On These Magic Shores Page 15

  Jasmine swiped her hair out of her face. It fell like a shiny waterfall behind her back. It was so black, blue streaks gleamed in it.

  “Hola,” I said, suddenly nervous. My Spanish wasn’t the best, at least not like Jasmine’s, but I’d give it a try. “¿Cómo estás?”

  She made a gesture of approval with her head, nodding up and down, and then winking at me. “I like your accent,” she said in Spanish. “My mom likes to watch the Argentine telenovelas.”

  “Mine loves the Mexican ones,” I said. “And my sisters and I love Chespirito.”

  “Chido!” she said, and the little awkwardness that had separated us a second ago was gone.

  Who knew telenovelas were the unifying force for Spanish-speaking countries?

  She looked at me expectantly. Somehow, Maverick must have told her something about why I wanted to meet her. I didn’t know how to start, but she said, “So, ¿qué onda?”

  Self-conscious of my Argentine accent, I ­continued speaking Spanish. “Do you want to be in the middle school play? If you want to fit in at school, being in the play is the easiest, fastest way.”

  Jasmine’s face froze in shock. “The play?”

  Something had definitely been lost in translation. It was clear she hadn’t been expecting an offer to be in the play, the event of the season. She crossed her arms in front of her like she needed a shield, like she was scared of me, although we were the same height.

  “Hear me out,” I said, placing a hand on her arm. It always worked when I needed to calm down one of my sisters. “I got cast as Tiger Lily, but I can’t do it anymore. It’s a cool role, though. If you want it, you can have my part. There’s a fifty-dollar fee. I made a commitment, but Miss Santos said I had to find a replacement.” I added the last part quickly because I saw that she was about to argue.

  Jasmine wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know . . .” Her narrowed eyes watched me carefully, as if she were trying to discover a trick, a trap. “If she’s so cool, why don’t you want to be her anymore?”

  She had a point.

  I wasn’t about to tell her my personal problems, but she deserved a true answer, even if it wasn’t the whole thing. “I can’t go to rehearsals. I have to babysit because my mom’s sick.”

  Her face softened in understanding, but then her eyes sharpened again, as if she’d remembered something. “But Tiger Lily? I don’t love the Disney movie.”

  Bingo! Jasmine was the perfect girl for the role, then.

  I explained my idea: of a band of Amazons that beat the Lost Boys, pirates, and mermaids at everything.

  Jasmine thought for a second.

  “I’ll help you get ready. I promise,” I said. “I’m envisioning Wonder Woman-like outfits for all the Amazons.” I added that last part in the spur of the moment.

  Jasmine closed her eyes for a few seconds, as if trying to picture herself on a stage, in a new school, in a language she still didn’t entirely speak. She let out a long sigh, and I held my breath.

  Finally, she stretched out her hand for me to shake. “Deal. I’ll bring the money to school tomorrow. Is that okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. The burden of Lily and her girls fell off my shoulders.

  A true warrior knows when to step aside. I was already fighting too many battles. Jasmine seemed like a fighter, too. She’d be the perfect Tiger Lily.

  So while Maverick and Miguel helped the girls make piles of leaves for the fairies to hide, I told Jasmine all the amazing things about Tiger Lily. And all the changes Jasmine could make to her character.

  With each word out of my mouth, my heart ­crumbled to smaller pieces. By the time I was done telling Jasmine about Lily’s awesomeness, my new friend was smiling from ear to ear.

  Lily wasn’t an idiot. She was brave. Her girls counted on her, and she protected them.

  I’d read the book so many times, and I’d still been so clueless.

  Lily, if one could read beyond the author’s intentions, was the coolest person in the whole Neverland universe.

  * * *

  The next day Mamá must have felt tons better because her usual bossy, no-nonsense self had been busily occupied cleaning the house by the time I woke up.

  “Mamá, go back to bed,” I said.

  She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “You can’t miss so much school. I won’t allow it.”

  “But, Avi,” I argued, trying to take the broom out of her hand while my baby sister clutched my other hand like I was her savior and my mom a cannibal ready to eat her or something.

  “I’m the mom! I know what to do. Go to school and don’t come back until three. Remember, that cop will be more than happy to catch you as a truant.”

  She was the mom. I was the daughter.

  I couldn’t argue with that, so I left with Maverick and Kota, while Avi wailed inside the house, not in words — that would have made her yelling and crying more bearable for Mamá, I think — but in shrieks and howls that rang in my ears for the whole morning.

  On the way to English, right after lunch, Mrs. Burke, the vice principal, saw me in the hallway. I’d never spoken to her, even though she welcomed the students at the school doors every morning. I’d always tried to blend in so I wouldn’t call attention to myself. But she obviously knew me.

  She wagged a finger at me like she was accusing me of something bad. Really bad. Her face was so ­serious. Her light brown eyes x-rayed me, and I started sweating all over.

  She didn’t need to call me. I walked in her direction, and she tucked her highlighted hair behind an ear in which dangled a single elegant pearl pendant.

  “So you’re the famous Minerva Miranda,” she said.

  I nodded. My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth.

  “Mrs. Santos has told me all about you.”

  I had a hard time swallowing.

  She continued, “She shared those Internet articles with me. We love your idea of having Amazons instead of Indians. For months since I started this job, I’ve been thinking about how to get the school to change this play tradition. And you figured something out. Thank you.”

  I was giddy with the compliment, and by now my heart rate had gone back to normal, and my tongue was unstuck. Pride, confidence, and an unstuck tongue weren’t always a good combination. Proof of that was the reply that blurted out of me before I could think better of it.

  “My mom says sometimes people do things out of habit,” I said. “Even when they affect us, we go with the flow because ignoring things is easier than working to fix them. I didn’t want to go with the flow.”

  In my mind, I could hear Kota exclaiming, Minerva Soledad! A single thank you would have been enough!

  To my surprise, Mrs. Burke nodded. “It’s time for change, and I thank you for fighting for it. I’ve always hated Peter Pan, but now, if the play turns out as cool as it reads from the new draft Mrs. Santos wrote, I might bring my family to come watch it.”

  Her words filled me with pride. Now I was committed to making this new Lily into the star of the play.

  “I wish you’d agreed to stay on as Tiger Lily —” she said.

  “Just Lily,” I said. If we were going to implement all these changes, we might as well start by calling our characters their proper names.

  Mrs. Burke smiled slyly. “Okay, Lily. While I’m not happy you’re not in the play, I can’t say you found a bad replacement. Jasmine Garcia is a great addition.”

  “Jasmine was the clear next option,” I said, shrugging my shoulder. “The role had to go to a strong girl, and Jasmine is the strongest girl I know.”

  Mrs. Burke squinted at me like she was seeing me for the first time, and maybe she was. I hated that she might find me lacking. “I know another pretty strong young lady, who’s talking to me right now.”

  I held her gaze. Without a mask to hide me,
the true Minerva, I said, “Sometimes a girl gets tired of being strong all the time and just wants to be a kid, you know?”

  She smiled warmly and ruffled my hair. “Now we’re talking, sister,” she said, then turned on her kitten heels and walked away.

  * * *

  By lunchtime, I realized my replacement lacked the fury required to face off Captain James Hook and his pirates. In spite of her swagger the day we transferred Lilyhood, in front of the whole cast, Jasmine was too shy. Too soft.

  “You have to think that she wanted to achieve two things,” I said. We were in the drama closet going through props. “First, she hates those pirates that came to her land to pillage and take away her girls’ pride. Second, she maybe wants food. Think about it, her land is rich beyond thought. But the pirates are stealing from the Amazons. She wants to prove you can’t mess with her people and expect to tell the tale.”

  Jasmine nodded, but I didn’t have the impression that I was getting through to her. Miguel, on the other hand, was drinking up my words. In silence, he organized a box with props for the play. Flowers. Plastic swords. Hats. Eye patches.

  “Too bad this is all old stuff,” Maverick said. “We could have done with a new cannon or something.”

  “¿Estás loco?” Miguel exclaimed, brandishing a sword. “We have plenty and more. But this? This goes in the trash.”

  Miguel held up the Indian headdress that countless Tiger Lilys had worn for generations and generations of Andromeda Middle School productions. Miguel pushed the colorful feathers deep in the trashcan. “We’ll make Lily and her warriors true warriors, wonder women all of them. You’ll see,” he said in Spanish, and I translated to Maverick.

  There was a glint in Miguel’s eye that told me he got it. The props and costumes were safe in his hands.

  My mom always said that necessity was the mother of invention, and Miguel was proof of that. He was a year older than Jasmine, but for some reason, they were both in my grade. Miguel had that older sibling attitude I knew too well.

  Looking at the headdress with disdain, Jasmine said, “And you got all of that about Lily from the one line that says she was captured while trying to raid the boat and when she says ‘How’?”

  “It’s called subtext,” I said, distracted by the movement beside me.

  Miguel put down a flashlight and an old bell he’d found in the bottom of the box. He exclaimed wordlessly, making expressive gestures that left no room for doubting that he was excited to have found the props for Tinker Bell.

  An idea struck immediately, and I acted upon it. “Miguel,” I said, “since you’re good at actions, why don’t you teach Jasmine some fierce facial expressions? Think about pirates trying to take your land. Your customs and religion. Make it clear that she’s having none of that.”

  A somber look passed over Jasmine. “What about having to leave them? Your land and your people. Your dog named Coco and your next-door neighbor Gabriel, who’s been your best friend forever? What if you had to walk the desert, hiding from searching lights? Being afraid that they’ll take you away from your family at the border. Do those feelings count?”

  Fierceness shone in her deep brown eyes. I didn’t look away. I couldn’t. I knew what she felt, even though our situations were so different. Jasmine, the soft. Jasmine the sweet. She was strong in ways I couldn’t imagine.

  “Those feelings are perfect. Channel that,” I said, patting her shoulder, and left them practicing facial expressions. By rehearsal tonight, she would have perfected Lily.

  Before the bell for the end of lunch, I called home to check on Mamá and Avi. The line was working again.

  “We’re good. We’re good,” Mamá replied, her attempt at cheerfulness not fooling me.

  Avi still wailed in the background. How in the world were her vocal chords still working? Poor Avi. She missed me. Poor Mamá. Stuck all day with a baby who hated her.

  “I’m starting to think a visit to Mirta might do both of us good.” Mamá laughed, but I didn’t join her.

  She knew what my silence meant because she added, “It’s a joke, Minnie. It’s a joke. I won’t take her back but — Santo Cielo! — I sure need a break.”

  So that evening, instead of hanging out with Jasmine, Miguel, Maverick, and Blessings, I stayed home to give Mamá what she needed. A break.

  Avi didn’t even want to look at Mamá. In fact, every time Mamá looked her way, Avi broke into hysterics.

  “Can you take her outside for a minute? Maybe she needs some sunshine,” Mamá whispered. She was back on the couch. My productive, busy mom hadn’t made it all the way to the afternoon.

  “Avi, put on your coat!”

  The little dictator smiled and didn’t wait to be told twice. Once outside, she ran to Fairytown and pointed. “Look, Minnie. Fairy house!”

  Someone had made a little wall with river rocks to fence off the area around the houses. A beautiful rosebush heavy with velvety red flowers covered the fairy house like a canopy. The flowers were so out of season I looked around to make sure we’d walked out in the right place and time. But the mountains were still covered in snow, and the chill bit the end of my nose. Roses in October? I’d never noticed this bush before.

  “Did the fairies make this?” I asked, surprise leaking into my voice.

  Avi laughed and pointed to Mr. Chang, working in his apple trees. “He built it, Minnie! Fairies too small, Minnie!”

  I laughed. She was right. Even though they were magical, fairies were too small to do some things.

  I waved at Mr. Chang, hoping he knew how much I appreciated his quiet presence. I’d never thanked him for the vegetables. He waved back, and his smile said he knew I was grateful.

  Avi played in the leaves and jumped in puddles. She spoke with her imaginary friends. I eyed the skateboard Maverick had left by the door, but every time I wanted to try it, to at least step on it, I ­imagined someone casually walking past my house and seeing a ridiculous twelve-year-old girl trying to learn how to ride a skateboard.

  But it was now or never. Maverick would surely miss his skateboard soon. He’d come back for it and then I wouldn’t get to try it at all. I’d be too proud to borrow it again.

  Avi was stacking petals on a flat rock, so I made my way to the skateboard. As soon as I grabbed it, the door opened with a crash and Kota yelled, “Call 9-1-1! Mamá is dead!”

  * * *

  Mr. Chang called 9-1-1.

  Mr. Chang held Avi, who was paralyzed with horror and all the regret a three-year-old could hold. “Mamá. Mamá,” she mumbled.

  But Mamá didn’t respond.

  Mr. Chang ran into our apartment and said into his phone, “She’s alive, officer. But hurry up!”

  Mamá looked like Snow White after biting the poisoned apple. Mr. Chang gathered us around him and called the neighbors to help. A lady from across the street stayed with Mamá.

  My sisters and I waited in Mr. Chang’s kitchen while he spoke softly on the phone. I was so sick with worry that after everything was over, Kota and I said later how weird it was that we’d been inside Mr. Chang’s kitchen but couldn’t remember what it looked like.

  Soon after the ambulance parted with its tragic wail and our sleeping mother, Maverick’s mom showed up with open arms where Avi found refuge. McKenna held Kota and they both cried quietly next to the window.

  “Let’s get a backpack with your things, girls,” Mrs. Sorensen said.

  I looked at her and she nodded. Maverick gave me the thumbs up. “I get to have younger sisters for a few days,” he said.

  I only thought of Mamá, alone in the hospital.

  My sisters and I packed. As we headed to the Sorensens’ car, a taxi stopped in front of Mr. Chang’s driveway, blocking our exit. I’d never seen a taxi in our neighborhood before.

  A lady got out of the car carrying a small suitcase and a bi
g teddy bear. The bear looked ancient, like it belonged to another century. When the lady saw me, transfixed, she pressed her lips hard, just like Mamá did to control her emotions, just like I did to control mine.

  “Are you Nati’s girls?” she asked in English.

  I nodded, taking a step in her direction.

  Her lips broke into a grandmotherly smile I ­recognized because I’d seen it in my dreams. It was the same smile as in her social media profile picture.

  “My Minerva!” she cried and ran to wrap me in her arms in a hug that felt like home. “Mi niña! Mi bebé!”

  I didn’t know this woman. I’d never seen her before, but she smelled of safety. She was our twice-over mother.

  “Minnie,” Avi said in her small voice.

  Behind me, my sisters crowded around Mrs. Sorensen.

  “Is she family?” Mrs. Sorensen asked in a polite but oh-so-motherly voice.

  I translated back and forth between Mrs. Sorensen and Abuela Fátima. Abuela opened her purse to reveal her passport and Mamá’s birth certificate and most importantly, pictures to prove she was our grandma.

  “Here, Natalia’s eighteen years old in this picture. This is when she left home. She looks just as beautiful as Minerva, but with sharper eyes, and more developed, of course. Minerva’s only twelve,” said Abuela Fátima.

  As I translated back and forth, I edited to save me embarrassment.

  Maverick whispered in my ear, “She said something about beautiful and your name and you left that out. Why is that?”

  I elbowed him playfully and he smiled.

  “You’re welcome to come to my house with the girls and refresh yourself after such a long trip,” Mrs. Sorensen offered.

  Abuela’s eyes glinted. “Thank you, kind lady. But my little girl needs me, you see. I need to get to my Natalia.”

  When I translated Abuela’s words, I thought that when she said my little girl, she meant me. It wasn’t until the words were out of my mouth that I ­realized she was talking about my mom, her little girl. Like the Lost Boys, my sisters, Mamá, and I needed a mother. A mother for all of us, to help us until we were strong enough to fly solo, without any magic powder.