Cemetery Boys(83)

Yadriel flopped onto the bed next to Julian and stared up at the ceiling. They lay there for a minute, with only the distant sound of traffic and Purrcaso’s mighty purrs between them.

“Jules?” Yadriel finally ventured. His heartbeat like a finger tapping against his throat.

Julian hummed in response.

Yadriel stole a look over at him. His attention was on Purrcaso, his dark lashes hiding his eyes.

“Why don’t you like to speak Spanish?”

Julian’s hand paused, his fingers hovering above Purrcaso, who let out a displeased sound at the sudden lack of petting.

Silence stretched between them for a long moment. Yadriel thought he wasn’t going to answer the question. It seemed like a strange thing to carry so much weight.

When Julian finally spoke, his words were quiet and tentative.

“My dad didn’t know much English, so we pretty much only spoke Spanish at home.” He didn’t look at Yadriel but toyed with Purrcaso’s tail. “It’s not that I don’t like speaking Spanish, I mean, it’s me, you know? I think in it, I dream in it, but…” He trailed off, expression pinched as he tried to find the right words. “But it was also my dad, you know?” Julian made a frustrated sound. “I don’t know how to explain it. At school we have to speak English, and my friends mostly speak in English, too, so Spanish was more like … It was what we used at home. It was what I used with my dad—the only language I spoke with him. So, when he died…”

Yadriel felt a pang in his chest.

Julian’s shoulder pulled into a shrug. “I don’t know, man. Just didn’t feel right using it without him, I guess. Feels too…” He made a twisting gesture with his hand, frustration working his jaw.

“Intimate?” Yadriel offered.

Julian’s eyes snapped to Yadriel with a look so intent, it struck him like lightning. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Something like that.”

Yadriel gave a small nod.

“That sounds dumb, right?” Julian asked, eyeing him like he expected Yadriel to laugh.

“No, it definitely doesn’t sound dumb. It makes sense, not wanting to share something personal that means a lot to you.” Yadriel hooked a finger around the chain of Julian’s St. Jude pendant, letting it dangle. “Kind of like having a stranger wear this?” he guessed.

Julian stared at the silver medal. He reached out. The pendant swayed at his ghostly touch. “Yeah, kind of.” Julian withdrew his hand and cleared his throat.

Yadriel didn’t argue when he unceremoniously jumped topics.

“How does the whole Día de Muertos thing work, exactly?” Julian asked, glancing over at Yadriel. “All the food and altars and decorations and stuff.”

Yadriel stretched and tucked his hands under his neck. “Well, to welcome our ancestors back, we make ofrendas for our family members. We use their pictures, belongings, and favorite foods. Then there’s the standard stuff like mezcal, pan de muerto—”

“Sounds like a party.” Julian grinned.

“It is. One big party,” Yadriel agreed. “We decorate the cemetery with papel picado—the colorful cutouts, we string them up like banners all over the place. We use sugarcane to make arches.” Yadriel gestured with his hands, drawing an arch in the air. “We cover the arches in marigolds—cempasúchitl, specifically. They’re the gateways the spirits use to pass through from the land of the dead to the land of the living. The food and trinkets, the color of the marigolds and their really strong scent of apples lead the spirits back to the cemetery.”

“Do they have to be buried here to come back?” Julian asked.

Yadriel shook his head. “So many of our brujx are immigrants. From Mexico, South America, the Caribbean—all over the place. There are different cemeteries like ours all over the United States. So, no, they don’t have to be buried here. It’d be kind of weird to have people digging up dead bodies or lugging their ashes across the border,” he pointed out. “All you need is the ofrenda.”

“Is it like, all your ancestors ever? The cemetery is pretty big, but enough to hold hundreds of generations?” Julian gave him a dubious look, eyebrow arching.

“Just whoever we call, whoever we still remember. Some people we obviously forget. I don’t know who my great-great-great-great-grandmother was or anything.”

Julian hummed. “That seems sad.”

Yadriel lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “I don’t think so. The way I figure it, all of their family they were close to died by now, too, right? So they get to all hang out and party in the afterlife together. There’s no need for them to come back and visit.”

“What’s the afterlife like?” Julian was trying to sound casual, but Yadriel could hear in his voice that he was worried.

“I don’t know,” Yadriel answered honestly.

Julian looked disappointed.

“But it’s got to be really nice. Everyone always comes back smiling and happy.”

“Have you ever asked one of them?”

“No, it’s kind of an … unspoken thing.”

Another long stretch of silence.

“Is there a hell?”

When Yadriel turned his head to look over at Julian, the other boy’s eyes were already staring back. He studied Julian’s face in the pale light streaming in the window.