Ana of California (28 page)

“Uh, you tell them they're being horrible and stand up for your friend. That's a start.”

“I know,” he said. “But it didn't work out that way. I wouldn't have even taken my own apology.”

Ana was quiet.

“I've got to go,” she said.

“Now I feel like I've messed this up too.”

“You and I are both good at making messes,” she said, kissing him lightly on the lips before taking Dolly's leash. “But we need to get better about cleaning them up.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” he said. “Like forever?”

“Forever's a long time,” she said, standing up.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to get home.”

I
t was a silent ride to school but for the sound of the stereo. Abbie had been strangely quiet since the night before. When Ana returned from the beach ready to talk, to be open, to do all the things Mrs. Saucedo said she should do to make her situation better, she stepped into the empty kitchen and found a plate of food next to a note that said, “Had to run out, please eat without me.” It had been strange too that Abbie hadn't returned by bedtime, so Ana set her alarm and tried to stay awake as late as she could. When there was still no Abbie early in the morning, she fixed herself a bowl of cereal and met Manny out in the fields for her chores before returning to find the van idling and waiting to take her to school.

They passed the Moons' house. Ana saw Rye's car in the distance, but Abbie remained focused on the road. Ana thought it strange she hadn't heard from Rye or that Abbie hadn't received word from Della. Maybe all turned out well, she hoped, and Rye kept the whole mess of Saturday night
a secret. Still, something didn't feel right and she couldn't dismiss whatever it was hanging in the air of the front seat. “Clean it up,” she reminded herself as she watched the fog hovering over the trees.

“What are we listening to?” Ana asked.

“Some mixtape I've had forever.”

“Who's the singer?”

“Bonnie Tyler, I think.”

“She sounds emphatic, don't you think?”

“
I need a hero, I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night. . . .
”

“I don't know, wasn't paying attention, hon.”

“Why doesn't she just be her own hero? I mean, why is she waiting for some knight on a steed when she could get a steed herself?”

“It's just a song.”

“I've been thinking since, you know, everything that happened on Saturday, that I need to maybe be more open with you and Em—”

“We're here,” Abbie said, pulling into the school parking lot. “Look, hon, I haven't known how to tell you this, but things didn't go well with the Moons yesterday.” She parked the van and turned toward Ana. “I don't know what was said, but Della isn't happy with the situation and we need some time for everything to blow over.”

“What do you mean?”

“She wants you two to spend some time apart.”

“But I didn't do anything. I mean, I probably should have looked in more places to find her, but . . . I don't know what I did wrong.” She couldn't hold it in. The tears were there, so she let them come, wiping at her cheeks.

“We'll talk about it after school, but I need some time to sit down with Della and figure this all out. I'm trying to understand what happened too.”

“But I told you what happened!” Ana said, the tears coming faster, harder. “I'm trying—I'm trying to fix it! What more do you want me to do?”

The bell rang loud and low. There was laughter and rushing around outside the door of the van.

“We'll talk after school. I'll see you at The Bracken.”

Ana opened the door and slammed it shut. She walked across the parking lot as she wiped her face, taking deep breaths to calm herself before going inside. She cleaned herself up at her locker and made her way to homeroom, going over what she would say when she saw Rye. When she got to class, Rye's seat was empty, so she sat down and opened her sketchbook.

“Guess my wish came true.” Ana looked up as Kelsey Weaver slid into the seat in front of her. “Guess
Ry
an did meet the grave.”

“Why are you calling her that?”

“What? Ryan? It's just a joke—lighten up.”

“Actually, why don't you shut it.”

“What did you say?”

“Did I stutter? I told you to
shut it
.”

Ana wasn't sure how loud she'd said it, but the entire room went quiet.

“Girls, is there a problem?” Ms. Gregg asked, concerned. “Ana?”

“No, ma'am, not unless you call small-minded ignorance and a deploringly awful sense of humor a problem.”

The bell rang for first period. Ana continued sketching
in her notebook and watching the door for Cole, but he never arrived. She drifted in and out of her classes. At lunch, there was still no sign of Rye or Cole. She waved to Brady in the cafeteria at his new lunch table and made her way to the art studio.

“Do you have a makeup assignment, Miss Cortez?” Mrs. Darnell peered at Ana from behind a canvas on an easel.

“No, I was just hoping to come in early to work on my midterm project. May I?”

“By all means.”

Ana went to her assigned drawer and pulled out the large piece of drawing paper nearly filled with color. The assignment had been what Mrs. Darnell called a “free creation” piece. The theme, which was still written on the chalkboard, was
WHERE
I
COME
FROM
.

Ana set the paper down on the table, took out her colored pencils, and got to work. She pressed the colors in one by one, working fast as she shaded and rounded the edges, softening the people and place. She was so lost in the work she didn't notice Mrs. Darnell standing over her.

“May I have a look?”

Ana leaned back, not saying anything.

Mrs. Darnell's eyes roamed over the piece, taking in a woman in a floral dress floating in a creek, her braids and fingernails and toes tethered to the shore as if held there by veins, an open hole where her stomach should be, the water flowing pink. There were trees casting dark shadows, music lyrics written in cursive lettering floating up and out of her into the breeze.

“Who is the woman?”

“My abuela . . . my grandma.”

“Her face is very beautiful. Can you tell me more about it?”

Ana swallowed and cleared her throat. “She's resting, in the river, alone, but the water is cleansing her.”

“And the lyrics? They're in Spanish?”

“Yes, in English they say, ‘Take me to the river, cover me with your shawl, because I'm dying of cold.'”

“What's the symbolism behind all of the black doves watching from the trees?”

“They represent different elements . . . my mother and father, other people from where I grew up.” She sat up and wiped her face and nose.

“It's just extraordinary, Ana, absolutely stunning. I know you're not entirely finished, but you should feel very proud of this work, very proud of sticking to what flows from you.”

The bell rang. Mrs. Darnell placed her hand on Ana's shoulder and walked back to the front of the classroom. She continued working, oblivious to the other students coming in until a book slammed down on the table.

“I'm so relieved to see you,” Ana said, careful not to push. “I . . . I hope you're feeling better.”

“I'm grounded until graduation, and I'm not allowed to talk to you, so . . .”

“Abbie told me. That's not going to stop me from being concerned about you, though.”

“What's the point when I know you'd rather hang out with Cole anyway?” Rye sat down and rummaged through her bag.

“That's not true and you know it. Yes, we're interested in each other, but he's interested in you too. I know he wants to make things right and go back to being friends.”

“What, did he tell you all about his sappy apologies? Did he lure you in with his bad-boy-gone-good lies? Has he been cast in his own teen soap opera yet?”

“He told me how much your friendship means to him.”

“He told you what you wanted to hear to get into your pants. You know he told Jim about me—
Jim
of all people. Friends don't do that to one another. Friends protect one another and wait for one another and don't go running off with the first cute boy they meet.”

“Rye . . .”

“You have no idea what kind of pressure I get from home to be the smiling little girl in the picture all the time. You have no idea what it's like for your parents to look at you like you're about to break.”

“No, you're right. I don't know what it's like.”

“I can't do the wrong thing, okay? And I can't handle their suddenly being hands off with me, like I've got some sort of disease they're sympathetic to but don't know how to treat.”

The bell rang and everyone began making their way to their seats, projects in hand. Rye got up, went to her drawer, and came back with her sewing kit and the large piece of fabric she'd been tailoring. The class began to work, quiet chatter reverberating around the room. Rye threaded her needle; Ana went back to her drawing.

“I told them it was your idea.”

“What was?” Ana said, looking up.

“I told my parents you were the one who wanted to take the mushrooms, that I felt pressured. I don't know why I said it, but I did.”

Ana rose from the table and walked out of the room.

 • • • 

T
here were more people than Ana imagined there would be walking down Main Street at this time in the afternoon.
She ducked into Bungle Records, which, thankfully, was empty, and began perusing the back rows of vinyl records, hoping she wouldn't be spotted. She hadn't intended to walk out of art class and continue walking all the way out of school, ditching her last period entirely. She flipped through the records in the punk section while listening to the owner hum along to a live album for some jam band. She checked her watch and figured she could kill time looking at records for another hour.

She flipped through cover after cover, wondering if she'd have to explain everything to Abbie.

Had the Moons' told Abbie that it had been Ana's fault too? Had Abbie believed them? Is this why she'd left last night and had been so quiet earlier that morning?

“Looking for anything in particular?” the owner inquired, eyeing her as if she were a thief.

“Yeah, where's the heavy metal section?” she asked. He pointed her to the row behind where she was standing. She began sorting through the records again, passing photo after photo of men with big hair and illustrations of demonic skeletons. She wanted to move on to another section, but also needed to kill time, so she decided to keep flipping through until she got to the end. “Hair, skeleton, hair, horns,” her mind said. “Hair, hair, Abbie.”

She couldn't help gasping.

“Find what you were looking for?” the man said, fearing something was wrong.

“No, sir . . . I mean, yes, sir.”

She pulled the record out and looked at it closely. The band was called Nightshade and the album was titled
Midnight Angel
. It was glossy black except for the photo of a much younger Abbie in a somewhat revealing white dress
on the front of it, her hands in the prayer position as she floated up to the sky.

“How much is this?” she asked.

“Twenty-five. It's a collector's item.”

Ana fished for the bus ticket money she'd always kept at the bottom of her backpack, just in case, and paid for it.

She was in such a daze from ditching school and finding the album that she didn't realize she was early when she entered The Bracken. There were a few people inside at various tables, so Ana had a seat at the counter.

“Food, coffee, or both?” asked the new waiter behind the bar.

“Nothing. Actually, I'm looking for Will. Is he around?”

The waiter headed to the kitchen. Ana swiveled in her seat. The café was becoming more crowded, she noticed: a few people having coffee in the corner, a man enjoying a bowl of soup. It was sunny outside despite the dropping temperatures, a golden tint to the afternoon light. Ana felt a longing to know what it must feel like to belong to a place, and hoped that if she continued to make things right, that maybe she would. Maybe this would be her place.

“Aren't you early?” Will said, drying his hands.

“History midterms. I finished early.”

“Want something while you wait for Abbie?”

“No, thanks,” she said. “But I brought something for you.” She reached into her backpack, pulled out the brown paper bag, and handed it over to him.

“What's this?” Will said, sliding the album out of the bag, his eyes going wide. “No! Where did you find it?”

“At Bungle across the street. She's been there all along.”

He laid it on the counter and stared at it.

“It's her, isn't it?” Ana said.

“It is,” he said, picking it up and holding it in front of him. “Still slays me right through the heart.”

Will flipped it over and they both read the song names, laughing at the titles and the photo of the band, who featured the requisite amount of hair and black leather pants.

“What are you two so engrossed in?” Abbie said, coming in and sitting down at the counter.

They both looked up, startled.

“What is that?” Abbie said, leaning in before going completely rigid. “Whose is this?” she demanded, her face flushed.

“I . . .”

“It's mine,” Will said. “Guilty as charged.”

“Get your things, Ana.”

“But—”

“
Now
.”

She marched out of the restaurant. Ana grabbed her backpack and turned to Will, who shook his head and shrugged his shoulders as if he didn't know what had happened either.

 • • • 

A
bbie drove faster than normal. She whipped the van around and rolled down her window, the cold air streaming in.

“Was that some kind of joke?” she said.

“It wasn't meant to be.”

“Why on earth would he have that? I bet he's had it the whole time! I told him I never wanted to see that thing again.”

“I bought it for him.”

“You what?”

“I found it in the record shop, and I knew it was something Will might like, so . . .”

“
How
would you know that it would be something he would like?”