Coco Middle Grade Novel Read online

  Mamá Imelda rushes forward and picks them up. “He was here,” she says. “This is definitely from the family’s shoemaking shop in the Land of the Living. He can’t be far. We’ll find him soon, and then we can send him back to where he belongs.”

  Miguel, Héctor, and Dante make their way through the city, Miguel marveling at how busy it is. Santa Cecilia never gets this crowded, even on holidays like Día de los Muertos. Miguel’s worried he’ll be discovered with all these skeletons around. Like Héctor said, he needs to blend in. He must look, think, and act like a skeleton, so he studies Héctor’s loping gait. He walks like a monkey! Miguel silently laughs, imitating the flappy steps and side-to-side sway.

  “It’s not gonna be easy, you know?” Héctor says of finding de la Cruz. “You know, he’s…he’s a busy man.” He glances at Miguel. “What? What are you doing?”

  “I’m walking like a skeleton. Blending in.” Miguel does a few goofy steps to demonstrate.

  “No, skeletons don’t walk like that.”

  “It’s how you walk.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Miguel moves on, his arms hanging loose and his feet slapping the ground.

  “Stop it!” Héctor says.

  Miguel laughs. He can’t believe how sensitive this guy is. Then he spots a billboard advertisement: ERNESTO DE LA CRUZ’S SUNRISE SPECTACULAR! Speakers blare out his most famous song, “Remember Me.”

  “‘Ernesto de la Cruz’s Sunrise Spectacular!’” Miguel reads. “¡Qué padre!”

  Héctor’s unimpressed. “Blech. Every year, your great-great-grandpa puts on that dumb show to mark the end of Día de los Muertos.”

  “And you can get us in!”

  Héctor gets an apologetic look on his face. “Ahhhh—”

  “Hey,” Miguel says. “You said you had front-row tickets!”

  “That…that was a lie. I apologize for that.”

  Miguel’s nostrils flare like an angry bull’s. His entire future, his very life, depend on this plan. He gives Héctor a withering look.

  “Cool off, chamaco. Come on. I’ll get you to him.”

  Miguel crosses his arms, challenging. “How?”

  “’Cause I happen to know where he’s rehearsing!”

  Miguel doesn’t trust Héctor, but he’s got to take a chance. Like it or not, he doesn’t know his way around the Land of the Dead, and Héctor is his only link to his great-great-grandpa. So he follows him deeper into the city. They take a few escalators, hop on a trolley, climb more stairs, and eventually arrive at a warehouse. It’s several stories high.

  Héctor snaps off his arm and uses his suspenders to slingshot it to the third floor. Once it gets there, it taps on a window, and a few seconds later, a woman opens it and leans out.

  “You better have my dress, Héctor!”

  “Hola, Ceci!”

  She lowers the fire escape ladder. Héctor, Miguel, and Dante climb up. When they reach the window, Héctor grabs his arm, snaps it back on, and does a few shoulder rolls. Then they climb inside, and Miguel discovers that Ceci works in a costume shop. There’s a clothes rack full of dresses and a mannequin with a half-finished frock held in place by large safety pins. The cutting boards, scissors, pincushions, and fabrics remind him of the shoemaking shop back home.

  “Hola,” Miguel says.

  “Ceci,” Héctor says with a shrug, “I lost the dress.”

  She gasps. “¡Ya lo sabía! ¡Me lo merezco por confiar en ti!”

  “I know, Ceci. I know, I know, I know. Ceci…Ceci…Ceci.”

  “I gotta dress forty dancers by sunrise and thanks to you, I’m one Frida short of an opening number!”

  Héctor hangs his head and takes the scolding, while Miguel notices that Dante is wandering off. He follows, and as he leaves, he hears Héctor telling Ceci, “I don’t want to say this is your own fault, but you should know better than to lend me things.…”

  Meanwhile, Dante leads Miguel to a rehearsal area with a stage. The curtains are pushed aside, revealing steel ladders to the catwalk and a row of lights. Musicians are tuning up in the orchestra pit, and someone’s playing with the controls, raising and lowering a scenery lift. Workers rearrange props, and skeletons pose nude for painters.

  “Dante,” Miguel whispers, “we shouldn’t be in here.”

  But Dante’s too busy sniffing around. Suddenly, an alebrije monkey jumps onto his back, riding him and tormenting him with screeches and howls.

  “No, no, no, Dante! ¡Ven acá!”

  Dante bucks and twists like a bull, literally trying to get the monkey off his back. It works, and the monkey jumps onto the shoulder of Frida Kahlo—the Frida Kahlo.

  Miguel finally reins Dante in, but it’s too late, since Frida has spotted them.

  “You!” she calls. “How did you get in here?”

  “I just followed my—”

  He doesn’t get to finish, because Frida’s eyes go wide when she sees Dante. She kneels and cups his face just like Abuelita when she’s about to shower Miguel with love.

  “Oh!” Frida exclaims. “The mighty Xolo dog! Guider of wandering spirits!” She pets him and laughs when he licks her arm. “And whose spirit have you guided to me?”

  “I don’t think he’s a spirit guide,” Miguel says.

  “Ah-ah-ah. The alebrijes of this world can take many forms. They are just as mysterious as they are powerful.”

  As if to prove her point, the bright patterns on Frida’s monkey swirl and he opens his mouth to exhale blue fire. Dante, meanwhile, is chewing on his own leg.

  “Or maybe he’s just a dog,” Frida says. “Come! I need your eyes!”

  Miguel freaks out. “But I need my eyes!”

  Frida waves off his concern. “You are the audience,” she says, guiding him to the rehearsal area. She holds up her hands to frame the stage. “Darkness. And from the darkness…a giant papaya!” Lights come up on a giant prop. “Dancers emerge from the papaya, and the dancers are…all me!” The dancers have unibrows and wear leotards. They crawl around the sides of the giant papaya. Behind it is an even larger half-finished mesh structure. “And they go to drink the milk of their mother, who is a cactus, but who is also me. And her milk is not milk”—Frida pauses to enhance the suspense—“but tears.” She turns to Miguel. “Is it too obvious?”

  He’s not sure what to say. But then he never understood Frida Kahlo’s art. She’s got one picture of her face on a deer body—what is that supposed to mean? Still, she’s waiting for an answer, so he has to say something. “I think it’s just the right amount of obvious?” He gives it more thought. “It could use some music. Like doonk-doonk-doonk-doonk.”

  Frida snaps at the musicians in the orchestra pit, and they start playing a discordant pizzicato.

  “Oh!” Miguel says, excited by the music. “And then it could go dittle-ittle-dittle-ittle-dittle-ittle-dittle-ittle-whaa!”

  The violins follow along, Miguel smiling at the layers of sound.

  “And,” Frida says excitedly, “what if everything was on fire? Yes! Fire everywhere!”

  The dancers gasp and freeze.

  “I guess…” Miguel says, a bit unsure.

  Frida leans in. “Inspired!” she tells Miguel. “You…you have the spirit of an artist!”

  Miguel straightens up, proud. Yes, he’s an artist. Maybe he doesn’t add his face to all his pictures or replace milk with tears, but he’s an artist just the same.

  Frida turns back to the rehearsal. “The dancers exit,” she says, “the music fades, the lights go out! And Ernesto de la Cruz rises to the stage!”

  A screen emerges from a trapdoor. It’s backlit, revealing the silhouette of…

  “De la Cruz!” Miguel cheers. Finally, the moment has come. He’s about to meet his great-great-grandfather! At least, that’s what he thinks until a spotlight comes on. It doesn’t shine on de la Cruz at all. It shines on a mannequin! “Huh?”

  Frida continues to narrate. “He does a couple of songs, the s
un rises, everyone cheers—”

  “Excuse me,” Miguel interrupts. “Where’s the real de la Cruz?”

  “Ernesto doesn’t do rehearsals,” Frida explains. “He’s too busy hosting that fancy party at the top of his tower.”

  She gestures out a large window. In the distance is a grand estate atop a steep hill. It looks like a fancy casino with all its spotlights, statues, and fountains. At first Miguel is excited by the opulence, but then he’s frustrated by how far away the estate is.

  “He’s all the way up there?”

  Suddenly, Héctor rounds the corner. He’s out of breath. “Chamaco! You can’t run off on me like that! C’mon, stop pestering the celebrities.” He grabs Miguel’s hoodie, but Miguel refuses to be pulled away.

  “You said my great-great-grandpa would be here! He’s halfway across town, throwing some big party.”

  “That bum!” Héctor says. “Who doesn’t show up to his own rehearsal?”

  “If you’re such good friends, how come he didn’t invite you?”

  Héctor paces. “He’s your great-great-grandpa. How come he didn’t invite you?” He walks away from Miguel and approaches the musicians. “Hey, Gustavo!” he calls. “You know anything about this party?”

  “It’s the hot ticket,” Gustavo answers. “But if you’re not on the guest list, you’re never getting in, Chorizo.”

  “Hey, it’s Chorizo,” the other musicians say, laughing. “Choricito!”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny, guys. Very funny.”

  “Chorizo?” Miguel repeats, wondering what his favorite taquito has to do with anything.

  Gustavo turns to Miguel. “Oh, this guy’s famous! Go on, go on, ask him how he died!”

  Miguel gives Héctor a questioning look.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Héctor says.

  “He choked on some chorizo!” Gustavo answers. Everybody laughs, including Miguel.

  “I didn’t choke, okay. I got food poisoning! Which is a big difference!”

  Nobody seems to care. They just laugh even harder.

  “This is why I don’t like musicians,” Héctor tells Miguel. “Bunch of self-important jerks!”

  “Hey,” Miguel says, “I’m a musician.”

  “You are?”

  “Well,” Gustavo says, “if you really want to get to Ernesto, there is that music competition at the Plaza de la Cruz. Winner gets to play at his party.”

  “Music competition?” Miguel can’t hide his excitement.

  “Chamaco,” Héctor says, “you’re loco if you think—”

  “I need to get my great-great-grandfather’s blessing,” Miguel says, glancing at his hands. He can see even more bones now. If he doesn’t get home before sunrise, he’ll never see his living family again. He has to win that competition, and he knows he can, if only…

  Suddenly, he remembers how Abuelita smashed his guitar right before the talent show in Santa Cecilia. And how when he went to the plaza, everyone shooed him away. Here is another opportunity to show off his musical gift, not just for an audience but for the great Ernesto de la Cruz. Once again, he imagines himself onstage, the spotlights, the microphone, the…

  Miguel sighs. I really am cursed, he thinks. Every time I have a chance to perform, I’m stuck without an instrument.

  “You know where I can get a guitar?” he asks Héctor.

  Héctor sighs deeply. For a moment, Miguel thinks he’s out of luck, but then Héctor says, “I know a guy.”

  Pepita leads the Riveras through town, her magical breath revealing Miguel’s footsteps. Occasionally she loses his trail because heavy foot traffic or sprinklers have erased his prints, but a few quick sniffs get her back on track. At the sky ride station, she flies across, but the rest of the Riveras have to wait for the next cable car.

  For Mamá Imelda, the cars aren’t fast enough. “We’re wasting time!”

  Eventually, Pepita leads the family to Ceci’s shop, and she waits outside as they go in.

  “Hola, Ceci,” they say.

  “Come in, come in,” she says. “The shoes you made for the performance were perfect, as usual.”

  She’s busily packing the Frida costumes so they can be delivered to the Sunrise Spectacular.

  “Are these the dresses?” Rosita asks, lifting one, holding it against her, and glancing in the mirror. “It’s so pretty. Can I try it on? I think I’d make a great Frida.”

  Victoria snatches it away. “Quit fooling around. Can’t you see that Ceci’s packing up?”

  Mamá Imelda lifts one of the shoes and inspects it, even though she knows it’s perfect, because it was made by her family. Years ago, when she had first crossed the Marigold Bridge and gazed at the maze of trolleys, the spirals of skyscrapers, and the hordes of skeletons bustling about, she’d felt lost and overwhelmed. Santa Cecilia was so small in comparison, with everybody knowing everyone. How would Imelda ever find her place in a giant metropolis like this? Then she remembered her number one rule—keep the family together. And what kept the family together? Shoes. So she set up shop, starting from scratch just like before. She still felt lonely, but making shoes gave her a purpose and a way to meet new people. Then her brothers joined her, and eventually Julio, Rosita, and Victoria. And now the Riveras had a reputation for making the best shoes in the Land of the Living and in the Land of the Dead.

  “I gave your business cards to the dancers,” Ceci says, “so you’ll be getting more orders soon. They went on and on about the shoes.”

  “We’re not here about that,” Mamá Imelda says. “We’re looking for a boy. A real live boy.”

  “You mean with flesh?!” Ceci asks, aghast.

  “And muscles,” Tío Oscar replies.

  “Veins and arteries,” Felipe adds.

  “Stomach.”

  “Intestines, kidneys, lungs, and—”

  “Enough!” Mamá Imelda says, and to Ceci, “Have you seen him?”

  She thinks a bit. “Well, yes. A boy was here.”

  “With a red hoodie?” Papá Julio asks, hopeful.

  “Yes, he wore a red hoodie, but…but…”

  “Spit it out,” Mamá Imelda says.

  “He wasn’t a real live boy,” Ceci admits. “He was a skeleton.”

  “Ay, no, no, no, no, no!” cries Tía Victoria. “It’s too late!”

  Tía Rosita cries, too. “He’s turned!” she says. “Pobrecito m’ijo!”

  “We can’t give up hope,” Mamá Imelda says. “As long as he has a little bit of skin, a drop of blood, a single firing neuron, we can send him back.” She turns to Ceci. “Which way did he go?”

  Ceci points to the hallway. “I think he went to the rehearsal area. He was headed in that direction when I last saw him.”

  The family heads to the rehearsal area, but it’s quiet when they get there. The props, instruments, dancers, and stagehands—all are on their way to the Sunrise Spectacular. They call out Miguel’s name, their voices echoing in the empty hall.

  Mamá Imelda glances into the orchestra pit. “Good. No musicians,” she says, “but no Miguel, either. Fan out, everybody. Search the entire area while I investigate outside.”

  She steps out while the rest of them search the rehearsal area. Oscar goes stage right and Felipe goes stage left. They climb metal ladders to the catwalk, peeking over, under, and around all the scaffolds.

  Meanwhile, the aunts search backstage, and while Victoria looks behind curtains and beneath tables, Rosita finds a large control panel.

  She pushes a button. “I wonder what this is for.” Then she pulls a lever. “And how about this?” She keeps pushing buttons, pulling levers, and flipping switches. They don’t do anything as far as she can tell.

  “What are you up to?” Victoria says.

  “I’m just playing with these buttons, trying to figure out what they do,” Rosita answers, flipping another switch.

  “And how is that supposed to help us find Miguel?”

  Rosita shrugs.


  “Stop playing around and start searching.”

  Rosita nods, but she can’t help it. She pushes one more button, and that’s when they hear Papá Julio cry out.

  “Papá!” Victoria calls as she and Rosita rush to the stage.

  “Down here!” he answers. “I was looking for Miguel when suddenly this trapdoor opened and I fell in.”

  Victoria and Rosita peek down and spot Papá Julio beneath the stage.

  “Are you okay?” Victoria asks.

  He nods.

  “While you’re down there, maybe you can search for Miguel.”

  Papá Julio gives her a thumbs-up, and while he’s looking around, Victoria turns to Rosita.

  “Let’s turn on the speakers,” she suggests, pointing to a switch labeled MICROPHONE and adjusting the volume knob.

  “No Miguel,” Papá Julio says as Rosita and Victoria push a button that lifts him through the trapdoor.

  “Use the mic to call him,” Rosita calls out.

  Julio grabs the mic and taps it. “Testing, testing, testing.” His voice echoes through the auditorium. “Miguel, m’ijo, are you out there?” No one responds. “You don’t need to hide,” Papá Julio says. “We’re here to help you.” Still nothing.

  “I’m going to turn on all the lights,” Victoria announces. “If he’s hiding, we’ll see him.” She flips the switches, and every spotlight, footlight, and bulb above the rafters turns on.

  “Ay!” the twin uncles cry because it went from dark to bright so quickly. “We can’t see!”

  Victoria and Rosita rush back to the stage. Papá Julio’s shading his eyes with his hands, and all of them are squinting as they try to adjust to the sudden light. Finally, they glance up to where Oscar and Felipe hang from rungs beneath the catwalk, just like changos in a zoo. They start swinging, but since their eyes are closed, they’re moving toward each other instead of moving to the sides. Before anyone can stop them, they collide, their bones breaking apart. Luckily, Papá Julio, Victoria, and Rosita step aside before getting caught in a shower of bones.