Felice and the Wailing Woman by Diana López

Author:Diana López [López, Diana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2023-04-18T00:00:00+00:00

It’s Better than Naming Them After Sandwich Meats

I stay on the tailgate of El Cucuy for a while longer, thinking about my adventures until—I can’t help it—I yawn, fatigue taking over, and it’s no wonder, since I’ve been hiking and dancing my way through Tres Leches County. I’ve been climbing trees and leaning out of an airplane, too. That’s a lot of excitement for one day!

Luckily, I’m at the Mesquite Bean Inn, where I can get a room and sleep. That’s my plan, anyway, but before I can hop off the tailgate, the door to El Camarón creaks open.

A man steps out. He’s wearing a cowboy hat and a denim jacket over a white shirt. Like most men in Tres Leches, his belt has a giant buckle, this one with a rhinestone-studded picture of the dance hall’s logo, the cowboy “bull-riding” on a shrimp. This must be Rooster’s dad, I realize, the owner of El Camarón.

When he notices me, he tips his hat to say hello, and my cheeks get hot from blushing because he’s the handsomest man I’ve ever seen.

I watch, mesmerized, as he reaches into his pocket for a cigarette and puts it between his lips. Then he snaps, and a fire ignites from his fingertip. He lights the cigarette, takes a few puffs, and blows on his finger to put out the flame. I’m still processing the idea of a fiery finger when I notice something even stranger. His jeans are cut short, revealing his feet, only they’re not human—they’re like a chicken’s. I close my eyes and shake my head, still doubting. Then I look for a second time, and it’s true. Rooster’s dad has chicken feet!

I should be freaking out—this man just snapped a fire into being and he’s not entirely human!—but I’m more curious than scared. Now I understand how Rooster got his name and his good looks. His father is just so handsome. So what if he has chicken feet? No one’s perfect. And snapping up fires? It’s probably just a magic trick. I heard magicians use something called “flash paper” to make that happen.

The music gets even louder, and Rooster’s father takes one more puff before snuffing out his cigarette. Then he starts for the door, but before going inside, he glances back at me, jerks his head in a way that says “Come on over.” Before I know it, I’m hopping off the tailgate and crossing the street. My steps aren’t regular walking steps, they’re taps and slides. My hips sway, my shoulders roll, and my fingers snap. I’m dancing! Rooster’s dad holds open the door as I approach, and the lights inside are the bright colors of lollipops. There’s hip-hop music, and I glimpse some kids break dancing.

I don’t bother to glance back at the Mesquite Bean Inn even though Reynaldo’s warning is echoing in my mind. “Don’t dance at El Camarón!” it’s saying, but another voice, a louder voice, is telling me it’s okay. It’s just one dance. Five minutes tops.

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