Sia Martinez and the Moonlit Beginning of Everything

by Raquel Vasquez Gilliland

  “God,” he says. He’s looking at me very intently.

  “What?” I feel like I did something wrong.

  “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

  My cheeks heat up and I thank the gods it’s dark and he can’t see. I glance around and see the time on my phone.

  “We should leave,” I say.

  “Okay,” he says quickly, but he looks super dazed for a long while. I have to fling a book at him so we can go.

  54

  ROSE’S CAR IS IN THE driveway when we get home. “That’s weird,” I say.

  Noah gives me a quizzical look.

  “She just said she had plans tonight.” With Samara. Naturally.

  We pause. “Do you want me to walk you to do the door?” he asks.

  “That’s a little absurd,” I respond. “Why would you do that?”

  “Oh, uh, I, I don’t know.” Even though we’re only lit by the windows of my home, I can see the pink in his neck and cheeks.

  I shake my head and smile. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

  “Soon? Like, tomorrow?”

  “Maybe,” I say. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Cool,” he says. “Cool, cool.” He drums his fingers on the dashboard.

  “Later,” I call as I shut the car door.

  Something’s off. My stomach performs tiny flips as I step into the threshold.

  “Rose?” I call.

  “She’s in your bedroom, amor,” Dad says from the kitchen. He steps out and his eyes reveal concern.

  “Is everyone okay?”

  “Everyone’s okay,” he says. “Go talk to her, though. She needs you.”

  I fling open my door and find her lying on my bed, watching Buffy. “What happened?”

  “Your dad didn’t tell you?” She grabs the remote and pauses the show. “My brother got into a car accident.”

  “Shit, Rose,” I say, dropping my bag. “How is he?”

  “He’s—he’s—” She chokes up a little. I jump on the bed and wrap my arms around her. “He’s gonna be okay. A few broken bones, a punctured lung. Meena’s got a concussion and some scrapes.”

  “And the kids?”

  “They weren’t with them, thank God.”

  I hug her for a while longer and she leans into it. I let go and flip my legs over until we’re side by side.

  “My mom’s flying out this weekend, to help with the kids while Abel and Meena recover. I might go with her. I don’t know, though. She’ll be gone a whole week.”

  “If you need to go, you should go. It’s spring break. You could email the teachers for homework so you don’t get behind for the day or two you might miss.”

  My phone starts chirping and buzzing wildly. “That would be all my texts and calls in the last two hours, probably,” Rose says.

  “God, I’m so sorry,” I say, grabbing my phone. “We were in the desert.”

  “How are things with you and Noah?” She adds, “You know, besides the triplets and the wedding.” The room feels very small, even as she jokes.

  “Things are, you know. He’s a weird kid,” I say without glancing up.

  She straightens her back. “What happened with you two?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Come on, Sia. I know you.”

  “Fine,” I say. “But please don’t get mad. I want you to be happy for me, okay?”

  “Shit,” she says and I blink because Rose almost never curses out loud. She nods slowly. “Okay.”

  I shake my head softly. God. How do I even start? I decide to just cut to the chase. “Tonight… I sort of… kissed Noah.”

  The only thing she does is sigh. And then silence.

  “Rose? What is it?”

  “Sia.” She lifts a hand. “I told you to be careful with him. I told you to not go falling for him and that’s exactly what you did.”

  I literally cannot believe what I’m hearing. “Are you serious right now? I told you Noah said he didn’t know McGhee. At all.”

  “There’s something up with him, Sia. Something off.” She makes it sound really cryptic.

  “Okay. I’ll bite. What is the big secret now?”

  Rose straightens her back. “Do you remember when we went to Sam’s party? How Jeremy couldn’t go because he went to court?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, you know how Amy Bowers spends her free period volunteering in the front office?”

  “… Yeah?”

  “Well, she heard the sheriff talking to Ms. Parker about the court case. And then Amy told Trina Nichols who told Samara that Jeremy went to testify for a lady who’s last name is DuPont.”

  I swallow. “DuPont isn’t that rare of a name, Rose.”

  “Sia, you said that Noah’s mom is fighting a DUI in court. Don’t you think that’s a really weird coincidence? Almost too coincidental?”

  I stand and cross my arms. “Noah doesn’t have anything to do with the McGhees. He already told me. He hadn’t even heard of the sheriff before. And you know what? If you really thought this was a big deal, then why am I hearing about it just now?”

  “Samara thought I should wait—”

  I snort. “Are you kidding me? You’re letting Samara dictate the information you’re allowed to share with me?”

  “It’s not like that, Sia.”

  “Oh, really? Because it sounds to me like you’re talking shit about me behind my back.”

  “Sia, you were a total jerk to Samara at Maude’s. Don’t even pretend like you’ve got a high horse to get on.” Rose nods her head at my phone in my hand. “Call him. Ask him about the DuPont lady Jeremy testified for.”

  I scoff. “I’m not doing that.”

  “If he has nothing to hide—”

  “He doesn’t. He told me he doesn’t know the sheriff, Rose. And that’s it. I believe him.”

  Rose crosses her arms. “He’s lying.”

  “Whatever.” I throw up an arm. “I know what this is about, Rose.” I narrow my eyes. “You’re just angry that I was a jerk to you and Samara. Which, okay, I was. But—”

  “I am trying to protect you, Sia, from getting hurt. This guy is a liar and connected to the McGhees and God knows what else. And yes, frankly, I am pissed. You have been spending all your time with him, and it’s turned you into a crappy friend. There. I said it.”

  “Oh, that’s rich, Rose, coming from you.”

  Now Rose is standing, hands on her hips. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Samara Kingsley is what I mean, Rose.”

  Rose scoffs. “I’m only hanging out with her because you’re too busy t—”

  I throw my arms up. “Are you joking? You starting choosing Sam over me way before this whole thing with Noah started. And you know it.”

  Rose huffs. “The only reason I started hanging out with Samara more is the first time you decided to believe some guy you barely know over me. I know it was him in that parking lot with the sheriff. But you’re too ignorant to face the truth.”

  “You didn’t even see if it was Noah for sure, Rose! You said it yourself! You said, and I quote, It was probably nothing.”

  She acts like I didn’t speak at all. “And you’re doing it again, with this information on the DuPont woman. You’re believing him over me.” She’s pleading with her eyes. “Can’t you see how messed up that is?”

  I scoff. “You know what? You haven’t given me a lot of confidence in your word lately, Rose. Thanks for that D+ in trig, by the way.”

  “Sia.” Rose puts a hand on her eyes. “I’m sorry. I am. Even when I haven’t yet received an apology from you for leaving me to teach First Communion all by myself. Or for completely neglecting to read my Buffy story.”

  “Fine. Sorry.” I bark it out, then stop and take a deep breath. “I would have understood if you had told me the real reason why you keep choosing Sam. Which is what you’re supposed to do. You’re supposed to tell your best friend if you start falling f
or someone, not leave me to flail and guess! I want to be happy for you. Even if all you do is spend your time with her.” My eyes are stinging and I will the tears back inside.

  Rose laughs. “Oh, like you let me know about you falling for Noah.”

  “That’s because you freaked out every time I mentioned his name!”

  Rose sighs again. “Sam and I aren’t the point.”

  “You sure about that? Because she is your whole social life now. And when I’m with you, we don’t have fun anymore. All you do is criticize me for liking Noah!”

  “Oh, now you admit you like him.”

  I ignore that. “And you took Samara to our spot at the diner, Rose. Our. Spot.”

  Rose waves me off. Her cheeks are turning pink. “You know what, Sia? No one owns that booth at Maude’s. We didn’t own it when your mom was alive, and we don’t own it now that she’s dead.”

  My mouth opens and closes for a second as she backtracks.

  “I mean—Sia. You know what I—”

  I push down that ache in my chest, the one that tells me my heart is about to crack like an egg for the hundredth time. “You know what? Yeah. I think we’ve both been shitty friends. And maybe we need to stop. Being friends, I mean.”

  I may as well have slapped her. She’s looking at me with eyes shining like jewels and I want to take it back, to pull the words right into my mouth like a string of bitter berries. But I don’t know how. Inexplicably, I think of my grandmother. Like she’s nearby. Not now, viejita.

  “Okay. You’re going to throw away five-and-a-half years of best friendship over a guy?” Her voice is cracking.

  “Why not? You’ve already thrown it away over a girl.” I shrug like this is nothing. Like my heart isn’t audibly cracking like paper-thin glass.

  “I’m going to Les Cayes with my mom,” Rose says, standing up. “I need a break from all this.”

  I close my eyes. I keep them closed as she slams the door.

  55

  I DREAM OF MY GRANDMOTHER. We’re sitting in her kitchen, drinking teas from her garden herbs. The light coming in the window is all gold, like when a lightning storm clears just before dusk. She’s got her hair braided and pinned up and she’s wearing blackberry lipstick. And she says the same thing she always does.

  “Artemisia. Your mamá’s coming home soon.”

  56

  I SPEND THURSDAY EATING ARROZ con leche and watching Battlestar Galactica. After the last bite of pudding, I still feel my grandmother around. I decide to make some tea and confront her.

  “Why are you bothering me?” I say to the photo of her on the fridge. “Why can’t you help me with something real? Mami esta muerta. Even when you’re dead, you can’t accept that.”

  I swirl the tea with my spoon. The steam overflows out of the mug like it’s a witch’s cauldron. “Tell me what to do about Rose. Tell me what to do about this boy, Wela. They’re both making me confused in the exact opposite ways. La luna y el sol. Eso es lo que son.”

  After a minute, I sigh. “You know what? Never mind. Talking to dead people, that’s your thing. I’m focusing on the living.” I stomp to the sink and dump the tea.

  57

  AFTER DINNER WITH DAD, I write Noah again. Hey. Don’t know if you’re taking McKenna to the movies, but you can come over tomorrow if you’re not busy. Dad’s working late again.

  I get his response ten minutes later. I’ll be there.

  58

  “WHAT’S GOING ON WITH YOU and Rose?” Dad asks as I pour our coffee.

  “Nothing,” I say.

  “It didn’t look like nothing when she stomped out of here last night.”

  I pour the cream in my mug, trying to make the white spiral on the surface last as long as possible. “She’s jealous I’m spending time with Noah.”

  I know it’s just half the truth, but it’s the best I can do right now. I really, really don’t want to get into details. I mean, what could I say? Well, Dad, you see, it’s like this. I believed Noah over her, so she put Samara before me, and then the passive-aggressive tension and comments and flake-outs built and built and built until last night we basically ended our freakin’ five-plus-year friendship. Oh, and I’m probably gonna fail trig, too. Definitely not.

  Dad’s fine with my lack of explanation, luckily. “Is she going to Haiti con Maura?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You tell her to travel safe for me. Tell her we’ll miss her.”

  “Fine.”

  Dad stares at me as he sips from his mug. “What’s going on with you and that white boy, anyway?”

  I shrug. “I kissed him.”

  “You what?”

  I stare at him because I know he heard me. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, m’ija. I just wasn’t expecting that.” He pauses. “What kind of kiss?”

  I roll my eyes. “Dad.”

  “I just want you to be careful, Sia. You’re a smart girl. I don’t want you getting pregnant until you’ve got your PhD.”

  “A kiss doesn’t get a girl pregnant, Dad. You should know that from experience.”

  “I know where kissing leads, Artemisia. From experience.” He has a faraway look in his eyes and I groan.

  “You’re being gross,” I say.

  “Kissing is fine. Just make sure he keeps his hands to himself,” Dad continues. “You remember what I taught you?”

  I nod. Yup. I can basically neuter a guy with a fist chop. It’s, like, the first thing Dad showed me.

  “Good.” He grabs the paper and retreats to the back porch.

  I reach for my phone. Please have a safe trip, I write. We will miss you.

  Rose doesn’t respond.

  59

  SOMETIMES, WHEN I HAVE NOTHING to do, I plop in bed and think about all the bullshit people have said to me since Mom was deported. I imagine what I should’ve said to them instead of nothing.

  She shouldn’t have broken the law.

  Can’t say how many times I’ve heard that one. I want to scream now, that my mom was a baby when she got here, that this land, this sand, this moon under this dry sky is all she’s known.

  She should’ve done it legally.

  She tried, assbrain. She tried. Both before and after ICE dragged her away just outside my school.

  Her parents shouldn’t have broken the law, then.

  First of all, I thought when Jesus came, we stopped punishing people for the sins of their parents.

  Secondly, my abuela brought my mom here because she had nothing but a husband who beat her. When he lost his job and they were down to one cup of arroz, she decided she’d rather slip into this country to be with her brother’s familia than watch her baby starve to death.

  If you had to become an undocumented immigrant to feed your children, wouldn’t you?

  Wouldn’t you?

  There had to be another way.

  White people—guys especially—always imagine another way because their paths have always been saturated with forks. For Abuela and mi mamá, there was no fork. No other way.

  Sometimes, in the desert, alone with my back in the dirt, I draw lines with my fingers in the sky. I imagine the path my mother took in the Sonoran, her size-eight footprints in the searing sand. And I give her another way. A fork at the end of her trail.

  I give her a thousand ways home, like I can go back in time and save her, over and over again.

  60

  THERE’S A KNOCK AT THE door at around three. I open it and Noah’s there, smiling so big, both dimples are deep. “Hey,” he says.

  I can’t help but smile, too. “Hey.” I move to let him inside.

  I can feel the electricity crackling between us as we walk to the sofa. It’s like our bodies keep thinking of kissing. And other things.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” he says, pulling out his computer. He sets it on the coffee table and opens it up. “That spacecraft we saw? It flew into town yesterday evening. There were dozens of witnesses. I saw it in the Sen
tinel this morning.”

  “Holy hell.” My spine feels funny, like it wants to shiver.

  “Look.” He points and I sit next to him, so close that our legs touch. I can tell he notices because he leans at a weird angle, like he’s not sure what to do with his arms.

  I read the headline. Officials State Unidentified Object Is Weather Balloon.

  “That’s what they always say when they’re hiding something real. Anyone who’s ever watched the The X-Files knows that,” I say.

  “You like the The X-Files?” he asks me.

  “I’ve seen a few episodes.”

  “It’s me and my mom’s favorite.”

  You’re my favorite, I want to say. Kissing you is my favorite. We should definitely kiss again.

  Instead, I lean over his computer, where he’s pointing. There’s a fuzzy picture taken with a cell phone. “That doesn’t even show how huge and angled it is,” I say. “Everyone reading this is gonna believe that it’s nothing.”

  “I’m sure they did that on purpose,” Noah says.

  I lean back. “So what does this mean? Is, like, an extraterrestrial visiting us?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe the government is flying some secret advanced craft of their own.”

  “They’re doing a shit job if they’re trying to keep it a secret.”

  “Yeah.” He drums his hands on the coffee table for a bit. And I wonder for a moment, what’s it going to take to get Noah to kiss me?

  I straighten my back. “Let’s do some research on those conspiracy websites. See if we can find something that looks like what we saw.” And then I stand. “It’s way cozier in my room. We should move there.”

  Noah gives me the absolute shyest smile. “Uh, wow. Yeah. Great idea.”

  61

  “SO TRIANGLE-SHAPED UFOS HAVE THEIR own type of classification,” I say.

  “Yeah, I saw that. Here, it says that there’s some mythic Aurora aircraft rumored to have been developed in the eighties. But the government denies it ever existed. See, here, though. It’s got the right shape.”