His serenity is visibly disrupted when I plate our pizza slices and reach for the honey. “Just one bite,” I say. He nods with grave solemnity.
We sit, and he closes his eyes as he picks up the pizza, and then he bites. His face is expressionless as he chews and swallows, and then his eyes light up. “No fucking way,” he says, standing and pointing at the honey. “No fucking way that’s the most delicious pizza I’ve had in my life.”
I couldn’t stop my gleeful, gloating laughter if I tried. “I told you! I told you!”
“You did,” he says, grabbing the honey jar.
“Don’t go overboard,” I say. “I learned that lesson early on. There’s a very specific honey-to-pizza ratio we’re aiming for.”
“Is this okay?” he asks, drizzling the honey on in half-inch lines.
“Yeah. Perfect.” And I grab the jar and do the same to mine.
And we talk and talk. I tell him about the wild history of weeds, and he tells me about the difference between sweated, sautéed, and caramelized onions. We both talk about all the ways high school sucked and what it’s like to have a sibling infinitely more beloved for all the most shallow, superficial reasons.
“Once,” Santiago says, “this girl spent two hours talking to me about her mom’s Swedish meatballs because she saw I was reading a Julia Child cookbook, and after all that, she slides what I think is her number into my hand, right? And kisses me on the cheek, disappears into the sunset. And when I open the slip of paper, it says, ‘Please have Andro follow me,’ with her handle spelled out. I think it was igotbunshun, if I’m remembering right.”
“No,” I say. “No. Two hours? On Swedish meatballs?”
“You know, I actually got into Andro’s account and blocked her from it.”
“No.”
“I did. Petty as fuck, but…”
“I don’t blame you,” I say. “Once I was out with Star and Shauna, her hairdresser. We were all in Shauna’s convertible, top down, cruising after Star had her roots bleached. Shauna is gorgeous too, by the way, and blond, like Star. They honestly look more like sisters than Star and I ever will.” I take a breath. “So there was this old lady selling roses on the street, right? And I saw her approach this guy in his Lincoln next to us, and then he saw Star. It’s always the same when they see her, you know? The short circuit. The complete failing of the brains. And he called the old lady over, and bought flowers, and pointed to our car. And she came over and handed Shauna and Star a bouquet each.”
Santiago swallows. “None for you?”
I shake my head and laugh. “Not even that old lady saw me. I mean, growing up around Star, it’s… easy to get used to not being noticed. But that was the day I realized for sure that I was invisible.”
“Like hell you’re invisible.” Grumpy Santiago is back.
“But—”
“Stop. Stop judging yourself based on how jerks react to your sister.”
“But you just were saying, because of Andro, that you understood—”
“I mean, yeah, I get it. But… you’re not invisible, Moon. People look at you when you walk into a room. That’s… not the definition of a weed.” I try to interject, but he doesn’t let me. “And besides your beauty, you’re fucking talented as shit—photography, earth art, even freaking divination. I mean, who the hell else can read the future in twigs and rivers and shit?”
“Tía does,” I say. My cheeks are on fire right about now, though, even as I say it. “Thanks.” And then something clicks in me as I look around. “Wait a second. Where is my camera?”
46. In Which the Star Eclipses the Moon
I RUSH TO my bedside, but my camera bag isn’t even there. “Shit.” Santiago helps me rummage through the boxes. We’re looking behind the merch boxes when Belle walks in. “Hey. Are y’all doing inventory? Because I’m missing a box of the Corally Coral Brixsticks.”
“I’m looking for my camera,” I say, the urgency making my voice a little more high-pitched than I like. Lord. I hate looking and sounding weak.
Belle gives me a weird look. “Oh.”
“Oh what? Have you seen it?”
Belle’s furiously going through her phone. And then stops. “Was it a Nikon?”
“Yes,” I respond. “And what do you mean, ‘was’?”
Belle turns her phone so Santiago and I can see the screen. And there’s Star’s feed. “What the…” I say, pulling the phone out of her hand.
Star has a new series up, something called Destroying the Root of Evil. And in the photos, there’s—oh God, no. There’s a picture of her taking a freaking sledgehammer to my camera. My. Camera.
“She’s still out at the campfire behind the restaurant.” Before Belle’s even finished talking, I’m tearing out of there. “Moon,” she and Santiago call, and I slow down only to hand Belle her phone back.
“I can’t believe it. I seriously cannot believe this,” I say. “That’s a four-thousand-dollar camera, and Lord, the lens cost more than double that! And she just, what? Got tired of all the gorgeous fucking photos I take of her or something?”
Neither of them responds. I march right up to the restaurant, Belle and Santiago behind me. I make it to the deck. Sure enough, there’s Star, Chamomila the Bitch, and all the beautiful, jerk-faced Fotogram influencers. Arriving at the same time, because of course, is Andro. “What’s going on here?” he asks when he sees my face.
“Why’d you do it, Star?” I say, ignoring him.
“What’d she do?” Andro asks.
“Destroy my camera.” I’m still staring at Star, though, who’s staring hard right back at me. Like I owe her something. Like I owe her a single fucking thing.
“Mom consulted with the father, Moon, and we’re all concerned that you are on a bad path.”
I blink. “And was it their idea to take a sledgehammer to my camera? Is that what the father advised?”
“She got your laptop, too,” Chamomila calls, and my knees weaken. Because, God. Because that means the last images for the Wild Moonflower tarot are lost. My camera and my computer stored my only copies, and I want to kick my own ass for not backing them up somewhere else. But I want to kick Star’s ass way more, because how could I have predicted this?
I’m vaguely aware that Chamomila and Oak and probably a bunch of others are holding their phones up, recording. They’re probably freaking livestreaming, the fuckers. Anything for clicks.
“That was Mom’s idea.” Star’s hands are clasped like she’s in prayer. She tosses her hair and gives me an angelic smile. Something tells me she’s more than slightly aware of the cameras too.
“Well, that makes sense that it was Mom’s idea, I guess.” I’m ready to go. All of a sudden I don’t want to be the subject of some trending hashtag.
“And why’s that?” Star’s got her hand on her hip. Another hair toss. And I’m just so, so, so, so done with all the fakery. That’s the only explanation for what comes out of my mouth next.
“Because when I heard from her yesterday, she said she’d cut me with her kitchen knives. Again.”
Star’s eyes widen, and then she starts and stops a sentence about eight times. Finally she settles on: “Thou shalt not lie.”
And I laugh. Because honestly? “Because it’s only okay when you and Mom get to do it, right?” I turn to go, but then I stop. Turn around. Looking at my angel sister, I gesture around. “None of this is what Mary would do. You realize that, right?” I can tell she doesn’t. So I end with the kicker. “You and Mom are exactly alike. Religion is whatever you want it to be that day.”
But Star isn’t done yet. As I walk back around the restaurant, Santiago and Belle still with me, she comes running. “Santiago,” she calls. “She’s not who you think she is.”
I scoff. “Go back to your people, Star.”
“Has she told you her nickname? The Grand Canyon?” Star laughs as I freeze. It’s like knives are being thrown at me all over again, but this time they hit my arms, legs, be
lly, everything, everything all at once. And Star keeps going. “Did you know she slept with my boyfriend just because she was jealous of me?”
I turn around. “Did you look through my pictures before you smashed my camera, Star? Because there’s one in particular you might’ve seen. One with you and Belle Brix, if I’m remembering it correctly.”
Star’s face is ashen green. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How could you forget? It was so… What’s the word I’m looking for? Lovely. It was just lovely.”
“Shut up, Moon,” Star yells. I’ve never seen her this out of control before. “Shut up, Grand Canyon.”
“Just thought you should know that’s not the only copy of that photo. Would be a pity if it were, oh, I don’t know. Leaked?”
“Moon.” Belle is holding my arm with tears in her eyes. “Don’t.”
That slaps me out of it. “I’m sorry,” I say to her low. “I would never.” And I turn to Star. “Did you know the weirdest thing about that photo, though? Star? Behind you. You don’t even know it, but behind you was a cloud of moths. Hawk moths.” I pause. “They were beautiful. You know what? I’ll send you a copy, how’s that?” I pull the photo up on my phone. Yeah, I saved it there from my camera. Because when you’ve been the ugly, worthless sister for as long as I have, it really helps to have the reminder that you are not the only one who’s got La Raíz. And I send it right to Star. “There! Now you can admire it yourself!”
“Liar! You’re a freaking, heathen liar! Santiago,” Star says, fuming. “You should check her Fotogram account. See who she follows. See her tagged pictures. She’s not who you think she is.”
Santiago gives her a hard look for so long that Star shrinks back.
“Star,” I say. “Fuck off.”
“Check her account!” Star repeats.
Finally I get away. But only because I run.
“Moon,” Santiago calls. He’s jogging too. To match my mood, the sky is filling up with swirling gray clouds. Way in the distance, there’s the spread of lightning, a rumble of thunder. Perfect.
“I can’t believe she went there. I can’t believe she called me Grand Canyon.” I want to cry, but I am too furious. I want to scream, but that isn’t working out either. Santiago’s phone does its text thing, but I ignore it. “I thought she knew, you know, how much that destroyed me. How kids at school taunted me with that for so long.” My breath is bananas. So I take a few calming ones and turn to face Santiago.
But Santiago isn’t here. I mean, he is there but he’s also not, staring at his phone with the oddest expression on his face. Almost like he’s been gut-punched but trying to hide it as hard as he can.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
And in response, he turns his phone to me. There, a text from Star. A photo of me and Andro from lunch the other day, on the day of the red feathers. We’re at the table and we’re laughing. From that angle, it looks like he’s holding my hands even though he never did. That moment was innocuous. But this photo, it does look romantic. It looks like we’re on a date. Still, it’s not like we’re making out or something. Everything can be explained, you know? There’s no reason for him to believe this indicates anything deserving of the rage currently emanating from him right now.
“She says you’ve had a crush on him for years.” He’s staring. The gut-punch in his expression is gone. Now everything is hard, cold, just like when we first met. I feel like he’s already gone, left from my life. My heart and head and everything hurt.
“I don’t like Andro like that anymore.”
“Only because he wasn’t into you, though, right?” Santiago points at the photo. “Or at least you led me to believe.”
“Andro and I had lunch because he wanted to ask about the Moonflower decks, Santiago. About selling them. That’s it.”
“Then what is so fucking funny?” Santiago’s voice is loud. It kind of scares me. There’s a fine mist of rain all around. I think both of us barely feel it.
“We’re friends, Santiago. Barely that, even.”
Santiago’s at his phone again, and this time he’s pulling up Fotogram. “What are you…,” I begin, but stop when he jumps to my account. I haven’t checked everything the last two days. I must have thousands more followers now. But Santiago’s not interested in who’s following me. He clicks on the only person I follow.
Andro Philips.
And then Santiago’s eyes are on me, and Lord, the look he’s giving me is half killing me and half making me want to punch him in the face. His face that’s saying, I should’ve known.
He won’t hear me. Because all he wants to hear is Star. Story of my freaking life.
“Can you explain this?” he’s saying in his hard, mean voice, and I’m shaking my head. There are tears on my cheeks, but they probably look like raindrops.
“It doesn’t matter what I say, does it?” I respond. “You’re choosing Star. You’re choosing to let her manipulate you.”
“Maybe it’s you who’s been manipulating me, Moon. This whole time. Maybe when I first met you, that was the real you. The one who said I was just a loser—”
“Please don’t say that,” I whisper. And he doesn’t. Sure, he grinds his teeth and stomps away. But at least he doesn’t finish that sentence.
* * *
Once, on one of my dad’s digs, his team uncovered a cave that hadn’t been opened in something like eleven thousand years. They finished the work right at lunchtime, so everyone took their breaks then. Everyone except Dad. He had to know right away what was inside that cavern. That’s my dad for you… so excited about old things. Wonder where I get it from.
The Columbian mammoth stood up to fifteen feet tall. Its bones were so big, Dad said he couldn’t make out what he was looking at for a good five minutes. It amazed him, he said, how much this thing still had a presence. Even though it’d been gone for so long, it was like its spirit was still there.
The best part, he told me, was what he remembered right after that. He was the first to enter this cave in eleven thousand years. In all that time, this mammoth had been alone, sleeping peacefully deep inside the arms of the earth. And now, all the way here in the Holocene, it had its first visitor, my dad, William Fuentez.
Dad said it was the most sacred moment of his life. He felt like he could speak to all the ghosts inside the cave. He said he knew I’d get it and I did. I felt the same thing when I wandered in the thickest part of the most wild forests. Like trees and moss and vines and bone, like for a few seconds, we all could speak the same language.
Right now I want that more than anything. I want to speak the language of ghosts so I can cry to my dad. But as I grab my mirror stone and reach and reach and reach into the land of the dead, I feel nothing. There’s nothing but a rock in my hand.
How many times does it seem like what I need the most is never there? The answer is too many. Way too damn many.
47. Running Away like the Swirling, Shimmery Milky Way
MOM’S CUT OFF my cell phone service. I don’t even blink when I realize it. I just throw my phone in my bag and pack up. They’re not back from the restaurant yet, but someone could show up at any minute. I have to hurry.
Seriously, what the hell did people do before cell phones? I can’t even pull up my web browser to google the answer.
I walk to the nearest intersection and follow the restaurant lights. It’s still sprinkling, but both the lightning veining across the sky and the thunder that follows seem to be getting closer.
There’s an Applebee’s, a Friday’s, a Taco Bell. That last one makes my heart hurt a little. Memories wash over me, colder and sharper than this rain. Me and Star, seeing who can eat the most tacos in five minutes. Me and Star, talking about all the ways we could help Mom be less Mom over our cinnamon twists and oddly good Taco Bell coffee. I wonder if I’ll ever have that with her, or anyone, again. That messy intimacy. That casual closeness. That quilt of constellations.
&n
bsp; I know they might look for me in these restaurants, so when I see a bus, I chase it down. When I walk up, the driver is rolling his eyes as he pulls to a stop.
“Can you tell me when we reach somewhere with a hotel? A cheap one.” He grunts as I put my dollars in the little machine and pick up the quarters that bang out. I grab a window seat and count water droplets running down the glass until the engine revs up. When the bus pulls back onto the road, that’s when I let out a deep, big exhale. And with it? All my tears. The ones for Santiago, who I still can’t believe, but even with all that, he’s got my heart.
For Star, my best friend, whose hands are still shattered with my past and my future.
And I cry for my mother. Not really for her, but what could never be. A warm woman, who smiled for real at me. Who cooked for us and could leave the house, who had it in her to forgive me.
And then my father. By the time I get to him, I feel like I should be out of tears, but it’s like I’ve had a refill or something. My eyes are the ocean. My face is the land. My cheeks, filled with rivers and puddles and ponds. Why does the world gotta hurt so much? How much did my dad hurt that he couldn’t take a second more of life? My daddy, my daddy, my daddy, my daddy. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
When I saw how Mom got with Star’s money, I opened my own bank account. Inside, my life savings of every cash birthday and Christmas gift along with proceeds from the photos I’d sometimes sell online. And thank God I had that foresight, because I don’t know what I’d do right now, in front of this hotel clerk who is literally in the middle of straightening her hair. “Sign there,” she tells me as the smell of burned hair thickens around us.
The hotel looks like many, many murders have been committed here, so when I get into the room, I check the bathroom, the shower, and the tiny closet for serial killers. Once I give myself the all clear, I push a dresser in front of the door, turn and click on the TV. And, of course. The first channel to come through is the Food freaking Network. But I leave it on, even as I eat my sad, plain, cold bagel for dinner.
How Moon Fuentez Fell in Love with the Universe Page 24