There were piles of dirty laundry in the closets and unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink. The faucet in Iridian’s bathtub always dripped, and there was a ring of rust around the drain. Jessica didn’t even have a real shower curtain, just a plastic liner that was once clear but was now streaked with layers of mineral deposits and grime. Everywhere, the carpet was old and dirty. Some of it was buckling, wrinkled like waves on water. Not a single bed in the house was made. The furniture was practically all from estate sales. The house was just some crappy old house, not in any way ghost-worthy.
Iridian knew that if she died on the couch or from falling down the stairs, and had any kind of choice in the matter, she would never, ever stick around this place.
Again, laughter rose up from outside. There was the shrieking of little kids doing something like chasing each other around. Then Iridian heard a woman’s gleeful whoop, followed by a man shouting Hey! to someone.
People were happy. They deserved their nice party. If Iridian were there, things would only get worse. She’d be forced into talking to someone. She would probably say the wrong thing.
The spoon Iridian had been using to eat her cereal slipped from her fingers and fell with a clang into her bowl. The milk tasted acidic. She gagged, nearly choking on mushy chocolate puff.
Even now, a year later, she could still feel the sudden, vibrant shame she’d felt after saying the wrong thing to Ana, just hours before she died. It felt like a full-body rumble, an oh shit shock followed by the intense desperation of wanting to scoop words back into her mouth and eat them.
The day Ana fell from her window, she and Iridian had fought. It started when Iridian went into Ana’s bathroom to borrow some shampoo. At the time, Ana had been downstairs in the kitchen with Jessica—Iridian could hear them both laughing, followed by the sound of one of them mashing the buttons on the microwave. As Iridian had been leaving with the shampoo bottle in hand, she’d seen that one of Ana’s drawers was open. Normally, whatever was crammed in a drawer wouldn’t have caught Iridian’s eye—decades’ worth of anything and everything filled every corner of the Torres house—but what she’d seen made her heart plummet.
It was a pregnancy test. It was new, unopened, safe in its box. But still.
There were footsteps on the stairs, and Iridian heard her sister—Ana—call out her name.
For a moment, Iridian considered acting like nothing had happened and nothing was wrong. She could slide the drawer all the way closed and Ana would never know about her snooping. But Iridian didn’t want to act like nothing had happened. Of course, she knew Ana snuck out her window all the time to meet boys, but she never would’ve guessed her sister would be so careless—so stupid—as to get herself pregnant, or in a situation where she might even think she was pregnant.
It was a nightmare. Iridian saw it all unfold. She knew Ana would have the baby. It would be a little girl because this was a house full of girls, and all Iridian’s plans of running away with her sisters would be ruined. They couldn’t run with a baby. Ana couldn’t be both their leader and a mother. None of the rest of them could be the leader. Iridian wasn’t brave enough—not brave like girls in books. Jessica could make a decision but could never follow through with anything. Rosa would just lead them in circles.
Iridian had sucked the end of her braid into her mouth, hoping to taste the faint tang of the dirt from the South Texas orange groves. Instead, she’d tasted oil and sweat—it wasn’t the same at all.
Iridian took the box from the drawer. She held the tragedy in her hand, and when Ana finally reached the top of the stairs and found her, Iridian said, “You said we’d go back. You told us.”
“Go back where?” Ana asked. Her gaze fell to the box in Iridian’s hand. “Iridian, wait.”
Iridian didn’t wait. Instead she hurled out the ugliest thing she could think of—a thing that was not true, but true in that moment. “How could you do this to us, you dumb whore?”
Ana slammed the bathroom door shut and leapt forward.
“You’re going through my stuff?” Ana demanded, all up in Iridian’s face.
Iridian waited—to get smacked, to be yelled at, for Ana to get defensive and then apologize and apologize again—but Ana just crumbled. She fell back against the closed door, covered her eyes, and sobbed. Eventually, Ana slid all the way down to the ground and tossed the pregnancy test across the bathroom. Iridian was trapped. All she could do was stand there, mortified, radiant with shame. She did swallow, a couple of times, as if trying to gulp down her sour-tasting mistake. At last, Iridian took a step toward her sister, but Ana held up a hand, silently commanding Iridian to stay back.
“I was so scared,” Ana hiccupped. She wiped her eyes roughly. “But it’s nothing. It’s fine now. You’re fine now, Iridian. Alright?”
Again, Iridian took a step forward. She reached out, but her sister smacked her hand away.
“No,” Ana said. “You fucked up.”
Ana stood and left, and those were the last words Iridian ever heard her sister say.
The laughter continued outside as Iridian spit out her half-chewed cereal, rinsed out her bowl, and put it in the overstuffed dishwater. The front door opened, and there was a new sound—gaspy and raspy, a sort of hysterical giggling. It belonged to Jessica. When was the last time Iridian had heard Jessica giggle? When had she ever heard her do that?
“What’s going on?” Iridian asked, stepping into the living room.
“There was a fight,” Rosa replied. Jessica was collapsed against her little sister, gripping Rosa’s shoulders to keep from falling over. She was wet, like someone had tripped and spilled a drink on her shirt. “Between John and Peter Rojas.”
Jessica laughed harder.
Iridian looked to Rosa to explain, but all Rosa could do was shrug and shake her head. After a few seconds, Jessica managed to get herself together enough to head toward the staircase on her own.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Iridian asked.
Jessica hiccupped. “I just need to change clothes.” She hiccupped again.
Jessica got halfway up the stairs, and then spun toward her sisters. Her head had swiveled so fast, it looked like she’d been hit in the face. She wasn’t laughing anymore.
“Wh—?” Iridian started.
She couldn’t finish the question because she didn’t want the answer. There had to be something else, some new terrible thing—phantom steps on the stairs, a misplaced, girl-shaped figure in a doorway, or more writing on the walls—more I wants. Iridian reached back to grip the couch and dug her nails into its scratchy fibers.
Jessica shook her head and tapped her ear.
That meant: Listen.