The burden of keeping these secrets is enough for me to blow a gasket. The thoughts keep me awake (I may have tried to doomscroll through TikTok at one point or another), so by the time 6 a.m. rolls around, I’m bone-tired and refuse to go to school. Ma makes her rounds and raps quietly on my bedroom door.
“Mijo, school starts in an hour—”
“I’m not going.”
She leans against the doorframe with her arms hugged tight against her chest. She absorbs my sorry sight, ambling over to tuck me further into the sheets.
“The boys’ arrival must be weighing heavily on you,” she says.
“You could say that,” I quip.
“¿Qué más?”
“Nope, I’m fine. Just tired. I didn’t get any sleep.”
She’s trying to get me to confess my feelings about abu, but I refuse to give her satisfaction. We haven’t broached the subject since he died and I’m not about to discuss it today when I have two AWOLs in my basement fleeing from a trafficking network.
“Let me tell you what,” ma says, “you get some sleep and I’ll tell the boys to expect you up around noon. You can keep them company.”
“Sure, Mom,” I say. “Thanks.”
When she leaves, it’s about an hour before I get any rest. Within that hour, I’m stuck staring at the ceiling and the washes of cobalt pa painted when I was younger, leaving puffed spaces around to resemble clouds. I wish I could redo the entire interaction I had with Ezra hours ago. A big part of myself wanted to tell him he didn’t need to feel ashamed of his abilities. But after teleporting in front of him and asking if he could rehash his powers so I could witness them again, I could see he was scared—frightened, even. Everything I had been going to tell him had vanished from my mind.
It was exhilarating being so close to Ezra. The tether tugged and twisted, tying a precarious knot around my heart. At that moment, when he turned to find I had teleported behind him, the strange urge to kiss him had rattled my withering composure. The idea of his mouth on mine had left me trembling. None of it made any sense.
I don’t know who Ezra Gray truly is.
So why is this happening?
“Keep our visitors company.” ma pounds on the door.
I blink grogginess away from my weary eyes and sit up in bed. My room’s the same as it’s always been: creaky wooden boards aligned on the floor; a carpet in the center with a faded motif. The walls are a light beige spaced with posters of my favorite bands and movies. There’s a wall of shelves adorned with a myriad of trinkets, photos, awards, and papers establishing accomplishments achieved throughout my life. It’s the same as it’s always been. Even when Esther pays us handsomely, all the money is tucked away for a rainy day or put toward the bunker to heighten its security.
These limbs are tight when I stretch out and emit a guttural sigh. My attention snaps to the high-frequency radio on my desk. It’s programmed only for communication with the Angelics, though sometimes it feels as if someone who shouldn’t be listening is overhearing everything either I or my abu have ever said through its microphone. There’s a brewing uneasiness whenever I use it.
The time has come. Stalling is a thing of the past. Dreadfully, I take the necessary steps to the desk and flip the power on, switching for the receiver. I slip on the headphones and hear static swell through my ears. I press down on the button to speak and cry out for Ambrosia, my voice lost in the endless stream of airwaves. Static returns and cycles through phases of deep crescendoes and tiny, motionless ebbs. It extends and just when I’m about convinced I won’t hear a reply, a woman’s voice echoes back.
“Eureka101, this is Callahan speaking. I copied your message loud and clear. Over,” Ambrosia speaks into the mic. It’s so goodto hear her voice again. It’s been weeks since I’ve last heard it, months since I saw her.
“I’ve missed you, Callahan,” I say. A longing to see my friends burns a hole through my chest.
“Eureka101, you need to say ‘over’ when you’re finished speaking and ‘copy’ if you understood what I relayed to you. Over.”
(She’s really going to be this way, isn’t she?)
“Copy. Over,” I blurt sarcastically.
“Copy. You’re a little shit. Over,” she croons through the waves and swirls of static.
Haha.
“Eureka101, what’s new with you? It’s been so long since we’ve heard from you and abuelito.”
I love that she still calls him that. He’ll always be her abuelito. He was everyone’s abuelito, after all. But it’s time to tell her the truth, no matter how morbid it may be or how drastic it changes our radio reunion. I shudder in a breath, hovering my finger over the button. Before I can back out of this, the reluctant finger lowers.
“Um, well,” I choke, scrounging for the proper words, “Abu is dead. He passed away twenty-seven days ago.”
Oddly specific, but it’s the truth. The truth is out there and there’s no taking it back.
