Sitting at the kitchen table that evening with my diary tucked in the pocket of my hoodie, I can’t bring myself to dive into Abuelita’s empanadas de picadillo. Bad luck and ghost relatives have destroyed my appetite. I can still hear the voice from the backyard slithering up my neck and into my ear.
I try to control my breathing, but it gets shallower and faster as I think about my family. I wouldn’t even be in this horrible situation if we didn’t have the tradition of burning effigies. If we were just like every family, I would’ve had a normal mariachi practice, and no one would be popping up in the school bathroom or my backyard.
This is entirely the fault of Peak Cubanity.
I reach for one of the empanadas, but a pain in my ankle stops me. I brush my leg with my fingers and gasp. A thick black beetle crawls over my big toe. I yelp and kick my leg out, earning an eyebrow raise from Abuelita.
I blink, and the beetle disappears.
Before I can react, the glass of water next to my plate turns black. A squirming worm, just like the ones that I thought filled my pencil case, emerges from the water and drapes itself over the edge of the cup. I snap my gaze to Abuelito, sitting next to me, but he’s busy tapping his fingers on the table and humming a song. When I look back at the glass, the water is clear and the worm is gone.
I clutch the diary tighter in my hand and shake my head.
I’m stuck. I need to burn the effigy to get rid of my bad luck, but this Luck Eater thing won’t let me. So now I have to figure out how to get rid of the Luck Eater, make the bad luck go away, and fix things between Keisha and me.
And never mind the teeny-tiny piece of information I learned from Pipo about having some magical ability to summon my dead relatives. I can’t even wrap my brain around that one completely without almost passing out.
This is going to be harder than getting Abuelito to listen to something other than Cuban music or Abuelita to make something other than Cuban food. I look at my plate, wanting to bite into the crispy pastries filled with spiced ground beef, olives, and raisins, but my appetite is buried under the waves rolling in my stomach.
The front door slams, pushing me from my thoughts.
Mami and Liset march into the dining room, and Liset tosses her backpack in the corner. She immediately points at the empanadas. “Nothing makes me hungrier than powerlifting practice,” she says. “That and outlifting Nathan Miller. He didn’t know what hit him today.”
Mami follows, sitting down next to Papi and laying her head on his shoulder. She’s always worn out after her day at the high school, teaching English to speakers of other languages.
Abuelita passes her a plate with two empanadas, and everyone dives in. I pick at the pastry crust, still not able to bring myself to eat anything.
“So, Mari, have you decided what country you’re going to do for the school fair?” Mami asks, wiping the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
I take a deep breath. Ms. Faruqi’s project is the last thing on my mind, buried beneath all the bad luck and the sudden appearance of my tío abuelo, Pipo.
“Cuba, I guess.” I shrug. It seems as good a choice as any.
A smile breaks out on Abuelito’s face, and he slaps the table. “Así es.”
“Good choice, kiddo,” Papi says, winking at Abuelito. “Just don’t interview your abuelito about it or he’ll be telling you that Cuba invented coffee and salsa music. Qué paquete.”
“Pero no es mentira.” Abuelito raises his arms in surrender, denying the lie.
While everyone dives into Peak Cubanity and argues about whether Cubans are the best in the world at baseball, I lean over to Abuelito and tug on the sleeve of his shirt. “Abuelito? Can I ask you something?”
“Sí, mi vida,” he answers.
I bite my lip, wondering how much I can ask him without seeming suspicious. But I think I need more info about Pipo so I can make him show up again, if what he said about my power is true.
I scoot closer to Abuelito. “I . . . I don’t want to make you upset again. But I was wondering something.”
Abuelito places his hand over mine and nods.
“Did your brother Pipo have a dog named Caramelo?”
A smile breaks out on Abuelito’s face. “Ay, ese ratón. Un tornado de ruido que siempre robaba mi comida.”
I laugh. “The dog stole your food?”
Abuelito chuckles, searching my face. “¿Pero cómo lo supiste?”
“Oh, um, I heard Abuelita mention it, I think,” I reply, not wanting to tell Abuelito that I’d actually learned it from Pipo himself.
“Yo quería un gato, pero mi hermano quería un perro. Y como él era mayor, ganó.” Abuelito winks at me and shrugs.
I groan. “That’s so unfair. That happens with me and Liset all the time. Just because she’s older, she gets what she wants. Sorry you didn’t get to have a cat.”
Abuelito chuckles and pats me on the leg.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I slide it from my jeans so Mami can’t catch me with it out at the table. I see a text from Keisha.
It’s getting worse. My fencing blade shot sparks out of the tip today at practice. Coach is about to kick me off the team. If you’ve already burned the effigy, it didn’t work. We need to fix this.
Excusing myself quickly, I run to my room with my diary. Opening it to the page where I had written about Pipo, I quickly scribble all the information he told me in the backyard, adding what Abuelito told me too. I hope it’s enough to make him appear.
Do I have to do anything else? Shout “Alabao” or sing Celia Cruz?
It wouldn’t surprise me if Peak Cubanity was what made this thing work.
Typing a quick text back to Keisha, I tell her, I couldn’t burn the effigy. Can we meet up? I can explain in person.
I’m not sure my friends will believe me when I tell them about the Luck Eater. They might laugh and call me a loquita like Liset does.
But I also don’t want to risk Keisha’s fencing dreams by bringing any more bad luck.
I clutch the diary to my chest again while I sit on my bed. Looking across the room, I spot the effigy on the floor in the corner. The floral fabric is almost completely covered in thick, fuzzy mold. My eyes widen as the head of the doll shakes. The fabric rips, and a dark green lizard squirms its way out of where an eye would be. It perches on top of the effigy and looks at me.
Gasping, I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them again, the lizard is gone and the effigy is whole.
My breath quickens and my shoulders heave. Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I bury my face in the diary.
I glance at the page, and the words I wrote about Pipo swirl before my eyes. They dance across the paper, twisting and bouncing until they resemble sheet music. A soft melody I’ve heard Abuelito hum a thousand times floats through the window.
I take a deep breath. Help is on the way.