Waking Up in the Land of Glitter by Kathy Cano-Murillo Read Free Book Online Page B

for Star to call at seven p.m. It had been two days since her
     “incident” and Ofie could already see a change for the better in her friend. Star spent all of Monday applying at different
     businesses and in the meantime, she took a barista position at the Chi-Chi Coffee Cabana. Tonight they were to discuss forming
     a craft group to make the centerpieces for the CraftOlympics, and Ofie couldn’t have been more ecstatic. Being the experienced
     crafter she was, Ofie dreamed about attending the prestigious conference—and this year she’d actually be a professional contributor,
     thanks to Star and her drunken spray-painting crime spree! She could say that because the two were best friends. No one had
     ever been kinder to Ofie than Star.
    Their iron-grip bond was sealed one evening at La Pachanga when Star was thirteen and doing her algebra homework in the courtyard.
     Ofie, eighteen and pregnant, had just run off after a heated argument with her soon-to-be mother-in-law, Chata Fuentes. She
     ended up at the Estebans’ eatery, the only place that brought her joy at the time. Within minutes, Ofie found herself helping
     Star with her math and ultimately spilling her guts to the plucky eighth grader. Wise beyond her years, Star pulled out her
     cell and had Ofie dial Chata’s number and demand an apology. Chata was so in awe at Ofie’s cojones, she stammered and stuttered
     her way through the words “I’m sorry.” Star gave Ofie a high five and made her pinky swear never to let anyone make her feel
     inadequate again. Ever since, the two had been solid sisterfriends.
    The clock on the grease-stained microwave flipped to 7:00—no Star. Finally at 7:25, the phone rang. Ofie snatched the handset
     and couldn’t get her words out fast enough. “I-got-an-idea-for-the-centerpieces!”
    Star giggled. “I knew you would. Okay, girl, you’re on. Let’s hear it. But no tin flower arrangements made from soda pop cans
     like the ones you made for your cousin Marta’s wedding. My mom still has a scar on her index finger.”
    Ofie chuckled as if it were a cute memory, as opposed to one that sent twelve wedding guests to the emergency room. “I had
     no idea soda pop cans were so sharp after you cut them!”
    Star thought it was best to change the subject. “Let’s nail down some ideas and then post flyers for volunteers for production.
     I don’t think any real artists will go for this, so we have to get crafters for production. We can hang the posters on La
     Pachanga’s community bulletin board.”
    “Sounds like a plan! I have gobs of ideas. I thought we should do something that represents the magical desert land of Arizona.
     How about…
tumbleweeds
.”
    “Tumbleweeds?” Star repeated, baffled. “As in those dry things that float through ghost towns in old Western flicks? Um, I’ve
     lived here all my life and have never seen one.”
    “Neither have I. But can’t you envision them at the center of every table? Covered in chunky gold glitter?”
    Ofie began to ramble on at warp speed about cheap glitter and how to apply it to objects like tumbleweeds, dream catchers,
     and chili peppers—all stereotypical gawd-awful southwestern knickknacks. On the other end of the line, Star covered her face
     with her notebook. Wrangling Ofie in from her kitschy concoctions would be more challenging than actually making the centerpieces.
     Star couldn’t afford one more mistake at this point. These things had to be red-carpet worthy.
    “It’s all cute, sweetie,” Star said, “but this is a formal dinner for industry professionals and using that much glitter is
     so… I don’t know, tacky?” The term she wanted to use was “crafty,” but she didn’t want to offend her friend.
    “No, silly.” Ofie giggled. “Once the glue dries, it won’t be tacky, and we can spray on a sealer so no flakes will fly in
     the fondue.”
    Star paused, speechless.
    “Why are you against glitter, Star? It’s so pretty! The