Coco Middle Grade Novel

by Diana Lopez

  “Haaaaaai-yaaaaaaaaaaai-yaaaaaaaaai!” Never before has he belted out such a loud, full-throated, resonant grito!

  Members in the audience return the cry, while others applaud. The noise shocks Miguel out of his paralysis, and suddenly he remembers where he is and what he’s supposed to do—win this contest so he can meet his great-great-grandfather and get his blessing. Remembering Héctor’s advice, he thinks about someone he loves—Mamá Coco—and he strums the opening notes, then begins to sing “Poco Loco.” He imagines the lyrics as he says them, describing how love can make the world topsy-turvy, how it can make people just a little bit crazy.

  The audience perks up. People sway to the beat, tap their feet, and snap. They’re smiling! No wonder Ernesto de la Cruz loves to perform in front of live audiences. It brings so much joy!

  During the musical interlude, Dante drags Héctor to the stage, and Miguel finds himself with a partner beneath the spotlight. His friend warms up and then busts out some percussive footwork to accompany the guitar.

  “Not bad for a dead guy!” Miguel tells him.

  “You’re not so bad yourself, gordito! ¡Eso!”

  Héctor gets creative with his dancing. He takes off his head and shakes it like a maraca. He twirls his bony limbs and uses two ribs as drumsticks. The audience hoots with glee!

  Miguel glances at him, and Héctor winks back. Music is best when shared, and here they are sharing it with a live audience and with each other. Finally, Miguel can play openly and with someone who understands that music isn’t just about notes and chords—it’s about heart!

  Héctor sings one line; Miguel sings another. Then they croon in unison. Miguel can feel their voices fit together, like pieces in a puzzle.

  The audience claps, keeping time with the song, and Dante lets out a harmonious howl.

  Meanwhile, near the entrance, a ripple of glowing footprints leads Pepita and the Riveras to the plaza. That’s where they lose track again. Too many people are masking the trail.

  “He’s close,” Mamá Imelda says. “Find him.” She and Papá Julio scan the edge of the audience, while the rest of the Riveras squirm their way into the crowd. Tíos Oscar and Felipe flank groups of people and say, “We’re looking for a living kid…about twelve?” Tía Victoria tugs at shirts—“He’s about this tall and wearing a hoodie?” Tía Rosita taps shoulders—“Have you seen a living boy?”

  They aren’t having any luck. Everyone just shrugs or shakes their heads.

  “C’mon,” Mamá Imelda says to Papá Julio. “Let’s find someone in charge.”

  Back onstage, Miguel and Héctor sing the final words. They hold the last syllable of the song, raising the volume for a grand finale. Then they wrap it up with one more heartfelt grito and the audience erupts into applause.

  Miguel smiles, soaking in the moment. He did it. He got over his stage fright and performed. For a few minutes, he completely forgets about his problems. The only thing that matters is the music and making others happy. Finally, he feels like a true musician. And it feels like something he was born to do!

  Héctor slaps him on the back affectionately. “You did good! I’m proud of you!”

  Miguel swells at his accomplishment, and he takes a bow, the audience going wild. But then he spots Tío Oscar and Tío Felipe talking to strangers. He looks a few feet over, and there’s Tía Rosita talking to someone else. He glances stage right and sees that Papá Julio’s with the emcee!

  “Otra! Otra! Otra!” the audience calls.

  Miguel doesn’t have time for an encore. In a panic, he pulls Héctor off stage left, away from Papá Julio. He quickly finds a hiding spot behind some electrical equipment.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Héctor asks as he tries to pull back.

  “We gotta get outta here.”

  “What, are you crazy? We’re about to win this thing!”

  There’s an ear-piercing screech from the microphone. Then the emcee comes on. “Damas y caballeros, I have an emergency announcement. Please be on the lookout for a living boy, answers to the name of Miguel. Earlier tonight, he ran away from his family. They just want to send him back to the Land of the Living.” A rumble of concern rolls through the audience. The emcee continues, “If anyone has information, please contact the authorities.”

  Héctor’s eyes go wide. Miguel can tell he’s figured out the situation. “Wait, wait, wait!” Héctor says. “You said de la Cruz was your only family. The only person who could send you home.”

  “I do have other family, but—”

  “You could have taken my photo back this whole time!”

  “But they hate music,” Miguel tries to explain. “I need a musician’s blessing!”

  “You lied to me!”

  Miguel gets defensive. “Oh, you’re the one to talk!”

  “Look at me,” Héctor says, holding out his arms. “I’m being forgotten, Miguel. I don’t even know if I’m gonna last the night!” He gets a determined look on his face. “I’m not gonna miss my one chance to cross that bridge ’cause you want to live out some stupid musical fantasy!”

  “It’s not stupid!” Miguel says. When he discovered Héctor’s talent, he thought his new friend would understand. How can a man who knows how to sing, dance, and cure stage fright think that music is stupid?

  Héctor grabs Miguel’s arm and pulls him toward the stage. “I’m taking you to your family.”

  “Let go of me!”

  “You’ll thank me later.”

  Miguel yanks his arm free. “You don’t wanna help me. You only care about yourself! Keep your dumb photo!”

  He pulls the photo from his pocket, glancing one more time at the happy face of a living Héctor. He’s just like my family, Miguel realizes. He thinks he knows what’s best for me, without asking what I want. Feeling betrayed, he throws away the picture. A breeze catches and carries it to the crowd.

  Héctor tries to grab it but misses. “No, no, no!”

  “Stay away from me!” Miguel says.

  “No, ay.” Héctor scrambles for the photo, and Miguel takes the opportunity to run off. He doesn’t look back, not even when he hears Héctor calling, “Hey, chamaco! Where did you go? Chamaco! I’m sorry! Come back!”

  Miguel runs away as fast as he can. He sees de la Cruz’s tower in the distance and heads for it. Dante’s at his heels, whimpering. Then he starts barking, which is the last thing Miguel needs, especially with his family nearby.

  “Dante, cállate!” he says.

  But Dante is insistent. He tugs at Miguel’s pants and tries to pull him back to the plaza. He wants me to go back, Miguel realizes. He knows I want to leave, but instead of letting me go, he’s pulling me in another direction—just like Héctor. Just like my family! He yanks his leg, but Dante’s jaw is as strong as his family’s rule against music. For a moment, Miguel and Dante are caught in a tug-of-war.

  “No, Dante! Stop it! He can’t help me!”

  Miguel finally breaks free, but that doesn’t stop Dante. The dog grabs Miguel’s hoodie, and when Miguel tries to shake him off, the hoodie starts to slip off, revealing the arms of a living boy. Dante is even more insistent now. He will not stop barking.

  “Dante, no, stop! Stop it! Leave me alone! You’re supposed to be helping me! You’re not a spirit guide. You’re just a dumb dog. Now get out of here!”

  Miguel forcefully yanks his hoodie away, and Dante shrinks back, rebuffed. But Miguel hasn’t escaped—not yet. The noise catches the crowd’s attention, and a dozen startled skeletons are shocked by Miguel’s fleshy arms. He scrambles to cover himself, but it’s too late. Everyone’s pointing and calling even more attention to him.

  “It’s him!”

  “It’s that living boy!”

  “I’ve heard about him. Look!”

  “He’s alive! The boy’s alive!”

  Miguel runs again. When he comes across a bench, he leaps over it. When he finds himself on a platform, he jumps down. He can see de la Cruz’s tower in t
he distance and heads in that direction. He doesn’t need Héctor. He can get there on his own. But he needs to hurry before it’s too late. He’s already wasted too much time. He starts pumping his arms, palms flat because it’s faster, but he only goes a few paces when an alebrije blocks his path, and it isn’t something he can crawl under or jump over, because it’s a giant jaguar! It has huge birdlike wings and talons instead of back claws. Miguel skids to a stop, nearly colliding with it.

  “Aahh!” he cries, and when he sees the jaguar’s fangs, he quakes with fear. But then he spots an even more terrifying sight—peeking over the jaguar’s head is Mamá Imelda, and she’s riding the creature like a cowboy on a horse!

  “This nonsense ends now, Miguel! I am giving you my blessing and you are going home!”

  “I don’t want your blessing!”

  He tries to bolt, but the giant alebrije grabs him with its talons and takes to the air. Miguel’s legs still move, as if running, but they merely stir the air, because the ground is quickly falling away.

  “Ahh…ahh…ahh! Let go of me! Put me down!”

  All he hears is the steady beat of the alebrije’s flapping wings. Miguel twists his body, but the talons are clamped tight. He punches at the creature’s legs, but it doesn’t flinch. Then he spots a line of papel picado, grabs it, and manages to wriggle free. Soon he’s falling to the ground, and when he lands, he rolls a bit but quickly scrambles upright. Luckily, there’s a narrow alley nearby. He bounds for it and hurries up a staircase.

  “Miguel! Stop!” Mamá Imelda shouts. “Come back! Miguel!”

  He glances back. The alley is too narrow for the jaguar, so Mamá Imelda’s chasing him herself, holding up the hem of her skirt as she leaps up the stairs. At the top is an iron gate. Miguel slips his guitar between the bars and then squeezes through.

  “I’m trying to save your life!” she says.

  “You’re ruining my life!”

  “What?!”

  She reaches the gate, but the bars are too close together. All she can do is put an arm through. Miguel backs away from her grasp.

  “Music’s the only thing that makes me happy. And you, you wanna take that away!” He takes a few steps up the stairs, distancing himself as much as possible. “You’ll never understand.”

  He’s about to sprint away when, to his amazement, Mamá Imelda sings in a beautiful, rich alto. The melancholy lyrics talk about a love that can never be lost.

  Miguel stops and turns back, confused but also curious. “I thought you hated music.”

  “Oh, I love it,” Mamá Imelda says. “I remember that feeling, when my husband would play, and I would sing, and nothing else mattered.” She chuckles a bit, but then she frowns. “But when we had Coco, suddenly there was something in my life that mattered more than music. I wanted to put down roots. He…he wanted to play for the world.” She pauses, lost in memory. “We each made a sacrifice to get what we wanted.” She looks at Miguel. “Now you must make a choice.”

  “But I don’t wanna pick sides! Why can’t you be on my side?” Miguel gives her a moment to let this sink in, and then, his voice small, he continues, “That’s what family’s supposed to do. Support you. But you never will.”

  Miguel wipes the corner of his eye with the side of his palm, frustrated. When he glances at Mamá Imelda, she seems shocked at how hurt he feels, proof that she can’t understand him. He doesn’t waste any more time. He turns and continues his way up the stairs. De la Cruz’s tower is not too far. At least one member of his family will understand what he’s going through.

  After Miguel disappears, Mamá Imelda reunites with Pepita, and they make their way back to the plaza. The contest is over. The audience has gone. The grass and marigolds are trampled flat, and the ground is littered with burnt-out sparklers, candy wrappers, straws, and Popsicle sticks. The BATTLE OF THE BANDS banner has come loose at one corner, hanging like the limp flag of a defeated country. The stage crew has removed the sound equipment, leaving behind a tangle of wires waiting to trip the next passerby.

  “Look what music does,” Mamá Imelda tells Pepita. “It turns a beautiful plaza into a pigsty.”

  Pepita roars in agreement.

  “Mamá Imelda!” Papá Julio calls. He and the rest of the family are at the lost-and-found booth, waving her over.

  When she reaches them, they pester her with questions.

  “Where’s Miguel?”

  “Did you find him?”

  “Did you send him home?”

  “I found him,” Mamá Imelda says, “but then I lost him again. He ran into a narrow alley and then…and then…Oh, never mind.” She goes to a nearby bench and slumps onto it, full of despair.

  The aunts rush to her side. “Tell us what happened,” Tía Rosita says. “Is he hurt? Did he…did he turn into a skeleton?”

  “Yes…no…I mean…” Mamá Imelda sighs deeply, unable to go on.

  The whole family gathers around, and Tío Oscar puts a hand on her shoulder. “¿Qué pasó, hermana?”

  “There was a moment,” she explains, “I thought I could reach him. I…I sang.”

  The family gasps. They can’t believe this.

  “I wanted him to know that I once loved music, that I know its allure but that it’s dangerous.” She shakes her head. “But he won’t listen. He’s the most stubborn boy I’ve ever met. I don’t know where he gets it from.”

  The Riveras glance at one another, all of them thinking that he’s as stubborn as Mamá Imelda.

  “At first I was mad because my picture wasn’t on the ofrenda,” she continues, “but now I don’t care about that. I just want to send him home before it’s too late! I don’t know where he is or where to start looking. He could be anywhere!”

  She sobs quietly and the family tries to console her. There are so many skyscrapers in the Land of the Dead, and each is exceedingly high. There’s no way they can search all of them before sunrise.

  They are at their lowest moment, about to give up hope, when they hear a dog barking. “Roo, roo, roooo!”

  “Look!” Tía Victoria says, pointing. “It’s that Xolo dog! Miguel’s Xolo dog!”

  Dante barges into the midst of their huddle, panting from running so hard. But he doesn’t stay long. He trots a few steps away, then glances back. “Roo, roo!” he barks, urging them to follow.

  “Do you know where he is?” Mamá Imelda asks as she rises from the bench.

  Dante throws back his head and howls. It’s the longest, loudest howl he’s ever uttered, his own doggie version of a grito.

  After a long trek through strange streets, up escalators and stairways, on trolleys and sky cabs, Miguel finally reaches the foot of the hill with de la Cruz’s tower, and he glances up to admire the glitz and glam. Vehicles from all eras pull into the circular drive—horse-drawn carriages with golden wheel spokes and velvet cushions, polished Model Ts, sporty convertibles, limousines, and party buses blaring dance tunes. Friendly hosts escort guests in tuxedos and formal evening gowns to a cliff rail that ascends the hill.

  Miguel spies as a couple shows the security guard their fancy invitation. “Have a good time,” the guard says.

  “Oh, how exciting!” the woman exclaims.

  Miguel wriggles between the next pair of guests, cutting to the front of the line. “Con permiso. De la Cruz coming through.”

  He had hoped to get by unnoticed, but the guard sees him. “Invitation?”

  “It’s okay,” Miguel says. “I’m Ernesto de la Cruz’s great-great-grandson.” He points at his guitar and strikes de la Cruz’s signature pose, but the guard is not convinced.

  Next thing he knows, Miguel’s being tossed out of the line. Seriously? he thinks. Can’t they see the resemblance?

  Just then, he spots Los Chachalacos unloading instruments from their van. They must have won the competition, and even though Miguel wanted that honor, he can’t think of anyone more deserving. Los Chachalacos can really put on a show.

  He approache
s them. “Disculpen, señores.”

  “Hey, hey, guys,” the band leader says. “It’s Poco Loco!”

  Miguel’s chest swells with pride. He’s flattered to learn they remember him and his performance.

  The trumpet player says, “You were on fire tonight!”

  “You too!” Miguel replies. “Hey, musician to musician, I need a favor.”

  They lean in to listen, and when Miguel explains his situation, especially the part about being de la Cruz’s long lost great-great-grandson, they readily agree to help him sneak in.

  “Lucky for you,” the band leader says, “we got a sousaphone.”

  Miguel realizes they want him to hide inside the large instrument, so he hands his guitar to one of the musicians. Then he crawls into the giant bell of the sousaphone, knees to chest so he can fit. One of the band members lifts it, groaning at the extra weight. Miguel’s heart starts racing. He feels a little claustrophobic, but what choice does he have? He needs to reach the tower before he’s all skin and bones, or rather, skull and bones. He wills himself to stay still and be silent.

  Soon he feels himself being carried along, and then he hears the security guard, his voice a bit muffled. “Oooh, the competition winners! Congratulations, chicos!”

  “Gracias! Gracias!” they say.

  Then it gets quiet. Miguel guesses they are on the cliff rail. Once he feels movement again, the sousaphone player lowers the instrument so Miguel can crawl out.

  “How are you so heavy, gordito?”

  “I’m…big-boned?” Miguel says, crawling out and seeing that they are slowly going up the hill.

  Finally, they reach the top, and the doors to the cliff rail open. The musicians give Miguel his guitar and file out. There before them is de la Cruz’s lavish mansion!

  “Whooaa!” Miguel is too awestruck to say more.

  “Hey-hey!” the band leader says. “Enjoy the party, little músico!” They head to a side entrance so they can set up for their performance.

  “Gracias!” Miguel calls after them. Then he turns to the mansion, feeling like a tiny housefly next to all this towering opulence. This is his great-great-grandfather’s reward for having the courage to follow his dream. Miguel takes one more moment to admire it, and then he runs inside.