by Diana Lopez
Hmmm … I think. Blood is thicker than water. I repeat it several times as I try to understand. When I remember what Dad said about the moscas and how you can’t always take things word for word, I try to figure out what blood symbolizes. The only thing I can think of is this: Claudia and I have the same blood because we have the same grandparents and the same nose, so nothing, not even our biggest, meanest fight, can keep us from being a part of the same family.
The next Thursday, Claudia joins my family for Paloma’s mariachi concert at the Antonio E. Garcia Arts & Education Center. We walk into a bright room. Along one wall are paintings of Mexican children doing different things like playing baseball, eating snow cones, or climbing trees. On another wall is a huge mural featuring horses and cowboys. There are also rows of chairs and a platform for the stage, and along the back, a long table with pan dulces.
Lots of voices echo in the room, and I can easily pick out the sounds of my primas. Many of them are here—Mirasol, of course, since she’s Paloma’s sister, and Josie, Kimberly, Celeste, Estrella, and Marina. They’re already sitting, and they’ve placed purses and sweaters on a second row to save chairs for the rest of us.
“Primas!” I say as I take a seat behind them.
They turn around. “Prima!” they say back. Then they spot Claudia. Everyone says hello, but not Mirasol or Celeste because they’re still mad about the tattling. When they turn away from her, Claudia rolls her eyes, more irritated than hurt.
I tap my cousins’ shoulders. “Claudia has something to say,” I tell them when they turn again.
“I do?” Claudia asks.
“Yes. Remember? About the tattling. You wanted to apologize.”
She takes a deep breath because saying “I’m sorry” is like admitting you’re wrong, and Claudia would rather eat earthworms with John-John than admit being wrong.
“Well … I just want to say,” she begins, “I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble. I was trying to protect you.” And she goes on, telling them what she told me about the reasons for all her tattling. Celeste and Mirasol cross their arms. “Uh-huh,” “Oh yeah,” and “Really,” they mutter.
“It’s no fun being stuck at home for a whole month,” Mirasol says.
“The only reason I’m here,” Celeste adds, “is because it’s a family outing, and that’s the only kind of outing I can have.”
When she says this, Mirasol shifts her attention. “Wait a minute,” she tells Celeste, “I thought you were here to support my sister.”
Celeste shrugs. “I am … sort of … but … I don’t even like mariachi music.”
Then Kimberly and Josie jump in, shocked that Celeste hates mariachi music, and Marina and Estrella have an opinion, too, saying that it’s not about the music at all but about Paloma. Soon, there’s a lot of bickering back and forth, and I can’t believe it—my primas are about to erupt into a major argument seconds before Paloma’s group takes the stage.
“See?” Claudia tells me as she nods toward my squabbling primas. “They can always find a reason to be mad.” She leans back in her chair, smug. This is her way of telling me that she was right all along—it was useless to apologize.
I can’t help agreeing with Claudia as I try to follow my cousins’ arguments. They aren’t talking about whether or not they like mariachi music anymore. They’ve moved on to stuff that happened months ago—like the time Josie flirted with Celeste’s boyfriend, and the time Marina’s dog chewed up Estrella’s favorite emoji pillow, and the time one of Nancy’s science experiments burned a hole in Aunt Priscilla’s favorite apron. Nancy and Aunt Priscilla aren’t even here, but they still get pulled into the argument. And everyone takes sides. First, Estrella and Marina are together, then Josie and Kimberly, then Kimberly and Estrella—my primas teaming up one minute and splitting apart the next.
Then Abuela shows up. My parents, aunts, and uncles stand behind her, making Abuela seem like a general of an army. She puts two fingers in her mouth and whistles to get our attention. All my primas go silent.
“Mijas, por favor,” Abuela says. “¿Por qué hacen tanto ruido? Esta es una ocasión especial. Estamos aquí por Paloma.” She pauses, making sure to look at each of us directly. “Una familia amable para ella. ¿Me entienden?”
She takes a minute to let her wise words sink in. Of course, I don’t understand what she said, but I know enough to nod when I hear “entienden.” My primas nod, too. A few mutter apologies—not to each other but to Abuela. The last thing we want is to embarrass her.
When Abuela is satisfied, she and our parents take their seats, my large familia needing two full rows. Soon the lights blink off and on, letting the audience know that the show is about to begin.
We hear the mariachi group before we see them—guitars, violins, and trumpets. Then they come in through a side door. There are six people in the group—four boys and two girls. All are wearing black charro outfits with wide red bow ties and sombreros. They’re singing “Guadalajara,” the same song Paloma practiced when I visited her house for the fish fry. Her hands flutter over the strings, and when she holds a note, she closes her eyes. I can tell that she is putting her heart and soul into the music. One of the singers gestures to us so we can join in. Many in the crowd know the words, and even though I don’t, I hum along. All of a sudden, Abuela utters a grito, a loud celebratory shout. She taps my primas in the front row, encouraging them to shout gritos, too. Estrella tries, but hers is short and sharp like the sound a dog makes when you step on its tail. Marina tries next, and it’s better but not loud enough.
Then Claudia stands up, cups her hands over her mouth, and shouts, “Hai-yai-yai-yaaaaaaaaai!” It’s the most heartfelt grito I’ve ever heard. Paloma beams with pride, and the other mariachis nod in appreciation.
Celeste offers a fist bump and says, “Way to go, prima!” And Mirasol says, “You’ve got a great pair of lungs!”
Claudia sits back down, a triumphant smile on her face. That’s when I realize that even though Celeste and Mirasol haven’t officially accepted Claudia’s apology, they have forgiven her for all the tattling. In fact, we all have forgiven one another for the times we made mistakes or did mean things on purpose, because it’s too hard to stay mad when one of our primas is playing the guitar and making us proud.
The song ends. We clap and together we ask for an encore. “¡Otra! ¡Otra! ¡Otra!” we chant.
The music starts again. This time they’re playing “Cielito Lindo.” I actually know one of the lines. It goes, “Ay, ay, ay, ay. Canta y no llores,” and it means, “Ay, ay, ay, ay. Sing and don’t cry,” the perfect words for my family right now because instead of crying and complaining, we’re singing and cheering.
My parents, Abuela, my aunts, my uncles, and especially my primas—all of us are swaying and tapping our feet to the rhythm, keeping perfect time with the music and with one another. That’s what “blood is thicker than water” really means. It’s not about having the same noses or hair color or grandparents. It’s about having the same hearts. My primas may bicker, compete, gossip, and tattle, but they’ll always be my primas no matter what … and having lots of primas is a very good-luck thing.
1. La prima—girl cousin
2. Olvidar—to forget
3. El chisme—gossip
4. El Domingo—Sunday
5. La luna—moon
6. La cocina—kitchen
7. La abuela—grandmother
8. ¿Dónde está?—where is
9. La amiga—girl friend
10. La semana—week
11. Enojado—angry
12. Ándale—hurry
13. La guitarra—guitar
14. Otra vez—again
15. Buenos días—good morning
16. El problema—problem
17. El nombre—name
18. Las moscas—flies (as in insects)
19. La galleta—cookie
20. La noche—night
21. Hablar—to talk
&
nbsp; 22. El desayuno—breakfast
23. El fin de semana—weekend
24. La respuesta—an answer
25. La familia—family
I’m blessed with many people who support and encourage me. I’d like to thank Stefanie Von Borstel, my wonderful agent and friend. Much gratitude also goes to Nancy Mercado and the entire team at Scholastic. Mom, Dad, Albert, Tricia, Steven, y todos mis sobrinos continue to inspire me. My husband, Gene, and friends Vanesa, Saba, and San Juan continue to patiently listen as I blab about book ideas. And finally, a shout-out to mis primas. Like Luna, I have too many to count, but all are unique and loved.
Diana López is the award-winning author of Ask My Mood Ring How I Feel, Confetti Girl, and Nothing Up My Sleeve, among others. Beyond that, she is also the editor of the literary magazine Huizache and the managing director of CentroVictoria, an organization devoted to promoting Mexican American literature. She lives in South Texas and teaches at the University of Houston–Victoria. She also has several primas … whom she gets along with most of the time.
Copyright © 2018 by Diana López
Cover art © 2018 by Blake Morrow
Cover design by Baily Crawford
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Names: López, Diana, author.
Title: Lucky Luna / Diana López.
Description: First edition. | New York, NY : Scholastic Press, 2018. |
Summary: Fifth grader Luna Ramos has a great many cousins, mostly on her father’s side, but one of them, Claudia, is a source of constant annoyance; their current feud begins when Luna is punished for locking Claudia in the restroom at another cousin’s quinceañera—but when there’s a bullying situation at school, Luna realizes that, despite their disagreements, cousins have to stand up for each other.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017049157 | ISBN 9781338232738 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781338232745 (pbk.)
Subjects: LCSH: Cousins—Juvenile fiction. | Hispanic American families—Juvenile fiction. | Practical jokes—Juvenile fiction. | Bullying—Juvenile fiction. | CYAC: Cousins—Fiction. | Hispanic Americans—Fiction. | Family life—Fiction. | Practical jokes—Fiction. | Bullying—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.L876352 Lu 2018 | DDC 813.6 [Fic]—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017049157
First edition, August 2018
e-ISBN 978-1-338-23275-2
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