by Andi Teran
• • •
Ana leaned against the rock at the side of the creek waiting for Dolly to finish drinking. “Why does nothing ever go the way it’s supposed to?” she asked to the dog, frustrated she hadn’t brought her sketchbook or snacks. She waited, paying attention to the time on her watch, hoping Cole had thought of the same thing. After twenty minutes, she decided to forge on. She led Dolly through the creek before joining the path again, traversing steep inclines until there were signs of the sunset up in the distance. They stopped for a moment, just listening, the sound of whooshes and roars up ahead. “That’s where we’re headed, Miss D,” Ana said, rubbing Dolly behind the ears. “We’re going to catch the last of the light in the sky and bring it back with us.”
They walked on until the trees began to thin out, giving way to a grassy hill. The ground underfoot became sparse and sandy, and the roars grew louder up ahead. She wrapped the leash tight around her wrist and the two galloped toward the water in the distance, the sun a dull round spotlight hanging just above the waves.
“Un-freaking-believable,” she said to Dolly, to herself, to the beach down below as they stood at the edge of a small cliff, the ground dropping off and giving way to miles and miles of ocean. They were close to the spot Emmett had taken her to. She led Dolly down the side of the hill, steep in parts and slippery, but they made their way carefully before jumping down into the soft sand. The flatness of the beige beach stretched out on either side of them; there was nothing and no one as far as Ana could see, just choppy waves and the lapping of water in and around the rocky cliffs of the coast. She unleashed Dolly, who then unleashed herself, bounding into the edges of the water before running up and down the beach with incredible speed, her bark announcing the pair’s triumphant arrival. Ana plopped down, removed her shoes, and sank her toes into the sand. She didn’t care that it was cold or that she’d forgotten a scarf. She took deep breaths and watched the waves.
The memories began to roll back, like they hadn’t in weeks. She thought about the concrete building she’d lived in as a child, the one with the shattered windows, and about the lone hand hanging off the edge of the couch, its fingernails chipped red against the floor. She fast-forwarded to her abuela’s kitchen, her onetime home, to the unwrapping of caramel candies, the scent of burned tortillas coated in butter and cinnamon waiting at the end of a school-day afternoon. She instinctively reached behind and scratched the base of her neck. “The mark of them,” she thought to herself.
How much longer could she last in Hadley? What was left in L.A.? Was she always condemned to return?
There were barks followed by a roar in the distance, this time not from the waves but from a dirt bike riding along the ridge. She called Dolly, who refused to budge, transfixed as she was by the buzzing up above, the bike jumping up and over small boulders close to the edge. The bike stopped and the biker stood still for a moment before he kicked it back to life and made his way closer. Ana grabbed Dolly and put the leash back on, watching and waiting as Cole parked the bike before heading down to the shore.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she responded.
She threw her arms around his neck and willed him to hold on to her. He tightened his arms around her waist and kissed her lightly on the neck.
“Don’t let go,” she said.
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
They held on to each other for a moment longer, Dolly barking in circles.
“You’re shaking,” he said. “Come sit closer to the rocks.”
They walked farther in and sat down in the crevice of the cliffs away from the wind; Dolly stretched out at their feet.
“How did it go?”
“I’m not sure, actually. I haven’t seen or heard from Rye. I’m not supposed to see you anymore either. Again.”
“Figured as much.”
He reached over and took her hand.
“I think this is my fault,” Cole said. Everyone else in Hadley was aware of all of his mistakes except for Ana, he thought. She looked at him without seeing his family or his history, and in turn he did the same. “How are we supposed to stop right when we’re getting started?”
“Maybe it’s like you said, or like your buddy Jack typed; maybe there’s beauty in the ending.”
“I’m good at those.”
“Me too.”
He pulled her close. They watched the waves.
“Rye and I used to be friends, good friends,” he said, wanting to tell her everything. “We used to hang out in the forest near the creek. I don’t want you to feel weird about this, because it’s in the past, but I had the biggest crush on her. I used to follow her around all the time, probably too much.”
“No surprise there. It’s one of your most annoying characteristics.”
“Ha. Yeah. So. We were close, like we hung out together every day, went to the movies together, liked the same music . . . You already know she’s the only other person in our school who’s remotely interesting. Anyway, we became close friends—the closest thing to a best friend, I guess—and she tolerated my feelings for her. She also tolerated my trying to kiss her one night, which was terrible and awkward, and then we had this intense talk.”
“About what?”
“Rye never spoke to you about this? I thought you were the new me?”
“We’re relatively new best friends, and I’m still coming to terms with that concept.”
“She’s conflicted, you know? About her sexuality, about a lot of things. It was hard coming out to her parents, but they took it well from what she said.”
“Rye’s not very Hadley,” Ana said with a laugh. “Not that it has anything to do with who she wants to make out with.”
“Nope, but she’s stuck here like the rest of us. I think it affects her differently from how it affects you and me. She’s tough but super fragile too, not that she’d show anyone that side of herself. But she showed me, and then I went and . . . I didn’t mean for what happened to happen. Like I told you, I got drunk at my own party, which was typical last year. One of my friends started bothering me about Rye, pestering if we were doing it, etcetera, and he just wouldn’t shut up. So I told him that it wasn’t like that, that she wasn’t like that. I don’t even remember exactly what I said, but word got around school, as things do around here. I didn’t know how to make them stop.”
“Uh, you tell them they’re being horrible and stand up for your friend. That’s a start.”
“I know,” he said. “But it didn’t work out that way. I wouldn’t have even taken my own apology.”
Ana was quiet.
“I’ve got to go,” she said.
“Now I feel like I’ve messed this up too.”
“You and I are both good at making messes,” she said, kissing him lightly on the lips before taking Dolly’s leash. “But we need to get better about cleaning them up.”
“Do you want to get out of here?” he said. “Like forever?”
“Forever’s a long time,” she said, standing up.
“Where are you going?”
“I need to get home.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was a silent ride to school but for the sound of the stereo. Abbie had been strangely quiet since the night before. When Ana returned from the beach ready to talk, to be open, to do all the things Mrs. Saucedo said she should do to make her situation better, she stepped into the empty kitchen and found a plate of food next to a note that said, “Had to run out, please eat without me.” It had been strange too that Abbie hadn’t returned by bedtime, so Ana set her alarm and tried to stay awake as late as she could. When there was still no Abbie early in the morning, she fixed herself a bowl of cereal and met Manny out in the fields for her chores before returning to find the van idling and waiting to take her to school.
They passed the Moons’ house. Ana saw Rye
’s car in the distance, but Abbie remained focused on the road. Ana thought it strange she hadn’t heard from Rye or that Abbie hadn’t received word from Della. Maybe all turned out well, she hoped, and Rye kept the whole mess of Saturday night a secret. Still, something didn’t feel right and she couldn’t dismiss whatever it was hanging in the air of the front seat. “Clean it up,” she reminded herself as she watched the fog hovering over the trees.
“What are we listening to?” Ana asked.
“Some mixtape I’ve had forever.”
“Who’s the singer?”
“Bonnie Tyler, I think.”
“She sounds emphatic, don’t you think?”
“I need a hero, I’m holding out for a hero ’til the end of the night. . . .”
“I don’t know, wasn’t paying attention, hon.”
“Why doesn’t she just be her own hero? I mean, why is she waiting for some knight on a steed when she could get a steed herself?”
“It’s just a song.”
“I’ve been thinking since, you know, everything that happened on Saturday, that I need to maybe be more open with you and Em—”
“We’re here,” Abbie said, pulling into the school parking lot. “Look, hon, I haven’t known how to tell you this, but things didn’t go well with the Moons yesterday.” She parked the van and turned toward Ana. “I don’t know what was said, but Della isn’t happy with the situation and we need some time for everything to blow over.”
“What do you mean?”
“She wants you two to spend some time apart.”
“But I didn’t do anything. I mean, I probably should have looked in more places to find her, but . . . I don’t know what I did wrong.” She couldn’t hold it in. The tears were there, so she let them come, wiping at her cheeks.
“We’ll talk about it after school, but I need some time to sit down with Della and figure this all out. I’m trying to understand what happened too.”
“But I told you what happened!” Ana said, the tears coming faster, harder. “I’m trying—I’m trying to fix it! What more do you want me to do?”
The bell rang loud and low. There was laughter and rushing around outside the door of the van.
“We’ll talk after school. I’ll see you at The Bracken.”
Ana opened the door and slammed it shut. She walked across the parking lot as she wiped her face, taking deep breaths to calm herself before going inside. She cleaned herself up at her locker and made her way to homeroom, going over what she would say when she saw Rye. When she got to class, Rye’s seat was empty, so she sat down and opened her sketchbook.
“Guess my wish came true.” Ana looked up as Kelsey Weaver slid into the seat in front of her. “Guess Ryan did meet the grave.”
“Why are you calling her that?”
“What? Ryan? It’s just a joke—lighten up.”
“Actually, why don’t you shut it.”
“What did you say?”
“Did I stutter? I told you to shut it.”
Ana wasn’t sure how loud she’d said it, but the entire room went quiet.
“Girls, is there a problem?” Ms. Gregg asked, concerned. “Ana?”
“No, ma’am, not unless you call small-minded ignorance and a deploringly awful sense of humor a problem.”
The bell rang for first period. Ana continued sketching in her notebook and watching the door for Cole, but he never arrived. She drifted in and out of her classes. At lunch, there was still no sign of Rye or Cole. She waved to Brady in the cafeteria at his new lunch table and made her way to the art studio.
“Do you have a makeup assignment, Miss Cortez?” Mrs. Darnell peered at Ana from behind a canvas on an easel.
“No, I was just hoping to come in early to work on my midterm project. May I?”
“By all means.”
Ana went to her assigned drawer and pulled out the large piece of drawing paper nearly filled with color. The assignment had been what Mrs. Darnell called a “free creation” piece. The theme, which was still written on the chalkboard, was WHERE I COME FROM.
Ana set the paper down on the table, took out her colored pencils, and got to work. She pressed the colors in one by one, working fast as she shaded and rounded the edges, softening the people and place. She was so lost in the work she didn’t notice Mrs. Darnell standing over her.
“May I have a look?”
Ana leaned back, not saying anything.
Mrs. Darnell’s eyes roamed over the piece, taking in a woman in a floral dress floating in a creek, her braids and fingernails and toes tethered to the shore as if held there by veins, an open hole where her stomach should be, the water flowing pink. There were trees casting dark shadows, music lyrics written in cursive lettering floating up and out of her into the breeze.
“Who is the woman?”
“My abuela . . . my grandma.”
“Her face is very beautiful. Can you tell me more about it?”
Ana swallowed and cleared her throat. “She’s resting, in the river, alone, but the water is cleansing her.”
“And the lyrics? They’re in Spanish?”
“Yes, in English they say, ‘Take me to the river, cover me with your shawl, because I’m dying of cold.’”
“What’s the symbolism behind all of the black doves watching from the trees?”
“They represent different elements . . . my mother and father, other people from where I grew up.” She sat up and wiped her face and nose.
“It’s just extraordinary, Ana, absolutely stunning. I know you’re not entirely finished, but you should feel very proud of this work, very proud of sticking to what flows from you.”
The bell rang. Mrs. Darnell placed her hand on Ana’s shoulder and walked back to the front of the classroom. She continued working, oblivious to the other students coming in until a book slammed down on the table.
“I’m so relieved to see you,” Ana said, careful not to push. “I . . . I hope you’re feeling better.”
“I’m grounded until graduation, and I’m not allowed to talk to you, so . . .”
“Abbie told me. That’s not going to stop me from being concerned about you, though.”
“What’s the point when I know you’d rather hang out with Cole anyway?” Rye sat down and rummaged through her bag.
“That’s not true and you know it. Yes, we’re interested in each other, but he’s interested in you too. I know he wants to make things right and go back to being friends.”
“What, did he tell you all about his sappy apologies? Did he lure you in with his bad-boy-gone-good lies? Has he been cast in his own teen soap opera yet?”
“He told me how much your friendship means to him.”
“He told you what you wanted to hear to get into your pants. You know he told Jim about me—Jim of all people. Friends don’t do that to one another. Friends protect one another and wait for one another and don’t go running off with the first cute boy they meet.”
“Rye . . .”
“You have no idea what kind of pressure I get from home to be the smiling little girl in the picture all the time. You have no idea what it’s like for your parents to look at you like you’re about to break.”
“No, you’re right. I don’t know what it’s like.”
“I can’t do the wrong thing, okay? And I can’t handle their suddenly being hands off with me, like I’ve got some sort of disease they’re sympathetic to but don’t know how to treat.”
The bell rang and everyone began making their way to their seats, projects in hand. Rye got up, went to her drawer, and came back with her sewing kit and the large piece of fabric she’d been tailoring. The class began to work, quiet chatter reverberating around the room. Rye threaded her needle; Ana went back to her drawing.
“I told them it was your idea.”
&n
bsp; “What was?” Ana said, looking up.
“I told my parents you were the one who wanted to take the mushrooms, that I felt pressured. I don’t know why I said it, but I did.”
Ana rose from the table and walked out of the room.
• • •
There were more people than Ana imagined there would be walking down Main Street at this time in the afternoon. She ducked into Bungle Records, which, thankfully, was empty, and began perusing the back rows of vinyl records, hoping she wouldn’t be spotted. She hadn’t intended to walk out of art class and continue walking all the way out of school, ditching her last period entirely. She flipped through the records in the punk section while listening to the owner hum along to a live album for some jam band. She checked her watch and figured she could kill time looking at records for another hour.
She flipped through cover after cover, wondering if she’d have to explain everything to Abbie.
Had the Moons’ told Abbie that it had been Ana’s fault too? Had Abbie believed them? Is this why she’d left last night and had been so quiet earlier that morning?
“Looking for anything in particular?” the owner inquired, eyeing her as if she were a thief.
“Yeah, where’s the heavy metal section?” she asked. He pointed her to the row behind where she was standing. She began sorting through the records again, passing photo after photo of men with big hair and illustrations of demonic skeletons. She wanted to move on to another section, but also needed to kill time, so she decided to keep flipping through until she got to the end. “Hair, skeleton, hair, horns,” her mind said. “Hair, hair, Abbie.”
She couldn’t help gasping.
“Find what you were looking for?” the man said, fearing something was wrong.
“No, sir . . . I mean, yes, sir.”
She pulled the record out and looked at it closely. The band was called Nightshade and the album was titled Midnight Angel. It was glossy black except for the photo of a much younger Abbie in a somewhat revealing white dress on the front of it, her hands in the prayer position as she floated up to the sky.
“How much is this?” she asked.