Waking Up in the Land of Glitter (29 page)

“Please don’t ruin the moment,” Star cracked.

Maria Juana took off her flannel to reveal a black tank with cheap lace trim, and sat on the floor against the wall. Star,
in faded Levi’s and Theo’s Ozomatli T-shirt with the sleeves whacked off, dropped her butt down too.

“Tell your dad to give you this place for your craft cronies.”

“What do you mean?” Star asked, as she yanked a Converse sneaker off and massaged her foot.

“You know, like Las Bandidas have.”

Star looked down at her arm and examined her tattoo—a skull underneath a set of roller skates and the words “La Bandida Estrella.”
“How exactly are Chloe and Ofie like Las Bandidas?”

“Well, I mean it’s—okay you know La Shorty, the new blocker-in-training? Her uncle Papi owns the roller rink, and he lets
us use it as our home base. It’s real cool. We always go there to hang out whenever we want. We work on our uniforms, plan
our rink strategies, organize our cupcake sales…”

“You guys sell cupcakes?” Star asked in surprise as she removed her shoe.

“Yah, girl! That’s how we make some of our cash!”

“I like that. You should come sell them here on Friday nights. I’m sure my dad would love that—a fleet of sexy chicks on wheels
with cake icing? It would be great publicity!”

“Focus, chica! I’m trying to give you an idea!”

“Sorry, I don’t get the correlation…”

Maria Juana folded her arms against her beefy cleavage. “Cuz, you could do that here and, like, sell pretty papers and crap.
Open it to the public so people can get on the Internet and talk about ideas and stuff. You could call it The Glittered Cactus
after your centerpieces or something.”

Star couldn’t believe what she had just heard from her cousin.

Why didn’t I think of that?
she mentally chided herself.

Quickly Star began to plan. She could trick out the whole place in the leftover glitter, and high-gloss varnish. It would
bring fresh customers to La Pachanga—people could buy espresso brownies
and
a bottle of Tacky Glue. Star envisioned midnight scrapbook-making parties. She could teach love shrine workshops, and Ofie,
crochet classes. Genius. She couldn’t wait to ask her dad. In the agreement he drew up in August, he mentioned making her
a partner in the business, but maybe he would go for this instead. She could even make an offer to buy the small space from
him so she’d have her own little stake in the world. She had enough for a down payment and would probably need to score a
bank loan—still, it could work.

“That’s a fabulous idea! Would you help me run it?” Star asked before second guessing herself.

“Eh, maybe. Depends on how busy I am with my bouts. I got promoted to lead jammer, and they want me to recruit and train some
new chicks. Hey, interested in Roller Derby?”

“Hmmm… how about I decorate your outfits instead? Me and my craft cronies?”

“Ha. Maybe.” Maria Juana began to pick at her already-peeling nail polish—a sure sign that Star’s normally outspoken cousin
had something unpleasant on her mind.

“Go ahead. What’s your next topic?” Star baited, even though she knew it.

Maria Juana took a deep breath and scratched her scalp. “You ain’t gonna like it.”

“Go ahead…,” Star said in a just-get-it-over-with tone.

“That Harrison dude is crunk. I know everyone is all crazy ’bout him ’cause he’s a fireman, but I swear I’ve seen him at the
strip joints lately. You should go back with your real ruco, Theo.”

“You go to strip clubs?” Star giggled.

“They have cheap drinks! Besides, sometimes we recruit new members there,” Maria Juana said, puffing out her chest.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Star offered, holding her hand in the air.

“Don’t you act all high-’n’-mighty. You were at Binki’s Cabaret showing your stuff!”

“What are you smoking, cuz? I wouldn’t step foot in one of those filthy joints. Gross. You could probably catch an STD just
from the hand stamp alone.” Star slid down onto her back and began to make invisible snow angels on the shiny saltillo tile
floor. Her cousin was totally, utterly insane at times.

Maria Juana slid down too, and poked Star in the arm. “Oh yeah? Let me refresh your memory, prima. That night you jacked up
the mural, where do you think you got all borracha? At Binki’s! I’m telling you, they have
cheap
drinks. Anyway…”

Star’s face froze in a horrified pose. She didn’t recall any of it, and didn’t want to hear the details.

But Maria Juana continued to reveal events from that fateful night.

“So after the bout—in which we totally whooped their butts, by the way—you told the team that you’d never been to a strip
club. You
begged
us to take you. Then once we got in, you kept saying ‘Gimme a shot of tequila! Gimme a shot of tequila!’ You said you wanted
to work up the nerve to tell Theo you loved him, ’cause ya chickened out the night before, and needed liquid vitamins. I tried
to tell you no, but you shoved me to the floor and climbed up onstage. You took off your top, and we all saw your old-fashioned
super-pointy bra. They were playin’ ‘Back in Black’ on the stereo, and you tried to swing around the pole like the dancers.”

“Was I any good?”

“You sucked.”

“Oh my God. And the bra? What happened to the bra?” Star asked.

Maria Juana broke out in a homegirl gigglefit. “Nothing. You left it on. But shit… then you hit your head on the pole and
fell on your ass. We all saw your purple chonies because that ugly old-lady skirt of yours flew up. You got us kicked out
of Binki’s! So we walk out, right? And what’d you do? You went next door to the Naked Iguana and got that tat.”

Star sat up. “No way. When you’re drunk, they make you pay and then wait until the next day to get a tattoo. You lie!”

“Naw-aw. Sister Chunky—she’s our raddest Bandida blocker—well, her brother’s roommate works there, and he did it for free.
He thought you were cute.”

Star rubbed her fingers over the tattoo on her arm. She had actually come to like it. “You can stop now, Maria Juana. I think
I get it. I was shit-faced,” Star deadpanned.

“Wait! It gets better. Listen to me. You need to know why you spray painted on Theo’s mural!” Maria Juana sat up and hunched
her head over, as if she were about to deliver the twist ending to a campfire ghost story. “You’re all cryin’ from the pain,
so we took you to Circle K for Tylenol and water. Also because I didn’t want Uncle Al and Auntie Dori hatin’ on me for bringing
you home all wasted. But instead of the Tylenol you bought frickin’ Boone’s Farm and slammed it like Gatorade. You paid Prissy—another
blocker on our squad—fifty bucks to drive you to her house for spray paint. She needed rent money real bad, so she said sure.
Then you paid her twenty more to drive you to the mural, so you could write ‘I love you, Theo’ on the wall, and surprise him.”

“No way! I did? But then where did the happy faces come in?” Star asked, 100 percent enthralled, as if she were listening
to Maria Juana explain a complicated movie, rather than hearing about her own exploits.

“When we got there, I guess you chickened out, and made those stupid smiley faces instead. I ended up having to drag your
heavy ass to your bedroom. You cut me deep, mujer. You messed up my night with my homegirls,
and
you made out with the Japanese vato I was crushin’ on.”

“Japanese?” Star repeated, believing her cousin was mistaken. “No, dude, he was from Ireland.”

“Nah… the guy who inked your arm was from
England
. The hombre who gave you the hickey was from Japan. Or maybe it was Thailand. Someplace over there. He kinda looks like Theo.
That’s probably why you forced yourself on him. Anyway, he cleans up the rink after the bouts, and you dragged him along.”

Star stuck out her bottom lip. “Ugh. I’m so sorry.”

Maria Juana swatted her hand in front of her face. “Eh, I’m over it. He was a real dog, but still. That’s what went down.”

“Wow. Thank you for that
Mi Vida Loca
play-by-play.”

Maria Juana stood up and flicked a dried piece of paint across the room. “You have brains and all these amigas, and familia
who loves you. Damn, my mom chooses her men over me all the time. I’d give anything to get what you got.”

Star stared sincerely into her cousin’s eyes, which were heavy with black liner and clumpy mascara. “You don’t give yourself
enough credit. You’re smart, funny, and a hell of an athlete. And I’m sorry. Really, I owe you big-time.”

“Nah, it’s cool. Just dump Scary Harry.”

Star giggled. “You call Harrison Scary Harry?”

Lying on the empty saltillo tile floor, Star twirled a paint stirrer like a baton in between her fingers. “Theo is moving
out of state. I blew that relationship out of the water. I don’t want to make the same mistake.”

Maria Juana leaned back, whistled through her teeth, and stabbed her fist in the air. “Don’t settle, esa! Pull yourself together
and go dump his ass! Like my parole officer always says—two wrongs don’t make a right. And I think Scary Harry’s got a little
sumpin’-sumpin’ happenin’ on the side. I swear on my skates, he goes to Binki’s. And not just for the cheap drinks.”

A second wind clicked in and Star and Maria Juana cleaned up the last of the mess, then drove home for dinner and to offer
the pitch. Star couldn’t stop planning for the store. The craft group had already agreed to keep meeting after the CraftOlympics,
but Ofie had requested a new location. The store would be perfect!

When Star and Maria Juana arrived at the house, adrenaline pumped through Star’s system. She skipped into the house and found
her parents up and about, chatting about the new kitchen appliances and blending a batch of wheat-grass refreshments.

Star long-jumped into the room and tossed her keys on the table while Maria Juana elbowed her way around her cousin, opened
the fridge, and grabbed a Coke. Before Dori could try and persuade her niece to opt for an organic beverage instead, Star
spoke up.

“Dad, I have a proposition to make about the back house, which is totally spotless, I might add.”

“You finished early? You never cease to surprise, do you?” Al put his hands on his hips and smiled brightly at his daughter.

“Remember when you said I could become a partner if I completed all the items in your contract? Well, I’d like to go one better.
I would like to make an offer to buy the back house and turn it into a boutique art shop. I’m talking supplies, handmade art,
book signings, workshops, parties, small art shows, and other events. I can give you a down payment and file all the proper
paperwork. I’ll still do my press release business on the side to make sure I always have income. Maria Juana gave me the
idea of calling it The Glittered Cactus. I swear, this is my calling. I’ve never felt more sure about anything else. I want
to inspire people to use crafts to better their lives!”

Al folded his arms, bit his inner cheek, and bobbed his head as if to consider every angle. Star chewed her blue-painted thumbnail,
anticipating his response.

“M’ija,” he began slowly, punctuating the word with a dramatic pause, “I think it’s a great idea! We can even set up a stereo
system, and install a little coffee and tea area too. Someday when it gets going, we can add all kinds of other little touches.”

“Not someday, Dad,” Star clarified. “I’m talking
today
.”

T
he next evening, Star’s face beamed with self-content as she drove across town to Harrison’s home in the northwest valley
for their first official date. Theo’s face belting out that horrible song invaded her head, kicking off a fit of laughter.
Someday, decades down the road, if they ever met for a beer, she would certainly tease him about it. She forced his image
out of her brain, remembering that he would soon move to Santa Fe. As much as it crushed her, at least she wouldn’t have to
worry about seeing him around town. Eventually he’d find a woman who had her act together and the two would settle down, have
kids, etc. And Star would cry into her German glass glitter, which she still had way too much of.

She concentrated on Harrison. He had proved to be the steadfast, put-together partner her life needed. She didn’t quite experience
the love shine yet, but it would come. He was even-tempered, nonjudgmental, handsome, giving, predictable, and—best of all—safe.
Yup, every girl’s dream guy. Star wouldn’t dare screw up her first serious adult relationship based on a suspicious accusation
from her cousin.

Star glimpsed out the window as she cruised past Arrowhead Mall on Bell Road and 75th Avenue. She lowered the window to let
the crisp sweet-smelling November air filter through her Chevy Bel Air interior. As she drove, she noted how Bell Road streets
resembled the Las Vegas strip: Instead of hip casinos, there were scores of corporate-owned eateries like Mimi’s Café, Olive
Garden, and a new branch of Sangria. She would never admit it to Harrison, but his stomping grounds didn’t thrill her. She
preferred her hood of Central Phoenix, where mom-and-pop-owned businesses like La Pachanga offered guests a sense of individuality
and culture.

Singing along to Lila Downs’ sultry version of “La Cucaracha,” Star pulled into Harrison’s driveway in Peoria. His home consisted
of a humdrum stucco cookie-cutter foundation in a bland neighborhood where every block appeared identical. Quite a contrast
from where she lived. She turned off the ignition, got out of the car, and walked to the front door.

“Where do you think you’re goin’ ” said Harrison from a distance. Stunned, Star turned to see him sitting on the bumper of
his monster Dodge Ram truck across the street.

“Oh my God! I’m at the wrong house again, aren’t I?” she acknowledged as she climbed back in her car and crossed the asphalt.
This time she hopped out and jumped on him, piggyback style.

“What should we do for our first official date? Want to go see a band on Grand Avenue? Or we can ride the light-rail back
and forth and take pictures of weird people with our cell phones!”