by Lysa Daley
The Mariposas, a fifty-something married couple from someplace in Central America, are the owners, not just of this little place, but of the whole complex; including the karate studio, their deli, a dry cleaner, a nail salon, and a tax guy.
My uncle helps them maintain the whole complex, which is why he hired Jax to paint.
The little bell above the door tinkles as I enter. The store is part deli and part grocery store filled with all sorts of Latin delicacies like carnitas, arroz con pollo, and pastries.
Señor Mariposa stands behind the counter. His silver hair slicked neatly back, and he's wearing his signature starched white guayaberas; a short-sleeved, lightweight, open-necked button up shirt that old Latin guys wear.
"As-treed," Señor M smiles. My name sounds kind of dorky the way he says it, which is weird because his accent makes every other word in the English language flow languidly off his tongue like music.
He's sliding a tray of fresh Mexican tamales in the case. They sell both Mexican and Salvadoran tamales. Apparently, they're totally different and to call them similar would be fighting words to half the Yucatan peninsula. (Personally, I like the Mexican ones better, but I think Señor M is Salvadoran, so he's always trying to foist the other ones on me.)
"Hi, Señor M," I smile. "Quiet tonight."
"So busy! Before 3:00." He makes a face, scrunching up his nose. "Nice and calm now. Just the way I like it." He winks at me. "What can I get you?"
"Just a double skinny vanilla latte with an extra shot," I say, scanning the baked goods in the deli case. There's nothing good left. No dulce de leche muffins. Just weird glazed danishes with some unidentifiable fruity jam in the center.
Yuck.
Instead, I push a bag of itty-bitty chocolate chip cookies across the counter.
He frowns. "Too much caffeine is not good for a growing girl. I will make you a fruit smoothie. Lots of protein and fiber." He bobs his head like this is the best idea he's had all day. "How 'bout that? Pineapple, coconut, lots of berries for your berry big brain." He laughs at his joke.
I force a smile, but a protein/fiber smoothie sounds even less appealing than the weird jammy pastries. I’m wondering if my uncle got to him. "Um. Yeah. Thanks, Señor M., but I'm sort of dying for a latte." I reply in that polite way adults love. "I have tons of homework to keep me up tonight."
"Gotcha." He nods, clearly disappointed, but goes to work on my coffee anyway.
While I wait, I decide to take a little stroll around the store. The shelves are lined with familiar brands, but it's strange to see a Spanish version of Cornflakes.
At the end of the aisle, a bare lightbulb, dangling from a cord in front of the freezer case, blinks off and on, off and on. When the bulb pops, complete with a shower of sparks, I nearly jump out of my skin. The back of the store now glows with only the sickly greenish light coming from the refrigerator section.
Rounding the corner near the storeroom, I come face to face with Señora Mariposa. Startled, I let out a little squeal, "Whoa! Sorry Señora."
She smiles and tips her head up from behind the card table where she sits in her wheelchair. "Not expecting me, Princessa?"
She always calls me that, partly because my uncle sometimes calls me Princess, plus I think she can't remember my name. Somehow it doesn’t bother me when she uses his nickname.
"No ma'am." A hand on my heart, I catch my breath. "Didn't know you were back here."
Mariposa is pretty much the resident queen-of-the-hill around here. Confined to a wheelchair, she must weigh 600 pounds. She wears these cotton dresses that could easily be converted into bright floral tents, and I've never seen her in the same dress twice. A mass of grayish black hair sits up on her head, and there's always a smile on her coral lip-sticked mouth.
"I just got back from working at the community center," she says, holding up her tarot cards. "So many people want me to look into their future."
Mariposa's an old fashion fortuneteller.
Except the cards that lay before her don't exactly resemble any tarot cards I've ever seen. Not that I'm an expert on the subject, but the images on the cards are dark and a little bit spooky. Shapes and symbols, figures and creatures.
They must be made of some type of pastel chalk because in the dim light it almost appears as if the images on the cards are moving ever so slowly.
Mariposa sees me staring at them. "Would you like me to read your cards?"
"Oh, um..." I've heard she's very expensive.
"On the house," she smiles. "Of course."
Despite the uneasy feeling that's washing over me, I hear myself say, "Okay."
"Have a seat," she gestures to a yellow plastic chair jammed in a nearby corner. I drag it over and sit. She shuffles the cards at the speed of light then plops the neatly stacked deck on the table in front of me. "Cut them. Three times. With your left hand."
Kind of specific. But, okay, I do as I'm told. One, two, three.
"The cards have great power, Princessa. They see things we do not yet know." Fwap, fwap, fwap go the cards as she arranges them in a pattern that kind of seems random but probably isn't. "Especially for you."
"For me?"
"For us all." Her eyes flick up from the cards and meet mine. She smiles. Again with the smile. "For the young. For those who have so much in front of them. So many important things to do."
Her eyes go back to the cards, then her stubby index finger, that looks like a bratwurst with orange nail polish, points at the first card. It looks like an abstract version of a wilting flower. "This first card signifies your past. It shows stagnation. You have been restrained. Hidden away."
Well, that's true.
She points to the next card that looks like bugs exploding on a windshield. "This is... how do you say..?," she mutters to herself in Spanish. "...It is environment. Chaos. Upheaval."
Now it's my turn to smile. "Um, well, how do you mean? I'm just asking because I'm wondering if chaos in my environment means that I have a messy room. Because you don't exactly have to be psychic to know that."
"Child, you must be prepared. The lamb will become the lion. The protected will soon become the protector. Safety will come from unexpected places."
I nod. "Okay."
Wow. What a load of bull.
It's pretty ironic that she can utter such nonsense, and people flock in here to see her. There's always a different bored middle-aged housewife determined to find out if her husband is stepping out with his secretary, or a waiflike twenty-something clutching a kleenex hanging on every word about her love life. Here they sit, at this card table, paying good money to listen to this perfectly nice lady make crap up.
Her eyes linger on me long enough to make me feel uncomfortable. This time, she doesn't smile. She points to the last card. There's a golden image that looks like a horn. "Judgment. A reckoning will be forced upon you. The ways of the old will clash with the new. Many have already fallen. You may stand. You may fall."
"Astrid!" I hear Uncle's familiar voice behind me. "Let's go, kiddo."
This conversation has gotten so awkward that I'm amazingly thrilled to hear my uncle's voice. I smile politely and stand. "Thank you, Ms. Mariposa. That was super interesting."
"Take this. A good luck charm." As I turn to go, she grabs my wrist and slips something smooth and round into my hand. "And remember, the light will be your first warning."
I see the hulking shadow of my Uncle coming around the aisle just as the fluorescent light bulb pops back on washing away the sickly green aura. He likes Mariposa but doesn't believe in all this fortune telling mumbo jumbo.
As I stand, Mariposa whispers, "Don’t forget. Beware of the light."
My uncle nods to Señora Mariposa suspiciously. "Hello."
"Good evening, Sensei," Señora Mariposa replies.
"You're not reading her cards?" he asks.
She laughs. "Of course not."
"Okay. Let's hit the road, Princess," he says to me. "I have a pan of en
chiladas in the fridge at home."
"Bye ma’am. Nice to see you," I say, moving up the aisle to the front of the store. Without my uncle seeing, I carefully open my fist so I can see the magical trinket, the little, charmed object, Señora Mariposa has bestowed upon me.
It's a penny.
A common 1981 dirty old penny. This is a good luck charm? Wow, that was possibly the strangest conversation I have ever had.
"As-treed, your drink is ready," Señor M calls from behind the counter as I stuff the stupid penny back in my pocket.
I stride up to find a white paper coffee cup with a lid waiting for me. Finally, my latte. Now maybe I'll be able to stay awake long enough to finish my boring lit paper. I take a sip, expecting the steamed milky coffee to warm me up, but instead, I practically spit out sweet icy cold liquid.
"Señor M, this is the worst latte I have ever had," I say, even though I know it's rude.
"Astrid!" my uncle reacts.
"Maybe because it's a fruit smoothie." Señor M winks at me as he leans against the counter sipping what, presumably, must be my latte from an over-sized mug. "On the house, Miss As-treed."
My uncle and I cross the parking lot to the white pickup. As we're pulling out, I glance over at the exterior brick wall. It's completely painted.
Jax is gone. His paint cans, brushes, and drop cloths have vanished. Yet, somehow in twenty minutes, he managed to paint the entire front of the huge building that sits half a block long and twenty feet high.
My jaw drops because that's totally impossible.
As the white pickup truck rambles onto the street, and we pass the front of the plaza, I realize that he hasn't just painted one wall, he's somehow painted the entire building.
Chapter 8
"Why are you in such a good mood?" my uncle asks as we drive to school the next morning.
And it's true. I'm in an incredible mood. I’ve put the embarrassing defeat to Jax in karate class behind me. Now two little words make my heart soar -- Chad Olson, Chad Olson, Chad Olson!
I can't wait for first-period bio where we’ll continue working with our lab partners.
"Um..." I shrug one shoulder and look perplexed. "No reason, I guess."
There is no possible way I am going to mention anything about a boy to my uncle. He would pop out a kitten. The idea of boys and me completely unhinges the man. Trust me; I know from previous experience, it's not pretty.
"You just seem..." he glances suspiciously at me out of the corner of his eye as he drives. "I don't know. Different."
This morning, I got up early to straighten my hair and actually slap on a little more makeup than my standard mascara and blush. Not too much. Just enough to spruce me up a bit.
"I guess I'm just looking forward to my history quiz." I avert my eyes. "Cause I'm super prepared and everything."
"Right," he says, with a tight grin. "Just because you aren't going to tell me why you're in such a good mood doesn't mean you have to lie."
"I have no idea what you're even talking about."
After he drops me off, still floating on air, I head down my school's main hallway. My mood is dampened a bit when I see somebody has trashed one of the lockers. Open books and papers lie strewn across the wide tile hallway.
As I get closer, I realize that it's my locker.
Ruby is already there, trying her best to collect loose papers and stack my books up, so they don't get kicked down the hallway.
"Astrid." Ruby stands when she sees me coming. She looks frazzled. "I just got here and found it like this."
“Who would do this?” My positive vibe instantly vanishes.
I thought I fit in at this school. I thought people actually liked me here. I've been at other schools where I was the outcast. I've even been bullied. But not here. Never here.
"It was Meegan McGovern," Ruby glowers. She leans toward me and whispers, "She's totally pissed that you're all lovey-dovey with Chad Olson."
"What are you talking about!?" I ask, completely mortified. I bend down to collect a few runaway worksheets. "I was his science lab partner for exactly 45 minutes. There is no universe in which that could be considered lovey-dovey."
"I'm just saying," she shrugs, then hands me a sad, rumpled pile of my notes and worksheets. The pages are torn and crumpled. A couple even have footprints on them. "Is anything missing?"
I do a quick inventory. None of my books or folders are gone. My pencil bag, hairbrush, and water bottle are all still there. I quickly scan the inside of my locker. It doesn't hit me until I glance at the inside of the empty metal door.
"Wait. My photographs are gone. I had pictures taped to the door."
"That's random," Ruby replies.
"There were only a couple," I say, still rummaging around to see if they got stuck in any of the other papers. "Two from the school trip to San Francisco last year, and a really old one from my old school."
"Were they your only copies?"
"No," I say, realizing that I have backups. "They’re all on my phone."
"Then it's not that big of a deal." Ruby nods as the first-period bell rings.
"Right," I nod and grin like it's no big thing. But I feel oddly violated. And somehow I don't think Meegan McGovern is behind this.
Strolling into bio, I do my very best to shake off the locker thing and look all calm, cool, and collected. Chad is already sitting at our lab table with the squid on the desk.
"Hey," I say, as I pull off my backpack and take a seat.
"Hey," he nods.
A long awkward silence follows as I pull out my bio folder and retrieve my worksheet.
"So, um," he begins. "Did you already do the reading and fill in all that stuff on the lab report?"
"Not really," I lie. Actually, it's only a half lie. I didn't do the reading because I've already had bio three times, so I just filled in the report.
"Cause I was having a little trouble with the anatomy section," he confesses.
"Oh," I say, not sure where he's going with this. Am I supposed to offer to help him or something? Would that be weird?
"I was wondering if you could help me?"
"Oh," I repeat, sounding like a babbling idiot.
He must think I don't want to help him because he quickly adds, "I mean, you seem like you're pretty good at this stuff, but you're probably busy and everything."
"I'd be happy to help," I reply as my stomach flip-flops.
"Maybe we could meet after school," he suggests with a smile. "In the library. If you have time?"
"I can probably find a little time." I smile back.
Guess what? My good vibes have returned.
* * *
"What's wrong with these waffles?" I ask, nearly choking on the flavorless wad of dough in my mouth.
"How should I know?" Ruby replies, busy shopping online for shoes. "I don't do carbs."
"They're buckwheat." Phoebe, who usually doesn't have lunch this period, replies. She's only sitting with us because none of her senior pals are currently around. "Something about the lunch program becoming healthier."
In the shade of a huge eucalyptus, our trio sits at a picnic table dotted with the shadowy residue of years of dried bird poop.
This is the first school I've been to where you can pretty much eat lunch outside all year long. I love this place so much that the remnants of bird poop don't even bother me.
I'm still in a dreamy mood from my pleasant interaction with Chad Olson and our afternoon study date that I continue to eat the chewy and bland waffles.
"What's up with you, Astrid?" Phoebe asks, her eyebrows raised. "You look all glowy or something."
Ruby keeps her eyes glued to the computer screen. "She's giddy because she’s partners with Chad Olson in biology class."
"Please tell me that isn't Brad Olson's little brother?" Phoebe makes a face. I’m starting to think she’s a little obsessed with Brad. "Cause those Olson boys all think they're God's gift."
"Chad and Brad?" I repea
t. "Wow, creative parents."
"Don't condemn Chad cause Brad dumped you," Ruby says to her sister as she picks at a Caesar salad between sips of some fruity calorie free liquid. "I think Chad wants to ask our little Astrid here to the spring formal."
"That's ridiculous," I snort. But secretly, I really, really, really hope that it isn't ridiculous. I mean, the spring formal is probably something of a reach, but maybe coffee or something in the next, let's say, 6 to 8 months – that isn't biology class related – might not be totally unreasonable.
"I thought Meegan McGovern had her claws dug pretty deep into him?" Phoebe asks.
"Nuh uh. I hear that he and Meegan are splitsville," Ruby smiles, finally looking up at us as she swivels the laptop toward me. "Check out these metallic, color-blocked peep-toes. To die for."
"Well, I'm sure Astrid here is not interested in a lower life form like Chad Olson," Phoebe says.
"Oh yes, I am," I state emphatically. "Quite interested, in fact."
"Astrid, believe me, you can do better."
"Okay, first of all, I think Chad Olson is super hot, and if he asks me to hold his backpack while he blows his nose, I will feel totally honored." I choose to ignore the sour face Phoebe is making. "And, in fact, he did ask me to study with him after school today."
"That's amazing! Today?" Ruby says, her mouth wide open. "Let's go to the mall."
"What? How does that have anything to do with anything?" I ask, thinking I missed some transition in this conversation.
"To buy you something to wear for your study date," she replies.
"But it's after school in the library," I reply, looking down at my uniform. "I think what I'm wearing is fine."
"C'mon. We have to leave now to make it back before lit." She stands, looking at her watch and calculating. "We have 52 minutes before the bell, so we can just zip over to the London Square Mall and, at least, get you some decent shoes."
