by Loriel Ryon
“What?” Yolanda held her hands out. “Just say it.”
“I think I like … girls.”
Yolanda blinked. “Girls?” Then it hit her. Of course, it all made perfect sense. Dread filled her, and her gaze dropped to the floor. “You mean … you like Ghita?” Yolanda had noticed Sonja and Ghita spending a lot of time together.
She wasn’t expecting to hear that. She thought they were just friends. Like she and Ghita had been. She thought Ghita had replaced her with a new best friend. Yolanda had assumed things would eventually go back to normal. She and Ghita would make up and be best friends again.
But now.
Now she didn’t know what to think.
It was like someone had sucked the air out of the room. Sonja was her sister and Ghita was her best friend, ex–best friend. They couldn’t like each other. Where would Yolanda fit in?
“Do you think Dad will care?” Sonja’s voice shook.
Dad? What about me? Ghita’s my best friend!
Yolanda knew her sister needed reassurance, but Ghita? It had become too much. She felt herself falling deeper and deeper into loneliness. If she didn’t have Ghita or Sonja, who did she have?
She knew she should tell Sonja is was fine, that it didn’t matter if she liked girls, because that was how she really felt. She should have told her everything was going to be okay. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Why did it have to be Ghita?
“I—I—I don’t know.” Yolanda shook her head. Then she got up and slammed the bedroom door behind her, leaving Sonja by herself.
As they continued walking through the grass, Yolanda’s vision blurred and her legs grew shaky and tired. She glanced back at Hasik. His forehead was sweaty and his shirt soaked. They stopped for a water break, and Yolanda pulled the serape off Wela. One of her chanclas fell on the ground, and Rosalind Franklin scooped it up and ran ahead of the group, wagging her tail.
“Rosalind Franklin!” Yolanda scolded. She folded up the serape and placed it behind Wela’s head. Wela sighed peacefully.
When they finally came to the casita, the sun was reaching for the horizon. There was a break in the grass in a perfect circle surrounding the casita. The ground was covered in hardened red earth, with green prickly pear cacti scattered around. The casita had obviously long been abandoned, the stone walls crumbled in places, leaving holes and gaps between the adobe bricks blackened with soot. The glass had been broken out of every window. Hasik parked Wela asleep in the wheelbarrow under a slice of shade near the porch. Rosalind Franklin sauntered proudly around the outside of the casita, the leather chancla hanging from her teeth.
Sonja stepped onto the small front porch and over a large hole in the floor. “The time Dad and I stopped here—” Sonja grasped the handle of the door and tugged. The entire door fell off its rusted screws and almost toppled her over. She let go as it clattered onto the porch, kicking up a torrent of dust and startling Rosalind Franklin, who darted behind the wheelbarrow. “Well, the door wasn’t quite this bad then.”
Sonja stepped inside.
Yolanda peeked through an empty window. It was a small house with two rooms. Yolanda stepped into the front room on a thick layer of red sand. Stacked against the wall near a long wooden table were a variety of rusted rakes, clippers, and shovels. A small doorway led to a back room, where waves of sand reached the ceiling and poured out of the doorway and into the front room.
Hasik stepped through the doorway carefully and looked around. “Not much in here, just some old tools.”
“Yes, but—” Sonja tugged a rusted shovel out from the sand. “This could help us dig for water.” She tossed the shovel from hand to hand.
“We are looking for a box,” Yolanda said as she scanned the room.
“What kind of box?” Ghita ran her fingers along the wall.
“I don’t know exactly.”
The sandy floor creaked under Yolanda’s feet. Fading bits of sunlight shone between the gaps in the walls. Above the long wooden table, gray scratches had been dug into the adobe wall. Letters and squares adorned the length of the wall above the table. Yolanda ran her fingers into the indentions. There was something familiar about them.
Rosalind Franklin strutted into the casita, carrying her prized chancla, and looked around. Yolanda reached down to grab the shoe from Rosalind Franklin when Sonja screamed.
“Look out!”
A large speckled bobcat leapt from behind the tools and hissed at Yolanda and Rosalind Franklin, baring its pointed canine teeth.
Yolanda froze. Her heart slammed against her chest, but she couldn’t move.
Rosalind Franklin dropped the chancla and began to growl, her black hackles rising up along her backbone. The bobcat crouched low on the ground, its eyes locked with hers. They danced around each other in a circle, the bobcat pushing Rosalind Franklin and Yolanda toward the back room and the sand-filled doorway.
Clutching the water bottle in one hand, Yolanda did the only thing she could think of. She threw the empty bottle at the bobcat, which seemed to irritate it more.
The bobcat leapt right at her. Yolanda turned and stumbled on the sand in the doorway. The bobcat’s teeth sank into her shoulder, the pain searing through her entire body.
Yolanda screamed.
Rosalind Franklin sprang onto the bobcat, her teeth sinking deep into its throat. Startled, the bobcat let go of Yolanda and whipped around, flinging Rosalind Franklin off. The bobcat charged at Rosalind Franklin, and they were a tangle of limbs, sand, and fur.
No, no, no! Yolanda kicked and flailed, desperate to save Rosalind Franklin.
A spray of blood dotted the sand, and Rosalind Franklin yelped. She backed away quickly while the bobcat leapt at her again, just missing her.
Sonja threw the shovel at the bobcat and it clanged against the wall. The bobcat backed up, leapt on the table, and disappeared through a glassless window.
Rosalind Franklin ran out of the casita, her tail tucked between her legs, leaving a trail of blood spots behind her.
Yolanda sat up, clutching her shoulder, shaking.
Blood oozed through her fingertips.
Twenty-three
HASIK knelt down in front of her and inspected the wound. “It doesn’t look deep.” He pulled an extra shirt from one of the backpacks and dabbed at it. Yolanda winced, and her hands shook. “But it could get infected,” he said.
Yolanda tried to calm herself and take a deep breath, but as she looked toward the door, a surge of adrenaline coursed through her again. “Where did she go? Where’s Rosalind Franklin?” Her heart pounded anxiously.
“We’ll need water to wash it,” Sonja said, her voice shaking. She paced back and forth across the room. “I remember a cottonwood not too far from here. I can try digging there.” Sonja picked up the shovel and walked toward the opening of the casita. “I’ll check on Wela first. I shouldn’t be long.”
Ghita pulled another rusted shovel out of the sand and followed Sonja.
Sonja turned back. “I don’t need your help.”
“You’re not going alone.” Ghita looked Sonja right in the eyes. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Take her, Sonja,” Yolanda snapped. Sonja’s attitude toward Ghita was starting to bother her. Hasik dabbed her shoulder again and she winced. “Can you check on Rosalind Franklin? I’m worried.”
“I’m sure she just got spooked.” Sonja examined the dots of blood on the sand. She poked her head out of the doorway. “Wela’s okay. She’s sleeping. We’ll be back soon.”
Hasik helped Yolanda to her feet, her legs shaking underneath her. “I need to see if Rosalind Franklin is okay,” she said.
After Welo died, Dad had taken the girls to go pick out a puppy. Yolanda was immediately drawn to a fat black puppy with puffy cheeks and perky ears. She was a rowdy little thing, pulling on her mama’s tail and jumping over all the other puppies. Yolanda knew what she wanted to call her.
“Rosalind Franklin,” she’d said. She h
ad learned about the chemist that week and was now officially obsessed with her.
“That name is too long,” Sonja said, dragging a toy rope across the ground for a gray-and-white puppy. “I like Yosemite or Sequoia.”
Yolanda rolled her eyes. “You and your outdoorsy references.”
“You and your science references.” Sonja had raised her eyebrows at her sister as she picked up the gray-and-white dog. “Besides, I like this one. She’s calm.”
“I want this one.” Yolanda picked up the black puppy and nuzzled her nose into her fur. “Rosalind Franklin.” And so it was.
Rosalind Franklin.
Yolanda followed the trail of blood out of the casita, her stomach in knots. She scanned the area, looking for any signs of the bobcat. There were none. Wela was still sleeping peacefully in the wheelbarrow under the shade. The grass whistled as a slight breeze blew a few stray hairs across Wela’s face. Yolanda swallowed hard. What if Rosalind Franklin was badly hurt? She continued to follow the drops of blood down the steps, across the red sand. The drops ended at the edge of the grass.
Yolanda parted the grass and tried to follow the drops of blood, but they quickly disappeared. She felt a hand on her wrist, pulling her back.
“You can’t go after her,” Hasik said gently. “You’ll get lost out there.”
She knew he was right. But she wanted nothing more than to go after her dog and make sure she was okay. Yolanda shut her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t leave her out there all on her own.” Anguish twisted inside of her as the tears brimmed in her eyes. She felt like she was abandoning her dog. She dropped to her knees. “Rosalind Franklin!” Her voice cracked. “Come back, girl!”
Hasik handed Yolanda the collar with blue and purple double helices. A small line of crimson was streaked over the l in Rosalind. Yolanda sat there for a long time, running her fingers over the embroidered letters, replaying the incident in her mind. Maybe she could have grabbed Rosalind Franklin or done something more to help her. It had all happened so fast.
“We’ll find her,” he said.
“Out here?” Yolanda looked at the grass surrounding them. The air chilled as the breeze whistled through the popping blades.
“She’s a scrappy little thing. We’ll find her.” Hasik patted her on the back reassuringly.
The guilt sat like a hot stone in her stomach. She hoped they would find Rosalind Franklin and she would be okay, but Yolanda couldn’t shake the dread that she might never see her again. And that Rosalind Franklin had protected her from the bobcat made Yolanda feel even worse.
Even though she didn’t want to, and even though all she wanted to do was run into the grass after Rosalind Franklin and scoop her up in her arms, Yolanda double wrapped the collar around her wrist, fastened it, and climbed to her feet.
Twenty-four
“I HAVE that turmeric.” Hasik pulled the bulb out from his pocket and scraped it on a rock. “It might help.”
Yolanda and Hasik were sitting outside the casita. The sun was beginning to set, and they had moved Wela out of the wheelbarrow and onto a bed of grass. Her heart ached for Rosalind Franklin, and she wanted nothing more than to go find her and make sure she was okay, but Sonja and Ghita still had not returned and it looked as though they would have to camp another night. Her head flicked back and forth at every crunch of a twig or swish of grass. She heard coyotes howling in the distance and thought about all the horrible things that could happen to Rosalind Franklin during the night.
She rubbed the bulb over her shoulder. The juice was soothing. “I should have paid closer attention to your science fair project,” Yolanda admitted. She blew cool air over the teeth marks, drying the juice and sending goose bumps down her shaking arm.
Hasik smiled, rubbing the back of his neck as he lumbered around her. “It wasn’t that great of a project, just some stuff my dad showed me.” He stopped. “Now, your project … Your project was something—something—way over my head.” He laughed.
“You’re really honest. I like that,” Yolanda said. As soon as she said it, her palms began to tingle. She rubbed the turmeric over the marks in her shoulder a little harder.
They both looked at Wela, sleeping in the shade. The butterflies opened and closed their wings, their black-and-orange patterns glowing like a halo in her hair.
“You sure it doesn’t bother you?” Hasik’s brown eyes were genuine and warm.
“What?” Yolanda said.
“That you didn’t get the trait?”
His question surprised her. Of course it bothered her, but she wasn’t going to admit it to anyone. There wasn’t anything she could do about it.
So she lied.
“Nope.”
Hasik stood and stretched his arms over his head. “I still don’t believe you.” He shook his head. “If my sister had a skill like that and I didn’t, it would definitely bother me.”
Hasik was so matter-of-fact, like it was perfectly normal to feel jealous over something like that. He was easy to talk to. Yolanda sighed. “Welo told me once that Raúl, Wela’s brother, never got a skill.”
Hasik sat back down. “So you might end up like Raúl? Without a skill?”
Yolanda nodded sadly. “Yep.”
Yolanda didn’t say anything for a few minutes, the awkward silence hanging in the air. Then she finally said, “Okay, yes, fine, it bothers me.”
Hasik nudged her. “But you don’t need a skill. You’re practically a genius anyway. That’s your skill, being so smart.”
Yolanda shook her head. “But I’m ordinary. Not like Wela, or my sister, or Mami, or Violeta, or Mamá, for that matter. Why do I have to be the ordinary one?”
Hasik’s voice softened. “There’s nothing ordinary about you.”
Her fingertips prickled, her throat dried up, and she wanted to run.
“I like you,” he said, and smiled.
That bright white smile.
Yolanda’s insides flip-flopped and her heart began to pound again. She stood awkwardly, trying to decide if she should say something back or nothing at all. Then she dashed toward the casita.
“I think you might like me too,” Hasik called as she disappeared inside the casita.
Yolanda leaned against the cool wall, her heart beating fast. The sand underneath her feet was soft and her feet sank in. I don’t like you—like that. At least, I don’t think I do. But all these feelings, the nerves, the heart pounding. Maybe she did like him.
She turned her attention to the scratches in the wall and traced the marks with her fingertips. She realized why they were so familiar.
Punnett squares.
Hundreds of them etched into the crumbling wall, with different letters and sizes, but all with the same handwriting.
The turmeric grew slippery in her sweaty hand and fell into the sand. She picked it up and dusted it off before putting it in her pocket. Something hard and black poked out of the sand underneath the table. Yolanda got down, dug in the sand, and felt something.
A handle.
She pulled hard. It didn’t budge.
She peered underneath the long wooden table and pushed the sand away, revealing a rectangular metal box the size of a large shoe box. She pulled until finally it sprang from underneath the table.
Yolanda placed it on the ground next to her and tried the latch on the front, but it was locked. She shook it. It was heavy, as though it was filled with sand too. This must be the box Wela was looking for, she thought.
Yolanda brought it outside as Ghita and Sonja returned from their water search.
“We didn’t find water.” Sonja stabbed the shovel into the ground. “We dug at a cottonwood, but the ground was hard, so we didn’t get very deep. The closer we get to the river, the better our chances will be to find water.”
Sonja’s freckled cheeks were sunburned and her lips cracked. Three bees buzzed around her head.
Ghita looked exhausted.
“Did you find her?” Yolanda asked hopefu
lly.
Ghita shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Yolanda’s heart sank and she tried to push the thoughts of an injured Rosalind Franklin from her mind. “Thanks for earlier,” she said. “For, you know …”
“Scaring the bobcat away?” Hasik walked around the side of the casita, his fingers bloodied, carrying several pads of green cactus.
Sonja smiled. “No problem.”
“I found prickly pear,” he said. “We’ll need a fire to roast the spines off, but I’ve heard it’s pretty tasty. It’s too early in the season for the prickly pear fruits. Sorry.” He dropped the cactus in a pile on the ground. He paused and scratched the back of his head with his hand. “I have no idea how to make a fire.”
“I’ll start a fire. Since we are staying. Who knows how long it will be before we will get to eat again.” Sonja walked over to Wela and brushed the hair from her face. “I can’t believe it’s taking us this long.”
Hasik carefully pierced each pad of prickly pear on a stick and gave them to Ghita. Yolanda walked over and handed Hasik the bulb of turmeric.
“Thanks,” Hasik said, their fingers lightly brushing. Yolanda felt her cheeks heat up as her eyes darted to the ground. She then turned her attention to her sister. She watched in amazement as Sonja quickly built a small fire next to Wela, like she’d done it a thousand times. Yolanda hadn’t known her sister had so many skills. She knew Sonja and Dad camped and hiked a lot, but she had never been interested in what they were actually doing out there. Yolanda had always stayed back with Welo and worked with him in his workshop.
Wela began to stir. “Oh, mijitos, you’re doing it all wrong,” she said, sitting up on her elbows. She raised an arm and called for Ghita to bring over the prickly pear. Hasik helped Wela sit up.
“Sonja, ven aquí,” Wela said. “Come help me.”
Sonja sat down next to Wela and held up one of the sticks of prickly pear.
“I’m going to show you how to bring the fruit,” Wela said.
“But it’s May.” Hasik sat down in front of Wela. “It’s too early.”
“Watch, mijo.” Wela held up her hand and touched the top of the prickly pear in three places. Tiny plum buds began to emerge from the top, quickly growing into a trio of prickly pear fruits.