With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo
Coven
“Angelica, where did you get all of this stuff?” I ask her as she bursts through the door carrying bags and bags of fabric. She’s changed her hair to a black bob but the ends are bright pink.
Angelica really is like one of those tropical storms we keep getting warnings about on the news, swirling until she descends in a pile of mayhem. “You know that Laura works for the theater at her school. She gets access to all the extra fabric from the set. She hooked us up! And not a moment too soon, since Halloween is only a week away.”
Angelica sets the bags down and walks to where Babygirl sits on the couch in front of the TV, where she’s been spooning mashed potatoes into her mouth. I finger a piece of gold spandex peeking out from one of the bags.
“Oh my God. Babygirl isn’t even three yet. She’s not big enough for a costume to need this much material. What are we going to do with all of it?”
“Make her the best damn—I mean, darn—costume anyone has ever seen.”
“Angelica, I told you I don’t even think I can take her trick-or-treating.” I shuffle from one foot to the other. “And she needs to go to bed soon.”
“Me and your grandmother will figure out trick-or-treating. She’s not my godbaby for nothing, right, Em?” Angelica leans down and blows kisses onto Babygirl’s feet.
“Hola, Angelica,” ’Buela says. She’s wearing pink pj’s and her hair is up in rollers. It’d be late for any other friend to come over, but this is Angelica.
“¡Bendición, Abuela Gloria!” Angelica sings out. She hugs ’Buela so tight that they’re swaying.
“Que Dios te bendiga, m’ija.” ’Buela dances with Angelica for a moment before gesturing to the bags with her chin. “What’s all this?”
“We’re going to make a costume for Babygirl. Aren’t we, Babygirl?”
“Ah, bueno. It’s getting late and she needs to be going to bed, no? Why don’t I help? I can take measurements quicker than you two put together.”
Angelica pulls out the measuring tape and her design notebook. She starts flipping through the book with her fuschia-tipped hair swinging.
“I was thinking we could do a doctor! Or maybe even an astronaut! A Chiquita Banana girl with a fruit crown? It all depends on what you want. What should it be?”
’Buela chimes in, “A beauty queen? Or how about a movie star? Como la Audrey Hepburn.”
I look at Babygirl, patiently spooning food into her mouth like she hasn’t a care in the world. And suddenly I know exactly what she should be for Halloween. “I think it’d be cute if she was a chef. With a little smock, and a hat, checkered pants, and a spatula. Maybe even some of those little clogs. She could be ‘cooking’ up a bowl of popcorn.”
Angelica snaps her fingers. “Yes! That’s so cute! Maybe you can put on your chef jacket and take a picture before you go to work.”
“A chef,” ’Buela says, a smile lighting up her face. “That’s perfect. And maybe Cheerios instead of popcorn!”
All of a sudden the three of us are pulling fabric out, and ’Buela has grabbed the measuring tape. Angelica clicks on a playlist on her phone. We all smile at Babygirl, who shows off her teeth as if she knows she has a coven of women holding her down, and that she can be anything and everything we dream for her.