Best Amigas

By Patricia Santos Marcantonio

Juana MÉndez and Diane Conrad are going to save each other's lives. Not with super heroics, but with a friendship that gets them through everything. And those girls are always up to something--eating goat burritos on July 4th, sneaking up on a garage roof to watch a couple kiss and wonder about romance, and surviving the meanest kid in school. Then another summer arrives, and ends in heartbreak and hope for the best amigas.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fitzroy Books
• Release date: Nov 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781646033744

Patricia Santos Marcantonio

Patricia Marcantonio was born in Pueblo, Colorado. She has won awards for her journalism, short stories and screenplays. "Red Ridin' in the Hood and Other Cuentos" has earned an Anne Izard Storyteller's Choice Award; and was named an Americas Award for Children's and Young Adult Literature Commended Title, and one of the Wilde Awards Best Collections to Share; with recommendations from Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books. Her website is http://patriciamarcantonio.com/

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Praise for Best Amigas

"A natural-born storyteller, Patricia Marcantonio’s Best Amigas is a heartfelt and tender coming-of-age story of two best friends struggling to make sense of the world. Funny and poignant, all young girls will identify with the adventures of these two girls.

- Bonnie Dodge, award-winning author of Waiting

Best Amigas

Patricia Marcantonio

Fitzroy Books

Copyright © 2023 Patricia Marcantonio. All rights reserved.

by Fitzroy Books

An imprint of

Regal House Publishing, LLC

Raleigh, NC 27605

All rights reserved

https://fitzroybooks.com

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN -13 (paperback): 9781646033737

ISBN -13 (epub): 9781646033744

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022949419

All efforts were made to determine the copyright holders and obtain their permissions in any circumstance where copyrighted material was used. The publisher apologizes if any errors were made during this process, or if any omissions occurred. If noted, please contact the publisher and all efforts will be made to incorporate permissions in future editions.

Cover images and design by © C. B. Royal

Regal House Publishing, LLC

https://regalhousepublishing.com

The following is a work of fiction created by the author. All names, individuals, characters, places, items, brands, events, etc. were either the product of the author or were used fictitiously. Any name, place, event, person, brand, or item, current or past, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Regal House Publishing.

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

For Liz

1

the curb

You can see a lot of the world sitting on a curb.

Under the streetlight in front of my house, I sat on the curb waiting for Diane. Not only was she my best friend, but she lived right next door, which was a bonus ’cause I got to see her every day. At that time of night, most of Chihuahua Street was asleep. I couldn’t understand why. Everyone should be outside sitting on the curb. The stars sprinkled over the sky like sugar on a buttered tortilla. The air even tasted sweet. The full moon seemed made just for me.

Inside our house, my little sister Isidra lay sprawled over her bed, dead tired from annoying me all day with dumb questions. Juana, how come you get to stay up late? "Juana, how come I can’t play with Diane and you? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué?" I do believe that was her main purpose in life, the reason she was born. Namely, to bother me.

After a hard day of driving Mommy and Pop crazy, my brother Ramón played video games in his room in the basement. He used to be fun. We’d shoot baskets and both dream of playing for the San Antonio Spurs. We’d watch scary movies on TV and eat popcorn greasy with butter. But all that ended two years ago when he went into middle school and he’s ignored me ever since.

My parents snored away in their room—pooped by nine. Good thing I was still young enough to stay awake until ten, at least during the summer, which had just started.

I looked over my shoulder at the house next door. Still no Diane. Funny how the cement curb felt a whole lot harder when I sat by myself.

Diane, where are you? I shouted and then slapped my hand over my mouth. Mommy and Pop slept with their windows open. If they woke up, they’d probably order me to go to bed. As it was, they were cutting me a break for letting me stay outside at night. This was on the condition I didn’t leave the curb in front of our house.

Diane, where are you? I whispered this time.

She usually was late meeting me out on the curb. So I always brought comics and a flashlight. Ramón made fun of Diane and me for what we liked to read. Ah, girls don’t read that stuff, he’d tell us in that whiny brother voice he used for teasing. Girls aren’t supposed to like superheroes or monsters. You should be reading Barbie, unicorn, and princess stories.

We didn’t care what my brother said. We kept buying superhero comics. Unicorns are boring.

Ramón obviously had forgotten that he was the one who introduced us to comics in the first place. He asked Diane and me if we wanted his stack of old ones because he had chosen to devote his life entirely to video games. We picked them up and didn’t put them down.

I loved the superheroes and monsters. The stories of Batman, Superman, and Spider-Man took me far away from Chihuahua Street. I might as well have been on a rocket heading to Mars, facing down creatures, or battling bad guys with powers too mighty to contain under my cape, mask, and spandex. When I read them, I was no longer Juana Méndez.

I was cool.

A girl with hundreds of friends.

I was a hero.

I think Diane liked comics for that very same reason, though I’ve never really asked her.

Anyway, I loved comics so much that I even started writing and drawing my own. But I only showed them to Diane.

On the curb, I opened a comic about zombies with skin that looked like gray socks who dug themselves out of their graves. After five minutes, I couldn’t finish reading. Not that I was scared—all the bugs in San Antonio were buzzing me. To get some peace, I rolled up the comic and swatted them away. As I did I imagined being attacked by giant mutant bugs who took revenge on people who tried to kill them. Those crazy bug monsters would march down the streets and hole up at the Alamo with their antenna screeching like devilish violins. Then, the National Guard attacked with barrels of Raid.

Not a bad story at all, I said to myself. That one, like the others I invented, would end up written in notebooks I kept under my bed. My personal library.

Shouting came from Diane’s house.

Where you going? her mom yelled.

Uh-oh, I said out loud.

I’m just gonna talk to Juana out on the curb. You know we do that every summer, Diane shouted back.

People will think you’re looking for trouble! her mother yelled.

Uh-oh, I said again.

Ma, the only thing I’m looking for is a bag of cookies. Me and Juana ain’t doing nothing wrong, Diane yelled back.

There was more shouting, but I couldn’t make out the words. Diane’s mom seemed to yell and drink beer only at night, as if her behavior had something to do with the moon. Maybe she had werewolf blood. Their front door squeaked open, and Diane appeared with two cans of soda. Whenever my friend fought with her mom, Diane’s face scrunched up like a dried apple. I hated to see that so I said, cheerfully, Hello, trouble.

She laughed. Sorry, I couldn’t find any cookies.

Diane sat next to me on the curb and we started eating from the bag of chips I had sneaked out of my house. Every summer night, we sat there and never ran out of things to talk about. We’d been friends since we were two years old. Diane always thought up lots of fun things to do and talked as fast as Mommy’s sewing machine. She wasn’t afraid of anything. She never cried, not even when she tripped and fell onto the hill of nasty Texas ants in the alley. Her mom, Mrs. Conrad was Hispanic like me, but Diane took after her dad, who wasn’t. Tall and skinny, she had short reddish brown hair, blue eyes, and light skin with a wave of orangish freckles scattered over her cheeks. I was shorter and chubbier, with dark skin that got even darker when I played in the sun. My long thick black hair never curled the way I wanted, and my cheeks were high and round. I could have passed as the daughter of the Indian guy on the Big Chief writing tablets.

Diane and I looked as different as could be, but I held onto a hope that we were really sisters who had been separated and placed into houses next door to each other.

We were best friends.

She was my only friend.

On the curb, Diane and I talked about going to middle school that fall and what we missed about elementary school, which was not much.

We talked about boys. In fact the older we got, the more we talked about them. We talked about boys who were nice or cute. Boys who could double for caca balls with arms and legs. Boys who could burp out the The Star-Spangled Banner. Boys who bragged about how far they could slide on their butts over the gym floor.

We talked about Billy Ralston. I’d liked him since the third grade. He had bright blue eyes, wore glasses, and paid no attention to me at all, except last year when he borrowed my red colored pencil in class. I didn’t even ask for it back.

I still don’t know why you’re crazy about him. Diane picked at the chips in the bottom of the bag.

He’s kinda cute, and he reads a lot of books like me.

He’s kinda goofy.

I batted my eyes and put my hand over my heart. You’re talking about the love of my life. The man of my dreams.

Diane laughed so hard pop sprayed from her nose.

"He does kind of remind me of that red-headed freckled guy on the cover of Mad Magazine," I admitted.

You’re smart and he’s smart. You’ll have smart babies if you get married.

Gross! I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

"Smart babies who belong on the cover of Mad Magazine!"

Thanks a lot.

With Diane and my family I talked up a storm. My mom even called me a chatterbox, whatever the heck that was. But I had never opened my mouth at Mission Elementary, our old school. There, I had been like a shadow in the corner of the girl’s bathroom. Even with my straight As, I was always afraid that whatever I said in school would come out entirely stupid. That, or kids would think I was showing off with my smarts. So I didn’t open my mouth. Even when I knew the answers to the questions that the teacher asked, I wrote them on the roof of my mouth with my tongue.

But I knew I had to change. Diane and I were going into the sixth grade at Alamo Middle School that fall, and I hoped and prayed to finally get noticed, not only by Billy Ralston but by anybody else. I didn’t want to end up in the Tomb of the Unknown Kid when I died.

Diane turned the empty chip bag upside down. I’m still hungry.

There’s cheese and crackers in my house.

Peanut butter would be great too.

I didn’t turn on the kitchen lights because I didn’t want to wake Mommy and Pop, but enough moonlight came through the large windows to help me search the cupboards.

Juana, Diane whispered urgently. She stood near a window on the other side of the kitchen.

What? I whispered back, still looking for food.

Get over here.

Why?

Now, Diane ordered.

But I found the peanut butter. I held up the jar, then, spotting crackers, grabbed those too.

I can see Mickey Ramos through the window. He’s lifting weights in the garage.

The oldest and cutest of the six Ramos boys, Mickey lived next door. Their dad fixed cars in a gigantic garage in the backyard where motors hung from the ceiling like grimy chandeliers. Mr. Ramos reminded me of the trucks that he repaired—big, square, and rumbling. But his son Mickey could have been a teen magazine star with his shiny hair and perfect muscles. Whenever Mickey drove by in his junky car or mowed the lawn, Diane and I sighed with love.

You can see his muscles. Hurry, Diane whispered.

The image of Mickey’s abs sent me running—right into a kitchen chair. The chair and I slammed to the floor with a bang.

Juana, what’s going on? Mommy called from the bedroom.

Nothing, I answered sweetly.

You girls better get to bed pretty soon.

Okay, we replied—but with no intention of doing so.

After picking up the chair, I ran to the window, but Mickey had already left the garage.

Damn, I said.

I heard that! Mommy shouted from the other room.

Gathering up the food, we headed back to the curb.

Diane opened the jar of peanut butter. Mickey did look real hot.

He always does. Pass me the crackers.

At the end of the block, the porch light came on at Mary Garza’s house and a bunch of girls tore outside. Other kids had called Mary the prettiest girl at our elementary school. I called her the meanest, because she could insult you with a smile on her baby-doll lips. Her cute friends came in a close second