Sia Martinez and the Moonlit Beginning of Everything

by Raquel Vasquez Gilliland

Genres: YA Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

“In a world where we are so often dividing ourselves into us and them, this book feels like a kind of magic, celebrating all beliefs, ethnicities, and unknowns.” —The New York Times Book Review

Aristotle & Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe meets Roswell by way of Laurie Halse Anderson in this astonishing, genre-bending novel about a Mexican American teen who discovers profound connections between immigration, folklore, and alien life.

It’s been three years since ICE raids and phone calls from Mexico and an ill-fated walk across the Sonoran. Three years since Sia Martinez’s mom disappeared. Sia wants to move on, but it’s hard in her tiny Arizona town where people refer to her mom’s deportation as “an unfortunate incident.”

Sia knows that her mom must be dead, but every new moon Sia drives into the desert and lights San Anthony and la Guadalupe candles to guide her mom home.

Then one night, under a million stars, Sia’s life and the world as we know it cracks wide open. Because a blue-lit spacecraft crashes in front of Sia’s car…and it’s carrying her mom, who’s very much alive.

As Sia races to save her mom from armed-quite-possibly-alien soldiers, she uncovers secrets as profound as they are dangerous in this stunning and inventive exploration of first love, family, immigration, and our vast, limitless universe.

Release date: August 11, 2020

Publisher: Simon Pulse

Print pages: 432

Sample

1

IT’S BEEN SIX HUNDRED AND nineteen days since I found out Mom died. And only one until I get my revenge.

It’s all thanks to Mrs. Tawn, my elderly English teacher.

“It would be such a blessing if we could all put this unfortunate incident behind us, for the school and the community.” She smiles, displaying white teeth stained with peach lipstick.

I close my eyes and nod, though I can only think about how clean the words sound, unfortunate incident, as if renaming a murder could make it something that can be tucked away and forgotten, much like my trig homework.

“After all,” she adds, raising her eyebrows, “forgiveness is an attribute of the strong.”

I roll my eyes so hard, I can basically see my brain. Only old white people came to me and Dad after Mom died, going on about forgiveness. Even Rose’s mom, with her rosaries and holy water, had the sense to never mention such an impossible act.

Mrs. Tawn takes way too long to stand and reach over her desk to place her translucent hand on mine. “Write a letter to Jeremy expressing humanity and grace.”

I have no idea what that even means, but Mrs. Tawn beams as if she’s revealing the universe’s secrets. “You’ll be the first to read in class. Does that sound alright, Sia?”

I snap my hand back. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

2

“WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU going to write?” Rose asks as we drink milkshakes at Maude’s after school.

“It’s gonna be my revenge, Rose. So, the truth. Which is exactly what he deserves.” I shrug. “Maybe then I can move past all this and become, like, I don’t know. Normal?”

“Oh, heck yes. Revenge. Normal.” She pauses. “But, like, write what, exactly?”

I twirl my straw. “How about, Hey, Jeremy, you’re a big jerk and your dad is a disgusting subhuman. Oh, and by the way, you’re also both racist assholes, and I wish I could stomp on your ugly, freckled faces until you choke.”

Rose’s eyes are wide and she touches a finger to her lips.

Shit. The whole restaurant is way too quiet. My cheeks burn. Damn it, Sia. This is why no one sees you as anything beyond the Angsty Girl Whose Mom Died.

Rose changes the subject quickly. Nail polish or something. I can hardly listen till we get out to the parking lot, where I kick the sand. It settles in a cloud all over my shoe. “This town is too small.”

“No one heard. Really.”

“Rose.” I sigh.

“Okay. Maybe they did hear some of it. But no one’s going to make a big deal about it.”

I just nod. God knows I want her to be right. She’s not, but man, that would be nice.

3

I PASS MR. ALBARN ON HIS way out of homeroom AS he mumbles something about not having enough copies. The second he’s out the door, Jeremy McAssHat sits on his desk and says, loud, “Hey, Eric, wanna hear my draft for Tawn’s letter?” He and Eric snicker. And everyone in class leans in.

“Dear Sia Martinez.” He makes an exaggerated effort to roll his r’s, but he still manages to sound, and look, like an especially ugly fish pulled out of the water. “I heard you were talking shit about me at Maude’s yesterday. Fact of the matter is, everyone in town is on my side. I got spies everywhere.” He lowers his paper and stares at me. Well, not at me. More like my hair. Coward. “My dad’s the sheriff. Your dad’s a park prancer.” He and Eric laugh like that was extra funny. “You got nowhere to go and nowhere to hide.” And that’s when he makes his fatal mistake. “Just like your mom.”

There’s an audible gasp in the classroom. Mostly people look horrified, but Jeremy and Eric take no notice as they laugh like apes.

I wish I could say this is the moment Mr. Albarn walks in and that’s why no one defends me. That they have no time to call Jeremy an ugly horse-face. But it’s three excruciating minutes before Albarn returns. No one says a word as Jeremy points at me and says, “Aw, I was joking, doll. Don’t gotta take everything so seriously.”

I don’t listen to a word of Mr. Albarn’s lecture. Instead, I write my letter to Jeremy. After I sign my name, my hands don’t shake anymore. I think that’s a good thing.

4

Dear Jeremy,

Monday morning, you, yet again, called my dad a “park prancer.” I don’t know why you talk like my dad’s job is an insult, because being a park ranger is awesome. Also, my dad has a PhD in biology from Stanford. He’s literally the smartest person I know.

He met my mother when they were twentysomething. Long story short, she broke his nose and he fell in love. They ended up together and we moved here so my dad could study the species that rely on the cacti forest.

Three years ago, your father, a deputy sheriff, turned my mom over to ICE, who sent her to Mexico, a place she hadn’t seen since she was six months old. She tried to come back to us a hundred times, but they didn’t let her. Finally, she decided to cross the Sonoran. That was the last thing we heard from her.

Last June, my dad told me my mother was dead. I’ve hated summer since.

Maybe my father’s a park prancer, if that’s what you insist on calling it.

But at least he’s not a murderer.

Sincerely,

Sia