Waking Up in the Land of Glitter (22 page)

An invisible wall of defense rose up around Star. “You should have told us the truth earlier. We would have been on your side.
Withholding something is just like lying. It’s totally messed up.”

Ofie stopped her crochet project long enough to pop up her head and proclaim, “Star is the Happy Face Tagger.” She then lowered
her head and resumed her stitches.

The group hollered out, “What?”

Star evoked the spirit of
The Exorcist
and twisted her head toward Ofie. “You didn’t just say that.”

“You?” Chloe asked, jolting her head back in disbelief as she slid out of the booth. “No way! You lied to my face all this
time, and I believed you! Even this morning! What a hypocrite!”

With the interrogation spotlight pointed at her, Star fidgeted. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t mean to spray paint that
mural. I had good reason.”

“She got drunk with her puta cousin that night,” Ofie remarked.

Star stomped her foot. “Ofie, I can’t believe you just did that!”

Chloe slung her bag over her arm. “Look, Star, maybe what I did was wrong and I may lack creative talent, but at least I have
specific ambition and drive. I don’t have parents who allow me time to find myself. Give me a damn break! I’d bet all the
scrapbook paper in the world that you don’t even go through with your art show. As soon as something gets hard, you ditch
it.”

“Nice to know what you really think of me,” Star replied.

“So much for a happy birthday.” Chloe sighed. “I woke up this morning intending to make peace with the universe, and it’s
been the worst day of my life. Regardless, I don’t have time for this craft crap anymore. Happy, Ofie?”

“Don’t you dare be mean to her!” Star warned Chloe.

“Don’t you dare be rude to me! I haven’t done anything but open my home to you!” Ofie barked.

Chloe switched her weight to the other leg and balled up her fists at her sides. “Fine, Ofie. Go home to your loving husband
who sacrifices his free hours to work overtime to pay for your craft habit. And your beautiful daughter who wishes you would
take the time to braid her hair, instead of making stupid butterfly ponytail holders that she is embarrassed to wear. And
together, you and your little familia can laugh about me over the tasty enchilada dinner your mother-in-law makes that you
hate, but you eat it anyway because you can’t stand up to her.”

Chloe shot Ofie and Star a prissy smile, spun around, and click-clacked her heels the heck out of there, just like a bitchy
supermodel working the runway.

Benecio sprinted after her. “What about the centerpieces? We still have to finish!”

Chloe stopped, pushed her saucer sunglasses over her eyes, and turned to face him. “I’m sorry, Benecio. I never wanted to
disappoint you. But it’s not my problem anymore. If you were smart, you’d split too. I’ll see if I can score you a media pass
to CraftOlympics without your parents knowing.

“Take care, kid,” Chloe said to Benecio. And with that, she split.

“We’ll get them done, B,” Star offered, as she put her arm around him for reassurance. “But we’ll talk later. Why don’t you
wait outside for me so you don’t have to hear any more of this?”

Before he could move, Ofie spoke up. “Star, what is the real reason you didn’t want me to enter the Scissor Smackdown? And
why didn’t you tell me—your best friend—about all that glitter?” Ofie’s tears began to fall like raindrops on her yarn. “Is…
it… true, Star? Is it because you think my crafts are ugly?”

Star thrust her hands over the table to comfort Ofie. “Who told you that?”

“Do you think my crafts are ugly? Yes or no?” Ofie prodded.

“Ofie, don’t be silly!” Star answered.

Ofie jerked away. “So it
is
true. You think my crafts are ugly,” she said as her thick fingers gripped the metal hook and jabbed it into the red worsted-weight
yarn. The next moment she put it down and used the table as leverage to heave her heavy body from the tight space. She began
to breathe heavily and fast.

“Oh no,” Star mumbled. “Ofie, sit down,” she advised, gently touching her best friend’s arm. “Let’s do the yoga breathing
exercises my mom taught us.”

Ofie pounded her fist on the table, causing the silverware and condiments to rattle.

“You are nothing but a spoiled, self-centered brat, Star! And I’m tired of listening to you complain about your life. You
have no idea how good you have it! You have no direction; you’re like a leaf in the wind, blowing any which way. Chloe is
right. You get drunk and vandalize your parents’ property, and all they do is give you more space to
find yourself
? Boo. Fucking. Hoo. You don’t know what it’s like to struggle.”

“Not true, Ofie!” Star countered. “I’ve struggled. I just don’t tell you.”

“What? Like Theo hurting your feelings, only after you hurt his first? Flirting with a fireman? Living with your parents?
Try thinking what it’s like for people like me and Larry to get pregnant and married at eighteen. Try feeling like a failed
mother and wife. Try having your electricity turned off because you spent more money on beads than bills. Try eating dinner
with a mother-in-law who thinks you’re useless. How dare you mock my dreams, when you don’t have the guts to follow your own.
I agree with Chloe. I’d bet all the scrapbook paper
and
all your stupid glitter that you don’t go through with your show. You’ll probably use this as an excuse to cancel it.”

Star choked at her friend’s biting remarks.

Ofie panted as she stuffed herself back into the booth, picked up her crochet needles, and resumed her power hooking.

Star slipped from the booth and stood next to her friend. “You are the last person I would ever want to hurt.”

Ofie wouldn’t look up at her. “That’s what you told Theo too. Now I know what he felt like. There is nothing you can say to
change things, Star.” Ofie’s voice cracked, thinking how the phrase “stitch ’n’ bitch” had literally come to life. “Crafting
was the
one
thing I enjoyed. I was so excited for the CraftOlympics, and you have spoiled it for me. Once again, I’m an outcast and a
fool. I’m glad Theo got away from you. You don’t deserve him.”

Star clenched her chest and kneeled on the floor at Ofie’s side. “I’m sorry. I only meant to protect you. I didn’t want anyone
to hurt your feelings. I didn’t realize I was doing the same thing.”

Ofie wouldn’t meet Star’s gaze. As far as she was concerned, their friendship was over.

“Veté!” Ofie ordered without a window of negotiation. “Go!”

“Please, Ofie,” Star said, her chin quivering. Ofie ignored her.

Star rose and placed her hand on Benecio’s back to guide him out, their frowns just about dragging on the floor.

“Peace out, Ofie. I love you,” Star said.

Benecio broke away, ran to Ofie, threw his arms around her neck, and sobbed. She remained in her stiff crochet-induced trance.

“I never, ever,
ever
said anything bad about you,” he pleaded. “Everything you do is beautiful. Look…” He pulled a chain out from under his shirt.
“It’s the avocado necklace you made me. I haven’t taken it off. It’s my good luck charm.”

Ofie didn’t budge. “It’s supposed to be a heart.” A teardrop fell from her eye, rolled down her cheek, and plopped on what
was now beginning to look like a bright red baby blanket.

“It’s an
avocado
heart, and I love it. I wish…
I wish so bad
… my mom could be like you.”

“Go home to your family, Benecio. You’re better off without any of us,” she replied in a hushed tone. He kissed her cheek
and did as she said, wiping his eyes as he left.

N
ot much later, the Valley of the Sun fell victim to a massive thunderstorm that Star believed was brought on by the many souls
shaken that afternoon.

Her eyes swelled from hours of nonstop crying. She didn’t care about the centerpieces, Chloe, or even Benecio. All Star wanted
was for Ofie to feel better. After the La Pachanga verbal bloodbath, Star dropped Benecio off and went home to find her parents
giggling together while sharing jokes from their extended anniversary getaway. Star brewed a pot of Green Mountain coffee,
sat them down, and explained everything. Dori agreed to go over to Ofie’s with Star to straighten the mess out.

Before they left, Star wanted to make a gift for Ofie as a peace offering. A gift that expressed her gratitude and loyalty,
and that Ofie would really love: a friendship shrine. Star bolted upstairs to her room and worked feverishly to complete the
art piece as fast as she could, stopping only to blow her nose every few minutes.

From her dresser she grabbed a lumpy mosaic-tiled jewelry box she used to hold her brooch collection. She dumped the pins
on her bed. Ofie had made the box for Star’s last birthday and now it would serve as the foundation of the shrine. Star used
the bottom of her T-shirt dress to remove the dust from inside the box and then went to work. Her iPhone buzzed several times,
probably Harrison, but she ignored it. She didn’t have time to explain, and he wouldn’t understand anyway. Star languished
over Ofie’s feelings. Her mind reeled at all the negative thoughts and wisecracks she’d ever made.

Losing Theo she could deal with, but losing Ofie? Unacceptable.

“Please, you have to let us in, Larry. I’m begging you. I have to talk to Ofie,” Star pleaded through a loud crash of thunder,
as she tried to force her way through the Fuentes’ front door.

Larry braced the entrance to keep her at bay. “I’m sorry, ladies, not tonight. Star, Dori—come on now. My poor wife has been
through enough, don’t you think?”

Though Larry’s tone was polite, right now he couldn’t care less about these women. Who did they think they were? Egoísta!
Selfish! They trotted over here every damn week, made their mess, and left. To them, the craft group served as a time filler.
To Ofie, it meant the world! Larry thought of how many times he wanted to say “Enough!” at the dinner table when Ofie would
go into her forty-minute recap of the meeting and everyone’s lives. Now even Anjelica wanted to host an afterschool craft
group. And it had all come down to this—Star making fun of Ofie behind her back, which sent Ofie into her worst breakdown
ever.

Dori attempted an intervention. “It’s a misunderstanding. We want to help Ofie. We love her. Please can we come in?”

Larry stepped out onto the front porch and inhaled the fragrance of dampened marigolds from the flowerbed. He wished the current
mood could be as pleasing. He rested his palm on his forehead and delivered the bad news. “This craft group isn’t a good idea
anymore. I should have never encouraged Ofie with this. Please—if you really care about her, don’t call. Don’t come by. She
needs her family right now.”

“I’m her family too. You know that, Larry. Look at how long we’ve known each other,” Star sobbed while a web of lightning
flickered across the sky. “Please can you give her this? It’s a gift I made for her tonight—a friendship shrine.”

Larry looked down at the box and took it. “Go home before the roads get too flooded. This storm doesn’t look like it’s going
to stop any time soon.”

Star stepped up to his face and clenched her thin camel-colored sweater at her chest. A strong gust of cold wind blew from
the side and made her teeth chatter. “Wh-at are you saying-ing-ing?”

Larry moved back toward the door. “I’ll tell Ofie you came by. G’night.”

“Take care of her and tell her we all love her,” Dori said as she took Star’s hand to lead her back to the car.

“Star,” Larry called out against another loud clap of thunder.

Star rushed back in his direction. “Yes? Can I come in?”

“Of all people, I never expected
you
to hurt her this way.”

Star opened her mouth, but no words escaped. She turned and ran to her car. Larry waited until he heard Dori’s footsteps trot
down the concrete pathway, past the plastic Malibu lights that Ofie had covered in turquoise fleck stone. After they drove
away, Larry wondered if he had done the right thing.

He stepped inside the house, turned off the front porch light, and locked the door. A lump formed in his throat, and his body
panged. He put the box on the top shelf of the wall unit and then knelt down to pick up the legs that had been broken off
a painted plant stand. He held one piece in each hand and walked forward to clean up the remainder of Ofie’s rampage.

*     *     *

After a few hours of sweeping and straightening, Larry tiptoed to his wife’s side where she lay in bed, passed out from exhaustion.

When Larry had arrived home from work at eight thirty that night, the house appeared as though a gang of drunken thieves had
visited. The art and handmade decorations that once graced the walls, dressers, and countertops were broken and scattered
all over the floor. Black marker covered the family tree wall painting that Ofie spent three months on last summer. Same with
the mural in Anjelica’s bedroom. All of Ofie’s favorite pieces were smashed to bits in every nook and cranny of the house.

Petrified, and assuming the worst, he sprinted to Anjelica’s room, snagged a softball bat from her closet, and snuck through
the house, ready to swing at the heartless intruder.

When he reached the bedroom, he heard Ofie weeping, but couldn’t see her.

“Ofie! Mi amor, are you hurt? Did you call the police?”

“The police? What happened?” she asked in a little-girl voice.

“Someone broke into the house! Where are you, honey?”

“In the closet. They must have come after I destroyed all my ugly work. I must not have heard them because I’ve been in here.”

Larry opened the door to the walk-in closet and found Ofie sitting in the back corner, curled up on top of a massive pile
of dirty laundry. Ofie always sacrificed laundry time for craft time. He set down the bat and kneeled at her side. “Wait.
You did this? Tore up the house?”

“Oh. Yeah. I did,” she said, clenching her fuzzy pink bathrobe to her neck.

“Why?” he asked.