“Good luck, muchacho!” the real Frida Kahlo said to Miguel.
“Gracias, Frida!” Miguel waved, running backstage with the rest of his family. Once there, they swiftly shed their Frida costumes, and Dante popped out from under Tío Óscar’s skirt. Mamá Imelda was tangled up in her frock.
“Here, let me help you with—” Héctor said.
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped.
The family joined together in a huddle. “Everyone clear on the plan?” Miguel asked.
“Find Héctor’s photo,” Tía Victoria said.
“Give it to Miguel,” Papá Julio added.
“Send Miguel home,” Mamá Imelda said.
“Got your petals?” asked Héctor.
Each family member raised a marigold petal. Imelda led the way out of the backstage corridor. “Now we just have to find Ernesto…,” she said, turning a corner and suddenly finding herself face to face with the famous crooner.
Ernesto turned to Mamá Imelda, smiling. “Yes?” he said.
“Ah!” she exclaimed. The family stopped in their tracks, still hidden from Ernesto’s view.
His smile dropped. “Don’t I know you?”
Imelda slipped off her shoes in one swift motion and smacked Ernesto across the face with it. “That’s for murdering the love of my life!”
Ernesto looked confused. “Who the…?”
Héctor rounded the corner.
“She’s talking about me!” He turned to Mamá Imelda. “I’m the love of your life?”
“I don’t know! I’m still angry at you.”
Ernesto gasped. “Héctor? How did you—”
Imelda smacked him again. “And that’s for trying to murder my grandson!”
“Grandson?” Ernesto muttered, confused. Now Miguel jumped out of the corridor, and Ernesto pieced it together. “You! Wait—you’re related to Héctor?”
Miguel spied Héctor’s photo in Ernesto’s pocket.
“The photo!” Miguel cried. The rest of the Riveras closed in on the singer. Ernesto turned to run.
“After him!” Mamá Imelda yelled. Ernesto disappeared below the stage, where his rising platform was set up for his big entrance.
He cried out for help. “Security! Ayúdame!”
The Rivera family fanned out after him. Héctor ran next to Imelda. “You said love of your life!”
“I don’t know what I said!”
“That’s what I heard,” Miguel chimed in.
“Can we focus on the matter at hand?” Mamá Imelda pleaded. The security guards had arrived, and the family fought. Papá Julio kicked a guard. Tío Felipe pulled Tío Óscar’s arms off and spun them around, knocking down the guards like dominoes. Tío Óscar pounced on the remaining guard. Ernesto escaped through the stage door. Suddenly, a stagehand was in front of him.
“You’re on in thirty seconds, señor,” said the stagehand. Ernesto shoved him out of the way, sending him flying. While more security guards showed up to wrangle the Riveras, Mamá Imelda reached Ernesto and lunged for Héctor’s photo. Miguel tackled him, and the photo fell. Mamá Imelda grabbed it.
“Miguel, I have it!” she called, tumbling backward. Miguel tried to turn to help her, but guards chased him away. Suddenly, Mamá Imelda rose into the air. She was on Ernesto’s rising platform!
As she ascended to the stage, Ernesto raced up the stairs.
Miguel’s family blocked the guards from chasing Mamá Imelda. She was all alone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the one, the only—Ernesto de la Cruz!” shouted the announcer. The audience exploded with wild applause. The platform stopped at the top, and the spotlight shone on Mamá Imelda. Neon letters spelling ERNESTO! blasted brightly behind her.
Meanwhile, Ernesto himself had arrived at the stage’s right wing. He pointed at Mamá Imelda. “Get her off the stage!” he ordered his security guards, and they hustled up there, scaling the set to get to her.
To the left of the stage, directly opposite where Ernesto stood, Miguel and his family spotted Mamá Imelda above them. The spotlight illuminated her. They watched, helpless, as she stood frozen above the audience while the guards closed in on her.
Miguel’s mind raced. He glanced at the audience. They were growing restless. “Sing!” he suddenly yelled to his great-great-grandmother.
If she could muster a song, maybe the audience would cheer and the guards would have to back off. Hopefully, that would give them enough time to secure the photograph.
“Sing!” he cried again.
Seeing the guards approaching, Mamá Imelda nodded at Miguel. She grabbed the microphone, closed her eyes, and started to sing.
Miguel gave Héctor a guitar and placed a mic stand in front of him. Tía Rosita connected a pair of cords while Tía Victoria flipped a knob on a soundboard. Héctor strummed the guitar, which was amplified through the speakers.
On the stage, the guards stopped at the edge of her spotlight. Mamá Imelda sang as she descended the staircase. The spotlight followed her every move. As she came down, she made eye contact with Héctor. He gave her a sweet smile. Imelda’s eyes glinted with tears at the memories of them singing together long ago. Then she straightened and belted out a lively ballad.
The audience was on their feet, clapping along. Ernesto grunted. Soon the stage conductor joined in with the whole orchestra. Mamá Imelda twirled across the stage, moving away from the security guards and closer to her family. One guard tried to block her, but she grabbed him to dance. Afraid of the spotlight, he ran off. She had almost joined her family when suddenly someone’s hand was on her wrist. A voice joined her in harmony. The spotlight widened to reveal Ernesto de la Cruz singing, too. The crowd went wild. As they sang, he danced Mamá Imelda around the stage, trying to get Héctor’s photo back.
“Let go of me!” Mamá Imelda threatened between verses. At the song’s finale, Imelda stomped her heel on Ernesto’s foot on his high note, and he released her.
“Ay, ay, ay, ay!” he cried. The crowd cheered at his wild grito while Mamá Imelda fled with the photo. She rushed to embrace Héctor backstage.
“I forgot what that felt like.” Mamá Imelda blushed and pulled away from him awkwardly.
“You still got it,” Héctor said. The two smiled at each other, softening.
“Ahem!” Miguel cleared his throat to get their attention.
“Oh!” Mamá Imelda said. She handed the photo of Héctor to Miguel and pulled out her petal.
“Miguel, I give you my blessing,” she said as the petal began to glow. “To go home. To put up our photos. And to never…”
Miguel looked slightly saddened, anticipating the condition.
“Never play music again,” he offered with lowered eyes.
Mamá Imelda smiled. “To never forget how much your family loves you.”
The petal surged higher. Miguel brightened, touched by her words.
“You’re going home,” Héctor said.
“You’re not going anywhere!” snarled Ernesto de la Cruz.
Ernesto yanked Miguel away by his hood before the petal could swoosh him home. Mamá Imelda lunged at him, but he shoved her to the floor. Papá Julio and the uncles arrived, but it was too late. Behind the set was the open air and a view of the city—and a thousand-foot drop to the water. Ernesto heaved Miguel onto the ledge over the water. Miguel looked down.
“Stay back! Stay back. All of you!” Ernesto threatened. The family closed in anyway. “Stay back! Not one more step.”
Though weak, Héctor pleaded, “Ernesto, stop! Leave the boy alone!” He stumbled, shimmering like before, then collapsed to the floor.
Ernesto shook his head, clutching Miguel atop the ledge. “I’ve worked too hard, Héctor. Too hard to let him destroy everything.”
Behind Ernesto, Tía Rosita commandeered one of the cameras and pointed it toward the action. In the makeshift sound booth, Tía Victoria pushed a volume dial up. Soon the image of Ernesto holding Miguel hostage was projected onto the ma
ssive stadium screens. The audience hushed as they watched the drama unfold.
“He’s a living child, Ernesto!” Héctor called out, trying to reason with him. Miguel tried to escape from the singer.
“He’s a threat!” Ernesto said, still holding Miguel by his hood. “You think I’d let him go back to the Land of the Living with your photo? To keep your memory alive? No.”
“You’re a coward!” Miguel yelled, wriggling to get free from his grasp.
“I am Ernesto de la Cruz. The greatest musician of all time!”
“Héctor’s the REAL musician. You’re just the guy who murdered him and stole his songs!”
The crowd gasped.
“Murder?” someone cried.
“I am the one who is willing to do what it takes to seize my moment—whatever it takes!” Ernesto roared. He swung Miguel out over the ledge. Miguel screamed, grasping for Ernesto. Ernesto released his grip, and Miguel began to fall.
“No!” Mamá Imelda cried, running to the ledge.
The audience shrieked as the fight played out on the monitors.
Ernesto, unaware that the audience had witnessed his treachery, coolly moved away. He passed Héctor, who remained on the floor. “Apologies, old friend, but the show must go on.”
The Rivera family rushed to the ledge. As he fell, Miguel heard a faint howling. Like a lightning bolt, Dante sliced through the air. He caught Miguel’s shirt in his teeth and extended his wings. He and Miguel jolted with the movement, and Héctor’s photo slipped from Miguel’s hands.
“Ahh—no!” Miguel wailed as the photo drifted out of sight. Miguel and Dante twisted in the air as Dante desperately tried to reverse their descent, but they were too heavy. Though Dante struggled to keep a grip on Miguel’s shirt, it ripped from his sharp teeth, and Miguel again fell toward the water. He thought he was done for, but at the last second, Pepita scooped him up in her talons. Safe, Miguel looked down at the water. Héctor’s photo was gone.
Ernesto stepped up to the stage curtain. He slicked his hair back and emerged to face his audience. The spotlight zoomed in on him.
“Ha, ha!” Ernesto said in greeting. The audience responded with loud boos. He stepped back.
“Boo! Murderer!” the crowd shouted.
“Please, please, mi familia,” said Ernesto, trying to calm them, but the heckling and boos grew louder.
“Get off the stage!”
“Orchestra! The music. A-one, a-two, a-one—” Ernesto gestured.
The conductor glared at Ernesto and broke his baton. Through the booing, Ernesto tried to sing “Remember Me,” but the crowd pelted him with fruit.
“Look!” hollered someone in the audience, and they all pointed up to the screens. Pepita rose above the ledge with Miguel on her back. Miguel slid down her wing and ran to his family.
“He’s all right!” the crowd cheered.
Ernesto looked from one of the screens to the audience, back and forth, until he saw Pepita growing larger as she prowled past the camera. Ernesto slowly backed away just as Pepita lurched through the curtain, her glowing eyes locked on him.
“Nice kitty!” Ernesto whimpered. Pepita flung him into the air like a ball of yarn. “Aaahhh! Put me down! No, please! I beg you, stop! Stop! NO!” Pepita continued to swing him around, gaining momentum, until she finally released him over the audience. “No!” he screeched, soaring over them and out of the stadium. A few moments later, he hit a giant church bell in the distance, and everyone heard the loud clang.
Back in the stadium, the audience erupted into cheers. Mamá Imelda ran to Miguel and embraced him. “Miguel!” she said. Héctor struggled to his feet.
Miguel rushed to support him. “Héctor! The photo, I lost it…,” he sobbed.
“It’s okay, m’ijo. It’s—” Suddenly, his body flickered violently. He moaned and collapsed. Miguel knelt next to him.
“Héctor! Héctor?”
Héctor looked up weakly. “My Coco…”
“No! We can still find the photo!” Miguel cried.
Mamá Imelda looked to the horizon, where the first rays of sunlight peeked over. “Miguel, it’s almost sunrise!”
“No, no, no—I can’t leave you.”
Héctor gazed at Miguel. The skeletal transformation was creeping along the edges of Miguel’s face. He was almost a full skeleton now. “We’re both out of time, m’ijo.” Héctor’s bones continued to shimmer.
“No, no, she can’t forget you!” Miguel said.
“I just wanted her to know that I loved her.” Héctor grabbed a marigold petal.
“Héctor…,” Miguel said.
“You have our blessing, Miguel,” said Héctor.
“No conditions,” added Mamá Imelda.
The petal glowed. Héctor struggled to lift the petal to Miguel. Mamá Imelda tenderly took his hand in hers to help.
“No, Papá Héctor, please!”
Imelda and Héctor moved their joined hands toward Miguel’s chest. Héctor’s eyelids began to close. “Go home,” he whispered.
“I promise I won’t let Coco forget you!” Miguel yelled as a swirl of marigolds covered him.
Whoosh! He was gone.
Miguel was back in Ernesto’s mausoleum. Dazed, he looked through the window. The day had broken. On the floor was the skull guitar. Miguel snatched it up, exited the mausoleum, and ran out of the cemetery. He raced through the plaza, past the statue of Ernesto de la Cruz, and toward home. He blew right past his Tío Berto and Primo Abel.
“There he is!” Tío Berto said. Surprised, Abel fell off the bench. Just then, Papá came around the corner, but Miguel ran past him.
“Miguel? Stop!”
Miguel raced on, following the trail of marigolds through the front gate. He darted for the back bedroom to find Mamá Coco. Just as he made it to the doorway, Abuelita stepped into his path.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Ah! I need to see Mamá Coco, please!”
She noticed Miguel gripping a guitar in his hand. “What are you doing with that! Give it to me!”
Miguel rushed past Abuelita and slammed the door shut behind him.
“Miguel! Stop! Miguel!”
Miguel locked the door. Mamá Coco stared into space, her eyes completely vacant.
Miguel looked into her eyes. “Mamá Coco? Can you hear me? It’s Miguel. I saw your papá. Remember? Papá? Please—if you forget him, he’ll be gone forever!”
She sat and stared in silence while Miguel’s father banged on the door.
“Miguel, open this door!”
Miguel continued. He had to get through to Mamá Coco. He showed her the guitar. “Here, this was his guitar, right? He used to play it for you? See, there he is.” Mamá Coco stared as if Miguel weren’t even there. “Papá, remember? Papá?”
“Miguel!” Papá yelled at him through the door.
“Mamá Coco, please, don’t forget him,” Miguel pleaded.
Soon a bunch of keys rattled. The door was flung open and the family poured in.
“What are you doing to that poor woman?” Abuelita cried, and pushed Miguel aside. “It’s okay, Mamita, it’s okay.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Papá said to Miguel.
Miguel looked down, defeated. Tears dripped off his nose. Papá’s anger gave way to relief. He embraced his son. “I thought I’d lost you, Miguel.…”
“I’m sorry, Papá.”
Miguel’s mamá stepped forward. “We’re all together now. That’s what matters,” she said.
“Not all of us,” Miguel mumbled, thinking of Héctor.
“It’s okay, Mamita. Miguel, you apologize to your Mamá Coco!” Abuelita demanded. Miguel approached Mamá Coco.
“Mamá Coco…,” Miguel began. He glanced at Héctor’s guitar.
“Well? Apologize!”
Suddenly, Miguel knew what he had to do. “Mamá Coco? Your papá—he wanted you to have this.” He picked up the guitar.
Abuelita started to
intervene, but Miguel’s father stopped her with a tender pat on her arm. “Mamá, wait,” he said, watching his son.
Miguel started to sing “Remember Me” the way Héctor had sung it. He poured himself into the song.
“Look,” Miguel’s mother said as the glimmer in the old woman’s eyes grew brighter with every note. Her cheeks plumped. Her lips arched into a smile. Miguel noticed the change, too.
Abuelita stood watching, bewildered.
Soon Mamá Coco joined Miguel in singing the song she used to sing with her father. Tears streamed down Abuelita’s cheeks. Mamá Coco looked over at her daughter, concerned.
“Elena? What’s wrong, m’ija?”
“Nothing, Mamá. Nothing at all.”
Mamá Coco turned to Miguel. “My papá used to sing me that song.”
“He loved you, Mamá Coco. Your papá loved you so much,” Miguel said.
A smile spread across Mamá Coco’s face. She’d waited a long time to hear those words. She turned to her nightstand and opened a drawer. She pulled out a notebook and peeled back the lining to reveal a torn scrap of paper. She handed it to Miguel.
It was the missing face from the photo—Héctor’s face! Miguel pieced the picture back together. Mamá Coco smiled.
“Papá was a musician,” she said. “When I was a little girl, he and Mamá would sing such beautiful songs.…”
The family gathered around Mamá Coco. It was time to learn about Papá Héctor.
A year later, the cemetery was once again filled with families cleaning off headstones and laying flowers. At Ernesto de la Cruz’s mausoleum, there weren’t as many offerings or as many fans as the year before. Someone had spray-painted FORGET YOU on a sign that hung by the statue.
A tour group moved through the town and stopped in front of Rivera Family Shoemakers. “And right over here, one of Santa Cecilia’s greatest treasures,” said the guide. The group crowded in to listen. “The home of the esteemed songwriter Héctor Rivera. The letters Héctor wrote home for his daughter, Coco, contain the lyrics for all your favorite songs, not just ‘Remember Me.’” The tourists snapped pictures of the skull guitar and framed letters.
Coco Junior Novel Page 7