At some point her hair band snapped and Meche’s hair streamed freely down her shoulders. She laughed.
“It works!” she yelled.
“Of course it works!” he yelled back.
At the stoplight, she squeezed Sebastian tight and stared at the cars as they crossed the junction in front of them. Catalina Coronado looked at them, with a disapproving glare, as she crossed the street. Meche chuckled.
She didn’t care if Catalina told her mother she had been riding around on Sebastian’s bike. They had power. Real power.
Things were never going to be the same again.
Mexico City, 2009
MECHE SAT IN the restaurant, looking at her cup of tea, absently folding and refolding her napkin.
“Baby, baby what are you going to do when you grow up?” asked Miguel Mateos in her ear, singing like it was the 80s again and he was pushing the cause of “rock in your language”—Spanish-language music to compete with the imports introduced by MTV.
“Meche, is that you?”
Meche looked up and tugged out the earbuds.
Daniela was pleasantly plump. She had traded her pink sneakers and pink shirts for black shoes in a ballerina style and a white peasant shirt. She looked warm and sweet, similar to the Daniela she had known.
“Yeah,” Meche said extending her hand.
Daniela hugged her, planting a kiss on her cheek. A typical Mexican greeting, though it startled Meche a bit, unused to such a personal hello.
“It’s so good to see you,” Daniela said, pulling out a chair.
“Do you want something?” Meche asked.
“Just a latte.”
Meche motioned to the server and the woman took their order.
Daniela looked at Meche expectantly, a big smile on her face.
“So, is Norway cold? What am I saying, of course it’s cold.”
“It’s fine,” Meche said. “I’ve been there for four years now.”
“Where were you before that?”
“Spain. The United Kingdom. Wherever there’s work. You’d be surprised. Software development is actually quite big in Romania.”
“Well, that’s awesome.”
Daniela’s smile faltered a little.
“I heard your dad had passed away.”
“Who told you?”
“Sebastian.”
“How would he know?”
“When something happens in the neighbourhood people know. He knows.”
“So you still talk to him?”
“Oh, maybe once a year,” Daniela said with a shrug. “He’s been living in Tijuana for a long time now so we don’t see much of each other. He only moved back this spring.”
“I saw him yesterday,” Meche said, taking a sip of tea.
“Yeah? What did he say?”
“Nothing. I just saw him standing across the street.”
“You didn’t say hi?”
“He didn’t say hi either.”
Daniela’s coffee arrived. She opened three little packets of sugar and poured them in.
“Are you still angry at him?”
“What do you think?”
“You always could hold a grudge.”
“Bingo,” Meche said winking and pointing a finger at Daniela.
Daniela sighed, resting her elbows on the table, holding her cup carefully.
“I guess you’ve forgiven me?”
“You were not the major issue,” Meche said, “although you played your part.”
“Meche, we couldn’t keep on forever. Casting spells, playing with people...”
“Why not?”
“It wasn’t right.”
“That’s not why we stopped, though.”
“Maybe it was a bit of why we stopped. A lot. Because you—”
Meche shook her head, tossing her tea bag onto a napkin and folding it all into a ball.
“We stopped because Sebastian broke the circle and convinced you to abandon it, to boot. He betrayed me. Fucked my life.”
“He didn’t...”
“He didn’t?”
“Meche, Sebastian adored you.”
Meche leaned back, an unpleasant smirk on her face. Adored her? Right. He had a funny way of showing it. A funny way of being her best friend.
“Look, I guessed you were still on good terms with him. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I don’t want him showing for my father’s novena. I know it may seem the polite thing to do, but I don’t want him in my mother’s apartment. I’m pretty sure Jimena invited him, but I’m against it. He should stay away.”
“Meche, that’s not right.”
“It is what it is.”
“Are you going to tell me to stay out of your apartment too?”
Meche shrugged, her face cold. She didn’t care if Daniela came, but she wasn’t going to encourage it either.
“That’s mean, Meche,” Daniela said. “We both knew your dad.”
“Well, he’s dead. He won’t miss you.”
Daniela chuckled, looking down at her hands.
“Here I thought you were trying to reconnect.”
“I’m a bitch like that. See, I wouldn’t want someone hexing me or my mom. Old habits.”
“We wouldn’t hex you.”
“Liar,” Meche whispered. “Just tell him to stay out of the apartment.”
“I brought something for you,” Daniela said, reaching for her large purse and pulling out a fat manila envelope. “Don’t worry. It’s not hexed.”
She set the envelope in the middle of the table. Meche glanced at it but made no attempt to look inside.
“You know, Meche, I always thought you were the smartest of us. You were always so sharp. But now I realize you’ve always been half-blind, and not nearly as sharp as you think.”
“What do you mean?” Meche asked.
“You need to let it go. My regards to your mother.”
Daniela slipped away. Meche drank her tea slowly, taking her time. When she was done she opened the envelope and looked inside. It was Meche’s notebook. Her old grimoire. There were also lots of photographs. Daniela’s quinceañera party and Daniela looking like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol in her gigantic dress. Meche leaning against a wall, headphones on, staring at the camera as if she was daring someone to take a snapshot. Ah, Constantino and Isadora’s group. Sebastian’s motorcycle. And...
... Sebastian and Meche. It was a series of photos taken inside a booth. They were making faces in the first two frames, their tongues sticking out. By the third one they had settled down and were looking at the camera with a smile. The fourth one showed them looking at each other. In that last bit of black-and-white film, their expressions were inscrutable.
Meche stuffed the photos back inside the envelope.
Mexico City, 1988
SHE RECOGNIZED THE notes of power in the air. She could see them the same way one can see a spider’s web when a shaft of light hits it at the right angle.
Meche’s web of power.
Dolores clicked her needles together and smiled, remembering her own days of spells.
She didn’t think about magic very much anymore. That was part of her childhood, when Dolores and her sisters stitched spells with their needles. Spells to make the clouds release a gentle drizzle upon their heads. Spells to catch the eye of the boys in town. All those spells which were now gone, erased the same way a slate is erased with a warm cloth. But the memory of the feeling, of the magic...ah, that was still there.
Where had she put her old thimble? It had been made of porcelain and carefully painted by her eldest sister. Dolores hadn’t looked at her object of power in ages. She wondered whether it still had any strength in it.
“Grandma! I’m home!” Meche yelled, and she heard the front door bang shut, then the quick patter of feet across the hallway.
It was no more than a few seconds before a record started playing.
Dolores smiled and kept knitting.
HE WAS WATCHING his classmates across the schoo
lyard, eating their lunch. Isadora was leaning down to talk to Constantino and he was laughing.
Now that the Day of the Dead had passed, November marked the real festivity of the season: Isadora’s birthday party. Each year she threw a birthday bash and each year Sebastian did not attend. It was not that he was not invited: everybody was. He never dared to show up.
He kept thinking about attending, wearing brand new sneakers, his hair combed back, looking like a rock star.
“What are we going to wish for next?” Daniela asked.
“Isadora’s birthday party,” Sebastian said before Meche could open her mouth.
The girls blinked and looked at each other, then back at him.
“We should go, at least for a little bit. Go in style. Make them notice us.”
Daniela shrugged. Meche sipped her bottle of apple juice and began peeling its label off with careful fingers.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Meche said. “All the cool kids will be there.”
“We could be just as cool as them. Couldn’t we?” Daniela asked.
“If I had Constantino’s money I’m sure I could look cool too,” Sebastian replied.
“So are we wishing for money?” Daniela asked.
“Yeah,” Sebastian said. “Enough dough to buy new outfits. What do you say, Meche? You girls could get your hair done. Makeup. The whole nine yards.”
“Makeup is not going to cover my pimples,” Meche said.
“So we wish away the pimples,” Sebastian said.
Daniela giggled. “Can I wish for a different eye colour? Just for the weekend?”
“Sure,” Sebastian said.
“We can’t be wishing too much, too often,” Meche warned them.
“Why not?” Daniela asked.
“’Cause I felt tired after what we did. Didn’t you feel it? I slept like a rock.”
“Me too,” Daniela said “Why would it work like that?”
“I dunno.”
Sebastian watched as Isadora moved away from her group, heading towards the school’s little general store. Sebastian had no business near the store: he could not afford the drinks or sandwiches they sold there.
But he had the wild desire to talk to Isadora, to open his mouth and regale her with a sentence for once in his life. He was still high from the motorcycle trip with Meche and he felt this day he might actually do it.
“Okay, no wishing too often, got it,” Sebastian said hastily. “I’ll be back.”
He walked quickly, moving in the same direction Isadora had gone. He stood behind her in line, with nothing more than one peso in his pocket. When she glanced at him, Sebastian nodded and smiled.
She gave him this weird look, like she was a little surprised to see him standing behind her, but did not speak to him.
Sebastian waited in line, his hands deep in his pockets, trying to keep calm.
“So... umm... your birthday’s this Saturday, right?”
“Yes,” Isadora said.
“What kind of presents are you hoping for?”
“I don’t know. I like jewellery.”
Constantino’s father owned a jewellery store. For a moment Sebastian saw his opportunities dwindle, but then he remembered he could buy anything they wanted. They had magic now. He could look for a nice, golden bracelet for Isadora. Or a little chain. Something pretty, which she might wear often.
“Cool.”
“Are you going to come?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he said.
“Your friends too?” She lifted her chin, looking in Meche and Daniela’s direction.
Sebastian nodded. “All right. I’ll see you then.”
The line moved, Isadora bought a soft drink and stepped aside. Sebastian looked at the candy and junk food for sale, trying to figure out what he could buy.
WHEN HE WALKED by the Pit that afternoon, Sebastian saw Isadora, Constantino and some other students standing there, smoking and chatting.
Isadora held her cigarette with two fingers and she smiled, just a tiny smile.
He felt like waving and smiling back, but Constantino turned his head and saw him. Sebastian continued on his way, eyes fixed straight ahead.
“YOU KNOW WHAT it’s like? It’s like reverse engineering.”
“What’s reverse engineering?” Sebastian asked.
“Umm... it’s when you lack the software specifications so you poke around the program interface trying to find the solution. That’s what we are doing with magic.”
Meche grabbed another record, looking at it critically. They had tried four different albums and none of them had produced the same magic effect as last time. Meche had been sure all they had to do was focus and be specific, but apparently that was not enough.
“I don’t understand,” Sebastian said.
“Okay, like the TU-4.”
“The what?”
“During World War II the Russians didn’t have a strategic bomber like the US and they wanted one. But they couldn’t figure out how to build it. Then a few B-29 bombers had to make emergency landings in Russia and the Russians looked at them, figured how they were made and made their own bombers. It’s like... like building a puzzle without the instructions. Figuring it backwards. Something like that.”
“You mean it’s like taking a stab in the dark,” Sebastian said.
“An educated stab.”
“How’d you learn about World War II?”
“That time they punished me and I had to spend a whole month during recess in the library. I had to read the encyclopedia and write a report on Russia during World War II.”
“Who’d know,” he said with a smirk.
“What?”
“You can read.”
Meche punched his arm and Sebastian chuckled.
“I still don’t understand what we are doing,” Daniela said, holding up a bunch of record sleeves in her hands.
“We don’t know either,” Sebastian said.
“Oh.”
Daniela blinked, then looked at her records. They had been at this for more than an hour and he sensed that soon enough Daniela would ask to go home. If they were going to figure how to cast a spell a second time around, they had to do it quick.
“Okay, let’s try Money’s Too Tight To Mention,” Sebastian said. He was out of other ideas.
They crowded around the portable record player, holding hands tight, just like last time. The little beat began and then the chorus, “We’re talking ’bout money, money!” But nothing happened. The room remained cold and still.
“Ugh,” Meche said, falling back against the floor. “What’s wrong? We’ve done obvious songs, not so obvious songs...”
“We can try Material Girl again,” Sebastian suggested.
That had been the first song they’d attempted to use. A second try might not amount to anything, but Sebastian did not know what else to pick. Meche rubbed her hands against her eyes.
“Okay,” Daniela said, sounding chipper. “Let me find it one more time.”
Sebastian sat down next to Meche, bumping his sneaker against hers.
“Hey, we have time to get it right,” he said. “We’ll wish for the money, wish for the—”
“I so wanted to get a decent dress that’s not like two sizes too big,” Meche muttered. “And maybe get rid of the pimples... somehow.”
“They’re not that bad,” he said, trying to be kind, though they were bad. Meche often had pimples all around her mouth and smack in the middle of her forehead. She tried to hide them with her bangs, but it didn’t help. “Just fucking hormones.”
“Gee, Doctor Soto, you think?”
“Don’t be annoying.”
Meche bumped his shoe back and turned to look at him, frowning. She looked very solemn, but a grin was about to break through, shattering her sour expression.
“Ouch!”
Sebastian raised his head. “What’s up, Dani?”
“It’s hot!”
“What’s hot?” Meche
muttered, taking a long pause after each word.
“The record.”
That was about the weirdest thing he’d ever heard.
“Records are not hot,” Sebastian said.
“Wait,” Meche said, sitting up at once. “Hot?”
“Yeah.”
“Which one?”
Daniela looked at the floor, at a record sleeve next to her foot. Meche scrambled forward and lifted it very carefully.
“Dead or Alive.”
“You Spin Me Round (Like a Record),” Meche said. “Sebastian, touch it.”
“Alright,” he said.
He didn’t expect it to really burn him, but as soon as he touched it Sebastian felt like he was handling a potato that had been pulled out of a boiling pot of water. He thrust it back into Meche’s hands and she set it down on the floor.
“What’s that?” Sebastian asked.
“I don’t know,” Meche muttered.
She knelt down, took the record out of the sleeve. Her fingers hovered above the shiny, black vinyl surface, very carefully.
“It’s very warm. It’s like... there’s electricity here.”
“There can’t be.”
Meche pressed her index finger against the record and a little blue spark actually shot up. She laughed. Daniela pressed both hands against her mouth. Sebastian just raised an eyebrow.
“You know what this means, right?” she told them. “It’s not just any record. Some of them have power and some of them don’t. Look, feel it.”
Sebastian and Daniela both knelt down. He carefully touched the edge of the record. Another blue spark shot up.
“You think?” Sebastian asked.
“Look for other records which feel warm,” Meche said.
Daniela began to go through one of the cardboard boxes. Sebastian grabbed another box, his fingers dancing over the sleeves, pulling some out, leaving others in its place. Nothing, nothing... and then bingo. A sleeve that itched his palm. He pulled out a single. It felt like a warm tortilla, just wrapped in a cloth.
“Hey,” he said. “This one’s the same.”
“What is it?”
“Billy Idol,” Sebastian said. “Dancing With Myself. Touch it.”
Meche extended her hand, carefully setting it against the sleeve. She nodded very slightly.
Signal to Noise Page 8
