The Warriors Club Read online

The Warriors Club

  Copyright 2015 Mia Rodriguez

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  Dedication

  This novel is for all the young girls growing into lovely young ladies as they find their place in the world.

 

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Preface

  I often wonder if other girls have gigantic problems with their relatives like I do. Do their weird sisters drive them totally crazy? Do they have to calm down their stomachs and take deep breaths every day?

  And do they have to determine to build their own destinies no matter what?

  Do they?

  Chapter 1

  My Birthday

  People ask me how I thought of it—my Warriors Club. I tell them that this year I’m twelve years old. They look at me as if I didn’t answer their question. Then I tell them the story—the whole story so they understand.

  It started a week before my twelfth birthday which was a few weeks ago. I was at the kitchen table reading a book. I love the kitchen. It always smells so good.

  I was completely concentrated in looking up a word in my dictionary when a bad smell popped in my nose. At first I thought my dog, Feo, needed a bath. But the pungent aroma seemed different from that of a smelly dog. Maybe Feo farted, I told myself. Then I remembered my mama and papa had told my sister and me that we couldn’t give Feo pinto beans. I listened to my parents. My sister, Neli, was a cabezona, a thick head, and would give Feo beans anyway.

  Finding Neli in the kitchen, I frowned as I wondered what she was up to. What her latest shenanigan was. She was wearing her long, thick, brown hair in a ponytail like she usually did. Her jeans were loose, and she wore a baggy blue T-shirt. We’re so different from each other. I like dresses. My hair is black, curly, and to my shoulders. My brown skin is much darker than hers.

  “Did you give Feo beans?” I questioned Neli, my hand on my hip.

  “No,” she snapped.

  “Then why does it smell in here?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and opened the refrigerator door. Her back was towards me.

  “Why does it smell, Neli?” I demanded to know.

  Being the thick head she was, she ignored me. That’s what she did when she didn’t want to answer questions. My mama was constantly questioning her activities. Neli is a traviesa—always doing things she isn’t supposed to.

  “Neli, I’m speaking to you!”

  She rolled her eyes. “What?”

  “Did you give Feo beans?” I asked her. I was getting very angry.

  Neli crinkled her nose. “I didn’t give anything to Feo, Miranda. It’s not my fault your dog stinks.”

  I looked around the kitchen looking for Feo. He was nowhere. So if he didn’t smell, what did? I stared at my sister, and an idea bounced in my head. I had what I call a brain surge.

  “When did you last take a bath?” I asked her.

  “Yesterday,” Neli said quickly.

  “Are you sure?”

  She made a funny face. “Yes!”

  “I don’t remember you taking a bath yesterday.”

  “You don’t remember because you’ve got a ginormous hole in your head, Miranda.”

  She could make me really furious! Mama would tell me to count to ten in my head when Neli was at her worse. Mama said I was the oldest and had to act mature.

  I finished counting and looked back at Neli who was eyeing me with a mischievous smile. Being an older sister was not easy.

  “You shouldn’t lie, Neli,” I snapped.

  Her smile dropped. “I’m not lying! You do have holes in your head.”

  “What?”

  “Your ears.”

  I shook my head. “You’re lying about the bath. You haven’t taken a bath for a week, cochina.”

  Her eyes were like a sparking fire. “Don’t call me a cochina. I’m not dirty, and I did so take a bath yesterday! Don’t call me a liar either.”

  She was a liar. One of the best ones I had ever known. When I lied my voice went funny, but Neli’s voice stayed the same. Sometimes she fibbed so well that I believed her. Today I didn’t because the stink was too bad.

  “Kids are calling you Smelly Neli,” I declared.

  “I don’t care.”

  I thought and thought about what to say to get her to take a bath. Nothing was working. Suddenly, a brain surge hit my head.

  “Neli, I’m going to be twelve next week and—”

  “So?”

  “And you’re going to be eleven the week after,” I announced.

  “Like I don’t know when my birthday is!” she retorted.

  “We’re going to be older, so we have to act mature,” I stated. “Grown-ups take showers.”

  “What about Doña Jimenez?”

  “Do you want to be like Doña Jimenez and smell like armpits?”

  “No,” Neli quickly replied.

  “Okay, then take a bath.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Without saying anything else, Neli strutted to the bathroom. It worked! That brain surge had been one of my best ones. I guess my words got to her. Maybe she understood about getting older. It wasn’t every day you turned eleven. Turning twelve was even a bigger thing—the biggest.

  Twelve! Eleven was hard enough, but twelve would be even harder. I wouldn’t be a little girl anymore—I’d be a woman. Kind of, anyway. I was almost a teenager. A tween. My mama and papa also thought this was an important birthday for me. They were giving me a big fiesta. Usually my parents threw a birthday party for both Neli and me since our birthdays were so close together. This year the party would only be mine.

  “You’re going to be twelve,” my mama had said. Her eyes were shiny like water in a pond.

  “Don’t cry, Mama,” I told her.

  “You’re growing up so fast, Miranda.”

  In a few weeks I would be going to middle school. Summer vacation was almost over. My life was going fast. One minute I was ten and the next minute I was twelve—just like that! It was right then and there that I had a brain surge. I had to do something important this year. I couldn’t let my twelfth year come and go as if nothing.

  My cousin, Kitty, had drawn and painted a beautiful picture of her mother when she had turned twelve. Kitty is an artist. I can’t draw, but there are other things I can do.

  I had decided that I, Miranda Lina Rubio, from El Paso, Texas would do something important.

  Neli walked in from the bathroom and bounced me out of my thoughts. She had a blue towel around her head.

  “I took a shower—not a bath so ha!” she snickered.

  I checked the clock and frowned. She had only been five minutes in the shower.

  “Did you use soap, Neli?” I questioned.

  She rolled her eyes several times and then turned to the refrigerator. I hated staring at her spine.

  “Did you use soap?” I asked again, gritting my teeth.

  Neli turned around and twisted her mouth at me. Then she turned back, opening the refrigerator.

  “Hello! HELLO! Do you hear me, sorda?!” I exclaimed.

  Neli slammed the refrigerator door shut. She marched up to me and stuck her arms to my nose. “Does that smell like
soap, huh?” she snarled. “Huh? Huh? HUH?”

  Her arm did smell like flowers, and it was a little wet. She didn’t seem to stink anymore. Also, her skin color looked lighter. Still, I didn’t trust her. I grabbed the towel off her head before she could take my hands away.

  “Hey!” Neli yelled.

  I was glad to see her hair was all wet.

  “See!” she retorted.

  I stuck my nose in her hair. “Eeek!” I almost choked. The smell was very bad, and my nose started hurting. I counted to ten before I spoke.

  “You didn’t use shampoo,” I snapped. “You just wet your hair.”

  “It’s vacation time,” she declared matter-of-factly. “No school. I don’t have to wash everywhere.”

  “You’re such a cabezona.”

  “I’m not thick headed!” she snapped. “You are, Little Miss Perfect!”

  “You are a cabezona.”

  “You are!” Neli snapped as she pointed at me.

  “You are!” I pointed to her too.

  I heard the front door open. Our hands dropped. Mama would be angry if she found out we were pointing at each other. She’d be angry if she heard us calling one another names.

  “Where are my beautiful girls?” my mama chirped from the living room.

  “Mami!” Nelly yelled, running to her.

  I rushed over to my mama too. Mama hugged us both.

  “My cuddles, you took a bath!” mama told Neli, pleased.

  “Yes, Mami. Only for you,” Neli smirked, staring at me.

  I shook my head.

  “That’s good, mija. I’m so proud of you. You smell so—” Mama started coughing as she took a deep breath of Neli’s hair. I should’ve warned her. I hoped her nose wasn’t stinging like mine.

  “Neli, you didn’t shampoo your hair,” chastised mama.

  “I did, Mami. I just used a little bit.”

  Mama shook her head. “What have I told you about lying?”

  “Mami, I know how expensive shampoo is and how hard you and papi work, so I decided not to waste any,” she explained.

  “Go back to the bathroom right now and shampoo, Neli Lisa Rubio.”

  “Yes, Mami.”

  I really hope that someday Neli will realize the importance of bathing.