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If Maya was happy, Julie could dance. Julie was spun until the hot, dusty room blurred like watercolors, until the music slipped into silver, blush, saffron, and teal, until her older sister’s energy flagged. Whenever Maya danced, her eyes went wild, her slender hips undulated, and her dark, downy skin shimmered with sweat as if layered with dew. Julie worried her sister would evaporate into the relentless August light.

During the summer of 1991, California experienced a drought so powerful that the state issued an advisory, and the manicured lawns of Mayfield, overwatered as a matter of course, even during the wet winters, turned brown, dotted with daisies and the phantom forms of dandelions on the verge of losing their seeds. That same summer, Maya sped around town in a rust-streaked yellow Yugo, blasting the radio. She’d come screeching to a halt at the sidewalk in front of the school where Julie stood waiting for her after class, and then slowly inch forward again, so that Julie had to take a running skip into the passenger seat to keep up.

Julie clutched the sides of the mushy seat cushion as the car leaped forward, zipped around the block, and headed for home. The neighborhood boys, trained over the years by Maya’s antics, started their street baseball games only after the sisters came home. The elderly women trimming juniper bushes, watering front lawns, or walking their dogs off-leash gave up, glaring indignantly at the Randeria sisters as they rocketed by. Singing and squinting like punk stars, they cruised down the street where they lived. You could tell it was those two coming. 

from the novel Sparks Off You