I scoff. “No one looks like Eva Mendes.”
“She’s foxy. And you’re foxy.”
“You are,” I say and it’s true. Her wrap dress is goldenrod and covers everything except a long slit to her mid-thigh. She’s put gold shimmer all over her eyelids and the tops of her cheekbones, mahogany on her lips. She looks like she’s ready for the cover of Vogue, not Samara Kingsley’s annual spring breaker.
“Ready?” she says.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Sure.”
26
THE SKY LOOKED EXACTLY LIKE this the last time I talked to my mom. Dark clouds all lined up like warriors against saltwater blue.
I was in the passenger’s side, though. Dad handed me the cell as he drove.
“Hey, Sia.” Mom’s voice sounded choked.
“Hey.”
“You doing alright? How’s school?”
“Fine. It’s whatever.”
“Any new crushes?”
“Ew, Mom.”
She laughed a bit, but it sounded forced. “Amor. Save that last tin of dulce de leche for me, eh?”
“Fine. Sure.”
“Give the phone back to Papá, okay? I love you.”
“Same.”
I tuned out for a while, just counting the black wisps of clouds until Dad yelled, “No, Lena, don’t you dare, you can’t do it alone. Nadie cruce y vive. ¿Qué estás pensando? Lena, Lena, por favor.” After a minute, he was calm. “Sí, sí. Te amo también.”
As soon as he hung up the phone, he swerved off the road so hard the seat belt dug into my belly.
Before I could yell at him, though, he was banging his fists against the wheel. “Shit,” he screamed. “Shit, shit, shit!”
The line of blood from a knuckle reached his wrist when he turned the car back on. We were supposed to go to the grocery store, but Dad just whipped the car around and we went back home.
I may as well have said nothing the last time I spoke to Mom. I didn’t even tell her I love you in return.
Sometimes I wish I could go back and shake me.
27
“I’M SO HAPPY YOU TWO Ladies could make it,” Samara says when we arrive. She sounds like she means it. “Come in!”
Samara’s highlighted curls look brushed out, framing her face in a magnificent cloud. Her dress is gold and short, nothing that would look good on me, but on Sam it’s effortless. She’s switched out her nose stud for a gold ring, too. “God, love the dresses. Groovy, right? Did I get that right?”
She and Rose talk for a while about sewing or something and I roam around. There are too many people. Some god-awful song is on way too loud. I think even my hair is vibrating. I make my way to the kitchen and pour some ice water.
“Oh my God, do you see that, Sia?” Rose runs up, pointing discreetly. “McKenna Carlson came with the new guy!”
“What?” I say, turning fast. Sure enough, Noah’s in the corner, talking to a bunch of people, McKenna hanging off his arm.
“Yeah, she literally pounced on him first chance she got,” Samara says.
“Wasn’t she dating Matthew Hemingway, like, yesterday?” I ask.
“Not anymore, I guess,” Rose muses.
Samara shrugs. “She can date who she likes, right?” Rose and I agree, but I don’t know, I feel kind of weird about Noah being here with her. But that makes no sense, so I keep the thought to myself.
Rose peeks into my cup. “Water, Sia? Really?”
“I don’t feel like drinking. It makes me tired. Besides, I’m driving us home.”
“I’m having one shot. With Samara.” Sam’s a few feet away now, pouring said shots, I assume.
“A shot of what?”
“Tequila.”
“Girl,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re trouble tonight.”
“I’m trouble every night.” She punches my shoulder playfully.
Samara brings the shots over. “Sia’s not drinking,” Rose says. “She’s the designated driver.”
“That’s valid,” Sam says. She and Rose throw their glasses back and cough and scream.
“Looks like I’m missing out on a lot of fun,” I say dryly.
“Hey,” Sam says as the doors open. “Looks like the Chicanos are here.”
I glance around and see Rita and all her brothers, Nacho, and Lupita, along with Manuel, Jonathan, and a few of their cousins pouring in. “Thank the Lord,” I say.
Within minutes, some reggaeton/merengue mix is blazing on the speakers. “That’s more like it,” Rose yells.
Manuel approaches. “Baila conmigo,” he says, gesturing to me.
“No,” I say.
“For old time’s sake, Artemisia?” He smiles.
I sigh. “Fine. But only because it’s a good song.” He takes my hand to what is now the dance floor and twirls me around.
Truthfully, the only reason I dance with Manuel is because we learned how—with a partner, I mean—together at the parties our moms used to throw. And because he’s respectful, unlike his dick cousin Hector, whose hands always make their way to my ass.
“Aprendí un poco del tango,” Manuel shouts over the music.
“Tango,” I repeat. “Show me.”
“Hold on.” He goes to the music player. “We need a different song.”
I nod. He puts on something slow and sultry and pulls me close to him, grabbing my hand. He slings his arm around my waist and I automatically place my hand on his shoulder.
“Damn, Manuel,” I say. “Lay off the cologne, would you?”
He ignores me. “Camina,” he says, and talks long strides forward. I follow his lead easily, stretching my legs back. He turns me suddenly and we switch directions. I lead now. “Straighten your back,” he says. “You gotta look down on everyone. Like they’re your servants.” I lift my head and narrow my eyes. “There you go,” he says.
“Now what?” I ask.
“Push your whole leg straight, to the side, like that. Now drag your heel in very slow.” I do what he’s saying, keeping my queenly posture.
“Muy bien. So, the song’s gonna slow down in a few beats. I’m going to grab your leg up, and you need to lean back.”
“Don’t get handsy,” I warn. He nods. I can hear the song about to slow, and he pulls my knee all the way up to the side of his torso. His hand is on my back and I bend backward to a few claps of a drum solo, holding my arm out. He lifts me fast, drops my leg. People clap and cheer for us and he grins.
“You like that?” he asks me as he gives a bow to our audience.
“Not bad,” I say. He gestures to me and people whistle. I wave them off. Someone puts on a cumbia and we take our usual footwork as the dance floor fills.
“Rose still single?” he asks as he turns me around.
“Yep.”
“Her papá still—”
“Religious? Yep.”
He laughs. “Too bad. How’s your papá?”
“He’s good. Working a lot.”
“I see him in the bosque de nopales when I’m driving out to Lupe’s, tagging shit.”
“Yeah. He’s still studying that whole ecosystem out there.”
Hector taps his back. “Can I cut in?”
I shake my head. “Hell, no, Hector.”
“Aw, mami, you still mad about the last time? That was, what, over a year ago?”
I give him the finger. “Manuel, tell your mom I miss her.”
I look for Rose, stopping when I see her and Samara snuggled in a corner. The way they’re looking at each other, you know, in that way that a best friend ought to know about long before now, right? Maybe I’m just imagining it, though. Frowning, I cut out the back door.
28
WHEN MAMI TAUGHT ME TO dance, she did it with a broom and a Selena CD. “You got to shake your hips like this, Sia. No, no, not like that. You look like you ate too much chile, woman!”
“You’re asking me to do the impossible, Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes. “If I moved my hips any harder, they’d
fly off!”
Mom just sat me down for a minute while “Techno Cumbia” finished its last notes. “I think you need to grow hips,” she said.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Oh, hush. You know what I mean.” She leaned against the back of the sofa. Back then, we covered everything in bright tapestries, stuff Abuela picked up from Juárez. Our home looked like we let a rainbow Mexican unicorn decorate it. “Our ancestors, before the Spaniards came, I mean. We had rich dancing. Rico. It was the sort of dancing that made the seeds germinate, made the corn plump, made babies.”
“It was the sort of dancing that made babies?” I scoffed. “That’s disgusting.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, and it’s gross.”
She laughed and stood. “Again.”
I spun in a circle until I got dizzy. “There, Mami, now the corn should be ready!” I spun again. “Oh, look, I’m pregnant!”
Mom laughed so hard, she cried. When Dad got home and he heard my jokes, he didn’t find it so funny. “No puedes tener un bebé hasta que obtengas tu doctorado,” he said, pointing his finger at my belly.
Mom was right, though. I couldn’t move right until I grew hips, which didn’t come until after she was gone. She never got to see.
29
IT’S COOL OUT, WHICH FEELS nice after all that tango. Only a handful of kids stand around smoking out. We’re all lit with the dim glow of fairy lights strung up on the deck. I take a seat on a bench and stretch my legs out. I like the view. The light of the stars is like cake sugar.
“Can I sit here?”
I gasp, turning to glare at the Hulk-like form of Noah. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he adds quickly.
I wave my hand at the bench and he sits. “How are you doing, Sia?”
“Not bad,” I say. “It’s not the worst party ever.”
He nods. “You go to parties a lot?”
“Almost never, actually.”
He nods again, randomly snapping his fingers, out of nervousness, maybe. “Where’d you learn to dance like that?”
I pause. “Which dance?”
“The slow one. Where that guy bent you really low—”
“Oh, that. He was teaching me that one just now.”
He stares. “You just learned that? That thing with the leg? Tonight?”
“Well, Manuel’s a good partner,” I say. “He and I, we’ve been dancing forever, it seems.”
“So he’s your boyfriend, then.”
I make a face. “I didn’t say that, bro.”
“You two seemed close.”
I sigh. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s a family friend. Not that it’s any of your business.”
He gives me a wild smile, the one that lights up his dimples. “So…” He rasps his fingers on his legs. “You don’t have a boyfriend, then.”
I glare at him. “Isn’t McKenna looking for you?”
He shakes his head. “She’s busy right now.”
I inhale. “What are you doing out here? Besides disrupting my solitude?”
“Well.” He takes a breath. “We have that assignment from Woods over spring break, remember?”
“Yes.” I groan. “Let’s just plan it over email.”
“Well, I’m here now, and you’re here now, so we could”—he snaps his fingers—“just do it now.”
“Fine. When do you want to measure the moon or whatever?” I say it all monotone.
“How about tomorrow?”
I try to think of a good excuse, but it doesn’t come fast enough. “Tomorrow it is, then.” He says it with a smile. I grimace.
He stands, as though to go, but doesn’t. “Yes?” I say.
His eyes are all twinkling. “I can dance, too, you know.”
I snort. “That’s a total lie.”
“It’s true.”
“Prove it.”
He moves his feet robotically, swinging his arms.
I raise an eyebrow. “The Charleston. That’s impressive. Not like you could just learn it from a video game or anything.”
“What about this one?” He starts snapping his fingers and convulsing his shoulders.
I can’t help it. I snort and double over. I want to speak but I can’t stop laughing.
He’s staring at me now, flabbergasted. “What?” I say.
“I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
He shrugs. “That you’d have a pretty smile.” I open my mouth to tell him he’s ruined everything, but Rose walks up to save the day.
“Okay, kids!” She sits, puts an arm around me. “We’ve got to get going, darling.”
“Curfew already?”
“It’s close.”
“Hey, Rose,” Noah says.
She smiles, twirls a curl with her finger. “Noah.”
“Well, see you tomorrow, Sia.” He nods as we stand up.
Rose opens the door and music flings itself out of it. I turn to Noah. “What time tomorrow? And where?”
“Eight. At the beginning of the world!”
30
I LOOK UP FROM ARISTOTLE and dante discover the secrets of the universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz and watch Rose text her brother in my office chair for a few seconds. “You good?”
“Of course.” She says it too fast and too cheerily.
“I’m just asking because you’ve been acting weird since we left.”
“How so?”
“Well.” I shut the book. “You’re not jumping up and down in ecstasy because we finally made it to a party. Or even—ugh, I can’t believe I’m going to say this—you didn’t even say something gross and wrong because my dad didn’t have a shirt on when we walked in.”
Rose sighs. “Alright.” She drops her phone on my desk. “I don’t want you to get involved with Noah.”
My mouth drops open. “What? Who says I have any plans to get involved with him?”
She bites her bottom lip. “You guys were laughing when I walked out to get you. I mean, you, Sia. Were laughing.”
I scoff. “Did you not see the way he was dancing? I was laughing at him, not with him.”
“The boy likes you.”
“I’m not even going to respond to that.” I inhale deeply. “Anyway, your argument doesn’t make any sense. You were so excited when he and I were assigned to be partners for the celestial project. Why do you hate his guts all of a sudden?”
“I don’t hate his guts, Sia.” She sighs. “I just…”
“What, Rose? What is it?”
“Okay. Sia. Okay. I was just driving with Mom to get groceries over the weekend, and I saw Sheriff McGhee in the parking lot.”
“And?”
“And there was a guy with him who looked a lot like Noah.” Rose grimaces. “And McGhee put his hand on Maybe-Noah’s shoulder. Like they were buds or something.”
I shake my head. “Okay.”
She blinks. “You don’t think that’s a little suspicious?”
I raise my hands and drop them again. “What is? That the sheriff knows a guy who looks a little like Noah?”
Rose drops her head back like she’s praying for strength. When she looks at me again, she is resigned. “I’m not going to argue with you. I know it was probably nothing.” She puts a hand on my forearm. “I just want you to be careful. Don’t go falling for a guy until you know what he’s about.”
I sigh. “You know I don’t date anymore, anyway. I don’t know why we’re discussing this.”
“Just be careful. That’s it. End of message.” She brightens a bit. “You know, I’ve always thought it’s wild how your dad lets you date and you refuse, and how mine would rather invite the devil over for dinner when—”
“When you’d have a hot date every night.”
She smiles. “Well, at least we’re dateless together.”
I smile. “We should start a club.”
Rose laughs. “The Dateless Losers.”
“Or, the Hot Dateless Girls Who Could Da
te if They Wanted but Are a Little Too Busy Being Awesome?”
Rose snorts. “That’s one really long way to frame it.” She pauses. “Sia, I forgot to tell you what Sam and I learned on the nebula project. It’s amazing. You’ll love it. Hold on.” She scrolls through her phone. “Okay, here it is. Some nebulae are hundreds of light-years large. Hundreds of light-years. Can you even imagine?”
I’m smiling. “No way.”
“Oh! This is the part you’ll like. Some kinds, they’re where stars are born. Isn’t that miraculous?”
I do like that. So much that a flicker of gooseflesh glides along the back of my neck. “That’s amazing. I’m jealous. That is so much cooler than the moon.”
“It’s inspired a new fic.”
I straighten my back. “You started a new one? Awesome, Rose!”
Rose started writing Harry Potter fanfiction last summer. And she’s incredible at it. Her stories get hundreds of followers. “Is it another Drarry one?”
“Not really. It’s actually for Buffy.”
“What?” I smile. “That is exciting!”
“It’s a Buffy and Faith pairing. Do you think that’s kind of weird?”
“No, of course not,” I say. “Faith is so sensitive on the inside. Buffy’s sensitive on the outside. They’re a lot alike because of it. They’re like matching puzzle pieces when it comes to their emotions.”
Rose smiles. “I knew you’d get it. I’m sending you the draft this weekend, okay?”
“Yes! I’m ready for it.”
And then she yawns. “Let’s get ready for bed, huh? I’m tired.”
“Yeah. Same.” And when we turn the lights out, I look at the stars out the window, wondering about how old they are. Do they fall in and out of love, do they tell stories? And which nebulae are their mothers, and do they long for their mothers so much, they feel like their hearts are breaking at every moment, even when things are supposed to be normal and happy?
I don’t get answers, though. Not even in my dreams.
31
I’D JUST TURNED SIXTEEN WHEN I went on my first date. The guy’s name was Justin; he was visiting town for the summer, staying with an older sister. He’s still alive and out there, I suppose.
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