It’s a good thing, really, because as soon as I realize I am brave, strong, and ready to take on whatever the world might throw at me, I hear a low, sickening growl. I turn slowly, with my heartbeat slow in my chest, and look. The coyotes are here, about twenty of them in a semicircle on the other side of the tree, looking right at me. Their yellow eyes glow, and their skinny bodies seem to vibrate with a wickedness I cannot name. They are hungry, ferocious.
The coyotes have a leader too, a bigger animal, with a deeper gaze, and I am drawn to her eyes. She growls low, and moves toward me. I am frozen in place, not so much by fear as by curiosity. I watch her approach me, knowing that she wants something. She circles me one time and comes to stand before me. She yips and yaps and drops her front legs so that she is submissive, on her belly. The other coyotes do likewise. I’m confused. Why are these creatures bowing down to me? I don’t want to be superior to them. I thought I was going to be supper to them.
Taking my cue from the animals, I bend to my knees and let them know that I respect them. The lead dog rolls onto her back in an even more submissive pose. What is she trying to tell me? I have no idea. But I know she will not allow me to be equal to her. It is clear in her eyes that she is here for me, at my service in some strange way.
I stand again and nod slowly at the lead coyote. I acknowledge her power and do my best to thank her for her gift through my eyes. Satisfied, she stands again. The others join her, and then, like the buffalo, they turn and run. I am left with shivers, cold and hot at the same time. I’m filled with a vibration that is impossible to name, connected to the many layers of the universe we inhabit in a clear and certain way that is impossible to explain to people without having them look at you like you’re completely insane.
I wait and let the chill evaporate from my flesh. I stand in the tangy yellow warmth of the sun and watch the bikers and hikers down below. None show any sign that they might have heard or seen anything unusual. Then, with the quirky solitude that comes with being Pasquala Archuleta, daughter of an artist, granddaughter of a psychic, I mount my bike, put on my helmet, stick the earbuds in my ears, blast my music once more.
I take the wild way down the hill, off the path. I barrel through the grasses and past the rocks and cacti with the grace of a coyote, jumping and leaping as I go. I am a coyote, the wheels my paws. With them, I sense the texture of the sand. With them, I tap the earth, fearless in my animal movements, sensing the rabbits hiding in their holes. Down I ride, powerful, unafraid, on my way back to civilization, away from these dreams. I ride back toward the path below, the path along the creek, the path that will return me to my new world, minus my fear.
I am fearless. I am going to Starbucks.
13
Here is what you need to know about the Starbucks where Tina works. It’s in a very upscale mini-mall with fountains and fancy tables outside, and little kids hang out there.
No, I’m not kidding.
I’ve just walked in, sweaty from my ride and feeling not all that glamorous, and three little boys laugh at me. I mean little boys, like ten years old. Maybe younger. They sit at a table in the corner, without any adults that I can see anywhere near them, sipping coffee or something that looks like coffee. They wear ratty shorts with big suede sneakers that no longer have laces. The boys have skateboards, and apparently, this is where they come for fun. Or for making fun. I don’t know why they’re laughing at me, exactly, but I suspect it has something to do with the fact that I don’t look anything like all the other high school girls in here.
That’s the other thing you need to know about this Starbucks. Older kids hang out here, too. There are a dozen or so kids my age, and all the girls look like fashion models: impossibly thin, with low pants and bellies exposed, and super-trendy and beautiful clothes. I’m in cycling shorts, with my hair in a ponytail, and I need a towel to dry all the sweat.
While the little boys laugh, a few of the pretty girls turn to give me the once-over, which, now that I know the coyotes have my back, doesn’t bother me one bit. I smile at them, and they turn away. This is the weak spot in mean girls. They don’t know how to deal when you’re actually nice to them. They expect rivalry and nastiness, and if you aren’t willing to go head-to-head with them on this stuff, they’re lost. I realize that Tina, for all her weirdness, knows this too.
Speaking of Tina, I see her standing behind the counter, pouring a drink for someone. After she’s done concentrating on her task, she looks up and sees me. She smiles and waves. “Hey, Paski! Looks like you had a good ride. Did it rock up there or what?”
“Yeah,” I say, coming to the pastry counter. I’m starving, and all the chocolate cakes and scones look amazing. The sight of the baked goods makes me think of Ethan. Or at least the Ethan I kissed in the car on the day I left Taos, which feels like so long ago.
“You want something in there?” asks Tina. She points to the pastries. I shrug, and she smiles like she knows I really do want something. “How about a brownie?” she asks.
“Okay,” I say. “But I don’t have any money.”
I hear someone behind me laugh. I turn to see some girls I don’t recognize, but they look just as pretty and well dressed as everyone else.
“My treat,” says Tina. “How about something to drink?”
“I’d really just like some water.” I’m extremely thirsty.
Tina takes a brownie out of the case and puts it on a white plate and tells me to grab a bottle of water from the cooler. She says she’s going to try to get her break now, so we can talk. I take the food and water to a table by a window and watch the fountain outside. It’s like a Spanish town square out there, with metal tables and families eating dinner, kids running in the grass. It is, overall, very pleasant here. Overall. That’s the word Chris Cabrera used the other day. I can’t explain why, but I feel him powerfully in my heart. Like I know he’s thinking of me, which is crazy, but I feel it. I notice that the families here are well dressed and all look wealthy and attractive. Almost all of them are thin. It’s strange to have landed in a place where so many people seem to put so much importance on looking good. There’s something nice about it, but something oppressive about it, too.
I see a bin with newspapers and grab an Orange County Register so I’ll look like I have a reason to be at a table all by myself. A story on the cover of the local section catches my eye. It’s a society column with a photo of some glamorous-looking people at a fund-raiser. It’s a mom and dad and daughter. The daughter is that Haley girl from school. The caption says that her parents donated money to a cancer charity. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have parents with enough money to give some away like that. My dad is usually asking for a loan from his friends, and my mom has been known to be completely homeless a few times. I am so not of this place.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up to see Tina in her black Starbucks apron. She’s really happy I’m here, or at least that’s what it looks like. She sits at the table with me, and I try not to notice the way the girls our age look at us like we’re total losers. They don’t seem to have any problem whatsoever laughing at us. At least the little skateboard boys are gone now. They’ve been replaced by a group of three dorky-looking kids playing cards. I can’t believe that most of the people in here are kids. My dad would freak if he knew about it. Or at least he would have back in Taos when he still boycotted Starbucks.
Tina asks about the ride, and I tell her it was great. I don’t get into details. I’m still feeling confident, but the power of the coyotes is fading a little. I look down at the empty plate, embarrassed that I’ve scarfed the entire brownie like nothing.
“Good?” Tina surmises.
“Yeah, it was.”
“You wanna meet Cesar?” she asks. I don’t, but I shrug because I can tell she’s proud of him. She says his name all Spanish, like “Seh-sar.” I think she truly is the daughter my father never had. He would love her.
Tina leads me out of the Starbucks, a
cross the patio area to a taco place called Rubio’s. I look at the posters in the window. It’s all about fish. Fish tacos, the things my dad came back from here loving. Everyone eats them around here. There’s a really long line, too. I walk into the restaurant, expecting an awful fishy smell. I’m surprised when it smells really good.
“That’s him,” says Tina. She points to this tall, handsome dark-skinned guy working the register. He reminds me of a Mexican Orlando Bloom. He looks old, though, like too old to be in high school.
“He’s cute,” I say. “How old is he?”
“Twenty-six,” Tina replies. I gasp. “It’s not a big deal,” she continues. “It’s just ten years’ difference. I’m very mature. I think he’s extraordinarily immature, so it works out.”
Cesar looks up and bucks his head at her. She smiles and grabs my arm. “I’m in love with him,” she tells me. For a moment I feel like I’m back home with Emily or Janet. Then Tina says, “We totally did it on the beach last weekend. It was intense. But beach sex is way overrated. You get sand in places you really shouldn’t have sand. Not easy to extract.” Suddenly I’m not with my friends anymore. I’m back in Orange County.
We wait in line like everyone else, and when the two girls in front of us comment about how cute they think Cesar is, Tina beams at me. We get to the counter, and she introduces me to her older, underemployed, immature boyfriend. He says hello in a thick Spanish accent. I guess I like him, but I can’t figure out why he’s dating an underage girl, other than that he’s probably a jerk. Tina orders an orange soda, and we take a seat at a table nearby, where she can swoon over him.
“He’s Mexican,” she says, breathy, like this is scandalous news. “My parents would freak if they knew.”
“I’m Mexican,” I tell her. I don’t usually say that. Usually I’m lecturing my dad about how we’re not really Mexican because we don’t speak Spanish, and he’s always, like, lecturing me back about how “Mexican” is cultural, not linguistic.
“No, you’re not,” says Tina. She honestly looks like she feels sorry for me for being so confused. “I mean, you’re not from Mexico, are you?”
“No.” It’s like talking to myself.
“I didn’t think so. You’re, like, Mexican-American, right?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Me, too,” she says.
“Wait a minute,” I say. “You’re Mexican and your parents don’t like Mexicans?”
“Yeah, stupid, I know. But we’re not like Mexican from over there. We’re from Arizona originally. I mean, my parents are. I’m from here.” She looks at me and bites her lip. “I didn’t mean to offend you. My parents would be cool with you. It’s just people from Mexico they have problems with. They have this thing where they don’t think I should socialize with them. My parents are stupid that way. Well, that way and a lot of other ways.” She looks sad. “I don’t want to get into it right now.”
I say nothing but silently thank her for not getting into why her parents are stupid. I am dumbfounded by the Mexican thing. Back in Taos, we didn’t really make a distinction between Mexican-Americans and people from Mexico. At least my dad didn’t. We were all Mexicans to him. The people who thought they were above us liked to say they were “Spanish.” It’s all retarded, if you ask me.
“My dad would freak more that Cesar is really old,” I comment.
“Old and experienced.” She smiles. She wags her eyebrows. “He is so good in bed. Absolutely incredible. It’s like in The Kama Sutra, where they talk about your souls meshing together.”
I smile awkwardly. What is there to say? I don’t know what makes a guy good in bed or bad in bed. I know a little bit about The Kama Sutra only because my dad has a copy of it stashed somewhere. It freaked me out when I was a little kid, and I never looked at it again. All those drawings of weird blue people doing the nasty, and then the whole idea that my dad read it. Ugh. I only know about kissing guys, and that I would like very much to kiss Chris Cabrera.
“Uh-oh,” Tina says. “You’re a virgin. I can tell.”
I shrug. “So?”
“No, nothing. No biggie. That’s just rare around here,” she says. She doesn’t seem to pass judgment on me for it, thank God. “But knowing this about you now, I have to say again, be careful at Trent’s party tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Are you still going? Please tell me you changed your mind.”
“I’m still going.”
Tina frowns. “Well, just be prepared for some freaky stuff.”
“Like what?”
“You’ll see.” She looks at her watch. “My break is almost over. I should head back.”
“Okay.”
As we walk back, she puts her arm around me and leans in. “Whatever you do, don’t let them know you’re a virgin. Just play cool, like whatever they’re doing, you’ve seen it all before.”
“Why?”
“Just don’t act shocked if you see people screwing around. Act like you’re way above it all. That’s my advice. Be a snob. I’ve heard brutal things about those guys.”
“Even Chris Cabrera?”
“I don’t know that much about him, actually.” She looks at me like she senses something. “You like him,” she says. I shrug and try not to blush. “He seems okay, except that he’s been dating Jessica forever and they’re such the perfect couple it makes you want to vomit.”
“Okay,” I agree.
“See you later, Taos,” says Tina.
14
It’s Friday, which means: A) I’ve survived a whole week at my new high school; B) Chris Cabrera, the hottest boy on earth, is going to be back at school today; and C) My dad and I both have parties to go to tonight.
Yes, that’s right. Dad’s a party animal. It goes with his new identity as a cool-geek animator cholo with a stupid car. As I sit at the table across from my father, eating a bowl of Kashi while he slurps at the breakfast burrito he made for himself, he tells me about the party in Santa Monica that he’s going to.
“I wish I could be here for you,” he says. “I know you’d like to use the Squeegeemobile to get to your own party.” As if.
I shake my head and wonder to myself if the outfit I picked out seems like I’m trying too hard to look different than I usually do. I’m wearing a polka-dotted miniskirt that Emily gave me last year and a couple of my Urban Outfitters T-shirts. (I’ll put bike shorts under the skirt to ride to school.) But unlike usual, I have my shirts layered one on top of the other, the way the girls do it here. I’ve also loosened the laces on my K-Swiss sneakers so that they’re practically falling off. My dad hasn’t noticed anything different about me, or if he has, he’s too nice to point it out. “No, that’s okay, really. I have a ride.”
“With who?” asks my dad.
“A kid from school.”
“A boy kid or a girl kid?”
“A boy kid.”
Dad gives me a look that means he’s not happy.
“He’s harmless,” I say, even though I’m not even sure if this is true.
Dad frowns, gets up, and goes to his room. He comes back with a bag from Best Buy and hands it to me.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Open it,” he says.
Inside, I find a T-Mobile cell phone with a few different snap-on face plates so you can do different colors if you want to.
“Your first cell phone,” says my dad.
“This is mine?” I exclaim. It has text messaging and everything.
“Yeah. It’s already turned on. I wrote your phone number on the box.”
I take it out and try it. “Wow. Thanks, Dad. Why’d you do this?”
“Because you’re riding to parties with ‘harmless’ boys, that’s why.”
I smile.
He looks guilty. “I’m on the road so much, and you’re so far from my work, I just thought it would be good for us to be able to keep in touch better. Back home it was easy. I always knew where you were, and you knew wher
e I was.” He pauses. “Things are a lot different now.”
I look at the phone in my hands, and for some reason, I feel like crying. “Yeah,” I say. “I know.”
“You okay?” asks my dad.
I nod, but I don’t make eye contact with him because I know that if I see that concerned-dad expression on his face, I’ll lose it.
“You don’t look okay,” he says. “Been a hard week?”
“Kind of.”
“I’m sorry, kid. Can I do anything to help?”
I stare down at my hands. “I could use some new clothes.”
My dad looks like he’s embarrassed for missing another really important part of being a parent. I’m actually embarrassed for him. I’m tired of having to remind him all the time that I need lunch money or clothes. It’s not that he doesn’t want me to have these things. It’s just that he’s always so busy and thinking about his work and his own image that he forgets I depend on him for just about everything I have. He hits his forehead with the palm of his hand. “God, I’m so sorry, Paski. I should have thought of that. A young woman in a new school needs trendy clothes, right?”
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