Sometimes people try to destroy you, precisely because they recognize your power- not because they don’t see it, but because they see it and they don’t wan

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AIDA, SALAZAR) 3 +

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SUA ROR 5 ,. Aa SOCAN

Text copyright © 2019 by Aida Salazar

Illustrations copyright © 2019 by Joe Cepeda

All rights reserved. Published by Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of

Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC and the LANTERN LOGO are

trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

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or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,

photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the

publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc.,

Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are

either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and

any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments,

events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

LCCN: 2018017565

ISBN 978-1-338-28337-2

19 20:21-22°23 10987654321

Printed inthe U.S.A. 23

First edition, March 2019

Book design by Maeve Norton

“A Flower Song for Maidens Coming of Age”

printed with permission from David Bowles

Witten AIDA SALAZAR

A Arthur A. Levine Books

An Imprint of Scholastic Inc.

To Avelina, Amaly, Joao and John, the moons and stars in the

universe de mi corazon.

To all girls and xochihuah, may this flower song lift you

with radical love and resistance.

rd, &

“The moon reaches her zenith—

Her glow silvering the world.

Joy sings out

Within every good soul.”

—“A Flower Song for Maidens

Coming of Age” from

Songs of Dzitbalché 7,

translated by David Bowles

WY LOCKET

There is a locket in my heart

that holds all of the questions

that do cartwheels in my mind

and gurgle up to the top of my brain

like root beer fizz.

Questions that my journal

doesn’t keep so my little brother, Juju,

or other snoops don’t read them.

Questions that Mima

knows how to answer

but I’m too embarrassed to ask her :

because they might

seem stupid _ or gross or wrong.

Like, why have my armpits begun to smell?

Or how big will my breasts grow?

Or when exactly will my period come?

I flush bright red

right through my amber skin

just thinking about it.

It was so long ago that Mima was

eleven, maybe she wouldn’t

remember what it is like

maybe she’ll make me talk about it, a lot

maybe wind herself into a lecture

about the beauty of women’s bodies

that I don’t want to hear from her

sometimes cactus lips.

Maybe she'll just think ’m

delirious and say,

Celi, are you running a fever?

while she kisses my forehead.

My locket also keeps secrets.

Secrets tangle in the shyness of my tongue

even when I try to tell them

to my best friend

Magda.

Instead, my locket holds quiet my crush

on Ivan who is one year older

than me and who can do a backflip

better than the other boys in his capoeira class.

Or the wish that Aurora, my “friend”

would just go away and

not have a crush on him too.

Or how often I sneak the tablet

from my parents when

I'm supposed to be practicing

music or dancing.

Though I’ve never seen it

I know my locket is there.

It keeps my questions

my secrets

warm

unanswered

and safe.

LUNA

A beam of moonlight

squeezes through

my window’s curtain.

Luna is out tonight.

My eyes wide open like doors.

I'll be twelve in a few months, I should

be allowed to go to sleep later

than seven-year-old Juju, who shares a room with me

but I’m not.

No matter that it is Saturday.

Round-cheeked Juju passes

out the moment his head hits the pillow.

And I stare at the May moonlight.

I watch her light up a sliver of dust

in my room.

Like a performance

small specks dance

twirl,

bounce,

float,

glide,

somersault.

They dance like I do.

I try to memorize their choreography

to use during bomba dance class

when Magda drums for me

and I am free to improvise

bring my own moves.

I smile to think that specks of dust

dance around me

though I don’t hear music.

Maybe they dance to the clicks and creaks

of our little house in Oakland

and the city crickets

and Mima’s and Papzi’s footsteps

outside my door

Juju’s steady breathing.

And when Luna is gone

and I can’t see their floating

I know they continue to dance

ina dream

with Luna and me.

WOON CEREMONY

Mima says judging by my body

that soon my moon will come

and with it

my moon ceremony.

It’s a period, Mima, I tell her, not a moon.

She whips back,

It will come every twenty-nine days

just like the moon.

So it’s a moon cycle.

She doesn’t know that the moon .

is a dancer to me, not a period.

I dread the ceremony where she will gather ei

all six of my aunts

some of my dance teachers

a constellation of grown-up women

to talk to me

about what it means to bleed monthly

and worse, I'll have to openly share

my body’s secret

my locket’s secret

as if on display

like a ripe mango on a fruit stand.

I just about lose my lunch and I can’t

roll my eyes back into my head anymore.

Mima tosses her long night-black hair

to the side to explain for the twentieth time

while I turn my back and imitate her words:

Our ancestors honored

our flowering in this way.

It is a ritual taken away from us

during so many conquests.

The thought of having to talk

to anyone

especially adults

about secrets only meant for my

locket makes my insides crumble,

I won't do it!

Please, Mima, please don’t make me do it.

Embarrassment will eat me up whole!

I shout from my heart.

Don’t worry, Celi, she calms,

your body will tell us when it is time.

NAILS

Long and thick and

painted bright red

is how I dream

they could be.

But they are

little nubs at my fingertips

small, gnarled, and crusty.

I bite them and don’t

think about it like when you

eat popcorn during a movie.

I do it mostly when I listen

to Magda tell me a story

or when Ivan is around

and I pretend not to stare.

Mostly it’s a nervous habit

like anxious ants crawling inside my fingertips.

My parents and my dance teacher, Ms. Susana, all say,

Celi, stop biting your nails!

But soon, up they zoom, right to my mouth

when I’m learning new choreography

or waiting for my turn to dance.

Mima says I can’t paint them

red until after ’m thirteen

officially a teenager

which makes me growl

at her under my breath.

Plus, she talks about bacteria

that lingers in your fingers

and though it grosses me out

I easily forget and I’m picking

at the little bits of skin

that hang from my cuticles.

Dr. Guillermo, my dentist,

said to put a bunch of sticky notes

around my house or in my books

to remind me to stop biting.

That’s how he gets his patients to

stop grinding their teeth.

I do it for a week but it’s no use.

I can’t explain it

biting my nails

brings me a comfort like

drinking hot chocolate

or eating warm handmade tortillas

for breakfast.

7s)

A CLOSET FULL

Monday morning before school, I can’t change

in our only bathroom, Mima’s in there

so I squeeze into the closet

to hide from Juju.

Papi comes in to call me for the

breakfast he always makes

but I stay quiet cool

I think [ve escaped but soon Mima

comes looking and

opens the door

Ay, mija, I love it! she screams

for the whole house to hear.

I clutch at the new bra she bought me

roller-coaster twisted onto my chest.

The straps are tangled, let me fix it.

Sh sh sh, Mima! I whisper hard.

As she untangles, she calls for Papi,

_Amor! Come see how well this bra fits Celi!

She shakes her head like she doesn’t believe it,

It’s amazing, just look at this muchachita, esta floreciendo.

I hear Juju’s and Papi’s steps approach

14

their footfalls, a growing heated

pounding in my head.

I contort into a pretzel

inside that

shrinking

closet,

Mima! No!

Quieta, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, Celi —

it’s cause for celebration!

What? What’s a celebration? Papi asks.

Breasts, our girl is growing breasts!

Mima’s high pitch sears my ears.

Awesome! Juju chimes in.

When I'm eleven, will I grow some too?

Shut up! You little… I strike.

Celi, Papi warns, but then turns to Juju,

It isn’t likely, mijo. Theyre mammary glands designed

to nurse young. Remember, like the mama goats we saw?

You mean, like goat teats? Juju cracks up

lets out his annoyingly loud goat bleat,

Celi’s got teats!

My skin swells with an out-of-control fire,

MIMA! I cry, as helpless as ash.

She hugs me so tight and kisses me

all over my sizzling face and head.

Im just so thrilled for you, Celt. It really is a marvelous moment.

I jerk away and turn my back on all three of them

@

slip on my top, wishing to disappear into a flame.

When I turn around, Mima’s got tears in her eyes!

Vamos, Papi hugs and nudges her and Juju away,

Let’s give Celi some privacy.

I burst from that cramped space

breathing a burning anger in and out of my lungs.

My fiery eyes land on the picture

of my family and me in front of my

eleventh birthday cake and I take

scissors to their smiling faces

and mine

until

we

are in

a

million

pieces

like

Bu locket.

PUFFER BRA

At school

Iam a puffer fish

slick new bra glistening

beneath my blouse

harmless

to those who don’t know

or don’t care what I wear

ever

like Magda

but chest expanded dangerous

to the first kid to dare ask,

Is that a bra strap I see?

OAKLAND ORANGE SKY

After school, I walk seven steps ahead of Mima and Juju

to my ballet class at the Oakland Ballet Conservatory –

only a few blocks from my house.

As my legs grow longer

my strides cover more ground.

I can’t be late or I’'ll lose my scholarship.

Oakland

b

open before me

the sun sets brightly in this almost summer

it unfurls an orange-gray glaze over the city.

I pretend like ’m on my own.

Soon I'll be able to walk to class

without Mima.

What could go wrong in three blocks?

For now, the wind brushes my curls

I can smell the exhaust of cars

mixed with the smell of sour grass

broken after mowing.

I pass a pile of baby gear

sitting on the curb with a sign

that says Free on it.

I slap at blades of foxtail shoots

and gather their feathery tufts

as I walk.

The man with the long ponytail

who’s always home

stands outside his house smoking

and his pit bull sits on the steps, off leash.

I hold my breath and slow my stride.

I don’t want the dog to come chasing.

I make a left on MacArthur

to find a tangerine sky

turn back to see

if Mima is still

behind

me.

I’m relieved that she is

because there are kids on MacArthur

getting loud with each other.

They gather at a bus stop

in their school uniforms

a flock of crows waiting to get home.

A teenage girl starts a fight with a boy

she swings her arms at him

while he walks backward into the street

and everyone’s screaming

phones are out.

I can’t tell if they are playing or for real

so, I slow down completely and grab Mima’s arm.

A bitter citrus cielo draped over us.

Then suddenly, they are all laughing

and cursing like nothing happened.

I wonder why they joke like that

and why they aren’t going

to a dance class like me.

20

LIKE 4 REDWOOD

On Thursday, I wait to see him

walk into La Pefia Cultural Center.

Ivan of the shy smile

light-bark-brown skin

dark bushy curls on top

that shape into a peak

like a growing tree.

Branch-like legs

and arms so lanky long

they reach for the sun

when he plays capoeira.

I look for him in the studio’s big mirror

during my own dance class

talking to his friends

his gym bag strapped across his back

his skateboard in one hand.

He waits for my bomba class

to end and file out

and his capoeira class to begin.

al

He only waves, maybe says hi

every Thursday, no more and no less.

He seems to be getting to the other

side of growing up with that crackle in his voice

and the bumps sprawled on his forehead.

I pretend to gather my things slowly

my eyes strain to sideways stalk him.

In his class, he sways—a ginga—

his hands up, ready, like a boxer

graceful in that martial art

of fighting camouflaged by dance.

Last summer, we went to arts camp together

in the Redwoods

as far from Oakland as I go alone.

When we were there

we'd talk during lunch.

Once he told me he lived

with his mom and that his pop

wasn’t around much and that

even though he’s not Brazilian

playing capoeira helps him

keep his mind off missing his pop.

I opened my locket

22

a little too to say

though I’m half Puerto Rican

dancing bomba feels

like warm Caribbean water

swishing and swaying

happiness inside of me.

Which made him grin giggle :

and made me want to bury

my blushing head in the dirt.

Though we are away from the forest now

I like to hear him say

hello in that broken way

that he does sometimes

and remember the smell of redwoods

and us together

for just a second.

a,

WY BEST ECHO

Magda is better than my best friend

strange maybe

because we aren’t anything alike.

I wear my curly hair

cola de caballo long

or pulled back in a bun

and love the flowing cotton skirts

girls have to wear to dance bomba.

She wears her bright brown hair

short

T-shirt, jeans, and high-top Vans

skater boy style

and hardly dances.

She only drums.

She is a smaller

eleven-year-old than others

maybe because her growing

hasn’t kicked in yet.

But the power in her hands is so big

the sound bounces off the drum

24

fills the room

and sinks into your bones.

She’s by far the best drummer in our

bomba performance group, Farolitos,

and the best at smiling.

Magda knows how to work up

the crowd at shows

with a quick flash

of her wide white teeth.

I think I dance the best

when she drums.

When I make a move

and mark it with my twirling skirt, a piquete,

she hits the drum right at that moment.

Like an echo, but better because it’s as if

she can read my mind and finds

my next move before I do.

She is my best echo.

a

BOYNESS

Before our last performance

a couple of weeks ago

Magda waited for one of the

bathroom stalls to be free.

Auburn-haired Aurora says,

You can’t really be in the girls’ bathroom.

Magda chuckles back. Course I can. I'm a girl.

She knew what Aurora was hinting at

because others often asked her

about how much boyness

she had versus girlness.

Mima was in the bathroom too

brushing my hair into a tight bun

that stretched my eyes

like rubber bands

and we quietly looked on.

Aurora raised her screechy voice and blurted,

My mom says you hate yourself and that’s

why you want to be a boy.

26

Magda flushed red

to the tips of her ears.

She turned her back to Aurora

rubbed her hands in her face

as if to stop tears from coming

all of us stood silenced, in shock.

Wait a minute, Aurora!

Mima lets my hair go

and marches over to the girls.

Magda has more love for herself

than any of us.

She knows herself so well

she can be anyone she wants.

And you can tell your mami

I said that.

It was a good thing Mima was there.

Thoughts stalled in my mind

like a broken-down car

but my uneasy thoughts

wanted to drive off

and think of happy things

like how fun it 1s

for Magda and me

to learn to ride skateboards

or

ii

hold our tongues so that normal words

sound like bad words

or

play echo when we perform.

Magda smiled big

grabbed Aurora and hugged

her with one arm

gave her a little nudge

on the head as if to say,

You booger — knock it off.

28

TWO-THREE PULSE

I looked to Magda

when we were alone

in the bathroom.

Scanned her

for what she must be feeling.

The right words blocked in my boca

by my bitten nails.

Couldn’t describe how bad I felt

for having stayed quiet

for letting Mima speak for her

for not knowing how to

defend her from Aurora la rudeness

who has chisme caught in every breath.

Of all people, Aurora, whose light skin /

makes that big brown mole

at her temple look

like it’s a third eye

and who squeals each time

she sees Ivan like some loca.

I found Magda’s two dark brows

ih)

lifting like umbrellas

Oh, I just learned this hambone

two-three rhythm like in clave.

You wanna learn?

I squeaked,

You okay, Magda?

She didn’t answer, instead

she grabbed my hands, and our

eyes locked like a pinky swear

in a never-mind-Aurora kind of way.

We both grinned like two weirdos

each ounce of discomfort

smacked away

in a hand-warming hambone

two

then three

then two

then three

pulse…

30

MIMA’S HERBS

Mima says yerbitas can heal us.

Drunk or eaten herbs

can cure what bugs you:

fever, sniffles, headache, nerves,

cramps, bellyache, toothaches,

and growing pains.

She learned this from her mother, Yeya,

who learned it from her mother

who learned it from her mother

like that

all

the

way

down

a long line of herbal women in Mexico

and she tea

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