Me, Frida, and the Secret of the Peacock Ring

by Angela Cervantes

  Paloma leaned against her mom and gazed over the museum’s courtyard, and the exotic plants and sculptures that filled it. Waiters collected wineglasses as the mariachis packed up their instruments. A few guests remained chatting in the courtyard, saying their good-byes. Ever since Tavo had left with his parents an hour ago, Paloma couldn’t stop yawning. Before leaving, his parents had invited Paloma and her mom over to their home for dinner. Paloma couldn’t wait to see Tavo again. She decided that her first day in Coyoacán wasn’t as horrible as she had thought it would be. Paloma had worn a purple flower in her hair, met a cute boy, learned about Frida Kahlo, and listened to mariachi music. Now she was exhausted.

  “Just think, Paloma, Frida Kahlo used to hold amazing parties with famous actors, musicians, and artists in this very spot,” said Paloma’s mom, putting her arm around her shoulders. “Isn’t that fascinating?”

  “If you say so,” Paloma said, yawning and rubbing her tired eyes. When she opened them back up, the mariachi girl and the boy in the black hat were suddenly standing in front of her.

  “Paloma, did you meet Gael and Lizzie Castillo?” Paloma’s mom asked.

  Lizzie smiled and stepped forward to plant a kiss on Paloma’s cheek. “Welcome to Mexico,” she said with a slight accent. Gael leaned forward and gave her a peck on the cheek, too. Paloma couldn’t help but jerk backward in surprise. In Kansas, boys didn’t kiss girls on the cheek when they met. Especially boys with adorable dimples.

  “Gael and Lizzie speak perfect English and are about your age. Twelve, right?”

  “Yes,” answered Gael. “Lizzie is my big sister by twenty minutes, so she thinks that makes her my boss.” Gael nudged Lizzie playfully, and she rolled her eyes.

  “Do you have any annoying little brothers or sisters?” Lizzie asked.

  “No, it’s just me. Me and my mom,” Paloma said, and her mom kissed the top of her head. “Mom,” Paloma complained. Lizzie and Gael smiled.

  “Sorry, little bird. Anyway, Lizzie and Gael are part of the university’s language program. They’ll be your tutors to help you with your Spanish. Isn’t that cool?”

  Paloma nodded. “Thanks. I’ll need all the help I can get.”

  “In return, you can help them with their English. Although their English is very good, they both want to improve their informal dialogue.”

  “Informal what? Stop talking like a professor, Mom,” Paloma said.

  “Casual conversation, chitchat, you know?” Paloma’s mom explained.

  “I have to practice my English because someday I’ll go to New York for my own art exhibit. You and I can have an intercambio. I don’t know that word in English,” Gael said.

  “That’s okay. I don’t know it, either, but I get what you mean.” Paloma laughed and turned to Lizzie.

  “That song you played … with the other trumpet player?” Paloma said. “It was so amazing. I really liked—” Paloma tried to suppress a yawn, but it came out as embarrassing yawn-talk. Paloma winced. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Lizzie said. “I’m super tired, too.”

  “Ready to go?” Paloma’s mom patted her head. Paloma nodded, and her mom glanced at her hair. “Your flower blew away.”

  Paloma reached for the top of her head. “Oh no! I loved that flower. I wanted to keep it to remember my first night here.” Then she saw it near a large potted plant. She and Gael rushed for it, but he reached it first and held it out to her.

  “Your memory is saved,” he said.

  “Thanks.” Paloma smiled and took it from him, but he handed her more than the flower. A small folded note pricked her fingers.

  “Hasta luego, Paloma,” he said, and walked away with Lizzie before she had a chance to ask him about it. She glanced at the folded note and slid it into her purse along with the purple flower.

  Paloma set a fast pace for the walk back to the rented house. Her mom kept complaining about her feet, but Paloma had to get back so she could read the note in private. What was it about?

  As soon as she got home, Paloma kicked off her shoes and headed to her room. She lay down on the bed and unfolded the note. On the front of the note was a sketch of an eye. That’s weird, she thought. The note read:

  Dear Paloma,

  A great injustice has happened at Casa Azul. Frida Kahlo and the people of Mexico need your help to solve a mystery and make things right! Can you help us? Tell no one you received this note. It’s a matter of life and death. We’ll be in contact.

  Was this some sort of joke? Paloma chewed on her thumbnail and considered her options. Should she tell her mom? Show her the note? But the note said, “Tell no one. It’s a matter of life and death.” Whose life? Whose death? Paloma read the note again, and stopped on the last line. “We’ll be in contact.”

  Who is “we”? Did Gael and Lizzie belong to some secret organization? And why did they think she could help them?

  At times like these, spunky teen detective Lulu Pennywhistle would cross her arms and say, “What mighty high jinks is this?” and rush off to solve the mystery of the day. But Paloma was no Lulu.

  “No puedo,” Paloma said. “No way.”

  She opened her memory box and tossed the wilting purple flower atop the note cards and photographs of her dad.

  Lulu Pennywhistle never turned down anyone in need of help. Especially “life-and-death” help. But Paloma knew that real life was more complicated. She thought of her dad, and reminded herself that helping people could be dangerous.

  “I’ll leave the mysteries to Lulu,” she said out loud, and threw the note into the wastebasket.

  In front of the Casa Azul museum, Paloma walked toward the Fortune-Teller.

  “Come sit down. Let’s chitchat,” the Fortune-Teller said, waving Paloma closer. Paloma sat across from her. Beautiful silver earrings shaped like birds and beaded necklaces with large stones were laid out on the blanket between them. Paloma wanted to touch each one because they were like no jewelry she’d ever seen. Every stone glowed. Every gem sparkled. Each piece of silver shined. When the woman raised her head, it wasn’t the Fortune-Teller. Instead, it was the woman from the paintings. It was Frida Kahlo.

  “It’s you,” Paloma whispered. “How?”

  “I wanted to talk un poco with you because you’re an interesting girl,” Frida said, picking up a jade ring from her blanket, inspecting it, and putting it back down. She wore a red blouse and long floral skirt, a headdress of yellow and orange flowers, and a chunky necklace of coral stones. A pair of small hand-shaped earrings dangled from her ears. Paloma knew she had seen those earrings somewhere before, but where?

  “Am I dreaming?” Paloma asked. Frida picked up a red oval stone, studied it, and put it back down.

  “Sí,” Frida said as her bright eyes locked with Paloma’s sleepy brown ones. She picked up a pair of dangling turquoise earrings to inspect.

  Paloma gazed downward to a smooth black hummingbird necklace. She couldn’t help but want to glide her hand over it. “You have so many pretty things. Are you looking for something to wear?” Paloma asked as Frida put down the turquoise earrings and then selected a long string of beads. “Can I help you find something?”

  “What is lost is lost,” Frida answered with a slight shrug and soft smile.

  Paloma shook her head. “What do you mean? What have you lost?”

  “It’s true I am missing something …” she said, securing a sky-blue shawl over her shoulders. “But you’re missing something, too, Paloma.” Frida gazed warmly at her. “I hope you’ll find it in my beautiful ciudad.”

  * * *

  “My beautiful ciudad. My beautiful city,” Paloma mumbled, waking up slowly.

  She peeked from under her purple eye mask to confirm she was not outside having a bizarre sidewalk chat with the deceased Mexican artist but inside her bright yellow room. She glanced at the clock, threw the comforter off her bed, got up, and snatched the note from the wastebasket.

  Frida was a dream. The note
was not.

  Her bedroom door creaked open and her mom poked her head inside the room. “Good, you’re up! We have guests. They brought us some—”

  “Guests? Is it Tavo?”

  “No, it’s Gael and Lizzie. They’re here to practice español with you. Which is muy cool.” Paloma’s mom beamed.

  Paloma narrowed her eyes.

  “How did they know where we live?” Paloma asked, pulling a purple hoodie over her pajamas. “Isn’t that strange to you?”

  “Not strange at all. After they told me they were part of Professor Breton’s language program, I gave them our address so they could come over and start the intercambio with you. I didn’t really expect them to come so soon, but I like their dedication. Maybe it will rub off on you.”

  Paloma frowned. Dedicated or not, she didn’t trust anyone who showed up at her house before nine in the morning, and she certainly didn’t trust anyone who passed her a note about a so-called “mystery.” What sort of mighty high jinks was this?

  “They brought us Mexican pastries. So hurry up and get out here. It’s rude to keep friends waiting.”

  Paloma clenched the note in her fist.

  “Friends? I just met them last night,” Paloma blurted.

  Her mom shut the door behind her and folded her arms across her chest.

  “You seemed fine with this last night. Why the sudden attitude? They’re nice kids who are going to help you with your Spanish,” her mom said.

  The note was burning a hole in Paloma’s hand. Would “nice kids” pass her a weird note about “life and death” and warn her to “tell no one”? She didn’t think so! Paloma lifted the note up but then thought against it. Showing her mom the mysterious note was totally against Lulu Pennywhistle code. Lulu never shared a case with an adult unless it was a total last resort. Paloma lowered her hand.

  “It’s just that I barely know them,” Paloma said.

  “You’re in Mexico. You don’t know anyone here. This is your chance to make friends and learn Spanish.” Her mom shrugged. “Think about it. You have a rare opportunity in front of you. You get to learn how Mexicans really speak, not just what they teach you in the classroom. It’ll be fun!”

  “Fun? That’s not fun,” Paloma whined. “That’s like those mini ‘fun-size’ candy bars. There is nothing fun about small candy. And I promise you, there’s nothing fun about learning a language.”

  Her mom raised her eyebrows. “Your dad spoke fluent Spanish and English. You’re his daughter. If he could do it, you can.”

  Paloma knew she was beat. She tightened her fist around the note. “Okay. I’ll practice Spanish with them.”

  “Good. Get dressed and get out here.” Her mom left, closing the door behind her.

  “Fun-size candy?” Paloma grumbled as she tossed the wadded note onto her vanity. “Really, Paloma? Is that all you could come up with?” She frowned at herself in the mirror and ran a comb through her straight brown hair. She pinned a few strands back from her face. “Lulu would have had a better comeback than that.”

  In the face of danger, Lulu Pennywhistle always searched for the positive. Paloma began to consider that Gael’s visit was a good thing. Now she could question him. He can’t just hand a girl a note about a “great injustice” and expect her to drop everything to help him, Paloma thought.

  She put the note inside her hoodie pocket along with a few note cards and joined them at the kitchen table.

  Gael was deep into a story. “So then my dad, being a great artist, told the New York people that there was no way he could—”

  Seeing Paloma, Gael stopped midsentence. He and Lizzie stood up and gave Paloma a kiss on the cheek. “Buenos días, Paloma!” Gael said. “Now you try it.”

  Paloma stood frozen. “Try what?” She looked at her mom for help. Her mom mouthed the words to her. “Oh! Buenos días,” Paloma said, and sat down. Gael and Lizzie clapped.

  “You’ll be a Spanish speaker in no time!” Gael said with a wink. Paloma eyed him suspiciously.

  “Well, I hope I get the chance to meet your father someday,” Paloma’s mom said. “I really have a deep respect for all artists.”

  “He’ll be back in a few weeks,” Gael said. “It’s only a short trip.”

  Paloma caught Lizzie shooting a strange look at Gael. Paloma wasn’t sure how to interpret it. She watched Gael closely, but he seemed oblivious to her gaze. In between bites of pastry and sips of juice, he continued his story about his dad’s travel to New York. His English had a slight touch of an accent that most girls would find super cute, but Paloma had read enough mystery books to know not to be fooled by dimples and an adorable accent.

  “How did you learn to speak English so well?” Paloma asked.

  “You think my English is good? Thanks for that. Seriously, that makes my day,” Gael gushed.

  Paloma gave him a puzzled look, but he didn’t answer her question.

  Lizzie cleared her throat. “Our mom was an English teacher,” she explained, shaking her head at her brother. “We speak it at home.”

  “And we listen to a lot of music and watch all the Hollywood movies,” Gael added.

  Gael started singing a song in English that Paloma had heard a few times on the radio. Her mom quickly joined him in singing the chorus. Paloma sunk down in her chair in embarrassment. As Gael sang across the table from her, she made mental notes about him. Under his black knit hat, he had dark, chin-length hair and light brown eyes. He wore jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and the same two silver medallions he’d worn at the party the night before. They must be special if he wore them every day.

  Once Gael was done singing, he talked nonstop about his dad’s work. He paused every once in a while when he struggled with an English word. At that point, Lizzie would jump in with the correct translation. Other than that, she was mostly quiet.

  Paloma turned her attention to Lizzie, who was dressed in a red plaid shirt over black leggings, and black flats. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a neat bun, and she wore a small gold crucifix around her neck. Paloma decided that Lizzie was probably the more sensible of the two Castillos. It certainly wasn’t Gael. No sensible person would ask a total stranger for help by slipping them a secret note.

  Finally, Paloma could no longer stand the breakfast table chitchat. It was time to get answers.

  “I’m ready to practice some serious español now!” Paloma said, interrupting Gael.

  “You are?” her mom asked.

  “Yep! Let’s get to it.” Paloma stood up and slid her chair back. “I’ve only got four weeks to learn this language.” Paloma marched outside to the patio. Gael and Lizzie excused themselves and followed after her.

  Outside, Gael pulled note cards from his back pocket. They were the same type of note cards that Paloma used to write down her memories.

  “What are those for?” she asked him. “I have note cards just like that.”

  “We can use them to write down new vocabulary,” Gael answered. “What do you use your note cards for?”

  Paloma fingered the note cards in her hoodie pocket that she always kept nearby in case her mom shared a memory, but she wasn’t going to tell him about them. It was none of his business. She looked back toward the breakfast table inside, ignoring his question. Her mom was tidying up and out of earshot.

  “Okay, drop the charade,” Paloma threatened in her best Lulu Pennywhistle impression. “I know you’re not here to practice Spanish with me. I read the note.”

  “Yes, the note …” Gael trailed off.

  “Did you know that your brother passed me a cray-cray note about a life-and-death mystery?” Paloma asked Lizzie, extending the wrinkled note to her.

  Lizzie stepped back with a look of confusion. “Cray cray?” she asked, taking the note from Paloma. “Is that even English?”

  Gael pulled out a pen.

  “Is that a ‘c’ or ‘k’?” he asked as he started to write the term on one of his note cards.

  “Doesn’
t matter,” Paloma said, and rolled her eyes. “Anyway, it means ‘crazy.’ It was a crazy note about a great injustice at Casa Azul.” Lizzie read the note and then handed it to Gael, who had an amused look on his face. “And here’s another way to use it. Last night, I had a cray-cray dream about Frida Kahlo because of that note.” She turned back to Lizzie. “So did you know, or didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I told him it was, as you say, cray cray to involve you because you’re not from here, but he insisted that you be the one to help us,” Lizzie said. “Personalmente, I don’t think you have the valor to help us.”

  “What? What is that? Valor?”

  “Courage,” Gael said. “Here’s a note card if you want to write it down.” He held out his pen and a blank note card. Paloma frowned, waved it away, and pulled out her own note card from her pocket and jotted it down.

  “I’m brave,” she said. “I have valor. I came to Mexico, didn’t I?”

  Gael nodded. “Yes, that’s super brave.” Paloma couldn’t tell if Gael was making fun of her. Lizzie rolled her eyes.

  “I told you, we shouldn’t have involved her,” Lizzie said. “She’s not from here. She is used to the simple life on a Kansas farm, not helping to solve a major mystery.”

  “Hey!” Paloma protested. “I don’t live on a farm. I live in an apartment near a huge mall with a big food court that has pizza, sushi, and a Panda Express restaurant.”

  “Superman was raised on a farm in Kansas, Lizzie,” Gael said in a soothing voice. “He is the most brave. She can help us.” Gael gave his sister a pleading look.

  Paloma grabbed her head in frustration. “For the last time, I don’t live on a farm. And guess what. I’ll be the one deciding whether I want to be involved.” Paloma crossed her arms. “Now, what is this whole so-called injustice about?”

  Gael pulled out a chair from the patio table for Paloma. “I will explain everything, but you should sit.”

  “The mystery begins in 1954,” Gael started. “The year Frida Kahlo died.”

  Paloma sat next to him at the patio table with the soft lime-green cushions and tablecloth. Lizzie, looking very annoyed, sat across from her. “But for us, the mystery began two weeks ago when our dad left for New York City.”