37. La Raíz Strikes Again (Also, Jealousy Becomes an Emerald Mask and Covers My Face for Nearly a Whole Day)
“EXPLAIN THIS CURSE to me some more,” Santiago says after dinner. (Yes, the tavuk kebabi was good. In fact, it’s better than mozzarella sticks, chocolate lava cake, and hot Cheetos all together, which is a high, high compliment in my book, but Santiago very much disagreed.)
Santiago continues. “I’ve been thinking about it and I can’t wrap my head around it. Stuff like that”—he points outside—“happens to you regularly? For real?”
“Yes.” I groan. I ate too much, so I unbutton the top of my jeans. Class act, I know.
Santiago’s drying his precious skillets as he turns to face me. “But… how? How is it even possible?”
“I don’t know. I wish I knew, though, because maybe then I could predict it. And stop it, you know?”
“Why would you want to stop it?” Santiago sits across from me. “Why would you ever want to stop something like that?”
I close my eyes for a few moments, and when I open them again, Santiago is closer, like I’m about to share something wild and mystical with him. And maybe I am. “La Raíz first comes when a girl has sex for the first time.”
“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”
“Well, it is a bad thing, isn’t it? It’s a punishment for becoming impure!”
Santiago looks at me like I’ve just grown antlers. “Look, I know your sister and family are really religious. But sex isn’t inherently bad. This…” He points out the window again. “How could being visited by dragonflies once in a while be a punishment?”
I shake my head. I don’t know what to say.
“It’s one of the most lovely and… amazing… and wild…” He drifts off. I’ve never seen him so full of conversation. Santiago is now a nebula of words. A nebula-dictionary, letters swirling around him like shimmering stardust. He’s always been beautiful, but right now I can’t take my eyes away. Can hardly take a breath, even. “This isn’t a curse, Moon. Trust me. It’s not.”
And that’s what I think about when I get in bed. What if my whole life, Mom has been wrong? About the curse, about Eve, about everything.
Maybe sex isn’t inherently bad.
Maybe when Eve ate the forbidden fruit, she became something different in a good way. A woman capable of taking risks and becoming free.
Maybe La Raíz isn’t a curse at all. Maybe what’s in my bloodline is actually magic. Maybe along the way someone just mistook magic for sin, and that misunderstanding, that’s what’s been passed on and on, from the first woman down, down, down to me, Moon Fuentez. The girl who was once the ugly twin and now, now I don’t know what I am anymore. All I know is I’m like Eve. I’m changing at every moment. Becoming something entirely different, all in a good way, I think. I hope.
* * *
Andro’s ordered a fancy table and setup for me and my readings. It’s lovely, covered in tasseled fabrics in the colors of flowers—warm paintbrush and echinacea alongside iced-lavender cosmos. “You like it?” he asks, grinning. “I told the venue about your aesthetic, and they ran with it.”
“It’s gorgeous,” I respond. “Did they mention… the cost?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Andro says. Behind me is a snort.
I turn, and there’s Santiago with a couple of our merch boxes balanced in his arms.
“Oh! I didn’t realize you were already unloading.” I rush up, but he shakes his head.
“You’re busy today.”
“Oh, please. It’s not starting for another hour.”
“Actually, I need you at the table in fifteen, if that’s good, Moon?” Andro says, causing Santiago to give me a victorious smirk.
“Yeah,” I respond. I jog to the cart and pick up a box. As soon as I’m upright, Santiago is there, pulling it from my hands. I grab another box, but before I’m halfway to the merch table, he huffs, marches over, and—you guessed it—steals the merch away. “I said you don’t have to,” he grunts, not kindly.
My skin and muscles are all tense and I roll my eyes, going for another box. When Santiago comes back, I zigzag like I’m being attacked by a shark. “Stop it, okay? I can help you a little before I start.”
“Why are you running like that?”
“Because you’re coming at me like a wild animal! See? Look at you! You’re circling me like a shark! With your long legs and your… your sharp teeth!”
“Moon.”
“Just stop it, okay? I can help if I want!”
“Moon, you only zigzag from alligators. Not sharks.”
“Oh, that’s what you say now! Because you’re trying to pin your bad behavior on alligators!”
He thinks he’s sneaky, trying to distract me with chitchat so he can reach in when I’m least expecting it. I run the other way.
“When’s the last time you saw a shark run, huh?” he asks.
“That’s exactly what you shark sympathizers want us to think! But I’m onto you!”
By the time he gets to me again, I’m breathing heavy. This box must be the one with literal bricks in it. He takes it from me, places it on the ground, and then does something astonishing. He wraps his arms around me. It takes a total of eight seconds to get over the shock, and then I slide my arms around his waist, tight.
“I get annoyed when I see my brother flirting with you,” he says into my hair, and just like that I’m in shock again. This time it takes me twenty whole seconds to recover.
“Andro definitely wasn’t flirting with me,” I finally say.
“Right.” My chest is squished up against the top of his stomach, and I can feel his voice all grumbly there.
I snort and take a step back, breaking up the hug a little. But I keep a hand on his waist, and he still has an arm draped on my shoulder. All this touch makes me want to jump, or shiver, or do something unspeakable that would undoubtedly freak and gross Santiago out. “You said he has a girlfriend. So who cares if he flirts or not? It’s not like I have a chance anyway.”
I meant it light, like a joke. Like, ha ha ha, no one ever likes me. But as I’m saying it, I know, I know for some reason that it’s the exact wrong thing to say. Santiago’s face confirms this. It grows taut, and he drops his arm, which just reached my lower back.
“What? What is it now?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Moon!” Andro is gesturing wildly for me to go to my fabric table.
“Go,” Santiago says. When I don’t leave right away, he repeats it much more sharply, like he’s now a rose, covered in spines of thorns. “Go, Moon.”
So I go.
* * *
Jeez Louise, I should’ve charged one hundred dollars a reading. Because the line. The line is so long, I keep fantasizing about lassoing it up and dragging myself to something warm and soft and very far away, like my bed, or a hammock, or the planet Mercury.
I was nervous at first, but now I feel… kind of numb. The cards are all starting to look the same. And if one more person asks me to pose for a selfie, I’m going to unhinge my jaw and swallow this entire event whole. “Only fifteen more minutes,” I keep telling myself.
A teen sits down, with her mom, I’m assuming. “I don’t know if you remember me,” she says. “I’m Maritza Reyno?”
“Oh my gosh!” I say. “Maritza as in Marilunar?” Marilunar was one of my first followers, and her feed is really cool. She knits moon-shapes into delicate tapestries people probably spend fortunes on to hang on their walls.
Maritza beams and laughs. “I can’t believe you remember my handle. Mami, she knows my handle.” Her mom nods and smiles. “Mom’s really excited because you read things that look like nature. She said that’s how she was taught to read, by looking in the woods.”
“Oh my gosh!” I say. I’m so excited, I barely stop myself from jumping up. “That’s how I learned! That’s how my tía taught me!”
They talk animatedly in Spanish for
a few minutes, and a couple of girls behind them start rolling their eyes. “Can’t believe we’re behind these freaking Mexicans,” one comments. The other cackles. I glare at them, but they don’t even notice me.
“Can we have a reading for the two of us?” Maritza asks.
“Yes, yes, of course. I’ve never done a joint one before, but I’ll try. Sit down, okay?”
I pull the cards: the Sun, the Ten of Wands, the Three of Swords. Everything around me slows and pours into this one moment: me, these cards, these people. And I feel connected. I don’t know why, maybe because they already understand how to read twigs and light and leaves. But this reading, right in front of me, it brings me to some holy space. The sunlight is dappled and turning orange on my arms, hands, the cards. Everything feels alive, you know? The grass under my bare feet, almost blue in color. The wind, blowing the little baby hairs escaping my ponytail around. The cards, each one full of more than what it is. And that’s when the first red feather arrives.
The fluff of crimson falls twirling, like a dancer, right onto the cards. And I know, down to the constellations of my cells, that something’s happening. So I look up.
Little red swirls dot the sky, getting closer, closer. All wispy-edged and ruby in color. All feathers, none bigger than my pinkie finger. All fuzzy like snow clouds.
“Mira,” Maritza’s mom says slowly, her voice a whisper of wonder.
And then they both reach up, and we’re covered… we’re all covered in the speckled fluff of red.
“Did you do this?” Maritza asks, holding her hands up, smiling. A feather lands in each one.
“No,” I say, but she and her mom start thanking me. Like I completed the reading, like this had anything to do with my will. And with tears in their eyes, they leave, and then there are those snotty girls behind them, each taking red-feathered photos.
“Oh, look, we’re up,” one says.
“Sorry, no,” I respond. “I’m closed.”
“What?” One girl puts her hand on her hip. “But that’s not fair. You’re supposed to be open for another seven minutes.”
“Sorry, I am under a contractual agreement that I can’t read for racists,” I say, and God, it feels good.
Especially when one makes a face and says, “My father will hear about this.”
And then I get to say, “Okay, settler! Bet your father is a bigot too!”
And I slide my cards in the pack and run toward the merch table, stopping cold when I see Santiago, arms crossed, a pleasant expression on his face as he talks to a girl. A really pretty, really thin girl, and she’s typing in her phone in a way that makes me think—oh God—now he’s reaching for his phone. They’re exchanging numbers. They’re texting already, right now, as they stand in front of each other. They’re probably typing messages like, Fall wedding? And, I’ve only ever wanted two kids but I can be persuaded to have 3.5.
She’s touching his arm, his bicep, the place where my head fits absolutely perfectly. And then she places her hand right at his jaw, like she wants to kiss him.
But I guess Santiago has Spidey senses when it comes to me watching him with a girl. Because he turns and our eyes are locked and his mouth drops open, brows furrowed. He looks guilty. And there’s no reason to be. I’m not his girlfriend. I’m barely even a friend. I’m just Moon Fuentez, the ugly twin, the one with the jiggly thighs and belly, the girl he can barely manage to not hate all the time. So when Andro approaches and says, “You taking a break, Moon? Perfect. Let’s grab some lunch.”
With a great deal of fake enthusiasm, I say yes.
* * *
I wondered, but now there’s confirmation. I no longer am attracted to Andro. Andro Philips, the guy who I thought was the most beautiful human on the planet. All the way up until I met his jackass of a brother.
“So here’s the thing, Moon,” he says. “When you need a break, let me know, or let someone know, and we’ll arrange it. If you leave an event early—even a little early—we get a lot of complaints.”
“Sorry,” I say, after swallowing a huge bite of sandwich. It’s got slices of fresh mozzarella, heirloom tomatoes, and basil, and there’s a little dish of balsamic reduction to dip it in. I have no idea what balsamic reduction is, but it’s tangy and sweet, and I wish Santiago were here, because he’d explain everything to me and maybe even promise to teach me how to re-create it. Then again, he’s probably planning his wedding to Willowy Fairy Girl, so yeah. Good thing he’s not here.
“No worries. I know you’re just getting the hang of this. Anyway, now that I got the business talk out of the way…” He pulls out his phone. “Talk to me, Moon. How in the hell did you pull this off?”
On his screen, there’s a photo of me looking up and smiling, my hands lazily spread on tarot cards, feathers falling all around me like rain, the cloth and fabrics and my hair rippling like light on water. It doesn’t look real. It shouldn’t be real, really, but here we are.
I swallow again and shake my head. “I didn’t do it.” Technically the truth. “It just… happened.”
“Just happened? Are you kidding? You’re not, are you?”
I shake my head, and then Andro laughs with delight. He flicks his phone screen some, and then he shows it to me again. “It’s the top Fotogram story of the day.”
“What?” I say. “What?” Not even Star has been at the top before. She got second, once, when she replaced her silver purity ring with a Cartier engagement ring, but this, this, this. I can’t even find the words. Except: “Holy shit.”
“Look, your following has jumped to almost eighty thousand. In a single day! That’s one of the biggest in such a short time in Fotogram history.”
“Holy shit.” And not just, Holy shit, that’s a very large number. But also, Holy shit, there’s no way Mom doesn’t know by now. Or, if not now, then she will know very, very soon. Lord, I need a distraction. I’m already biting my lip hard enough to taste blood.
But then Andro distracts me. “Startles,” really, is the word, because he leans forward, and for a moment of horror, I think he’s going to wrap his hands around mine. I let out an exhale when he leaves his hands on the table, near mine but not quite touching. He gives me a sly smile, like we’re sharing deep, sneaky secrets. “I want you to become our headliner, Moon.”
“You what now?”
“I want you to headline the rest of the tour. There’s only four stops left. And I’ve never seen potential like this before. You could have a couple of million followers by the time we’re done. Ads, endorsements. Your own income.”
“Just like Star,” I murmur. Something I never, ever thought I’d say about myself.
“You’ll be front and center as far as ads, posts, merch.”
“I don’t have any merch.”
“Sure you do. Finish up the Wild Moonflower tarot. We’ll have them expediated to our next stop.”
I wince. “You’re assuming I’ll actually sell them.”
“Moon.” This time he does let his fingers graze my hand. “You will sell them. I already had people asking where the tarot cards were today.”
I gulp. “They’re kind of pricey unless you do a bulk order.”
“I want to order a thousand.”
I drop my fork. It clatters on my plate, but I don’t tear my eyes from Andro’s face. “Did you say one thousand ?”
“Yup.”
“Oh.” Everything feels really weird. Like, I don’t even know words anymore. The things on my plate don’t look like food. They’re now a collection of colors. The windows are little portals into new universes of light. It’s like I’ve never even seen the outdoors before. The light, the blue of the sky, the clouds. The silverware, the flecks of pepper on this cheese, the pink of my fingernails. Everything. Everything is so new, I feel like I’m seeing it for the first time. It takes me almost a minute to reground myself.
Because an order like that would pay for all four years of university housing. And then some.
&
nbsp; Because an order like that would mean I’d finally be free from Mom and Star. All thanks to my art. All thanks to me.
“So what do you say?” Andro smiles.
And then the ball drops.
I think of how much I hated everything today. The lines, the snarky comments from racist girls, the fact that I couldn’t even read properly until I felt emotionally connected to a querent.
And then Santiago, with the beautiful, willowy girl, texting their wedding colors to each other. Baby names. Hamptons vacation-home layouts.
I don’t have it in me to be an influencer. I can’t. I’m too emotional, too all over the place, too jealous of girls talking to Santiago, too distracted to balance dozens of people trying to talk to me at the same time. Lord, I have a throbbing headache right now, and that’s from one day of this. If I were to headline the rest of the tour, I’d be comatose by the end of it.
And not to mention what Mom would say. I can hear it now: You’re so greedy, you had to take, take, take everything: sex, sin, and now your sister’s spotlight? Then I’m sure she’d end it with some creative name-calling, involving the words “slut” and “whore” and “very bad daughter whom I never deserved.”
And Star, God in heaven. She’d never forgive me.
“I can’t,” I say, pulling my hands back. “I’m sorry, Andro. I’m an introvert. I’m the girl much more comfortable behind the camera, you know?” I frown at my half-finished meal. “I’m not good at that stuff. It makes me anxious and exhausted.”
Andro nods. “Yup, yup. Look, really. I get it. You’re a lot like Santiago, or our mom, even. They need their alone time.”
“Your mom, too?”
“Oh, yeah. Santiago, he’s got his whole quiet personality from her. She’s much better at words and writing, you know.”
Maybe that’s why Santiago gave his number to that girl. He liked her enough to write to her. I mean, he’s never texted me. He couldn’t even manage it when he thought I’d sent him that thirsty boob photo.
Andro’s phone buzzes. “Speaking of Mom.” He laughs and does an impersonation with a high-pitched voice: “Alejandro, where are you? Did you eat lunch? When are you going to get a girlfriend?”
How Moon Fuentez Fell in Love with the Universe Page 18