Brandon drags a plate piled high with Flamin’ Hot Cheetos across the picnic table in Abuela’s backyard. “We’re gonna see who can fit more Cheetos in their mouth.”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m no judge—I’m the champion,” I tell them, grabbing a handful of Cheetos and shoving them into my mouth.
Talib and Brandon look at each other and grab Cheetos, stuffing them into their mouths.
“Gentlemen, I’m fairly certain that’s an easy way to choke,” my mom says, clearing her throat behind us.
“But we’ll die winners,” I mumble through Cheetos, spewing crumbs across the table.
“You’ll die idiots,” Maria Carmen says, sitting down next to Brandon, a hamburger and chips on her plate.
Brandon’s dad is manning the grill on Abuela’s porch as Ms. Cordova and Talib’s mom lay out salads on the table. We’re having a barbecue to celebrate the trivia team’s latest win. Our triumph over San Jermin Middle School has kept our undefeated streak intact.
After we left the tule vieja at the quarry, the animals in town stopped disappearing. Dogs, cats, goats, horses, and even a stray hamster managed to find their way back to their owners. Talib’s dog, George, herded Maria Carmen’s lost goats right up to Talib’s backyard and tried to let them all in the house through the doggie door. And since Abuela doesn’t need to tromp through the woods anymore, people eventually forgot that they were mad at her and moved on to the next thing, like the fact that New Haven High School won its first basketball game in five years.
“You know what we should’ve done to Coach Rodriguez after our win?” Talib asks, stealing a potato chip off Maria Carmen’s plate.
She smacks his hand. “What?”
“Dumped a cooler of Gatorade over his head.”
Brandon laughs, almost choking on a Cheeto.
Mom slaps his back. “I told you,” she says, raising an eyebrow. She goes back inside the house to help Abuela with dessert.
Brandon’s dad sets a plate of hamburgers down between us. “Chow time, boys. And lady,” he adds, winking at Maria Carmen. “You need your strength for your next competition.”
He pauses and puts his hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “And for anything else that might come up, right?”
Talib and I nod. Brandon’s dad never flat-out talked about what happened in the woods with the tule vieja. But the next week at school, Brandon slid a pin across the cafeteria table. It was the globe and anchor that all Marines wear on their dress uniforms.
“My dad wanted you to have this,” he said.
I examined the pin, its gold surface shining under the cafeteria lights. I took it and put it on my backpack, right under the LOPEZ name tape Dad always has sewn to his uniform. The Army and Marine Corps, together. I chuckled at what Dad would think.
Maria Carmen and Talib get up with their plates and head over to the picnic table Abuela has piled high with food. Brandon and I sit, watching Cuervito hop closer and closer to the plate Talib’s mom is ignoring.
“You know, what you can do is pretty cool,” Brandon says so softly I barely hear him.
“Thanks,” I mutter, pushing a chip around on my plate with a half-eaten hamburger. I look over at Brandon’s dad, flipping more burgers on the grill. “I’m glad your dad’s okay.”
Brandon swallows a large bite of burger and nods. He whispers, “Yours too.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.
Maria Carmen and Talib return, arguing about whose mom makes better mac and cheese.
I shake my head and get up to fill my plate with Abuela’s empanadas.
“Hey there, champion,” Mom says, picking the sesame seeds off her hamburger bun as she sits on the steps of the patio.
I sit down next to her as she brushes discarded seeds off her lap.
“I noticed something in your room today,” she says.
My mind races through what could possibly be in there. Did Val make himself at home again? Did she find the Texas history quiz I failed?
“Um, you did?” I ask, pulling on the hem of my shirt.
“You unpacked everything!” she says, nudging me.
I smile, stealing a chip off her plate. “Yeah. It’s not so bad here at Abuela’s.”
“Not so bad?” Mom says, pointing to the picnic table where Maria Carmen and Talib are trying to see who can throw sliced pickles into Brandon’s mouth. “I’d say it’s pretty good.”
I laugh. “Yeah. It is pretty good. I’ll admit it.”
Mom sighs and sets her plate down next to her. She grabs my hand and squeezes. “It would be better with your dad here, wouldn’t it?”
I put my head on her shoulder. “Everything would be better with Dad here.”
We watch Cuervito peck at the hamburger Talib’s mom abandoned as Abuela brings out Ms. Cordova’s churros, setting them on the picnic table where my friends sit. Laughter floats through the air and fills our lungs.
I trace the lines on Mom’s hand with my thumb, a map of all the places we’ve been. All the new schools, new houses, new people. Her hand has always been there, holding mine.
“Thanks, Mom,” I tell her.
She looks at me. “Thanks for what?”
“For everything.” I shrug. “For making sure my friends don’t choke on chips. For letting Abuela make me pastelitos for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. For making us come to New Haven.”
“Oh, lordy, I wish I could’ve recorded that! Your father will never believe me otherwise.”
I shake my head. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
Mom laughs. “I’m having it printed in your yearbook senior year. Guaranteed!”
Mom pushes me up off the steps, and I head back over to the picnic table. I sit back down next to Talib.
“Brandon says you can smack him,” Talib says through a mouthful of churros.
“And why would I do that?”
“He spilled ketchup on your sketchbook.”
Brandon slides my sketchbook across the table. “Sorry, man. It squirted out like a horse fart.”
I flip through the pages and stop at a drawing I made of a wolverine. A large red streak is smeared across the page.
Maria Carmen leans across the table and looks at the drawing. “That actually looks more accurate.”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure Brandon improved it.”
I flip through my sketchbook, looking at the drawings I’ve done. Cuervito pecking at Abuela’s tomatoes. Val as he hid in my room. Chela eating breakfast in the woods. I even have a sketch of Talib’s smile as he sits in science class. And Maria Carmen holding our trivia cards.
“What’s that page?” Brandon asks as I flip to my Days in New Haven chart.
“Oh, I keep track of how many days I’ve spent in all the places I’ve lived. Usually, I eventually have to start a new page for somewhere else.”
Maria Carmen scans the page. “There are only twenty-two marks on that page. You’ve been here longer than that.”
I run my fingers across the page. “Yeah, I guess I’ve forgotten to make the marks each day. That was bound to happen with a crazy tule vieja terrorizing the town.”
Talib raises an eyebrow. “I figured it was because you were just enjoying our company so much.”
I smile and look at the faces around me at the table, hearing Abuela’s laughter mix with Mom’s.
Talib’s right.
I close the notebook, running my hand over the well-worn cover. Maybe I’ll leave those pages blank, letting the days happen without counting down. Packing and unpacking boxes. Letting Dad come and go and come back again.
Most likely, I’ll fill the pages, not with tick marks but with drawings of Talib as he tries to balance a pencil on his nose. Of Maria Carmen sticking her tongue out at her axolotl as he begs for more food. Of Brandon smearing his dad’s camouflage paint across his face and hiding behind a mesquite bush. Of Abuela running her hand across new fabric at her sewing machine. Of Mom’s
knuckles as she pulls at the bottom of her scrubs.
I’ll fill my notebook with drawings of home.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The legend of the tule vieja originates from Panama and Costa Rica, two countries I lived in when I was younger. The bruja that terrorizes New Haven is a bit different from the traditional tule vieja. While the tule vieja that Nestor encounters can turn into various animals by biting them, the Panamanian and Costa Rican tule vieja takes on a permanent half-woman, half-bird form. Short batwings sprout from her back, and sharp hawk talons take the place of her feet. Wandering through towns at night, she searches for her lost children, drawn by the cries of newly born babies and the howls of dogs. Much like the Latin American tale of La Llorona, a woman who drowned her children and now searches for them along the riverbank, the tule vieja snatches small children from their homes, believing they are her own. As with most boogeyman tales, parents use the legend of the tule vieja to frighten their children away from wandering alone.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I show love and appreciation through baking, so I owe a large plate of guava pastelitos to several people who helped bring this book into the world.
To my agent, Stefanie Sanchez Von Borstel, for seeing the potential in my story and pushing me to make it the best I could. I’m grateful for your enthusiasm, hard work, and, most of all, your friendship. I’m so excited to be a part of the Full Circle Literary family.
To my editor, Trisha de Guzman, for your patience and encouragement of me as a debut author. I’m grateful that you saw the heart of my story. You are incredible, and I’m thankful to work with you. To the entire team at Farrar Straus Giroux BYR/Macmillan, for your tireless work on my behalf and your boundless enthusiasm.
Several groups that support me daily need to hold a large potluck so we can celebrate. I’ll bring the tostones and croquetas. To SCBWI Austin, I’m eternally in debt for the conference that introduced me to my wonderful agent. Thank you for your constant support of authors. To my Pitch Wars class of 2017, thank you for showing me how truly amazing the writing community is. To Las Musas and my Kidlit Latinx hermanas, thank you for proving that our stories matter and that our kids can be heroes.
To my phenomenal critique partner, Sarah Kapit, who read the earliest version of this story and encouraged me to keep writing when I was still nervous about claiming the title “author.” To my Pitch Wars mentor, Jessica Bayliss, for pushing me to dig deeper and walking me through the revision process.
To Kimberly Zook, who read the opening chapters of this book and gave me the seal of approval as a military mom and wife. Military moms and dads have my highest admiration and gratitude for your ability to provide stability and love in ever-changing environments. This book is for you.
To my family: Mom, Dad, Heather, and Rob. Thank you for the love of stories you instilled in me. Thank you for tolerating my overactive and odd imagination growing up. Thank you for filling me with love, support, and happiness. Y para mis antepasados: Cumba y Abuela, Papa and Grandma Ethel, Grandma Grace, Tías Cuca y Gladys, y Tío Pineda: May your memory live on through my stories.
To my husband, Joe, who let me ask him a million questions, who celebrated my achievements, who came home. Love you.
And finally to my son, Soren. You are my inspiration. You are my joy. All my stories are for you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Adrianna Cuevas is a first-generation Cuban American originally from Miami, Florida. After teaching Spanish and ESOL for sixteen years, she decided to pursue her passion for storytelling. Adrianna currently resides outside of Austin, Texas, with her husband and son, where they enjoy hiking, traveling, and cooking lots of Cuban food. When she’s not writing her next middle grade novel, Adrianna can be found working with TOEFL students, wrangling multiple pets including an axolotl, and practicing fencing with her son. You can sign up for email updates here.
Thank you for buying this
Farrar, Straus and Giroux ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content,
and info on new releases and other great reads,
sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 by Adrianna Cuevas
Farrar Straus Giroux Books for Young Readers
An imprint of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC
120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271
mackids.com
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019948764
Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945 ext. 5442 or by email at [email protected].
First hardcover edition, 2020
eBook edition, March 2020
eISBN 9780374313623
The Total Eclipse of Nestor Lopez Page 15
