Tree of Dreams by Laura Resau

Author:Laura Resau
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2019-04-04T16:00:00+00:00

Who owns a dream? That’s what I’m thinking as Mom strolls up the path, arm in arm with Gali at his slug pace. Behind them are Leo and Nieves. “¡Buenos días!” the moms call out, coming through the dining hut door, bringing with them the smells of bug spray and sunscreen.

“Mmm … eggs?” Nieves guesses, adjusting a black headband over her glossy hair.

“And papaya,” I say.

“Yes!” Nieves gets a melty look in her eyes.

“Thanks for your note, sweet bean,” Mom says, kissing the top of my head. There’s something different about her. No dark circles. And her cheeks look rosy even though she’s not wearing makeup. Two braids fall over her shoulders, Pippi Longstocking–style. She’s wearing a cotton baby doll dress over leggings; not exactly rain forest attire, but she looks cute and chipper in it.

I help Isa and Alma serve the eggs and toast and tea and papaya. As we eat, thankfully, no one brings up the topic of dreams again. The last thing I need is for Leo to hear about it.

At the moment, Leo’s surrounded by Isa’s little brothers and sister like they’re a gaggle of goslings. He pulls a coin from one of their ears as they giggle. Next he grabs three crayons from his pockets and asks the kids to choose a color, any color.

At the moms’ insistence, Gali says he’ll rest again today before setting out on his mysterious mission. He tosses out a few early morning secrets to happiness: Dream with crickets. Wake up to rivers. Converse with trees. Eyeing my papaya spiral, he adds, “Make art with food.”

“And harvest chocolate!” Mom pipes in. She claps her hands together, which are adorned with old turquoise jewelry she must have dug out from the depths of her jewelry box back home. She’s wildly excited about gathering the cacao pods today. When Alma shows her the extra machetes she’s brought for them, Mom practically starts salivating.

“You kids want to help us with the cacao harvest?” Nieves asks.

“Actually,” I say quickly, in English, “Isa’s taking me out on the canoe today.” I flick my eyes away and, unsure where to look, just stare at my eggs. My insides have turned to lumps of runny, guilty mush.

“¡Excelente!” Nieves says. “Doesn’t that sound fun, Leo?”

Heat rises to my face. So she assumes he’s invited.

Cringing, I glance at him. He’s examining his own pile of eggs. He knows what I meant. He knows when he’s not invited. It’s a basic middle school skill.

I’ve been there. I spent weeks figuring out what it meant not to be invited somewhere. I can still feel the six-month-old sting of realizing that Leo rejected me for Caitlyn and her cronies. Part of me wants him to know what it feels like to be left out. And then there’s the practical reason of needing to find the treasure under the ceiba before him. I could ignore his misery, abandon him, and head out on the river with Isa.

Or I could open my mouth and say, Oh, of course we want you to come with us!

Instead, I watch him blinking fast, humiliated.

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