, that’s what it feels like for me, anyway. Santiago looks right at home while silent and broody. He should be a model for some clothing company that sells to grumpy bunnies.

  “Luna.”

  Gosh. I’m so bored, I’m actually hallucinating. Or halluci-hearing. Whatever that word is. But then it comes again, louder. “Luna!”

  “Samuel!” I stand, barely noticing that I’ve done it so abruptly, my chair’s fallen over.

  “My beautiful full Moon.” He says this very suggestively, gazing up and down at me so fast, probably anyone else would miss it.

  “Fucking pervert.” Except Santiago, of course, who mumbles this under his breath so only I hear it.

  Before I can give Santiago a scathing look or a violent smack on the head, Samuel is here, throwing his arms around me, picking me up even.

  “Stop!” I scream when he starts twirling me around. But he keeps going, until I feel like my brain is diving down my body, making a break for it. “Samuel, please.”

  “Put her down.” A mean, gruff voice stops both me and Samuel in our tracks. I glance over, and yep, there’s Santiago, arms crossed, looking exactly the way I imagine a great white shark does before it rips off the skull of a seal.

  “You must be Santiago,” Samuel says, not at all flustered as he puts me down. He gives Santiago a smile, a really good smile, and then a wink. A wink!

  “Lord,” I mutter. “Here we go.”

  “Moon told me how ripped you are,” he says, surveying Santiago’s massive arms and pecs and everything else. “How often do you lift, man? Those are something else.”

  Santiago looks slightly taken aback. I don’t know if it’s due to Samuel telling him about my fixation with his physique or Samuel’s shameless flirting.

  “Don’t talk to him,” I say to Samuel, pulling his arm back. “Just—what the heck are you doing here?”

  “Thought I’d surprise you,” he responds. “I missed your pretty smile. And the team is practicing right by the city all week. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

  I roll my eyes at Samuel. He can’t help but flirt with anyone warm-blooded. Come to think of it, though, he probably would very much flirt with a zombie or a vampire, too.

  “Let me take you to lunch?” he asks.

  “She can’t,” Santiago grumbles. “She’s working.”

  “Santiago! What the hell!”

  “You can’t afford to slack off. Not in the woods, not out with assholes. I’m not going to keep covering for you.” He’s so mean with his tone. It’s like I’m a three-year-old.

  “Go grab me something,” I tell Samuel. “Bring it here and we’ll catch up.”

  Before Santiago starts complaining, I shoot him a glare. “If you can read your freaking peppercorn bible there, I can have a guest.”

  “Whatever. Just make sure he doesn’t stay long. We have a full house today.”

  I scoff. “You are such a…” And then I see Andro approaching. Santiago does too, and now he gives me an amused look.

  “Such a what, Moon?”

  “Such an understanding and caring person.” I make my smile saccharine. When Andro passes, I lower my voice. “On opposite day.”

  “Really?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “That’s all you got?”

  “No, of course not, you—you big hobgoblin!”

  Santiago looks like he’s trying not to laugh. So hard. I’m hit with a wave of thrill until I’m nudged in the shoulder.

  “Moon.”

  “What’s up?” I glance over while thinking, Shit, I literally forgot Samuel was here.

  Meanwhile, Samuel’s smiling, looking between me and Santiago like he’s got a secret or something. Finally he claps his hands together and says, “Red curry good? There’s a Thai place down the street.”

  “Oh, yes please,” I say. When I reach for my purse, Samuel waves me off.

  “I got this, beautiful.” Samuel gives me that devastating grin of his and walks away.

  As soon as he’s out of earshot, I turn to Santiago and hiss, “What in the heckle is the matter with you?”

  “Heckle,” he responds. “Did you seriously say that?”

  “Stop changing the subject.”

  “Remind me of it again. The subject.”

  I’m exhausted with him already and it’s still technically morning. I take a breath and unclench my jaw and fists. “Look. I know why you’re so mean to me. But don’t extend that hate to everyone who knows me. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “You think I’m mean?” Santiago frowns, which makes him look so angry, and yes, mean. And then he repeats it. “You think I’m mean?”

  And I know exactly what he’s saying. I sarcastically called him extra-hairy Chupacabra poop before I even knew that he totally is extra-hairy Chupacabra poop. And he’s never going to let it go. Ever.

  I should get used to this feeling of extreme guilt, thanks to my mom, my sister, and the two-thousand-year history of the Catholic Church. But I’m a wimp, and I’m not, not yet, and that’s why my eyes fill with tears. Crap. Why did I have to be blessed with such sensitivity? I will them back in, but naturally, the tears don’t even think to listen.

  “Because I seem to remember…” He stands, getting all high and mighty, and then he sees my face. He looks panicked.

  “It’s not what you think,” I say, my voice high and my words fast. “There’s mascara in my eyes.”

  He’s still staring. I turn away and face the wall, sniffling.

  After a few moments, there’s a tap at my shoulder. I jerk back and my head hits something like a belt buckle. “For peach’s sake,” I say, grabbing my head.

  “Are you okay?”

  It’s Santiago. Of course. It is always Santiago. “Great. Thanks. Go away now.”

  But he doesn’t go away. He pulls my hands from the back of my head and says, “You’re not bleeding.”

  Then he walks around and kneels down so we’re at eye level. “May I?” He’s got a tissue in his hand, which is pretty surprising as it is. And I nod, even without knowing what on earth he’s asking, and then Santiago Philips astonishes me. He brings the Kleenex to my face and dabs at the salty wet along my cheeks.

  I’m frozen, the feel of the tissue so gentle, it tickles. The word “astonish” comes to me again. It truly is the perfect way to describe what’s happening to my cheeks right now. My shoulders, my bones. Every part of me is astonished, the way longtime snow melts with sudden spring.

  “I made you cry,” he says when he’s done. And I guess I’m not astonished enough to keep my mouth shut.

  “Oh, you wish, you banana peel.”

  When I look up at him, he’s got a little smile on his face, one that takes that whole mean edge off him and throws it into the dumpster.

  “Banana peel, huh.”

  I shrug. He’s still smiling. And now I am astonished enough to keep my mouth shut. Because I can’t stop looking at th
at crinkling sparkle in his eyes.

  “Guess that’s an upgrade from hobgoblin.”

  He’s still smiling, so I still don’t have a comeback. My brain is actually mushy thanks to that smile. But I can’t help it. It’s only the second time I’ve ever seen him look anything but murderous.

  Just as that thought crosses my mind, Santiago’s smile turns into a scowl. Looking behind me, he stands and tosses the tissue into my lap. “Your friend’s back.”

  And just like that, Soft Santiago is gone. I already miss him.

  * * *

  “So you’re going to force me to ask,” Samuel says through a mouthful of pad thai. We’re sitting on a bench near the enormous windows of this building, within sight of the merch tables in case Santiago needs me.

  “I’m not making you do anything,” I say. “In fact, feel free to not pry into my life at all.”

  He ignores me. “You know he wants you. You gotta know that, right?”

  I almost snort out a spoonful of rice. “You mean Santiago? The guy who regularly wants to kill me? Who thinks I couldn’t be more annoying if I tried?”

  “You annoy him because he wants you.” Samuel leans back and sips his Pepsi. “Man, and here I thought coming here would mean you and I would…” And then he makes a rude gesture with his fingers.

  “Really? That’s why you came? Because you thought I’d give that to you?”

  He shrugs. “I wanted to see you. You can’t blame a guy for shooting.”

  Ugh. Boys. “First of all, Santiago has no bearing on my love life. Second, you and I”—now I make the gesture—“were never gonna anyway.”

  “Not even a possibility, huh?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You’re wrong about two things.” Samuel is finished gobbling his food down and leans back in his chair. “I would’ve had a shot, if it weren’t for him. Because I can tell how lonely you are.”

  I scoff. “What does that even mean?”

  “But you want him back. That’s what’s in my way.”