Into the Tall, Tall Grass

by Loriel Ryon

  “I promise. I promise, Welo,” she had said just to calm him.

  She still didn’t know what he’d been so frantic about, and she felt terrible for not being able to keep that promise.

  Yolanda glanced up.

  Sonja stood near the dirt road, bouncing up and down, her backpack poking out at an odd angle from the humming bee house wedged inside. A few stray bees buzzed around her braids. Yolanda laughed to herself. Nice try, Sonja. The bus driver is still going to notice that.

  Ghita and Hasik jogged down the dirt road from their house, which was a two-minute walk up the road. The Patels were the only other family who lived on Rowley Road and the only family in town who would socialize with Wela and the girls. They owned a small bit of land with an enormous greenhouse out back where Mr. Patel grew all the plants he sold at his nursery in town. When Sonja spotted Ghita and Hasik, she smiled and stopped bouncing. She was always like that around Ghita.

  Smiling.

  It was hard to see Ghita and Sonja together. It used to be Yolanda and Ghita. And now it was Sonja and Ghita.

  All the time.

  Yolanda stole a glance at Hasik. He was at least two heads taller than Sonja, with a muscular, stocky build. He was probably the strongest kid in their class, and the kindest. Yolanda hadn’t spoken to him since the day she found Wela on the floor of her workshop and ran to their house for help. Towering over Ghita and Sonja, he held his poster board and a gnarled root in one hand and waved awkwardly with his other. Yolanda smiled. He was a nice boy.

  Ghita placed a box containing three yellow pots overloaded with fuchsia blooms on the ground. She was tiny and thin, completely opposite of her brother. She revealed a bouquet of wildflowers from behind her back; the buds were all tightly closed and new. Ghita plucked a yellow bud from the bunch and held it out for Sonja. Sonja touched her fingertip to the bud and its petals stretched wide.

  That’s new, Yolanda thought. She hadn’t seen Sonja work with plants before. Her skill must be getting stronger. Even though the butterflies were always with Wela, she could do all sorts of things with other insects too. And plants. Wela rescued plants that were well past their prime from Mr. Patel’s nursery and brought them back to life with the touch of her fingertip.

  Sonja smelled the yellow flower before handing it back, and Ghita stood on tiptoes and wove it into Sonja’s braids. They repeated this a few times, Sonja opening the closed bud and Ghita weaving it into her hair, making a colorful crown for the bees to fly around in. Sonja’s cheeks flushed pink.

  Ghita thinks she’s so cool now because of that ring in her nose, thought Yolanda. She had gotten it during a trip to India last fall. Everyone, except Yolanda, had surrounded her at school, commenting that it was awesome her mother let her get her nose pierced.

  Ghita brushed her long dark hair behind her shoulder and pulled out an orange flute with a large bulb on one end. She played a cheerful tune while Sonja danced and laughed and the bees flew in a circle around the both of them.

  When the bus rumbled down the dusty road, Yolanda turned off her podcast, tossed her phone in her backpack, and picked up her poster and box of cups.

  A stray bee flew by her face, and she let go of the poster to flick it away.

  The air rushing from the approaching bus caught the poster and sucked it underneath. She dropped the box of cups on the ground, and one of the cups rolled underneath the bus, cracking under the tire.

  No! No! No!

  A wave of panic coursed through her body. She reached for the poster, but it disappeared and then popped out from the massive black tires as the brakes squealed to a halt in a cloud of dust.

  “No!” Yolanda dashed after it, but the wind picked up, rolling the poster down the dirt road. Her heart sank. This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not after all her hard work.

  Hasik thundered past her and snatched the poster off the ground. “Here you go—” He handed her the crumpled poster, a look of pity on his face.

  “Thanks,” she muttered. The poster was ripped down the center and covered with black tire marks. She picked up her one remaining cup. Three red-eyed fruit flies buzzed around inside. This couldn’t be happening. Not today, not right now.

  Sonja glanced back and bounded up the steps after Ghita, seemingly unaware that this was all her fault.

  “Oh no you don’t,” the bus driver called.

  “What?” Sonja said.

  “No bees on the bus! I don’t know how many times we have to go through this—I can see the box in your backpack.”

  The color drained from Sonja’s face.

  The bus driver pointed and shook his head again. “Bruja,” he muttered.

  Sonja’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.

  “I’ll walk with you,” Ghita said as they stepped off the bus and started toward school.

  Hasik walked up the steps and Yolanda followed. I knew he was going to catch you, Yolanda thought. A few bees, left behind, flew into her face. This time, unable to resist, she flicked hard at one and it came back and stung her on the cheek.

  “Ouch!” She slapped her palm to her face. Her heart began to pound as she realized what she had done.

  No! Not again!

  She froze. Her heart thumped in her chest.

  “Take your seat,” the bus driver grumbled under his stiff white mustache as he swatted a bee from his face.

  Hasik turned around. “Are you coming?”

  Yolanda stumbled back from the bus, already feeling dizzy. Hasik came down the steps and walked toward her.

  “Are you coming or not?” the bus driver yelled. When neither of them answered, he shut the door and the bus shuddered down the road.

  Her cheek was already beginning to swell.

  She dumped the contents from her backpack on the ground. Where is it? Where is it? She found the box and ripped it open, her heart jumping in her throat. She had to hurry. She didn’t have much time.

  “What’s wrong?” Hasik said.

  Calm. She had to stay calm. A rapid heartbeat would spread the venom faster. Her eye was starting to swell shut. White spots entered her vision.

  She tried to screw the injector together, but her hands were shaking too badly.

  She needed to get the stinger out.

  Her eyelids fluttered. She fell back from the dizziness, her throat beginning to squeeze closed.

  “Oh no.” Hasik towered over her, his face panic-stricken. “I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do.”

  “Bees—aller—” She handed him the injector.

  His brown eyes were the last thing she saw, just before everything went dark.

  Four

  YOLANDA gasped for air and her eyes shot open. A single brown eye loomed over her face. Her heart thumped in her chest.

  “Got it!” Hasik held a tiny stinger in between his fingers. “That’s what I’m supposed to do, right? Get the stinger out?”

  “Yep,” Sonja said as she pulled the injector out of Yolanda’s thigh.

  Yolanda rubbed her itchy swollen cheek, sat up, and looked around. She was sitting in the middle of Rowley Road. She couldn’t believe it had happened—again.

  “Should we call Mrs. Patel?” Sonja stuffed the injector into Yolanda’s backpack and stood.

  “I’m trying to get her.” Ghita pressed her phone to her ear.

  Yolanda’s head swam. “I should have allergy pills in my bag. Can you get me one?”

  Hasik dug around in her backpack until he found the bottle of pills and handed her one. Then he showed her the bulbous orange root. “This can help with swelling. It’s turmeric.” He scratched it against the ground, brushed off the dirt, and handed it to her. The exposed root glistened a deep burnt orange.

  “Thanks.” Yolanda rubbed it over the raw part of her cheek. The cool juice was soothing. She tried to relax and close her eyes, but she still felt itchy all over.

  “I can’t get my mom!” Ghita pressed her phone to her ear, frantically pacing back and forth i
n the middle of the road. “She’s not answering!”

  Ghita never was calm in emergency situations. Yolanda almost wanted to laugh, but then a wave of dizziness swept over her and she lay back again.

  “You woke up right away.” Sonja blocked the morning sun, casting a shadow over Yolanda. “Just like last time.” She slung her backpack over her shoulder. Bees buzzed all around her. “I can try to find someone to help if you want.”

  “No, no.” Yolanda climbed to her feet. “You’ve done enough. Just stay away from me.” Yolanda’s head swam again. She stumbled backward, and Hasik helped her regain her balance. Sonja gazed down at her feet and cinched her backpack up on her shoulders. It was clear she felt terrible about the bees. Yolanda picked up her ripped poster and plastic cup from the ground. She checked that her three remaining fruit flies were still alive and stowed the cup in her backpack. She folded the poster and tucked it underneath her arm. “I’ve got to get to the science fair.”

  “Are you sure?” Hasik raised an eyebrow. “I think you can get excused. This seems pretty serious.”

  “I’m fine.” Yolanda brushed her curls out of her face. “I need to get away from the bees. That’s all.”

  Sonja and Ghita exchanged a look. Yolanda’s stomach pinched as she looked away. Why did they always do that, exchange looks like she couldn’t see?

  Sonja and Ghita hung back while Hasik and Yolanda started down the dusty dirt road toward school. It was a three-mile walk. There were no trees in sight, only dry desert grasses and the occasional patch of cactus with waving green paddles covered in yellow spines to mark their progress.

  “How many times have you been stung?” Hasik asked.

  “Too many to count.”

  “That was pretty scary. You were gone”—he snapped his fingers—“just like that.”

  “I know.”

  She didn’t like to be out of control of her body. The way the dizziness took over, the way she knew she was going to pass out … It was terrifying.

  “It must be hard living with Sonja and the bees.”

  “Yeah. I try to avoid them, but sometimes …” She didn’t know what else to say. There wasn’t anything she could do about it, so why bother talking about it?

  When they got to the bottom of the road, they passed Mr. Patel’s nursery. The rusted sign hung crooked on the front door, the white paint chipped from the harsh desert winds.

  “I’m sorry about your grandmother,” Hasik said, a hint of sadness in his voice.

  Not this. Anything but this.

  Yolanda had run straight to the Patel house when she found Wela on the floor of her workshop. Hasik had been so calm, calling 911 and staying by her side until the ambulance came.

  “Thanks,” mumbled Yolanda.

  “You know, I lost my Nani—my grandmother—late last summer. It was awful. Mom took me and Ghita to visit her in India and she just … died. She was sick, but it was still unexpected. She was a famous snake charmer, and all these people came to her funeral to pay their respects. I was—”

  “Wela’s not dead, Hasik.” This talk about death was making her uncomfortable. “Besides, I don’t want to talk about it.” Thinking about the possibility of Wela dying made her dizzy again.

  “Okay. I’m sorry though.”

  She nodded and felt bad for snapping at him. She knew he wasn’t trying to pry, but she didn’t like to talk about those sad, awful things all the time. Lately, she was surrounded by sadness.

  “If you ever want to talk about it. Or your grandfather—he died late last summer too, didn’t he?”

  Yolanda’s heart sank. She definitely didn’t want to talk about that.

  Ever.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back tears. She didn’t say anything, as it might have caused her carefully hidden emotions to spill over. She would be horrified if Hasik ever saw her cry.

  “I’m sorry,” Hasik said again, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to …” He shrugged, and they continued trudging down the road in silence, the only sounds their shoes scraping against the dirt road and the hot breeze in their ears.

  * * *

  The auditorium roared with the chatter and laughter of students and teachers milling around and enjoying the science fair posters. Yolanda spotted a small crowd around Sonja and Ghita’s poster. The three yellow pots overflowing with pink blooms were set up in front, a small crowd gathered around them as Ghita pulled out the flute and began to play a song.

  Yolanda strode behind the crowd and watched as Sonja dipped tiny spoons into different jars of honey, letting people taste each variety. Eli Jensen and another boy stood in front of her.

  “I heard they are ‘together,’ ” Eli said, making quotes with his fingers.

  “Like girlfriends?” the other boy said. Eli shrugged and then laughed.

  Yolanda’s stomach lurched. She didn’t like overhearing things she wasn’t supposed to, especially about Sonja and Ghita. She was about to walk away.

  “If it wasn’t for those bees …” Eli rubbed his jaw. The other boy laughed.

  Yolanda couldn’t help herself. “What?” she snapped. “What? If it wasn’t for the bees …”

  Eli turned around, the color drained from his face. “Sorry, Yo. I didn’t realize you were right there.”

  “No, no.” Yolanda crossed her arms over her chest. “If it wasn’t for the bees … what? Sonja would be your girlfriend?”

  “Uhhhh,” Eli said, a dumb look on his face. The other boy laughed.

  “Fat chance. I don’t think so. She’s way too smart to like someone like you. Besides, isn’t it your mother trying to keep her out of camping club? Why? Can’t handle a girl who can put up a tent?”

  “Oh!” The other boy threw his head back and laughed.

  “Now, wait a second, Yo.” Eli pointed a finger at her. “That’s not fair. You know it’s because of the bees.”

  She shook her head, knowing it was more than the bees. It was the way Eli’s mother and grandmother looked at Wela and Sonja every time they were in the grocery store, bending their heads together and whispering that word: bruja. “I live with the bees, Eli. Get over yourself.”

  The other boy covered his mouth and laughed.

  “What happened to your face?” Eli glared at her. “Did a bruja get you?”

  Yolanda’s stomach tightened at that word. She almost expected Wela to come around the corner with her chancla raised. She clenched her jaw, dug deep, and walked away.

  Why was everyone in this town so awful to their family? And why didn’t Wela and Welo just leave if they obviously weren’t welcome here?

  She strode in front of her sister’s poster while Ghita waved her arms wildly about, explaining the effects the music had on the amounts of honey the two different colonies were able to produce. Mr. Green, the science teacher and judge of the science fair, smiled as he licked the tiny spoon clean.

  She sulked over to where she was supposed to set up her poster and tossed her backpack on the table. Her project was ruined, but she had to do something. She couldn’t leave it the way it was. Mr. Green was her favorite teacher after all. He had this way of explaining the world that just made so much sense to her.

  Engrossed in her work, she didn’t notice when Hasik came up behind her, until he tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up, her eye and cheek so swollen she could hardly see him.

  “Whoa! That one got you good.” He smiled his bright white smile and then scrunched up his face. Hasik jumped on the table next to her, swinging his legs. He pulled out a black pen and started helping her fill in the words.

  “What’s this?” Yolanda pointed to his handwriting.

  “Is something wrong? I’m not the best speller.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Hey,” Hasik protested.

  Yolanda pointed at the poster. “There’s no ‘f’ in ‘drosophila,’ it’s ‘ph.’ And mutant doesn’t have an ‘e’ in it.”

  He shrugged and snapped h
is pen cap on with this thumb. “I tried.”

  Yolanda fixed the poster as best as she could, blowing the curls out of her face.

  “You have cool hair,” Hasik said. Then he rubbed the back of his head and his eyes darted toward the floor.

  Yolanda couldn’t help but feel the heat rise up the back of her neck. Her palms tingled as she tried to ignore it. Hasik smiled again, cleared his throat, and swung his legs. Yolanda shook her head, trying to erase the feeling, but it remained. Why was he making her feel like this?

  She settled on leaving her poster flat on the table with the one remaining cup of fruit flies in front of it when Mr. Green approached the table and adjusted his glasses, his black wiry hair radiating in a million directions around his head.

  “Yolanda. What happened here?” He tapped his clipboard with his pen. “I expected much greater work than this.”

  She froze, unable to speak.

  Mr. Green leaned in and squinted at her. “What happened to your eye?”

  “I got stung—” she started to say.

  “Oh, the honeybees! Weren’t they great? I love the honey Sonja brought. She has a real winner with that project. Must run in the family.”