“Stop yelling!” her father roared. “Give them to me!”
“Who’d you get them from?” Marisa demanded, looking past him at Pati. If they were in the school—in the elementary school, no less—then they could be anywhere. But Pati had already told her where she’d gotten them; Marisa was so angry she wasn’t thinking straight. “Where did Paolo get them? Who’d he get them from?”
“Give them to me,” said Carlo Magno, his loud shout dropping down to a menacing growl, so deep and furious it stopped Marisa short. He was inches from her, his body tensed like a spring ready to pop. She argued with him a lot, but he’d never struck her; from the look of it now he was barely holding himself back. She swallowed, her breath suddenly ragged, and handed him the drives.
“These are dangerous,” she said.
“It is not your job to yell at my daughter,” Carlo Magno hissed. “I do not take kindly to people who yell at my daughters.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t tell me, tell her.”
Marisa tried to look around him, but he moved to follow, his face still inches from hers. “I didn’t tell you to look at her, I told you to apologize.”
Almost instantly, Marisa’s rage was back again. “I can’t even look at her?”
“You don’t deserve to look at her!” he roared.
“Calm down, Carlo!” shouted Guadalupe. “This isn’t helping!”
“She has to obey!” shouted Carlo Magno. “She never does what she’s told, and that ends now!”
“She bought drugs!” Marisa shouted. “Why am I the one in trouble?”
“I never said she wasn’t,” shouted Carlo Magno, “but I’m dealing with you first!”
“I didn’t tell her to buy—”
“You showed her,” said Carlo Magno. “Pati worships you, Marisa—she acts like you, she plays your stupid games, she even dresses like you! And she sees you running out at all hours, ditching school, ignoring curfew, breaking every rule I set for you, breaking every law that gets in the way of whatever stupid, dangerous thing pops into your head, and do you care about that example? Do you care what she learns from you when she sees the policia drop you off at one in the morning, dressed like a whore, your new arm broken and your breath reeking of alcohol?”
“It wasn’t reeking,” said Marisa.
“Do you think that makes a difference?” her father roared. “Do you think that a twelve-year-old child sees where your path is leading? Or does she simply see your footsteps, one at a time, as she follows them straight down to hell?”
Marisa stepped back, eyes wide, shocked by his accusation. He hadn’t touched her, but she felt as if she’d been slapped in the face.
She was the good one here, wasn’t she? Wasn’t she trying to do the right thing?
Wasn’t she trying to help?
“You’re grounded,” he said fiercely. “And not pretend-grounded, where I trust you to stay where you’re told and not use all the little tricks and back doors you’ve built into Olaya. Yes, I know about them. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so you don’t have school, which means you’re confined to the house for the entire weekend—no friends, no clubs, no Overworld. I’m deactivating your djinni.”
Gabi gasped, and Marisa looked up through hot tears to see that even Abuela was there, standing in the hallway, the shouting loud enough that she could hear it.
“Everybody out,” said Carlo Magno. “And straight to bed. Pati, you come with me—your Mami and I need to talk to you about this.” They left the room, and Sandro closed it with a final, helpless look.
Marisa was alone.
She flung herself down on her bed, clutching her pillow to her face and sobbing. She’d been trying to do the right thing, but she’d been doing it all wrong. Of course Pati worshipped her—wasn’t that obvious, now that she took the time to pay attention? Wasn’t Marisa the cool older sister she couldn’t stop talking to? And Marisa had done nothing but ignore her, and push her aside, and give her so little attention that of course she kept escalating her rebellions. I play Overworld, just like you. I skip school, just like you. Aren’t I cool now, just like you? Do you think I’m cool yet? What do I have to do to be cool? Bluescreen’s street dealers promoted it as the perfect drug—all the buzz with none of the consequences, a perfect rebellion for anyone looking to stand out. Big kids only. As if it were some kind of harmless toy.
“I’m right to be angry,” Marisa told herself, “but not at Pati. She was only doing what everyone told her to do.” And then she started crying again, because she knew she was just as guilty as anyone.