The rest of the day went without incident. Julian was unnaturally quiet, so much so that Yadriel found himself wishing he’d go back to his mischief making. Ms. Costanzo, the math teacher, had to remind Yadriel twice to keep his eyes on his own test. He kept glancing to where Julian sat at the back of the classroom, knees bouncing as he silently stared out the window.
When school finally let out, they met up with Maritza and started the walk back home.
Julian wandered up ahead. Yadriel exchanged worried looks with Maritza. He really couldn’t take Julian’s silence anymore.
“So, uh…” Yadriel jogged a couple of steps to catch up to him. “Your friends weren’t at school, huh?” he said, trying to nudge him into conversation.
“They’re fine,” Julian said, and his pinched expression told Yadriel that this was not the way to lighten his spirits. “They just ditch a lot, y’know?” Julian nodded, as if trying to encourage himself. “They’re fine.”
Yadriel looked back to Maritza for some guidance, but all she did was lift her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug.
“It was pretty cool that you were able to kick that soccer ball,” he tried.
Julian blinked, as if he’d forgotten.
“Soon you should be slamming doors and moving furniture around,” Yadriel told him with an awkward laugh. “What with Día de Muertos a couple days out, you’ll be full ghost mode in no time. Though,” he added as an afterthought, “maybe no more outbursts in front of the non-brujx?”
Julian’s grin was back, albeit sheepish. “Yeah, my bad.”
He wasn’t back to 100 percent, but he was getting there, and Yadriel would take what he could get. “Maybe work on the impulse control while you’re at it.”
Julian let out a short laugh. “Noted.”
“Great, now that the pity party is over—” Maritza slipped between them. Julian rolled his eyes at Yadriel over the top of her head, and he couldn’t help but grin back. “We need to stop by my place so I can drop off my crap. Can’t go running the streets of East LA like hoodlums if I’m weighed down by my chemistry textbook,” she said, hitching her backpack higher on her shoulder for emphasis.
Luckily, Maritza’s family lived one block over from the cemetery, so it was a quick stop on the way. It was a squat yellow house with a chain-link fence wrapped around it. The gate had a BEWARE OF DOGS sign, and both her parents’ cars were parked in the driveway.
“You stay here,” Maritza told Julian, pointing to her mom’s silver minivan.
Julian made a disgruntled noise. “How long is this gonna take?”
“We’ll be in and out.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“Stay out of sight,” Yadriel told him. “And if anyone looks at you, then they’re probably a brujx, so just act like a spirit—”
Julian squinted. “But I am a spirit—”
“Just don’t look suspicious, okay?”
Julian looked around, clearly not sure what to do with himself.
“Never mind, just”—Yadriel flapped his hands at him—“just hide behind the van and we’ll be right back!”
Julian rolled his eyes, but he did what he was told and crouched down behind the dusty van. “I don’t see how this isn’t suspicious, but okay,” he muttered.
“We’ll be right back!” Yadriel repeated as he shoved Maritza toward the house.
“I’m home!” she shouted once they got inside, chucking her backpack onto the couch.
“In here!” Maritza’s mother called.
Yadriel followed Maritza into the kitchen. Tía Sofia stood at the stove over a pot of brown syrup that smelled sticky and sweet. Another large metal pot sat covered next to it, spilling steam from its sides.
Maritza’s older sister, Paola, sat at the kitchen table. She had two huge textbooks opened up, along with a notebook. Paola was a med student at the nearby university. No matter how much of a rush she was in, Paola’s hair was always styled into a flawless wash-and-go. Black curls fell across her face as she bent over a notebook. She furiously took notes in between highlighting and placing color-coded Post-its.
The other half of the table was filled with portajes Tío Isaac was either repairing or building for various brujos. There were simple daggers scattered among the more elaborate choices of the younger brujos. Loud, rhythmic clanging cut through the air. The open door to the backyard revealed Tío Isaac, standing at his workbench as he hammered out a blade.
“How was school?” Tía Sofia asked, sparing them a glance as she grated piloncillo into the syrup. On tin foil next to her sat orange cubes of calabaza en tacha—candied pumpkin.
“Lame, as usual,” Maritza said, making a beeline for the tray. She snatched up a piece of pumpkin and tossed it into her mouth.
“¡Ay, ten cuidado!” Tía Sofia warned, but it was too late.
Maritza danced in place, waving at her mouth. “Ah, hot!” She spat the scalding pumpkin out, and it fell, with a wet plop, onto one of Paola’s textbooks.
Paola gasped, her pretty face twisting into a snarl. “Seriously, Maritza?!” She smacked Maritza on the butt before scooping off the offending pumpkin and throwing it in the sink.
“Ow! I didn’t mean to!” Maritza scowled.
“Yeah, sure you didn’t!” Paola brushed the glob of syrup off the page.
“You are taking this way too seriously.”
“You don’t take school seriously enough!” Paola shot back. “What exactly do you plan on doing after you graduate if you can’t even heal?”
“Take up forging portajes, like Dad,” Maritza replied, as if it were obvious.
Paola rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“Would you like a piece, Yadriel?” Tía Sofia asked, turning to Yadriel with a smile, holding up a piece of candied pumpkin on her slotted spoon. Her daughters bickered ferociously behind her.
“No, gracias,” Yadriel said with a small smile. His tongue had been bugging him all day and the pain was only now starting to fade. He didn’t want to aggravate it again.
“Of course you do!” She laughed warmly. “Here!”
Yadriel knew better than to decline an offer of food from a Latinx mom more than once. Carefully, he took a bite, shifting it to his cheek to avoid the cut.
Tía Sofia waited expectantly. “Good?”
Yadriel nodded and smiled, because of course it was. The pumpkin was tender, and the syrup had just the right amount of brown sugar and the faint zest of orange.
“Good!” Tía Sofia give him a pat on the cheek before going back to her cooking. “Are you excited for Día de Muertos? Ay, of course you are! Tu mamá will be there!”
Yadriel tried to return her bright smile, but it was difficult to muster her level of enthusiasm.
“Yes, it’ll be a good year, indeed—”
“No fighting by the portajes!” Tío Isaac called, pausing for a moment on his work. He’d learned the trade from his own father back in Haiti. Tío Isaac scratched at his bushy beard, sweat glistening on his earth-rich brown skin. He huffed a big sigh, his broad chest heaving.
“One of these times their bickering is going to turn into a knife fight, I tell you,” Tío Isaac told Yadriel in conspiratorial exasperation. In a house full of hardheaded boricuas, he was vastly outnumbered but never complained about it. Even when all three Santima women broke into a fight, Tío Isaac would just sigh and shake his head. He was a kind man with a deep well of patience.
“You’re probably right,” Yadriel agreed, eyeing the portajes carefully laid out. He used to watch Tío Isaac work all the time, staring at the portajes with longing, wishing he had one of his own.
Now, he didn’t have to wish anymore.
“Are you staying for dinner, Yads?” Tío Isaac asked. The blade he was hammering sizzled as he dropped it into a bucket of water.
“I’m making ta-ma-leees!” Tía Sofia sang, gesturing to the steaming pot.
“No, actually—”
“I made you some rajas con queso ones, Itza,” her mom said, lifting the lid off the large pot. The smell of sweet masa filled the room. “Hopefully that vegan cheese melts this time,” she added, poking at the wrapped corn husks with a doubtful expression.
Tamales were a staple for Día de Muertos and prepared in obscenely large batches. In ancient times, they were soaked in blood and presented as offerings to Bahlam, the jaguar god of Xibalba. Luckily for Maritza—and everyone else, really—there was no longer a blood sacrifice involved.
“Save them for me to zap in the microwave when I get home!” Maritza told her.
“I make you tamales from scratch and you’re just going to microwave them later?” Tía Sofia demanded, clutching her heart. “And last night you missed out on your papa’s diri ak djon djon! He even made it without shrimp!”
“We got stuff to do, we’re not staying for dinner,” Maritza explained.
Tía Sofia huffed before waving her hand dismissively at her daughter.
“Oh yeah, what kind of stuff?” Paola asked.
Yadriel could tell by the looks the sisters exchanged that this wasn’t going to go well.
“Just to go hang out, nosy! Mom, where’s my rain jacket?”
“Esta allí,” she said, waving toward the living room.
“That’s not helpful!”
“I don’t think you two should be going off on your own after school,” Tío Isaac said, his large form filling up the doorframe as he wiped off his hands on a rag.
“Your papá is right,” Tía Sofia agreed. “It’s too dangerous, especially after Miguel—” Unable to finish her sentence, she crossed herself.
Yadriel’s stomach twisted into knots. “We still haven’t found anything?” he asked.
Tío Isaac shook his head solemnly. “Not yet.”
Yadriel just didn’t get it. How was that possible?
“Not to mention”—Tía Sofia propped her fist on one hip and shook her spoon at her youngest daughter—“you still haven’t tried on the dress I got you for your aquelarre, and you said you’d take those colors out of your hair before Día de Muertos, too!”
Yadriel shot Maritza a hard stare. They needed to find Julian’s friends, get answers that would satisfy the stubborn spirit, and wrap this whole thing up before Día de Muertos.
Maritza nodded, reading his look loud and clear. “Ugh, you guys!” she whined. “I’ll try on the dress later, and I definitely never said I’d re-dye my hair—”
Tía Sofia opened her mouth to argue, but Maritza cut her off.
“I said I’d think about it, and I thought about it, and I decided not to.”
Yadriel pinched the bridge of his nose. Arguing with her mom about dresses and hair was definitely not going to put Maritza’s mom in a lenient mood. “Maritza,” he hissed.
Maritza looked at him like she’d completely forgotten that he was there and what the real matter at hand was. “And the sun’s still up until like six!” she argued, getting back on track. She paused for a second and then walked her fingers toward one of the blades on the kitchen table. “I guess if we had a couple of these to defend ourselves—”
“No!” her parents answered in unison.
“They could take the boys?” Tío Isaac suggested, looking to his wife.
Maritza’s eyes went wide. “Dad, no—”
Tía Sofia nodded in agreement. “Yes, mi amor!”
Yadriel always liked how a Puerto Rican accent turned soft r’s into l’s, so it sounded like mi amol.
“I like that idea!”
“Mom!”
Paola snorted a laugh.
Maritza growled and spun to Yadriel. “You go home and grab—uh—your stuff. I’ll meet you there.” With that, she turned back to her parents, fists firmly planted on her hips. “I’M NOT TAKING THEM WITH US! THEY ONLY GET IN THE WAY! AND THEY SMELL!”
Yadriel slipped out of the kitchen before it was too late.
Outside, Julian was right where he’d left him, leaning against the van and looking bored.
“Where’s Maritza?” he asked, glancing back toward the house where Yadriel could still hear arguing.
“Uh, she got a little tied up,” Yadriel told him. Julian looked amused. “Come on, she’ll meet us back at the house.”
Worry dug under Yadriel’s skin. If Maritza’s parents were any indicator, they were going to have a hell of a time sneaking out after school. As a whole, Yadriel’s dad didn’t like him out on the streets after the streetlights came on, but now? The adults were bound to instate a curfew after what had happened to Miguel, especially because they still didn’t know what happened. It seemed like just a matter of time.
Not to mention, it was the end of October, which meant the sun was setting earlier. They had only a handful of hours to work with.
He led the way around the corner and across the street to the cemetery. He checked to make sure the coast was clear before they slipped through the gate. There weren’t any brujx between the front gate and his house, though he could see a couple of figures off in the distance tending to the graves.
“Let’s go,” Yadriel said to Julian, keeping an eye on the brujx as he waved him forward and picked up the pace. “Before someone—”
“Wait, Yads!” Julian’s hand shot out, in an attempt to grab him, but, of course, it went right through his shoulder, hitting him with a shock of cold.
The next second, Yadriel ran into something. The crash sent him stumbling, and he landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him. Around him, things clattered. Yadriel groaned.
He looked up, and Julian was standing over him, his hand clamped over his mouth as he laughed.
“Dude, are you okay?”
Yadriel glared up at him.
“I’d offer you a hand, but…” Julian let out another chuckle.
“Glad to see my pain puts you in such a good mood,” Yadriel griped as he pushed himself back onto his feet.
“Did you hurt anything?”
“Just my dignity.” He dusted off his pants and turned to see what he had tripped over. A stack of milk crates had been knocked over and large bunches of marigolds lay scattered across the ground. Tiny orange petals were everywhere.
“Uh-oh,” Julian said, stepping behind Yadriel.
“My cempasúchitl!” Tito fumed as he stomped over. The air around his translucent body rippled like heat waves. He looked down at his beloved flowers and got on his knees, gingerly gathering the bouquets into his arms.
“I’m so sorry, Tito!” Yadriel apologized. “Here, let me help!” He bent down to pick up one of the crates, but Tito shooed him away.
“No! Don’t touch!” His round, tanned face pinched into a glower, his eyes cutting back and forth between Yadriel and Julian. “Troublemakers!” he barked, wagging a finger at them.
“I’m sorry, Tito.” Yadriel cringed. He knew how hard Tito worked on his marigolds all year round to make sure they were perfect for Día de Muertos. “We were just, uh—”
Tito’s attention swung to Julian who shrank back a step, shoulders hunching up to his ears, a painfully guilty smile on his face.
“Uh, this is…” Yadriel trailed off, not knowing what to say. Certainly not the truth. What if Tito told Yadriel’s dad that he and a spirit boy had ruined some of his marigolds? He did not need his dad getting suspicious or asking questions. He could just lie and say Julian was a new spirit in the cemetery, right? That wouldn’t need much explanation, would it? “This is— He’s just,” Yadriel blabbered, trying to put a coherent sentence together. Tito’s eyes narrowed. “He’s—”
Tito held up his hand, cutting him off. “I don’t want to know! Take your trouble and go!” he snapped before going back to picking up his marigolds, murmuring words of comfort to them in Spanish.
Yadriel certainly wasn’t going to argue with him, so he raced to the house, Julian right on his heels.
“Do you think he’s gonna tell on us?” Julian asked as they got to the door.
“I hope not,” Yadriel said, jumping to get a peek through the window in the door. He didn’t hear anyone inside or see any movement behind the curtains. “Tito tends to mind his own business.”
“You did mess up his flowers, though,” Julian pointed out, giving Yadriel a disapproving shake of his head.
“It’s not like I did it on purpose!” he hissed back. He didn’t smell any food cooking, either, which was a good sign. Yadriel pushed the front door open and poked his head in.
“Hello?” he called. “Anyone home?” he strained his ears, listening for a response or a creak of floorboards, but the house was silent.
At least one thing was going right today.
Yadriel led the way up the stairs and to his room, shutting the door behind them. Immediately, he went to his bedside table. He yanked open the drawer, dug out the wadded-up T-shirt, and took out his portaje. It was still there, undiscovered and untouched. He sat heavily on the edge of the mattress and clutched the dagger to his chest and let out a sigh of relief.
His secret was still safe.
“How long we gotta wait for Maritza?” Julian asked, arms crossed, looking impatient.
“As soon as she’s done talking her parents into letting her out,” Yadriel told him as he slipped his portaje into the sheath at his hip. “Don’t worry, she can talk her way out of pretty much everything.”
Julian let out a frustrated grunt and flopped back onto the bed next to him.
For a moment, Yadriel considered Julian as he scowled up at the ceiling, expecting to see the ebb and flow of emotions that seemed to pass so fluidly across his face almost constantly, but, right now, he just seemed so … tired. There were shadows darkening the delicate brown skin under his eyes. Yadriel wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light, but he almost looked paler. No, “pale” wasn’t the right word, just less solid? Untouchable.
“I just want to find my friends,” Julian finally said.
Yadriel felt a little guilty. For the most part, Julian had done everything asked of him so far, but Yadriel still hadn’t held up his part of the bargain. Julian was upset, and Yadriel wanted to make him feel better, but in the moment, he didn’t know how.
Maybe a distraction was his best bet.
“Why don’t you show me what they look like,” Yadriel said, picking up his yearbook where it had been left on the floor.
Usually, his family couldn’t afford a yearbook. His sophomore year was the first time his dad had bought him one, even though they were hard up for cash without the income from his mom’s nursing job. On top of being the leader of the brujx, his dad also worked as an independent contractor to make ends meet. Most of his employees were other brujos, but projects were sometimes few and far between. It was the brujas, working as doctors, doulas, nurses, and psychologists, who were the financial heads of the households.
Even so, his dad had somehow scrounged up the fifty dollars it cost to buy a yearbook. Yadriel brushed his fingers over the glossy pages.
He looked expectantly at Julian, who laid there stubbornly for a few beats before giving up and moving to sit next to him.
“So who am I looking up?” Yadriel asked, thumbing through the pages.
“Flaca won’t be in it,” Julian said. “Dropped out the end of last year. Rocky should be, though.”
“Last name?”
“Ramos.”
“Our grade?”
“Yup.”
Yadriel flipped to the R’s, eyes scanning the pages for “Ramos,” but he didn’t see a boy named Rocky.
“There,” Julian pressed his finger to the page, but not before Yadriel was already flipping to the next one. The page fell right through Julian’s hand. Yadriel went back to see where he was pointing.
“That’s Rocky,” Julian said.
Rocky, or, rather, Raquel Ramos, was a pretty girl with a high, sleek ponytail and striking features. She had a septum piercing and a bored expression. He vaguely recognized her but couldn’t say for certain, which wasn’t a rarity when you went to a high school with thousands of students.
Julian’s mouth quirked into a lopsided grin.
Yadriel glanced between him and the photo. “She’s pretty,” he said, without really knowing why. He shifted. “She your girlfriend or something?” he asked in his best casual tone.
Julian snorted. “No.” He leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. “I don’t do girlfriends.”
Yadriel rolled his eyes and scoffed. “What? Because you’re some kind of mujeriego, or something? Too many ladies to pick just one?” he asked with a flare of annoyance.
“No.” Julian’s tone was cross, eyes still on the page. “Because I’m gay, asshole.”
Yadriel blinked. He … hadn’t expected that. He stared at Julian. “Oh.” His mind raced to place this new information with the boy sitting next to him.
Julian glanced up. “That a problem?” he asked with a hard stare and a cocked eyebrow.
“Uh—no, no, that’s not a problem.” Heat bloomed in Yadriel’s cheeks.
“And so is Rocky,” Julian went on nonchalantly. “So we cancel each other out.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Queer folks are like wolves,” Julian told him. “We travel in packs.”
“I—I am, too. I mean—” Yadriel cleared his throat. “I’m into guys.” His chest tightened as he waited for Julian’s response.
But Julian only blinked slowly at him, as if waiting for Yadriel to reveal something more interesting. “Cool,” he said, after Yadriel didn’t offer anything else.
Julian nodded to the yearbook. “Luca Garcia.”
Yadriel wasn’t sure if he was relieved or annoyed by Julian’s nonchalance.
He cleared his throat again and flipped through the pages, trying to ignore the fluttering in his chest. He stole a couple of glances over at Julian. He’d said it so … “casually” wasn’t the right word, but maybe “easily” was. Whenever Yadriel came out to anyone, it was always an ordeal that he overthought and dragged out. It was nerve-racking, waiting to see someone’s reaction, whether they would reject him, or even understand what it meant when a trans boy said he was gay.
But not for Julian. He’d said it as almost a challenge. In a way that said he didn’t care what you thought.
It was both intimidating and impressive.
Yadriel found Luca Garcia, but instead of a photograph, it was just a black box with the words “NO PHOTO AVAILABLE” across in white.
“Oh.” Julian frowned at the blank picture. “He wasn’t there that day, I forgot. He was, uh, home sick.” He said it quickly and avoided making eye contact.
Yadriel raised an eyebrow at him, and red tinged Julian’s cheeks. He was clearly lying, but Yadriel didn’t get why. Seemed like an insignificant thing to lie about.
“Go to Omar’s,” Julian said, waving his hand at Yadriel to turn the page. “He was there. Omar Deye.”
Yadriel was tempted to push him for answers, but instead he shook his head and turned to the beginning of the D’s.
“He seems…” Yadriel trailed off.
“Like a jerk?” Julian chuckled. “Yeah, I know,” he said, with a tone of fondness and a smile back on his face.
Omar Deye sat rigid in his photo, back straight and chin jutted, looking down at the camera with contempt. He had dark skin, a tight fade, and a brooding expression. The muscles in his jaw were flexed, like he was clenching his teeth.
“He’s all bite and no bark,” Julian added, shaking his head.
“You mean ‘all bark and no bite,’” Yadriel corrected. A familiar face caught his attention. “And there you are,” he said, pressing his finger to the words “Julian Diaz.”
Julian wore the same old leather bomber jacket with the hood. There was a huge smile on his face, cutting dimples into his cheeks and crinkling his nose and the corner of his eyes. He was looking past the camera and, judging by his blurry edges, mid-laugh.
It was the kind of face you couldn’t help but smile back at.
“Hey, you makin’ fun of me?” Julian accused, but he was grinning, too.
“No!” Laughter bucked in Yadriel’s chest. “You just look—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah! Let’s look and see if yours is any better!” Julian demanded, gesturing for him to turn the page.
The laughter died in Yadriel’s throat immediately. He snapped the yearbook shut. “Let’s not.” He crossed the room and shoved the book back into its place on the shelf.
Julian remained where he sat, his brow pinched and his laughter uneasy, confused by Yadriel’s abrupt departure.
The truth was Yadriel didn’t want to show Julian his yearbook picture because it did not read Yadriel Vélez Flores. Without legally changing his name—which took time and money—the school refused to use his real name, forever embossing his deadname under his painfully awkward photograph.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
We’re outside.
Julian perked up. “Now?”
“Yup.” Yadriel grinned. “Come on, let’s—” When he opened the door, voices and the smell of food cooking wafted from downstairs. “Dammit,” he hissed. “Lita’s back.” He could hear her voice loudest among the rest, as usual.
Julian made a disgruntled groan.
“Just hold on a second,” Yadriel told him before slipping out the door. Carefully, he crept down the first few steps to get a view of what was going on downstairs. Lita was bossing around three other brujas as they carried boxes of supplies into the kitchen.
Annoyed, Yadriel pulled out his phone and texted Maritza, asking her to come help sneak Julian out.
Can’t. The boys aren’t allowed inside, remember?
“Dammit.” He was going to have to figure it out himself, then. Create a distraction so Julian could sneak out the front door unnoticed. Yadriel slipped back into his room. “Okay, we’re going to—”
Julian jumped. The yearbook was in his lap and he shut it quickly with a snap.
“What are you doing?” Yadriel demanded.
Julian blinked. “What?”
“What are you—?”
“Nothing!” The wide-eyed look on his face, accompanied by rosy cheeks, was so guilty that it was almost comical. “Look!” Julian said, jumping to change the subject as he haphazardly opened and closed the cover.
Yadriel’s face screwed up in confusion.
“I can pick it up and move it!” Julian told him, flashing a smile.
“Oookay.” Yadriel stepped closer. “Why are you—?”
Julian quickly stood up from the bed, tossing the yearbook to the side. A Sharpie fell through his lap. “Maritza’s waiting for us, right? Come on,” he said, making for the door. “Time to sneak out and go find my friends,” Julian told him as he walked out into the hall.
Yadriel shook his head and picked up the yearbook. Before putting it away, he flipped it open to his picture. His own face looked up at him, smiling in a way that made him look like he was in physical pain. He wore the same black hoodie, his hair carefully styled.
He was about to snap it shut when he noticed.
Beneath his photo, his deadname had been scribbled out with black marker. Under, written in lopsided letters, it read, YADRIEL.