“ARE YOU GOING to give me grief just like Sebastian?” Meche asked her.
“No. I just said it was a bit extreme,” Daniela said.
“Why shouldn’t we be extreme?”
“You really have no fear, do you?”
“Fear of what?”
“Of what we are doing.”
“Why should I?”
“Because it’s dangerous.”
God, how was it dangerous? It wasn’t like there was a magic police force waiting to give them a ticket. Nobody could suspect them. Nothing bad would happen to them. Plus, she didn’t feel any guilt over the whole thing.
Power was meant to be wielded.
Meche snorted. “Dangerous for anyone who stands in our way.”
Daniela looked at her, shaking her head while Meche shrugged.
“Look, Estrada deserved it,” Meche said. “She crossed us one too many times and she got what was coming for her. She’s lucky we didn’t break her damn back.”
“Gee, I hope you never get mad at me.”
Meche draped her arm over the shoulders of a cardboard cut-out of David Bowie and eyed the records at the back of the store. It was a wash out. There was no Whiter Shade of Pale in the store and no records with any significant power. This seemed to be the case with most stores which offered new merchandise. Meche had found records with power at used shops, making her guess the power might be related to the previous owner or persons they had come into contact with; a patina that somehow impregnated the vinyl, like thumb prints upon the surface. This was a conjecture she had scribbled in her grimoire, but it made sense. And wasn’t most of everything pertaining to the world of magic a conjecture, anyway?
“What are you getting Sebastian?” Daniela asked, giving up the fight.
“I was thinking a Tom Waits album, but then I decided on a movie,” Meche said, her hands drifting over the records, flicking through album covers.
“Like a date?”
“Not like a date,” Meche frowned. “Why would you think I’d go out with him on a date?”
“Oh... No-nothing. It just crossed my mind. It’s all.”
“I’m done here,” Meche said, tossing the record back in its bin.
“He’s going out with Isadora again.”
Meche raised an eyebrow at that. “How do you know?”
“He told me. They’re going out on Sunday.”
“Sunday we’re supposed to practice! And why didn’t he tell me? This is the kind of thing we need to vote on. He can’t just run off...”
“Maybe because you would have asked to vote on it?”
“Ugh,” Meche said and bit her lower lip.
It wasn’t that she wanted Sebastian to practise every day, but this magic thing required some discipline. They were improving at the glamour and although they had triumphed over Rodriguez and Estrada, both spells had worn them down. The one they had cast on Estrada, especially. Meche’s body had ached so afterwards she ate a whole roasted chicken on the way home from the factory, famished and exhausted by the experience. But she could feel they were getting better. They needed to practise their powers, to explore the limits of their sorcery. To attempt bigger things. What else might they accomplish, the three of them?
But they would get squat if Sebastian went out on Sundays with Isadora. Of all the girls! Sure, Isadora was hot but that was about it. Meche felt slightly insulted that her best friend would go for the rich ditz. There was a vague, distant possibility, that Sebastian might actually get it on with the girl and ditch Meche and Daniela for full-time pursuit of his wet dream. With the circle broken, Meche was not sure she could make magic. Not to its full potential.
Maybe she needed to study alone, to see if she could cast hexes and spells without the others. She’d cast a hex by herself the first time, after all.
“Let’s head out,” Meche said.
DOLORES FOUND THE thimble in the back of her clothes drawer, packed along with old postcards, a pressed flower and pictures of her sisters. She smiled at the picture of the girls in their white summer dresses with the hair tied in pigtails. Finally, she took out the thimble and pressed it against her ear. She couldn’t hear anything but the faintest of whispers. Magic is for children, for the young.
“Grandma, do you want me to make the rice today?”
Dolores blinked and raised her head. Meche was standing at the doorway. Meche had already changed out of her uniform and into her day clothes. Dolores had spent half the afternoon daydreaming and had not even realized her granddaughter was home.
“The rice,” Dolores said. “Yes. I’ve got to boil the rice.”
She stood up and the thimble tumbled from her hands, landing on the floor. Meche scooped it up. She frowned.
“Feels warm,” she muttered. Meche raised her eyes and stared at her. “Is this—”
“An antique. From days past.”
“But—”
“Days past, my girl. Stories I’ve forgotten.”
Meche nodded and handed her the thimble. Dolores placed it in the front pocket of her apron and rubbed her hands together.
“Now, we need to make rice, don’t we?”
SEBASTIAN KNEW HE was a beggar at a banquet, invited only out of pity or as a joke. A new amusement. Perhaps he was an annoyance, simply meant to piss off Constantino, but he still appreciated the chance to go out with Isadora and her friends a second time.
Well, he could do without the friends. The boys hated him and the girls ignored him, but Isadora was what mattered and she listened to him chatter, smiled at a joke and even shared a bag of popcorn with him.
When it was time to part ways, she kissed him on the cheek and he practically sprinted all the way back home. He lay on his bed, lacing his fingers behind his head and wondered if Isadora actually liked him, if maybe, just maybe...
... the phone rang loudly. He tried to ignore it, but it kept ringing and he finally picked it up, pressing the receiver against his ear.
“Yes?”
“What took you so long?”
Meche. Sebastian closed his eyes. “I was sleeping.”
“So you didn’t go out tonight then?”
“I went out,” he said.
“Oh.”
Was that disappointment, annoyance or regular variety Meche? He straightened up, tugging at the phone cord.
“What do you want?”
“I wanted to say Happy Birthday. But maybe you’re too busy wanking in the bathroom, so good—”
“Yeah, if I was wanking you already ruined it.”
“Gross.”
“You brought it up.”
“You confirmed it.”
Sebastian smiled, turning and looking at the wall with his maps and pictures of Europe. He pressed a thumb against Paris, which was a red dot surrounded by smaller black dots.
“Meche, do you ever...”
His finger slid up the wall, following a river and he did not even know what to ask, the words were all smudged inside his head.
“Thanks for phoning.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
MECHE WAS ON the computer when the screaming started. She hated it when they screamed. If only parents could tear each other to pieces in silence, like civilized people. She turned up the volume on her Walkman until Mecano’s Perdido en mi Habitación was as loud as it could be.
It was not loud enough.
Meche decided to make a run for Daniela’s house. Daniela would bake her cupcakes which tasted like ass, but it was better than the constant shouts streaming through the walls.
Meche put on her jacket, grabbed the backpack and found her father also preparing to leave. He was pulling two suitcases down the hallway.
“What’s up?” she asked, placing her hands in her pockets.
He smiled faintly at her.
“Meche, I’ve got to move out.”
“What?”
Her parents fought. Like, a lot. But Meche could not picture them separated. What, was this tem
porary? When was he coming back?
“Dad—”
“I’ll give you my address, when I have it. You can come and visit. I’m going to be moving to Puerto Vallarta next year and you can come with me for the summer. It’ll be awesome.”
“Puerto Vallarta?”
“Yeah. It’s all part of the plan. The taxi is going to leave if I don’t get downstairs.”
He grabbed the suitcases and kept on walking. Meche followed him in shock. When they reached the door he turned around and gave her a hug.
“You be good, alright?”
“Dad?” Meche said, watching him head towards the staircase. “Daddy?”
“Get inside!”
Meche turned around. Her mother’s eyes were narrowed, her face was as hard as rock; no signs of weakness.
“He’s really going?”
“We are getting a divorce.”
“Why?”
“You don’t need to hear the reasons. Get inside.”
SHE MANAGED TO avoid Sebastian for a good number of days, but Friday, when Meche was crossing the street, she felt hands wrap around her waist and Sebastian lifted her, spinning her around.
“Put me down, please?” she demanded.
“Are you going to skip school with me today?” he asked.
“No.”
He set her down with a frown.
“Why not?”
Meche looked at her sweater’s cuffs, pulling at a little thread and shrugging.
“I don’t feel like it.”
“I’ve got a bag of chips and several cans of soda.”
“Oh my God, it’s my teenage dream,” she said, squealing with mock enthusiasm.
“Well, I dunno. You’ve been mopey all week.”
“So an overdose of salt and carbonated beverages will cure me?”
“It’s all I’ve got. Oh, and a record from Hombres G. What do you say?”
She wanted to wallow in private. Plus, if she kept skipping school the principal was going to phone her mom. But then... it might be fun. Meche weighed the negatives against the chance to get a sugar high and ended up sighing.
“Okay.”
MECHE AND SEBASTIAN were hanging out in the factory. They lay on the floor, their feet resting against the wall and little bits of potato chips littering the space around them. The sky was purple like a bruise. They would have to light candles if they wanted to remain into the evening.
“My parents are getting a divorce.”
Sebastian put down the book he had been reading and turned his head to look at her.
“I didn’t know. When did this happen?”
“Few days ago. Just took his clothes and left.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked.
“Because if I told you, you’d tell Daniela and then Daniela would bake cupcakes to make me feel better. And if I told her, she’d tell you and we’d end up having a heartfelt discussion about it. Which is totally not what I want. I mean, I don’t even know why they’re getting divorced.”
“But is it serious? Maybe they’re just having a fight.”
“My mom changed the lock to our apartment so my dad can’t get back in.”
He stretched a hand and caught a stray chip which had fallen on his shirt, popping it into his mouth.
“What does your dad say?”
“He called yesterday to give me his temporary address and to say he’s seeing about a new job in Puerto Vallarta.”
“You think he’ll get it?”
“I don’t know.”
Sebastian found another chip, trapped in the cuff of his shirt and held it up, staring at it. He was glad when his parents divorced. Their separation ended his father’s beatings, but Meche’s dad did not beat her and he was always nice to Sebastian when he went by the apartment.
“The worst part is my mom is getting totally overbearing. Like we couldn’t meet at my place today because then she’d flip out.”
“Why?” Sebastian asked, frowning.
“Because she’s nuts. She has this fixation; thinks you’re my ‘secret’ boyfriend. Right now, she’d probably imagine we are totally making out. It’s gross.”
Sebastian frowned. “I’m gross?”
“No, you dummy. My mother’s bizarre nightmares about teenagers making out are gross.”
Sebastian tucked an arm behind his head, deep in thought.
“So what you’re saying is making out with me would not be gross?”
Meche turned her head and raised an eyebrow at him, with that come-again-asshole look she sometimes sported when a random construction worker yelled an inappropriate comment at her.
“Do I need to answer that one?”
“Yeah. Bad question.”
EIGHT O’CLOCK AND all hell was about to break loose. Since Vicente had moved out, Meche’s mother had apparently decided she would quarrel with Meche in what Meche could only imagine was supposed to be a display of motherly concern. It smelled more like bullshit than love.
“You think I’m stupid.”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
Meche’s mother looked like her head was about to start spinning like the girl in The Exorcist. In Meche’s experience backing down would be an admission of guilt. She was not going to be bullied into the guilty square. It was not the 17th century and she was tired of getting the Inquisition treatment.
“You skipped school again and you standing here, a complete liar, in front of me.”
Meche crossed her arms and glanced over her mother’s shoulder, at the face of Sting on the wall.
“What were you doing?”
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Out with Sebastian Soto again?”
“Oh my God,” Meche muttered under her breath.
“Do you two have to meet every single day? You go to school together. Then you spend every moment outside school together. What is going on?”
“Nothing!” Meche yelled. “God, is your life so boring you have to invent this drama to keep you entertained? No wonder dad dumped you!”
The slap came as a bit of a surprise. This was a new level of theatrics. Meche rubbed her cheek, knitting her eyebrows together angrily.
Her mother gave her a long, cold stare and slammed her bedroom door shut. Meche put on the headphones and gritted her teeth.
SEBASTIAN DID NOT understand how Principal Estrada knew they had been behind the public humiliation levied upon her during the school assembly, but she knew. That killer instinct which helped her pounce on teenagers trying to smoke in the bathrooms must have also prepared her to recognize the undeniable stench of a hex. Whatever it was, she was onto them and a confrontation was imminent.
Just after recess on Friday, when Sebastian, Daniela and Meche were preparing to drag their feet to Biology class, Estrada appeared, blocking their way, just like the robot in the bad B-movie from the 50s he had been watching on the TV the night before.
“Mr. Soto, I’ve had enough of that hair of yours. You are getting a haircut.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Over the weekend. I promise.”
“No, Mr. Soto,” the principal said. “Right now.”
Estrada grabbed him by the arm and pulled him towards the office. Meche raised her voice in protest.
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch yourself, Miss Vega, unless you want to be in detention for the rest of the school year.”
Estrada walked with quick steps, her heels clicking upon the pavement and down the hallway towards her offices. She told him to sit down and Sebastian just stared at the woman.
“You’d like to be expelled, Mr. Soto?”
He could imagine his mother’s face if that happened. She’d have one son who had impregnated his girlfriend and was dropping out of university, plus another one kicked out of school. It would be too terrible to bear. If his father found out... well, that would be an epic beating. Just because his dad didn’t live with them anymore didn’t mean he wouldn’t make
a special guest appearance to kick the crap out of Sebastian.
Between the humiliation of the haircut and the dicey outcome at home, he picked humiliation and sat still as Estrada took out a pair of scissors and unceremoniously chopped off his long hair.
“Now people can see your face,” Estrada said. Like she’d done him a favour.
Sebastian saw his faint reflection in a glass display case and quietly disagreed.
He hurried out of the principal’s office, only to hear Daniela and Meche calling for him. He ignored them and hurried towards the west wall. There he climbed one of the trees, stood on the wall and lowered himself onto the other side.
Sebastian held on to the straps of his backpack and began walking, head down.
“Hey!”
He did not bother looking back nor did he quicken his pace and soon Meche was at his side, brushing leaves from her uniform and glancing at him.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “We’ve got Bio.”
“I don’t. I’m going home.”
“It doesn’t look so bad,” she said, sounding like she was about to laugh.
Sebastian stopped. He looked down at her, wanting to kick her.
“Really?” he said. “Because I have the feeling it looks like a donkey chomped on my head.”
Meche sighed and stepped on his toes, then stood on her tiptoes in order to reach him. Her fingers brushed his hair.
“You’re still cute.”
“I think ‘still’ and ‘cute’ are incompatible in that sentence.”
“Then you’re such an ugly motherfucker that no one will notice the difference, so stop crying like a baby,” she said, her hand slipping down and away.
Sebastian caught it and frowned.
“You’re serious?”
“The baby part or the motherfucker?”
“The cute.”
“Not if you’re going to get weird about that. Can you let go?”
“Sure.”
He released her hand. Meche stepped down and pulled at her sweater’s sleeves, hiking them up. Then she took out her Walkman, tugging at the headphones and he spoke quickly, before she could shield herself with songs.
Signal to Noise Page 20