Our Own Private Universe

by Robin Talley

  “No, this is the first time I—Hey, wait.” Christa looked up at me suddenly, in that way she did that made me feel light inside. “Stop right where you are. Don’t move.”

  “What?” I froze. Was there a snake nearby?

  “For real, don’t move.” Christa lifted the black-and-white camera to her eyes, and I relaxed.

  “I never said you could take my picture,” I said, but I was teasing, already making my usual selfie smile.

  “I never ask.” She smiled, too, and snapped the camera thingie. “Okay, this time don’t smile. Stand the way you were standing before.”

  I tried to remember how I was standing before, but I hadn’t been paying attention. She must have thought I did it right, though, because she snapped the camera thingie two more times. I remembered what she’d said about only taking a few shots with that camera because she didn’t want to run out of film, and I preened a little, knowing she’d used three whole shots on me.

  “Let’s get a photo of both of us together,” I said. “We can use your other camera if you want to save film.”

  “Oh, no.” Christa made a face. “I don’t believe in selfies.”

  “You don’t?” I’d never heard anyone say that before. Even my dad, who thought the word selfie was hilarious, was a huge ham who’d steal the phone out of my hand to snap a photo of himself holding a foot-long hot dog he’d just grilled. When I finally got my phone back, I’d have to go through and delete them all. My father was seriously so embarrassing.

  “It’s almost impossible to make selfies come out right,” she said. “Framing is photography, and you can’t frame a shot if you can’t even hold your arm steady.”

  “You should get a selfie stick!”

  I grinned. Christa gave me a mock-withering look, then grinned back. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that and change the subject. How long have you and Lori been friends?”

  I laughed. “Forever. Or since fifth grade, anyway. That was when Lori moved to Maryland. Her aunt Miranda went to our church, so Lori’s family started going there, too, and our moms bonded right away. That’s how she and I got to be friends.”

  “And you’ve been best friends the whole time?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I told Christa the story of our first-kiss pact, and Tim Mayhew and Barry Tuckerton. Soon we were both laughing so hard we could barely stand up.

  “You’ve gotten better at kissing since then,” Christa said.

  I flushed. I wished I could kiss her then and there. “I sure hope so.”

  I wondered if she was thinking the same thing, because she looked away quickly after that. We were both smiling, though.

  “How about Lori?” she asked. “Does she get up to a lot of kissing of her own?”

  “Not that much, I guess. She hasn’t gone out with that many guys.”

  “Are she and Paul a thing?”

  “Nah. I mean, I think she’s into him, but I don’t think anything’s happened.”

  “That’s good. Tell her he’s sketchy. He steals from the collection plate at church.”

  I laughed. “What for?”

  “Who knows? But he brags about it at school. He volunteers to pass the plate and then pockets half the cash. Someone told me he uses the money for drugs, but I think he probably only buys stupid T-shirts. Every time I see him he has a new stupid T-shirt.”

  “Well, she’s going to be disappointed,” I said. “She was pretty into him.”

  Christa looked confused. “Does she even know him?”

  “Not really. She gets crushes on guys from afar a lot. Most of the time nothing ever happens. The guys don’t really notice her, and she doesn’t do anything except watch them from across the room and stuff.”

  “Huh. That’s kind of sad.”

  “Nah, I think she’s just nervous.”

  Christa grinned. “You weren’t nervous the night you met me.”

  Wow. Did she seriously think that? I threw on what I hoped was a confident look. “I guess I don’t find you that intimidating.”

  She laughed. “I like confident girls.”

  She looked into my eyes the whole time she was talking, but she was biting her lip again. I smiled and ducked my head.

  “Hey, let’s stop for a second,” she said. We were on our way back to the Perez house, walking alongside a waist-high stone wall. Christa dug in her purse and pulled out a green Sharpie. “I have an idea.”

  She bent down against the wall, not seeming to care that she was getting dust on her black dress. She crossed one leg over the other, crouched and started drawing something on her ankle with the marker. I tried to see what it was, but she held her other arm up so I couldn’t get a good look.

  Finally she put the cap on the Sharpie. This time she hadn’t drawn a design. She’d written the word QUIXOTIC in flowery letters running up the back of her calf.

  I wanted to squeal. Instead I put two fingers on my lips to hide my grin. “Can I borrow a marker?”

  “Sure.” She fished in her purse again and passed me a blue one. I sat down on the ground next to her and tried to write QUIXOTIC on my leg, too. It didn’t come out as cool-looking as hers—I didn’t have as much practice at this, so my letters wobbled—but I loved that we matched.

  Christa took a photo of my leg with her digital camera and tilted her head, her smile radiating warmth. I wanted to plant a kiss on her right there in the wide-open Mexican daylight. Instead I smiled back.

  I liked her. God, I liked her so much.

  “We’d better go.” She looked at her phone. “The dance performance starts soon.”

  I climbed to my feet and reached for her hand to help her up, then reluctantly let go.

  “Hey, Cee!” someone called from the far side of the street. Christa turned and waved, wearing a very different smile from the one she’d just given me. “You want to hang with us tonight? We’ve got the party right here!”

  Paul and three other guys I recognized from Christa’s church were walking in the opposite direction, holding cardboard boxes on their shoulders. The one who’d yelled was named Nick, and I was pretty sure the other two were Will and Tyler, though I didn’t know which was which. Every time I saw them they were together, usually snickering at something on one of their phones, if they weren’t making fart noises.

  “Nah, I’m good,” Christa called back. “You think you got enough?”

  “Hey, yo, this stuff’s got to last!” Paul slapped the cardboard box on his shoulder with a thump.

  Christa laughed and waved again as the guys left.

  “Do they know they’re going the wrong way?” I asked Christa.

  “Probably.” Christa watched them disappear around the corner. “They’re such losers. I mean, they’re nice guys and all—I’ve known them since we were kids—but to them, the whole point of being in Mexico is that they can buy beer. They say no one here checks IDs.”

  I looked back at the group. They were far away now, but when I squinted, I could see the logos on the cardboard boxes they were carrying. Christa was right—it did look like beer. “So, what, do they sit around and drink all day?”

  “I think mostly they drink at night. Some girls hang out with them, too.”

  Oh. I wondered if I should be jealous that I’d never been invited. Not that I especially wanted to spend time with a bunch of drunk guys I didn’t even know. “Did you want to hang out with them tonight?”

  “Not if you want to hang out with me, I don’t.”

  That brought my smile right back up.

  The sun was high above our heads. There was something amazing about walking out here in the open with Christa, talking about our day-to-day lives. Up until now, so much of our world had been about silence. The two of us alone together under those amazing Mexican stars.

>   We were among the last ones to get to Reverend Perez’s house. We went straight around to where everyone was gathered in the courtyard, passing the spot where we’d talked that first night. It might as well have been a hundred years ago.

  When we walked through the gate, Dad came straight up to us. His presence broke the spell I’d been under spectacularly.

  “There you are.” Dad looked a little frazzled—probably because he was annoyed at me for being almost-late—but he smiled at Christa. “Did you girls have a nice time in town?”

  “Oh, yes.” The voice Christa used for my dad was decidedly formal and fake. The same way she’d talked to that West Virginia pastor on our first day of work. “Everyone’s so friendly here.”

  “Good, good,” Dad said. “Aki, may I have a word, please?”

  A tiny note of panic flared up in my chest. He couldn’t know, could he?

  No. We’d been careful. We’d—

  Well, except that one night, outside the church. God, that had been amazing. But that was days ago. If he’d heard about that, he’d have said something before now, wouldn’t he?

  I was still freaking out when Dad pulled me into a corner of the courtyard and said, “I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. We haven’t really seen much of each other this week.”

  He didn’t seem angry or concerned. He still had that frazzled look in his eyes, though. I tried to force the worry out of my face.

  “Oh, I’m good,” I said. “I’m having a lot of fun.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Dad said. “I’ve noticed that in vespers sometimes you look a little distant.”

  Well, that was because every night during vespers, all I could think about was sneaking off afterward to make out with Christa. The last thing I cared about was listening to praise songs. I couldn’t very well say that to Dad, though.

  “I’m just tired,” I said. “I’m not used to doing this kind of work all day.”

  Not that the work was so hard. I mean, I spent my days painting and making jewelry with Lori and the girls. But Dad seemed to buy my explanation.

  He turned to face the courtyard. The youth groups were settling into chairs and mats on the ground. The dancers, mostly girls around my age who went to the local church, were getting set up at the front toward the house. They wore old-fashioned white dresses that were long and flowy. Their hair was pinned up, and their faces sparkled with makeup and gold jewelry. They looked amazing.

  “Yo, Benny! How’s it hanging?” two Harpers Ferry guys called from the front row. Dad waved to them. Everyone here called my dad Benny. It had been weird to hear at first. At home, Mom called him Benjamin, and I had always been under strict instructions to call my friends’ parents Mr. or Mrs. Whatever. But after years of youth group meetings, I was used to Dad being Benny.

  “It seems as though you’re making friends,” Dad said.

  “Oh, yeah. There are lots of awesome people in the other youth groups.”

  “I’m glad. That’s part of why we’re on this trip. The Holy Life churches have operated separately for years, but we’re trying harder now to bring everyone together.”

  “Oh.” I yawned. “Because of the conference?”

  “No, it’s the other way around. The conference is part of the larger effort toward improving our overall community structure.”

  I nodded as if I were really interested in talking about this. Then I remembered what I’d wanted to ask him.

  “Hey, so, I saw something today,” I said. “There was a doctor’s office in the middle of town, but it was pretty run-down. Do you know if that’s the only doctor in Mudanza or if, maybe, I don’t know, this was the old clinic and there’s a newer one a few blocks up or something?”

  Dad shook his head. “Can’t say I know the answer to that. Why do you ask, sweetheart?”

  I shrugged. “Well, I had fun last year working at the clinic back home. I guess I wondered if maybe they needed volunteers here, too.”

  “Well.” Dad passed a hand over his hair. “Well, Aki, you’re already busy all day with work on the church and your jewelry class project. But if you’re curious about the doctors here in town, we could always ask Carlos.”

  “Carlos? No, Dad, it’s okay, we don’t need to—”

  Dad wasn’t listening. “Carlos! Do you have a second?”

  Carlos was up at the front, setting up the sound equipment and chatting with Lori, but when he heard Dad he trotted over to us, smiling broadly. He was in his twenties, and he was the one member of the Mexican church who spoke English well enough to translate for us. He was a nice enough guy, and a lot of the girls in our group whispered behind their hands about how cute he was. But my dad was so embarrassing when he got this way.

  “Carlos, my daughter here is interested in learning more about the Mexican health care system,” Dad said.

  “That isn’t what I asked,” I muttered.

  “Of course,” Carlos said. He was pretty nice-looking, now that I was paying attention. “How can I help you, Aki?”

  I explained about seeing the Casa de Salud. I didn’t mention the part about it looking kind of old. I didn’t want to insult Carlos’s hometown.

  “Are there other doctors’ offices in Mudanza?” I asked him.

  “Are you sick?” Carlos looked concerned. “We could find someone to drive you in to Tijuana tomorrow. I know an excellent doctor there.”

  “No, no, I’m fine.” I stretched my arms over my head, trying to show him how healthy I was. “I was only wondering.”

  “Ah.” Carlos nodded. “The Casa de Salud is all we have here in Mudanza. The big cities have more doctors, but in this part of Mexico, the smaller towns only have a clinic. The government assigns doctors to work in the rural clinics for their fifth year of medical school.”

  “Only one doctor for the whole town?” I said.

  “There’s also a nurse, and a helper,” Carlos said. “We share the doctor with the clinic in Cedro, the town nearest to here. But the doctor is often away on other work, as well, so it can be difficult to get in to see him. Tijuana is better.”

  “How many people live in Mudanza?” I asked.

  “About five hundred, right, Carlos?” Dad said. Carlos nodded.

  That made one doctor for a thousand or so people, counting the other town. A doctor still in med school, too. I had no idea how many patients my doctor saw back home, but I didn’t think it was a thousand.

  What did people do here if they got seriously sick while the doctor was in the other town? And what if they got cancer or had heart problems like my grandad? Did everyone really drive all those hours to Tijuana to go to a decent doctor?

  I wasn’t sure how much people here drove, though. I hardly ever saw cars on the road. Reverend Perez had a truck—we’d seen it parked behind his house—but it looked really old. I couldn’t imagine driving it all the way to Tijuana.

  The dance was about to start, though, so I whispered thanks to Carlos and went to join the others. Christa had saved me a seat. I sat down next to her on a mat, spreading my skirt out over my knees.

  Carlos went up to the front to welcome us and introduce the dancers. It turned out the lead dancer, a gorgeous woman named Alicia, was his wife. I’d heard he was married, but the whispers I’d heard from the girls in our group were that people in Mudanza got married really early and he and his wife were more friends than anything else. Looking at Alicia, though, I wondered if that was just wishful thinking on the girls’ parts.

  Carlos clapped really hard when the music started and Alicia walked out front. The girls held their long skirts in their hands and swung them around as they danced, their feet moving in complicated steps. I felt like I was going to trip just watching them, but the dancers smiled, as if this were as easy as walking.

  I wished I’d l
earned to dance for real. I’d always loved dancing, but all I could do were silly moves I copied from music videos and practiced alone for my laptop camera. I’d been supposed to start dance classes the previous summer so I could get ready for MHSA, but I’d canceled them, along with everything else, when I didn’t get in.

  My jealousy ran deep as I watched the local girls. I had a feeling none of them had ever taken a single dance class. They were naturally talented. But for me and my music, even after studying and practicing for years, my own talent still wasn’t good enough.

  Tears burned at the backs of my eyes. That part of my life was over. My future wasn’t going to be what I used to think, but I’d accepted that. I had to move on.

  I glanced back at Christa to distract myself. She was looking at me, too.

  I forced down the memories as my stomach rolled in giddy anticipation. The only future I needed to think about was tonight.

  CHAPTER 8

  Vespers were canceled for the night. Dad told us to rest up for church in the morning instead.

  Apparently, church was going to be in the same room where we slept, so we’d have to get up before dawn, get dressed, move our stuff out of the building, take down the camp showers and set up the pews. Then we had to come sit on them with everyone else for the service. Which we wouldn’t understand because it would be in Spanish.

  And I’d thought having to get up on Sunday mornings for church back home was annoying.

  But no vespers meant more Christa time, so we didn’t waste a minute. As soon as dinner was over, everyone spread out into groups around the outdoor tables, talking and laughing and trying out the dance steps we’d seen that afternoon, but Christa and I wandered off toward the hills, carrying a couple of extra mats and checking to make sure there was space between us so no one would think anything was up.

  We passed Nick and Paul and their group stumbling off in the opposite direction, cans of beer held over their heads. They seemed to be having a contest to see who could burp the loudest. Christa and I rolled our eyes and kept going toward the trees.