On These Magic Shores Page 14

  He put a hand in the air to stop my rant. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Time out!” He made the time-out sign and all. The dork.

  Now that I was properly quiet, he continued, “Don’t get offended. I said the first word that popped into my mouth because I’ve been thinking about your grandma all the way here.”

  “Your grandma?” I said. I was just repeating his words to make sense of what he was saying, but I saw no heads or tails to his rambling.

  “My grandma? No! My grandma’s in Hawaii!” He pointed straight into my chest, and self-consciously I crossed my arms. “Your grandma! I got this in my email just now.”

  He handed me an envelope with my name ­scribbled on it in what could only be Maverick’s handwriting. No grandma ever used such horrible chicken scratches.

  “My grandma sent you this?” Okay, miracles could happen, but this was just too much. No way he had received this envelope in his email. What did he think I was?

  Maverick burst out laughing. He snatched the envelope back and pulled out a sheet of printed-out paper. “This! I got a message from your grandma and printed it out so you could read it. Get it?”

  I clenched my teeth so that when I spoke, my words sounded like hail. “Thanks for laughing at me.” I could feel steam seething out of my ears.

  “You’re missing the whole point! Read it!” He was acting way too excited.

  “Did you read it?”

  Of course he had. Still, he had the decency to look embarrassed. “Even if I didn’t want to, it was a little hard not to. It’s good news. Go ahead, read it.”

  I peeked inside. Mamá still slept. I hoped she hadn’t heard this conversation. But she’d been asleep for a while after taking her medicine. The girls were quietly playing in the room, behaving super well — scared I’d take the toys away, I assumed. But why spoil their fun just because I couldn’t have any? Just because my needs wouldn’t be fixed with a Barbie doll?

  I gazed down at the letter. It wasn’t very long, but it took me a while to read because it was in Spanish, and some words were hard to understand.

  My dearest Minerva,

  I can’t tell you the surprise I felt when I heard from you. I’m so worried about you and your sisters. Most of all, I’m worried about my dear Natalia. I’m afraid something terrible must have happened to her to leave you unattended. My daughter and I haven’t always seen eye to eye concerning many issues, but she’s a wonderful mother. A much better mother than I’ve ever been.

  I’ve been calling the number you provided, but I can’t get through. Can you call me instead?

  I’ll be anxiously waiting by the phone.

  Abuela Fátima

  The words swam on the page. I willed them to go back to where they belonged. To fulfill their one job. I took a few deep breaths, and then I looked up at Maverick.

  “She says my number doesn’t work. I’ll go check.”

  Before he could interrupt me, I sneaked back inside. Mamá wasn’t on the couch anymore. The bathroom light was on, leaking under the door, but for now, no sounds of sickness echoed. The girls still played quietly in our room.

  I grabbed the phone receiver and put it against my ear. It was dead. No tone. Not even the swooshing sound of the ocean.

  I tiptoed out of the house to where Maverick waited, sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands.

  “It doesn’t work,” I said. I wasn’t sure why I was gasping for air.

  He looked up at me with his hands pressing on his cheeks, like a real-life emoji. “I could have told you that if you’d given me the chance. I only called you three hundred times on my way here.”

  It took all of my concentration to understand what he was saying because my mind was still inside with the dead phone. Maybe it was disconnected because we hadn’t paid.

  The fifty dollars I’d used for the play were a stone around my neck, sinking me lower in the mud of desperation. I’d have to get it back as soon as possible. Fifty dollars could get us groceries for a week if I was super creative by clipping coupons and buying the cheapest stuff I could get. What had I been thinking spending them on the play?

  “Literally, Miranda,” Maverick said in a perfect Mr. Beck impersonation. “You’re not your bright, perky self. Here. Use my phone.” He handed me his cell phone. Of course it was a shiny thing with no buttons. I’d never touched anything so expensive in my life. Well, maybe the arcade game, but that had been at his house too.

  The numbers and dollar signs popped in my mind.

  “Do you even know what you’re saying? That call would cost you a fortune!”

  He was shaking his head before I had time to finish my thoughts. “There’s an app that lets me call long distance over Wi-Fi. You’re seriously technologically deprived.”

  Of course he’d noticed. I might as well tell him the whole truth. “We don’t have Wi-Fi in case you were wondering.”

  “Your neighbor does, and he let me have the password.”

  Mr. Chang, our elderly neighbor, threw parties until three in the morning and had Wi-Fi. Of course.

  “Let’s call her now,” he said.

  He dialed and handed me back this thing he called a phone. The phone made a different ringing sound from what I was used to. I imagined the sound waves crossing thousands of miles to a satellite in space and then back to planet Earth. Thousands of miles away from me, my grandmother would answer the phone.

  And then . . . What would I say?

  If it wasn’t because I didn’t want to ruin Maverick’s phone, I would have dropped it. But right at that moment, a voice answered, so similar to my mom’s that I looked behind me to make sure she hadn’t left the couch. “Hola? Minerva? Sos vos?”

  Her voice had a lilt that sometimes Mamá got if she hung out with other Argentines for a while. I loved it. It was like a little song that made me think of warm weather and parties, like the one Mr. Chang had last night.

  “Minerva?” the lady asked when I didn’t reply.

  Maverick made stupid gestures for me to speak.

  I didn’t know what to call her. Fátima seemed too intimate. Abuela was more than a foreign word. It was what my friends called their twice-over-moms, and I never had one, had never even had an aunt.

  “Soy yo,” I said, trying to make my words extra clear to understand.

  “Is your mom still missing?” she asked.

  I shook my head, and then realized she couldn’t see me.

  Maverick gave me some privacy and went upstairs to the sidewalk.

  “She’s home, but she’s very sick,” I said with the sound of Maverick jumping off and landing on his skateboard in the background. Each time he landed on the pavement of the driveway, there was a SMACK! SMACK!

  I looked over my shoulder, afraid my mom would overhear and think I was betraying her. She tried so hard to make it work, but she couldn’t do it alone. Now, if my dad had stayed around, or if Mamá had remarried, we wouldn’t be in this situation, but every time I asked her why she didn’t date, Mamá’s eyes flashed and she said she couldn’t trust anyone, that she’d never bring a stranger to our house.

  “Minerva? What’s wrong with her?” the lady, my grandmother, asked. “Is she in the hospital?”

  I cleared my throat and covered the phone with my cupped hand. I didn’t want Mamá to overhear. “She was in the hospital but came home yesterday. She can’t even eat. I’m afraid she’ll have to go back.”

  Although I didn’t see the lady who was my grandma, I felt her thinking about what to do. But what could she do? She lived at the other end of the world.

  “Let me arrange a few things. Can you send me your address over the email?”

  I had no idea why she needed our address. Maybe to send someone to help us. A part of me breathed easier.

  I had asked for help and I had received a promise, or at least, the h
int of a promise. Someone else shared this burden.

  Why did I feel like I was betraying my mom when she needed my loyalty the most?

  On Saturday, Maverick stopped by the house to see if I wanted to hang out.

  “I can’t go,” I said.

  “Why not? The guys and I are planning a great day. We’ll jump on the skateboard and I’ll teach you how. I promise it’ll be wonderful.” Maverick, channeling his inner Kota, stomped on the ground for emphasis.

  Before I could stop her spilling our secrets, Kota snuck out from behind me and said, “She can’t go because Mamá passed out in the bathroom last night and Minnie had to pretty much drag her to the bed. She’s been sleeping ever since.”

  Maverick’s face fell. “Should we call 9-1-1?”

  9-1-1. I had almost dialed the number a million times only to hang up. Even without a working dial tone, the phone could still call emergency services. But then what?

  Maverick’s mom would let us stay at her house. But after a couple of days, what would we do? Three girls are a lot of people.

  Also, Mamá had made me promise not to call the ambulance. We couldn’t afford it.

  “No,” I said. “But check your email. My grandma said to call her today. She must’ve written something.”

  I could say that phrase “my grandma” in English, no problem. But I couldn’t call her Abuela when I talked to her or even thought about her.

  “Why are you talking about Grandma Fati?” Kota asked.

  “Shoo!” I waved her back into the house, but since I was laughing, my voice didn’t have that edge it needed for my sister to obey. Grandma Fati? This girl killed me.

  “Maverick, would you do me a huge favor? Do you know where the new girl, the girl from Mexico lives?” I needed to get Mamá’s money back.

  “Jasmine?” Maverick asked, blushing like a poppy.

  He liked girls. I got it. He liked them all, pretty like Bailey and this Jasmine girl. But he was my friend, right? So I pushed this ugly worm of jealousy down into my heart where it went to silently gnaw the darkness inside me.

  “What do you need her for?” he asked.

  “I just need to ask her something.”

  He eyed me with suspicion. “Okay, but I don’t understand why you want her. In any case, here, I’ll leave my skateboard so you can practice.”

  He placed the skateboard against the doorframe and ran upstairs, out of sight.

  * * *

  The girls played until they were too tired to even protest when I told them they needed a bath. In the bathtub, Avi chattered like a squirrel. I ran between the bathroom and the kitchen, checking on the girls and Mamá. By the way my sisters laughed when they saw me, I guessed I must have looked like a chicken with its head cut off. (Okay, I’d never seen one, but Mamá had terrible stories about her next-door neighbor chopping off chicken heads.)

  The girls splashed all over the bathroom and squealed when I popped my head in to tell them off. On the couch, Mamá gazed into space with a sad smile on her lips, as if Avi’s words were heavenly music.

  I was used to the miracle of her voice already, so it didn’t surprise me anymore. When had that happened? Miracles were all around me that I hadn’t seen before, and I wasn’t even talking about magic cupcakes or golden coins under the pillow. We still had a roof over our heads, and Mamá was home. We had eaten today.

  “She doesn’t forgive me,” Mamá whispered, start­ling me out of my blessings count. “I don’t blame her. I hardly forgive myself.”

  Her tears fell heavily on the pillow, making a little puddle before the fabric sucked them in. I wished the cotton/poly blend also could take away Mamá’s sorrow. Maybe if she weren’t so sad, she’d heal sooner.

  “Tell me what you and the girls did while I was gone,” Mamá asked.

  I’d already told her some things. Not the part where I took Avi to school and then there was a fire, but I spared no details when I told her how I stopped taking Avi to Mirta’s.

  “She owed me money and said she’d watch Avi. That’s why I still took her there,” Mamá said. I felt she was confessing to me, justifying her actions.

  That free care turned out to be too expensive for baby Avi to pay, but how could I add to Mamá’s sorrow?

  Later, when the girls were in bed, Mamá felt a little better. Enough to sit up on the couch. “Let me braid your hair,” she said. And after a few seconds’ silence, she added, “I’m sorry I didn’t braid your hair for the audition that day. I’m so sorry.”

  I couldn’t see her face, but her hands trembled against the skin of my neck.

  “So did you try out? What part did you get?” she asked.

  “I’m not going to be in the play,” I said.

  She took me by the shoulders and turned me around so she could look me in the eyes. “But why? You talked about this play for weeks. Why aren’t you going to participate?”

  I bit my lip as I debated whether to tell her or not. I couldn’t participate because she was sick. I couldn’t leave her alone.

  What about school? the nasty voice spoke in my mind again. I shooed it away, but it stayed, lurking in a corner of my heart.

  Maybe Mamá didn’t need me to say anything to understand what I was thinking. She was my mom. She knew me better than anyone.

  And then she said something that surprised me. “I hope there’s never a next time, but if I get sick, ask for help. You’re so young, Minerva,” she said. “I’m sorry you had to grow up so quickly.”

  I was twelve, and although my body was just now starting to change into something else, I was still powerless to take care of my family.

  Later, Mamá slept, but I kept watch into the night. I went over the Peter Pan and Wendy book. Some parts I hated (like the dialogs where I didn’t know who was saying what), but I kept going back to Tiger Lily. Did she really only say How in the book? What was her story, really?

  The book said that Peter found her tied to a rock in the middle of the sea. Captain Hook had left her there after she tried to raid the boat with her horde of Indians. Horde of Indians? So offensive! If this book was written today, this kind of disrespect wouldn’t pass, I hoped.

  It would be a million times better if Mrs. Santos went along with my idea: instead of Indians, Tiger Lily (we’d just call her Lily) would lead a band of sisters, smashing down gender roles and fighting the stupid Lost Boys.

  That way Tiger Lily wouldn’t have to call Peter the Great White Father. This story was awesome, but it was phrases like this that made me want to cry. Or laugh. I actually snorted and máte tea flew out of my nose. But she was strong, that Tiger Lily. She took care of her people. I knew what she felt. She just needed a makeover for the twenty-first century.

  * * *

  The weekend was eternal — even longer than when Mamá was gone. Waiting for a message and hearing nothing in return turns time into syrup.

  Sticky.

  Slow.

  Thick.

  At night, I couldn’t sleep. I read the stupid Peter and Wendy book so many times I memorized the whole thing.

  Each time I read it, I realized that Wendy wasn’t the part for me after all. Who wanted a band of Lost Boys when I already mothered a band of lost girls, including Mamá? She was fading away.

  Becoming Peter’s romantic interest or the reason he gave up his eternal childhood didn’t interest me either. I wanted to be free. I wanted to keep fighting Captain Hook and his pirates. Like Tiger Lily surely did, once Peter gave up Neverland.

  That Lily girl wasn’t only beautiful; she was also smart. Otherwise, how would she have been made the chieftain of her people? She was the daughter of Great Little Panther, after all.

  Even if I couldn’t bring Lily to life in the play, I’d fight like her, until the end. I’d find a way to stop the hook of illness and loneliness from hurting my mom once a
nd for all.

  On Sunday afternoon, Mamá felt good enough to walk a little. She sat on a rickety chair in Mr. Chang’s yard and looked on as Avi and Kota built fairy houses. The weather forecast announced a cold front coming soon. The mountains were already dressed in their white capes, and when the wind blew down on the valley, it carried a warning to snuggle close to someone, to put on warm winter clothes.

  Wordlessly, Avi had brought Mamá the blanket Mrs. Sorensen had given her. Mamá wrapped herself in it, like they were the words Avi withheld from her.

  I wondered why Avi wouldn’t talk to Mamá. Why she wouldn’t even whisper a word in her presence.

  Mamá must have wondered, too. She gazed at the fluffy, cottony clouds with such longing, as if she wanted to fly away. I had a feeling she would if it weren’t for us tying her down to earth. Her skin was so pale. Even her hair had started to bleach out of color. In the sunshine, I noticed some grays that hadn’t been there before she got sick.

  When the mountains were orange and gold with the last fingertips of sunshine, Mamá walked back inside the house.

  “You can play outside a few more minutes. It’s too cold for me,” she said.

  Avi and Kota jumped on fall leaves with their bare feet, as if they didn’t notice the bite of cold. Neither did I, for that matter, but my burst of warmth came at the sight of Maverick and Jasmine, walking in my direction, and Jasmine’s brother, Miguel, trailing behind.

  Maverick didn’t speak Spanish, and Jasmine’s English still had a way to go before she could provoke such a fit of laughter, but Maverick was cracking up like she had told him THE joke of the century.

  When he was just a few yards away, he pointed and said, “Here’s Jasmine. I told her you wanted to talk with her.”

  “Mavvy come play!” Avi called him over, and he took off running to help them build what had now turned into Fairytown. Miguel followed him like a shadow.