the neighborhood for a sign of either Xochitl or Tristán, she hoped she hadn’t seen the last of them.
Seven
M oments later, Xochitl ducked down an alley around the corner from her house. The deafening sound of Fern’s car crashing into their fence had reminded her of the horrible accident that had killed Graciela. Now that Xochitl was away from the mangled fence and the car sitting haphazardly on her lawn, she could begin to relax. Slowly she imagined that with each breath she was pumping her body back into the realm of visibility. The colors of her skin, clothes, and hair filled in like a magical watercolor painting until her body became solid once again.
The sun’s rays beat down on Xochitl’s brown skin, giving her a toasty feeling, the total opposite of the clamminess and fear she’d felt at the accident scene. She closed her eyes, wishing she could be hanging out with Graciela back home right now. She needed some comfort. Without her sister, Xochitl felt terribly vulnerable.
“Graciela,” Xochitl begged quietly, “please come visit me. I need to talk to you.” She sighed, exasperated. She never thought it would be so difficult to speak to her sister’s spirit.
Aside from an orange tabby cat that scampered across the cement-covered alley that ran between the rows of houses, there wasn’t a person in sight. She stepped onto Occidental Street and peered into the crowds of people walking up and down the sidewalk but saw no familiar face.
Xochitl stared into the large sycamore trees growing up from the parkway, hoping to catch a glimpse of her sister in their branches. Graciela had been her anchor, her rock. The idea of her twin being dead was too final. She looked up to the sky, longing to see her sister’s face in a cloud formation.
“Graciela, please. I can’t stand this loneliness anymore,” Xochitl begged.
When nothing happened, a wave of desperate isolation washed over Xochitl. She needed to talk with someone or to be with someone she knew. Then Xochitl thought of Nana, who was at the Peralta house and had said Xochitl could come see her anytime she needed. So Xochitl set off toward the bus stop at the next corner. She shaded her eyes to look down the street. A bus slowly rumbled toward her.
In front of the bus, Fern and her sister drove along in their station wagon. Pilar honked the horn as Fern leaned out the passenger-side window, yelling and waving. They pulled the car over to the sidewalk a few feet before the bus stop while the bus came to a halt right in front of Xochitl.
Xochitl hesitated. She looked from the bus to Fern, who had jumped out of the car and was heading straight toward her. The door of the bus opened, and the driver, an old man with a toupee like a rat’s nest, glowered down at her. “Are you coming or not?” he growled.
As Fern approached, she gave Xochitl a broad, easygoing smile. She remembered what Nana had said about needing friends. Xochitl gathered all her inner strength and shook her head at the driver. “No, I’m staying,” she said.
Xochitl watched the bus rumble off, leaving a cloud of toxic fumes in its wake.
“Hey, I’ve been looking for you,” Fern said. “I wanted to say thanks, but then you disappeared on me.” Fern hesitated as she turned to look at the back of the retreating bus. “Were you going somewhere?”
“I was going to see my nana,” Xochitl said.
“If she’s at Marina’s house, we can take you,” Fern suggested. “I’m spending the night. Come on, my sister Pilar will drive us.” Fern held up her index and middle fingers and crossed them. “I promise I won’t get behind the wheel.”
Xochitl laughed. “Okay.”
Fern led the way to the car. As she opened the back door, she gave Xochitl a once-over, “Isn’t it hot in those pants?” she asked, then hopped into the backseat.
“Not really.” Xochitl followed Fern into the station wagon. The truth was, Xochitl was a little hot, but since she didn’t have a lot of
Seven
M oments later, Xochitl ducked down an alley around the corner from her house. The deafening sound of Fern’s car crashing into their fence had reminded her of the horrible accident that had killed Graciela. Now that Xochitl was away from the mangled fence and the car sitting haphazardly on her lawn, she could begin to relax. Slowly she imagined that with each breath she was pumping her body back into the realm of visibility. The colors of her skin, clothes, and hair filled in like a magical watercolor painting until her body became solid once again.
The sun’s rays beat down on Xochitl’s brown skin, giving her a toasty feeling, the total opposite of the clamminess and fear she’d felt at the accident scene. She closed her eyes, wishing she could be hanging out with Graciela back home right now. She needed some comfort. Without her sister, Xochitl felt terribly vulnerable.
“Graciela,” Xochitl begged quietly, “please come visit me. I need to talk to you.” She sighed, exasperated. She never thought it would be so difficult to speak to her sister’s spirit.
Aside from an orange tabby cat that scampered across the cement-covered alley that ran between the rows of houses, there wasn’t a person in sight. She stepped onto Occidental Street and peered into the crowds of people walking up and down the sidewalk but saw no familiar face.
Xochitl stared into the large sycamore trees growing up from the parkway, hoping to catch a glimpse of her sister in their branches. Graciela had been her anchor, her rock. The idea of her twin being dead was too final. She looked up to the sky, longing to see her sister’s face in a cloud formation.
“Graciela, please. I can’t stand this loneliness anymore,” Xochitl begged.
When nothing happened, a wave of desperate isolation washed over Xochitl. She needed to talk with someone or to be with someone she knew. Then Xochitl thought of Nana, who was at the Peralta house and had said Xochitl could come see her anytime she needed. So Xochitl set off toward the bus stop at the next corner. She shaded her eyes to look down the street. A bus slowly rumbled toward her.
In front of the bus, Fern and her sister drove along in their station wagon. Pilar honked the horn as Fern leaned out the passenger-side window, yelling and waving. They pulled the car over to the sidewalk a few feet before the bus stop while the bus came to a halt right in front of Xochitl.
Xochitl hesitated. She looked from the bus to Fern, who had jumped out of the car and was heading straight toward her. The door of the bus opened, and the driver, an old man with a toupee like a rat’s nest, glowered down at her. “Are you coming or not?” he growled.
As Fern approached, she gave Xochitl a broad, easygoing smile. She remembered what Nana had said about needing friends. Xochitl gathered all her inner strength and shook her head at the driver. “No, I’m staying,” she said.
Xochitl watched the bus rumble off, leaving a cloud of toxic fumes in its wake.
“Hey, I’ve been looking for you,” Fern said. “I wanted to say thanks, but then you disappeared on me.” Fern hesitated as she turned to look at the back of the retreating bus. “Were you going somewhere?”
“I was going to see my nana,” Xochitl said.
“If she’s at Marina’s house, we can take you,” Fern suggested. “I’m spending the night. Come on, my sister Pilar will drive us.” Fern held up her index and middle fingers and crossed them. “I promise I won’t get behind the wheel.”
Xochitl laughed. “Okay.”
Fern led the way to the car. As she opened the back door, she gave Xochitl a once-over, “Isn’t it hot in those pants?” she asked, then hopped into the backseat.
“Not really.” Xochitl followed Fern into the station wagon. The truth was, Xochitl was a little hot, but since she didn’t have a lot of
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