“I didn’t kiss anyone,” said Marisa, trying to push the twelve-year-old away. “I need to get up to my room, Pati. Mami and Papi are almost home.”
Gabi looked at Marisa dryly. “Mami called me to ask where you were; apparently your calls weren’t going through.”
“Djinni off,” said Marisa again, and cringed as she asked the next question. “What did you tell her?”
Gabi shrugged. “That you were on the rag, and turned off calling because you didn’t want to talk to anyone.”
Marisa practically melted with relief. “Thanks, Gabi, you’re the best.”
“Thanks for taking me to ballet last night,” said Gabi. “Just don’t . . . just be careful, okay? I don’t want to be the one who lies to Mami the day someone finds you dead in an alley.”
Marisa shook her head, not sure how to answer. “I’m doing my best.”
“Mari never gets hurt,” said Pati. “She’s the coolest. She even has—mierda, Mari, is that blood on your hand?” Pati grabbed Mari’s prosthetic hand and lifted it to her face, studying the blood still crusted on the metal knuckles.
Marisa pulled her hand away. “We don’t say that word.”
“Did you get in a fight?” asked Pati. “Did you win? Is that why your djinni was down?”
“I’m fine,” said Marisa, pushing her away again and moving toward the stairs. “It wasn’t a fight, I was . . . helping somebody. It was like first aid.” She started up the stairs, with Pati close on her heels.
“Did you get my message this morning?” asked Pati. “I have something to show you, I got it at school and it’s the best thing ever.”
“Not right now, Pati, I have to get to my room.”
“That’s fine, I’ll meet you there!” Pati pushed past her on the narrow stairs and ran to her bedroom. Mari walked to her own room, waving at Sandro through his open door; he was sitting at his desk, as always, his eyes glued to a textbook.
“Hey, Sandro.”
“Just in time,” he said, without looking up. “They’re on the front porch.”
“Crap,” said Marisa. “Can you open my door?”
Sandro shot her a concerned look, but rolled his eyes and bypassed their father’s lock. Her door swung open; she ran inside and started desperately trying to wipe up the blood from her hand with an old T-shirt.
“Buenas noches!” called her father from below. “How are my beautiful children today?”
“It’s eleven-thirty, Dad,” said Sandro. “Don’t shout.”
“You’re all awake,” shouted Carlo Magno, even louder than before, “I know my own children!”
“Ay, Carlo,” said Guadalupe, “we have neighbors, too, you know.”
“Hello to them, too!” shouted Carlo Magno. Guadalupe laughed.
Marisa examined her knuckles for any visible blood, listening for the creak on the stairs that would announce one or both of her parents coming up. Instead she heard pounding footsteps in the hall, and looked up at her unlocked, open door just in time to see Pati come barreling through it, two dark blue headjack drives clutched in her hand.
“Miralos, Mari, they’re called Bluescreen—”
Marisa dropped her T-shirt in shock. “No.”
“My friend Paolo had some at school,” said Pati, “and they’re super awesome—big kids only, ’cuz they work with your djinni—”
“No!” Marisa shouted again, storming toward her and wrenching the drives out of Pati’s hands. She was too horrified to even think. “Did you use them already?” She held them up to the light, studying them closely, though there was no outward sign of whether a dose was still valid or not. “Tell me you didn’t use them!”
“I . . .” Pati looked shell-shocked. “I got one for each of us, I thought we could use them together.”
“Absolutamente no!” shouted Marisa, gripping the drives tightly in her fist and shouting at Pati in a fury. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? What these things can do to you?”
Pati was nearly crying now. “I thought you’d think they were cool.”
“Do you have any more?” Marisa demanded.
“What’s going on?” said their father, stomping forcefully into the room. “Marisa, stop yelling at your sister.”
“These are bad,” Marisa continued, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “Tell me you didn’t use any, Pati—stop crying and answer me!”
“Stop yelling!” shouted Carlo Magno; he planted himself between Marisa and Pati. Guadalupe came running into the room behind him, with Gabi and Sandro peering in from the hall.
“These are drugs,” said Marisa, too angry to stop now. “We can’t have them anywhere in the house.”
Carlo Magno turned to Pati, his anger already hot. “You bought drugs?”
“Let her calm down,” said Guadalupe, folding Pati into a hug. “She can barely breathe for crying, let alone talk with everyone shouting at her.”
“You—” Pati was blubbering too much to speak, glaring at Marisa, conveying with every ounce of her twelve-year-old body the betrayal she felt. “You—told on—me.”
“You think that’s the worst thing going on right now?” yelled Marisa.