Excerpt from The Making of Yolanda la Bruja by Lorraine Avila, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

1
THE CARDS DON'T LIE

I am panting, sweat accumulating at my edges, hands eagerly searching for the water bottle inside my Telfar bag. Thank God, I put on that edge control that keeps my baby hairs laid no matter what. I pat the small crown of cornrows on the front of my hair as I gulp down some water. Victory did them just yesterday after school, so they're still a bit tight. the bright lights turn on as we step into the small school bathroom.

"Come on girl, just read 'em for me," Victory says. She looks at the old deck of tarot cards Mamá Teté handed down to me two months ago in preparation for my sixteenth birthday. "Is this white boy sus or nah?"

Although we can't be in the bathrooms during lunch, we've snuck to the third floor of our school building again. the cream, glossy paint has long been chipping off of the bathroom walls, revealing the old brown color the walls used to be. there are messages written on the walls in Sharpie.

Taking another big gulp of water, it hits me that I've been giving myself a reading every morning, but this might be the first time I've brought them to school. I play with the water in my mouth before swallowing. I can't think of another time I've brought the cards outside.

But this morning was kind of a hot mess. Papi called early, which they never let him do in prison. Before he asked to speak to Mamá Teté, he sang me happy birthday, and then said he had good news: his lawyer told him he's on a list of early releases due to good behavior and overcrowding. It was the only birthday gift I needed, and I spoke with Papi way longer than I should've. I had no choice but to plan for my daily reading at school.

"Girl bye!" I say playfully, turning my back to Victory's request. "How I'm supposed to be reading you when it's my birthday?" I hang my medium, dark- olive bag on a hook. I touch it with pride. then, I place my black and red North Face puffer jacket down on the cold bathroom floor. Victory sits on her knees in front of me. I grin wide sitting with my legs crossed.

"OK, you love your Telfeezy, we get it," Victory smiles. I nod. Mami gifted me the lightly used bag two days ago, saying she purchased it from a house less person who comes into the supermarket selling things sometimes. "So," she says. Victory knows better than anyone that I don't bother the Bruja Diosas for nonsense — especially not about no boy.

"Why don't you just watch how I do my own reading? then, you can read for yourself," I say, noticing her eyes are hopeful. "WITH YOUR OWN CARDS, that you can easily purchase, and ask what ever unnecessary questions you wanna ask."

I twirl on my bottom and face her. In this friendship, Victory is always in the teacher position — helping me through my struggles with chemistry and algebra — and reading tarot cards or la taza to her is kind of my thing. Pero not today, especially, because I'm not about to potentially ruin it just for that new kid. I dig into the secret pocket at the bottom of my jacket and retrieve the red satin scarf holding my deck, small lighter, and a stick of palo santo. Lighting the palo santo, I pray the smoke detector doesn't go off. the sweet aroma of burning wood envelops us, and I close my eyes.

"May all past energies be removed from these cards, for the clearest reading today," I whisper, starting my reading. I run my hands over the cards. Many of the cards are folded, bent at the center, and worn at the edges, while some have even been taped back together. But I hold them to my chest as if they are a gift the Gods have left for humanity. Mamá Teté does not like that I praise them like this. the cards are simply a tool, she says, and they should not be idolized, especially because they were given to us by a dead white man. "I'm sure he was as good as they'll ever be, but he was still a colonizer and a businessman. Selling the cards as the only tool people could use to divinate and erasing the fact that many of us had been doing it very well without any tools at all," she likes to remind me.

Excerpted from The Making of Yolanda la Bruja by Avila Avila. Copyright © 2023 by Avila Avila. Excerpted by permission of Levine Querido. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.