by Douglas Rees
“Yeah,” José says.
It’s cool, I say to myself. Then I say it to José.
And then I have this weird thought and it is so weird I think it must be for somebody else, but it is in my head. And it is this: I think about me and José kissing, just for a second. And then I am back to normal.
Then Chris and Aunt Ariel come up for air and she sees us and sort of waves.
“Come on over and see Chris’s paintings,” she says.
We finish walking across the street and go into the house. I see it’s all a business. There are supplies and stuff stacked up everywhere, and a desk in one corner of the living room.
“I thought you lived here,” I say to Chris.
“No, I live across the street with Victor,” he says. “Just a couple of old bachelors.”
We go into the big bedroom and instead of a bed there are pictures everywhere. Only not like José’s pictures. These are paintings, big ones, on sheets of plywood. They’re all kinds of bright colors and weird shapes, so big and strong they almost jump off the wood and start running around.
“This stuff is excellent,” I say.
“The good ones are at the back,” José says.
“May we see them?” Aunt Ariel asks.
José and Chris start dragging paintings out of a bedroom and setting them up around the house. By the time they’re done, it looks like José’s special place, in color. Aunt Ariel and I walk around looking at them.
“Where do you get your ideas?” I ask.
“Just stuff I see around the neighborhood, mostly,” says Chris.
Around the neighborhood? On what planet?
“This one’s the sun coming up in my mother’s kitchen,” he says, looking at something all black and orange with red spots hiding in it.
After he says that, I can see it. The tree in her backyard would look like that if you saw it from all angles at once instead of just the side by the window. The long straight lines must be the shadows, and the orange and red are the sun. Well, duh. I should have seen that myself.
And they’re all like that. Once Chris tells you what it’s a picture of, you can see it. What a neat way to do painting. If these things were spells, I bet they’d work every time.
Aunt Ariel is walking around really quiet, taking everything in. Finally, she says, “Have you ever had a show?”
“Those are tough to get.” Chris laughs.
“There’s a woman in my coven who’s part-owner of a gallery in West L.A.,” Ariel says. “I think she ought to see these. Would that be all right?”
“Anytime a friend of yours comes it will be all right,” Chris says.
Then Ariel decides it’s time to go home, and I have to admit Ratchbaggit has been alone a long time. So we say goodbye to José’s mom and everyone else, and Chris and José walk us out to our car.
Chris and Ariel give each other another kiss. It’s not as long as the last one, but it’s no see-you-arounder. Then we get into the car and drive home.
“This was maybe the best day of my life so far,” I say as we turn the corner. “Except maybe for yesterday. I can’t make up my mind.”
“Doña Imelda,” Aunt Ariel says. “I used to hear about her from other curanderas when I went to Mexico. They all knew about her, but nobody knew where she was. Once I met an old woman who claimed to have known her when they were both young. She said she thought Doña Imelda had gone to the United States, but she didn’t know when or where. And here she is. Right in Jurupa.”
I wonder if this is that spiritual ecology thing Aunt Ariel was talking about, or if it is just the universe messing around.
“What was that thing she called you?” I ask.
“Hermana. Sister,” Aunt Ariel says. “And you know what else?”
“What?”
“This party we were at today. It’s called a tamalada. Tamales are the most labor-intensive food in Mexico. They’re so hard the women make a party out of making them. The work those women went to. And then they invited us.” She reaches over and puts her hand on mine. “Kestrel, if it hadn’t been for you, none of today would have happened.”
“Chris would not have happened,” I say.
“Chris has most definitely happened,” Ariel says.
“Like a comet,” I say, being a brat. “Oops, I mean a Cométe.”
But Ariel says, “Well put,” with this funny smile.
Then I say, “Did you cast any spells to make sure we had a good time?”
“Kestrel,” Aunt Ariel says. “When you’ve been in the Craft awhile longer, you’ll begin to see that a huge part of magick is perception. Like Chris’s paintings. He takes what he sees and turns it into magick.”
“But that sounds like you’re saying magick isn’t true,” I say.
“No. No. No. What I’m saying is, you have to learn to see the magick first. Then you can work with it. Going at it the other way, and trying to force life into some pattern you’ve decided you want is the long way around. And very uncertain.”
I know she’s talking about me, and it makes me mad, a little. But I take a step back. I try to see the magick happening. It did happen, all these last two days. I didn’t make it happen, but I was part of it. José didn’t start it. Neither did Laura or Aunt Ariel. But we’re all tied up together in it, and it’s flowing with us and around us and—
I start laughing. I keep laughing, and I laugh so hard I bend over.
“What’s so funny?” Ariel asks, but I can’t answer. Finally I straighten up and say, “You want to know who made this day happen? You want to know who made everything happen? Blake and the Queens!”
We pull into the driveway where the black garage door with one white dot shines in our headlights.
I get out of the car, wave my arms over my head and shout, “Thank you, Queens! Thank you, Blake Cump! I just had the best two days of my life! You pinches!”
19
MONKEY BAR WORDS
MONDAY COMES. Garbage calls me into his office. I hand him back his note. And another one Aunt Ariel wrote this morning. He reads it. His face gets as white as hers did on Friday.
Then he says, “I think it will be best for all concerned if you are moved to Mr. Hall’s sixth-period English class to separate you from Blake Cump.”
“Cool,” I say. Mr. Hall is a great teacher. I will still help José with his grammar after school or at lunch. That will mean more time with him, and that’s cool, too.
And that’s it. Garbage looks down at his desk and doesn’t say anything.
I head for the door. “The universe is gonna get you,” I say quietly as I leave.
He doesn’t look up.
I see Blake Cump. He grins at me like he’s got this big secret, but he moves away from me when I come down the hall.
“Hey, Blake, thanks! Things went great,” I say.
He smirks. But he also turns so his back is to the wall. Like maybe he’s just a little scared.
Gotcha.
I see José later, and at lunchtime we meet by the monkey bars…which Richard Milhous Nixon Union High School has because it used to be Richard Milhous Nixon Elementary School.
“Hey, José, I’m starting a coven. You in?” I say.
“I don’t know. What is it?” he asks.
“It’s a witches’ club,” I say.
“Do you got to be a witch?” he says.
“Well, duh. Of course,” I say.
“Well, duh, I’m not a witch,” he says.
“Okay, you don’t have to be a witch to join my coven,” I say. “See, I’ve decided I’m not a regular witch. I’m a special kind. I do majix. M-A-J-I-X. It’s different from regular magick. It’s all about developing your own powers. So we have our own rules about covens, and you don’t have to be a witch. You just have to develop your own powers.”
“Are we good or bad?” José asks.
“Both,” I say. “’Cause that’s what we already are.”
José nods.
“B
ut what if I don’t have any powers?” he says.
“You do. Everyone does. Just not everybody knows what they are. In fact, most people go their whole lives without finding out what they are. But we don’t.”
“I don’t know,” José says. “I mean, I want to be in it. But what if I can’t figure out what my powers are?”
“I know what one of them is already,” I say.
“What?” José asks.
“Drawing,” I say. “The way you draw is almost a majix. I’ll bet you could turn it into one if you tried.”
“Like how?”
“Well, you could try drawing pictures of things you wish for,” I say. “Then I could put them in my pentagram and say chants for them. Then we’d step back, think, Interesting, and see what happened. If you got what you wanted, we’d know that worked. If something else happened, we’d know that.”
“Okay. But suppose I draw something like Blake getting kidnapped and eaten by aliens and it happens,” José says. “Could I get arrested?”
“No,” I say. “Because we’ll burn the pictures as part of the ceremony.”
“No way are you burning my pictures,” he says.
“Okay, forget it,” I say. “We’ll only burn one if it happens. Destroy the evidence.”
José thinks it over and says, “I’m in.”
“By the way,” I say. “Garbage is throwing me out of English. To keep me and Blake apart.”
José hunches up. “You still gonna help me?”
“Every day,” I say. “Until you know every pinche rule.”
He just stands there.
“Hey, José,” I say. “What’s a noun?”
“Monkey bars,” he says. He doesn’t sound happy.
But I see the monkey bars are the perfect way to teach our next lesson.
“Well, I guess I’ll climb up,” I say, and I do.
“That’s for little kids,” says José looking up at me.
“Come on,” I say. “Join me.”
“I don’t want to,” he says.
“Maybe I’ll swing back and forth,” I say. “Or hang upside down.”
José looks at me like he’s disgusted. Then he gets it.
“I don’t want to,” he says again.
“Why don’t you want to?” I say.
“Because I don’t feel like it,” he says. “Because it looks stupid.”
“No it doesn’t,” I laugh.
“Yes, it does. It makes you look like a kindergartner.”
“Man, José, you are so smart,” I say.
He climbs up beside me.
“Verbs are just monkey bar words,” he says. “Why didn’t they say so?”
We walk around for a while, just talking and saying the verbs extra hard. By the time the bell rings, José is forgetting to slouch.
20
COVEN!
GYM IS VERY BUSY. I don’t even get a chance to thank T&A for my great weekend. No chance to talk to Laura about the coven, either. So I text her, and she calls me back.
“I’d love to join,” she says. “But there’s something I need to tell you that may make you change your mind about asking me.”
“Shoot,” I say.
“It’s my parents,” Laura says. “They talked about you and your aunt a lot after you left. They said it was the best time they’d had in months. But they don’t believe in witchcraft or anything like that.”
“Laura, A, your rentz are cool,” I say. “B, mine don’t believe in it, either. C, at least yours are polite about it. So, D, come on over to my place after school on Friday and we’ll get started. Okay?”
“Okay,” Laura says, all happy.
I open this book to where it says Things to Work On and put a check mark beside Start My Own Coven.
There is one more thing on my to-do list for today.
No one has called about Ratchbaggit and it has been three days. So it is time to let him go out and explore.
First, I put him on the pentagram and put the trash can upside down on him. I say a chant I have been thinking up. It goes:
Powers of darkness and powers of light,
Keep Ratchy safe by day and night.
After I’ve said it at the five points of the pentagram, I take him to the back door and let him out.
He goes hopping across the grass, and my heart hops, too. This is hard, letting him go, wondering if he’s going to come back. But I have to do it. If he’s really my familiar, he’ll return to me. If he doesn’t, I’ll be worried sick.
Aunt Ariel is out with some of her coven and won’t be home ’til late. So I just hang out, doing my homework without being able to concentrate on it, watching a movie, reading. And every minute I’m thinking about Ratchy.
The sun goes down and he doesn’t come.
I call, “Kittykittykitty,” and he doesn’t come.
I call it again every hour until I go to bed, and he doesn’t come.
Aunt Ariel comes home. I tell her Ratchy’s out. Of course she says, “Blesséd be.”
Then we go to bed.
And just after I get under the covers, there’s this thump against the window, and when I open it, there he is hanging on the screen and yowing like he’s saying, “Where have YOU been?”
I unhook the screen and lift him off it. He starts purring as soon as I touch him. Two minutes later, he is asleep right in the middle of the bed.
I get up, write this, and put a check mark next to Get a Familiar on my to-do list.
The rest of the week is very ordinary. My new English class puts me in with Laura, and Tiffany of T&A. My seat puts me in a good spot to keep an eye on her. But nothing happens. I figure the spell Ariel and I cast must have given the universe a shove in the right direction.
José and Laura and I spend lunch planning what we’re going to do Friday, and when the day comes, we’re ready.
Aunt Ariel has offered the garage for our meetings, but I turn her down. A coven should have its own place, and I have picked out ours. Under this big sycamore tree in the backyard.
For an altar we have a table Laura’s mom made that she said we could have. It has legs like a giant spider, which is perfect. José’s mom dyes a bedsheet black for us, so we have a cloth for it. Aunt Ariel takes me to one of those science stores where they sell telescopes and stuff, and I buy that kind of mobile with all the planets hanging down. This will go over the altar on Friday and we will be ready.
Meanwhile, I have been working out the majix we’re going to do. We are all bringing three things for the altar: something we’re proud of, something we’re afraid of, and something we want to work on.
The sun is bright and it’s hot enough to fry asphalt that afternoon. I kind of wish we could have done this at night, but it’s cooler under the tree, and anyway when is it too hot to invoke the universe?
We spread out the black cloth, and on it I put: this book, a mirror, a wand made of oak, a brass plate Ariel loans me, some sage, and a statuette of the Goddess I brought with me from my old altar. Her arms are raised, and she’s holding the moon in her hands and on her stomach is a spiral.
“Okay,” I say. “Now the first thing we’re going to do is cast a circle. You can’t do anything else until you’ve done that.”
I light the sage and do the circle-casting thing, with José and Laura following me around and saying what I tell them to say. They mumble, because although we’ve been working together since Monday, they’re still shy with each other. This is cool. The universe gets shyness. I figure it’s why there are so many corners and shadows.
When the smoke has waved around the altar like fairies’ hair and the smell is mixing with the faint mintiness of the sycamore leaves, we are ready.
“Okay,” I say. “Now we can place our three things on the altar. I guess I’ll start. First, here’s the thing I fear.”
I lay down a photograph of BD.
“It’s my dad,” I say. “He’s had a heart attack and I’m afraid he won’t get better. Who’
s next?”
José lays down his English book.
“Here’s what I’m afraid of,” Laura says. “I found it in my backpack today.”
It’s a scrap of notebook paper. It says: WERE GOING 2 GET U.
“Just put it on the altar,” I say.
Laura lays it down.
I pick up the mirror.
“I made up this spell this week,” I say. I hold the mirror over the picture of BD and say, “May this mirror take all my fear and change it to its opposite. Now you guys say, ‘Blesséd be.’”
They do.
I hand the mirror to José.
“I can’t say what you said,” he says. “I don’t talk like that.”
“Say it your own way,” I say. “Remember, this is majix.”
“I hope this mirror takes all the bad stuff about English and turns it to good stuff so I don’t have to take English anymore,” José says. “Is that right?”
“Blesséd be,” I say, and Laura says it after me.
I hand her the mirror.
She holds it over the note.
“May this mirror take all my fear and turn it to its opposite,” she says. “Blesséd be.”
“Blesséd be,” José and I say.
“Now, what we’re proud of,” I say. I lean on the altar, spreading my arms wide enough to grab the ends. “I’m proud of this.”
“Me, too,” says José. “But I brought this.”
He lays an English paper on top of his book. It has a B on it and the words Big Improvement on it at the top.
“José, man, you rock,” I say.
“Whatever,” he says, and blushes.
Laura lays down a copy of one of Ariel’s books.
“I’m proud to know your aunt,” she says. “I’m proud to be your friend.”
Which makes me blush, I think. But anyway, I hold the mirror up to the sky and angle it so José and Laura can see the smoggy blue reflection.
“As we have received blessings, so we offer them up,” I say. “Say Blesséd be.”
And they do.
“Now what we want to work on,” I say.