The Moon Within Page 3

  They’ve brought Magda and me together

  since we were babies.

  Now they’re

  Dr. Teresa Sánchez and Dr. Amelia Rivera

  though Magda and I call them

  Dr. Fixabones and Dr. Potions.

  They are in the same women’s circle

  a place where they meet monthly

  to dream, create art, talk or cry,

  drink tea or wine or whatever.

  It’s my monthly stress relief, Mima says.

  I secretly hate the women’s circle.

  That’s where she got

  the moon ceremony idea

  in the first place.

  I suspect some of those women

  are coming to this moon ceremony

  if I have it.

  IF …

  Little do they know

  Luna cares more about dancing

  than menstruation.

  Papi teaches our world drums

  and songs class

  on Tuesday afternoons at La Peña.

  Magda sits close

  I make funny eyes at her

  so she laughs

  but she shakes her head

  turns up one edge of her lips

  shows only half a dimple

  and locks her focus on Papi

  who the kids call Mr. Rivera.

  He talks about how much we

  owe our ancestors for music

  and that the drum is like

  a lifeline to community

  and makes every bit of us strong.

  Magda takes his words down deep.

  Perhaps she has her own drum locket

  where she stores all she secretly loves too?

  Pride folds over her

  and drops to the light drumming

  of her fingers on her lap

  and I can’t help crack a big grin

  just thinking about the

  color and shape of her locket

  and what might hide inside.

  After class, my locket’s closed

  when Magda is around.

  I don’t bring up my worry about

  Mima’s crazy moon ceremony idea

  which is Teresa’s same zany hope for Magda.

  The thing is, she doesn’t care

  despite our Mama Earths.

  Magda’s flowering hasn’t started

  I know because she wears undershirts

  and not an almost B-size bra like me.

  So, I tell her about getting busted.

  How I cut up

  the picture of my family.

  I expect her to laugh

  but instead she is kind

  as a sleeping kitten

  when she defends me,

  Sometimes we do things

  we don’t mean

  when we’re hurt.

  My locket rattles.

  I want to talk with Magda about

  things. Important things.

  I watch her show me the new trick

  she learned on her skateboard

  that she watched Iván do from afar.

  I figure, my secrets might have

  a soft place to land

  with Magda.

  I undo my locket

  and I confess,

  I really like Iván.

  Magda stops suddenly and stares

  into me like I just slapped her.

  I really like Iván too.

  My eyes fill with confusion

  How could she?

  She’s supposed to be

  my best friend.

  I expected this from Aurora

  but from Magda?

  I should have never

  unlocked

  my heart.

  Everything I think is

  isn’t.

  Friends that are

  aren’t.

  A boy I like

  isn’t mine

  but everyone’s

  and

  no one’s.

  She must have seen

  my face splatter on the ground.

  No, I mean, he’s like a boy I want to be.

  Oh, not that you want to be with?

  No, nerd, not at all!

  If I could, I’d give up being a girl

  to be a boy like him right now.

  If I could, I’d jump right into his skin.

  Really?

  I can’t imagine it.

  I’d have a boy as a best friend?

  My thinking face must have bounced up from the floor

  and contorted in the air like an acrobat.

  Does that freak you out, Celi?

  In a split second

  I realize no one ever stuck her in a dress

  and we never played dolls

  or spread pintura on our lips.

  We talk about funny things,

  outdoor things, bomba drums,

  and we laugh.

  A girl not interested

  in frilly dresses

  nor makeup messes

  but warm and kind

  and funny and smart.

  Does that freak me out?

  No Magda, it makes you

  as awesome as Iván

  and more.

  Magda is patient with me

  as I open my locket just long

  enough to unfold this list

  of things I love about Iván,

  I love …

  The way he never

  fusses with his hair

  the way he talks in a raspy voice

  like he’s about to get laryngitis

  and how he smiles with

  only half his mouth

  how he wears his jerseys not too tight

  and corduroys with a slight sag

  nothing that would make Papi frown.

  And how he skates!

  Magda interrupts.

  Yeah, how he skates like

  he’s gliding on the wind.

  Yup!

  She nods, toothsome and happy.

  I close up my locket before

  I let her know that

  I get a light squirmy feeling

  in my chest and sometimes

  in my flor

  when he

  is near.

  I feel a sudden

  breeze in the studio.

  I look up behind Magda

  to see nothing

  but the

  remnants of a shadow.

  A rushed rustling

  then someone tripping

  and crying, Ouch!

  Sounds like Aurora’s screechy voice

  before the sound of shuffling

  feet scurries away.

  Magda and I look at

  each other, begging,

  That wasn’t Aurora spying?

  My head’s in a whirlwind.

  What if Aurora now also knows

  what I hold tight in my locket

  with all of my might?

  The next morning

  Juju plays a road game

  searches for words

  on signs and billboards

  in the order of the alphabet.

  He spots the A in Allah Market

  where Mima gets the freshest goat cheese.

  Now he’s looking for a B

  and finds it in the last word in

  Everett and Jones Barbeque

  the place where Papi sneaks off

  when veggie Mima’s not looking.

  He doesn’t see what I see.

  Our neighbors Mei Lin and Rashad

  pressing their three kids

  wrapper tight

  into a beat-up minivan

  like us.

  Trucks headed for the hills, carrying

  landscaping gear like weapons

  to where Papi says only

  the loaded rich

  get to live

  unlike us.

  We swivel through the pothole streets.

  In the flatlands I can’t catch a glim
pse

  of the Bay’s blue still waters

  or the bridges that swoon

  so far away.

  We swerve by the double strollers

  filled with babies

  the wire shopping carts

  filled with botes for recycling

  the man who wears a tailored African-print suit

  headphones in, at the bus stop

  and the woman who has made her tent house

  by the freeway entrance

  like so many.

  The every color gente

  who push those babies to preschool

  and dig through the recycling bins

  and get to work

  and make a home

  like us.

  They don’t make it to Juju’s alpha list.

  Maybe it’s only my locket that loves

  the yummy

  crummy

  lop

  sided

  way

  East Oakland rolls.

  Juju scrambles out of the car

  to the lower-grade playground

  like a dog on the loose.

  I take my time

  strut behind him.

  The quick kiss Papi blasted on me

  still on my forehead.

  I watch him run

  make sure he gets

  where he needs to safely

  because in this K–8 school

  you can’t always trust

  the salty middle schoolers

  like me.

  At the upper-grade quad

  I see Aurora from far away

  imagine squishing her

  scrawny

  auburn-

  haired

  head

  like an ant

  between my fingers.

  I’m secretly grateful that Iván

  goes to Orozco Bilingual Academy

  nowhere near us.

  Then suddenly, I hear a low grumble.

  Ms. Celestina Rivera.

  When I turn to the teacher calling me

  I see it’s Magda

  practicing her big-dude voice.

  We snort laugh ’cause she’s fooled me again.

  Hey, Celi, so I got this idea.…

  My eyes wander back to that stinker Aurora

  while I listen because I can’t help

  imagine what she knows.

  For our science fair project

  I was thinking that maybe

  we could do ours about waves.

  What?

  My eyes dart back to Magda

  Yeah, waves. That’d be hecka awesome!

  And we could make fake waves

  in a kiddy pool or something.

  Yeah! Fake waves.

  I confess that I wish to make

  waves big enough to wipe out

  secret-snatching Aurora.

  After school

  I dread getting in the shower.

  I fight with Mima

  right before I get in here.

  Don’t need it.

  Don’t want to.

  Feel too lazy.

  But when the warm water

  falls

  on

  my

  body

  I escape to the land of lather.

  I never want to leave.

  This is where bubbles make my new body

  disappear

  and I have my old one back

  where I don’t have fur-like hair

  growing on my legs

  or two tulip bulbs on my chest

  and my curly hair is not poofy.

  It is slick

  and long

  like a

  s

  i

  r

  e

  n

  a

  ’s.

  Mima has to come into the bathroom

  to get me out.

  Be mindful of the drought, mija.

  I climb out of the tub and dry myself off.

  I catch my reflection in the mirror

  and I can’t pretend anymore.

  There they are:

  the fuzzy hair, the tulip breasts, my growing thighs.

  Mima says I’m flowering early

  and it’s true, my body is on the way to look like hers

  blooming like a flower

  I don’t want to be.

  I scheme with Magda

  about how we are going

  to bring Iván closer.

  We could invite him to our Farolitos performance in two weeks?

  Then we can hang out at the café in the lounge after.

  Magda’s a genius.

  I already got his number

  from Mima, who has

  a contact list of all the Redwood campers.

  Maybe I can sneak the tablet

  and send him a text?

  You gotta be careful not to get caught, Celi.

  Magda knows that it could be tricky.

  Both of our mothers

  are always on health patrol

  refuse to get us phones.

  Magda’s dad had to find

  an article about it online

  that scared them straight

  into a crackdown on screens.

  They say kids our age

  will be affected by the electromagnetic

  fields because we are still growing

  and really have no business having a phone.

  Parents don’t always know what’s right.

  Though they think they do.

  Especially herbalist mothers and chiropractor mothers

  musician dads and social worker dads

  like mine and Magda’s

  who insist everything is better

  when it is grounded to the earth.

  In fact, I’ve known about Iván’s number

  and dreamt of sending a dozen texts

  but never did because I didn’t think

  I had a reason.

  Now that I do, I’m going to wait

  until Mima’s whipping up some tonic or on the phone

  to send him our invitation

  in secret.

  When I set out to find the tablet

  where Mima’s been hiding it

  Juju’s little nose turns up

  like he’s sniffing something

  in the air above him.

  Those savage blue eyes

  scan my movements

  like a wildcat about to pounce on its prey.

  I pick up my music book

  and begin to practice my vocal scales

  purposefully out of tune

  and go sit near the window by my bed

  which sends Juju running

  with his hands over

  his sensitive feline ears.

  Soon as I see

  he’s no longer on my trail

  I calmly begin

  to search the house

  quiet, like a thief.

  I can hear Mima on the phone

  with one of her needy herbal clients

  fussing in the kitchen.

  Just as I’m about to give up

  I find my tablet

  tucked inside bedsheets

  in the hall closet.

  I rush to my bed

  I put the tablet

  inside my music book

  and begin to text.

  When I glance up

  Juju is standing there

  both his fists

  on his hips

  a big you’re-busted smirk

  spread across his grill.

  When he calls MIMA!

  I punch him in the chest

  as hard as I can.

  Shut up!

  He folds over in pain

  grabbing his chest

  his mouth so open

  you can see

  his missing baby fangs

  but

  nothing

  is moving in

  or out of it.

  I shoot to my feet<
br />
  stand next to him

  rub his back briskly

  wishing that I had not

  punched him in the chest!

  Of all places—did I smash his heart?

  I wish that he would

  do something

  cry

  shout

  breathe!

  Juju! Juju!

  Until finally, he releases

  a raspy moan

  and I’m so relieved

  to hear that cry

  that I’m so used to drowning out.

  I’m sorry, Juju!

  Words spill from my fear.…

  I just didn’t want you to tell on me.

  Please don’t tell Mima!

  I promise, I’ll let you come skateboarding

  with Magda and me.

  I plead.

  And just like that

  he sucks it all back

  blinks his tears away

  a smile starting to grow

  in the corners of his lips.

  Really? You promise?

  Yeah, I promise.

  But let me send this text.

  Okay?

  Okay, he grins and rubs his chest

  like a Cheshire cat who’s gotten

  away with something so good.

  Hey, I wrote.

  It’s Celi from camp

  Hey is for horses

  How’d you get my number?

  Got it from the camp list (toothsome smile emoji)

  Oh (brown thumbs-up emoji)

  Wyd?

  Homework (poop emoji)

  Lol same

  Wyd in two weeks?

  Idk, prolly on my board or at capoeira. Why?

  I was thinking maybe

  you’d like to come see

  my performance

  …

  And then hang out at the café at La

  Peña after?

  Is it for that bomba

  class?

  Yup

  I’ve been watching that

  class (peeping eyes emoji)

  Really?

  Looks hella chill

  Like the drumming the

  most tho

  The class ain’t nothing

  You should see our shows

  (three fire emojis)

  Ooh, scared of you

  So can you come?

  Idk, I gotta check w moms

  It’s next Sunday 3 - 6

  Hold up

  …

  Moms says I’m clear

  Nice (brown thumbs up emoji)

  K gtg

  See u then

  Gtg too

  Later

  (waving hand emoji)

  I hit send in time to hear

  Mima’s footsteps coming

  from the kitchen

  where she was also brewing

  an aroma of

  pozole and love

  my favorite stew

  that slowly fills the house

  with a smell of corn hominy, garlic, and onion

  I’ve known my whole life.

  I shove the tablet under my pillow