with fear.
I knelt in front of her and smiled. “Of course not.”
“Why did you take so long?” Mateo asked.
“No reason.” But I could feel the reason bumping alongside my hip all the way home.
18
Mateo’s Treasure Map
With three weeks left until I had to go back to California, I felt like there were still so many unanswered questions. I hope, hope, hoped the truth catcher would hurry and show me what I needed to see. Maybe it would tell me what the wind had been trying to say for so long, or give me the missing words from my baseball.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Socorro’s instructions to let my story simmer. So for the next few days, I wrote everything down. How the gold and pink hues reflected off the Sandia mountains, the way the moon looked like a feather floating down from the sky, the way Nana’s
tortillas
filled me up, the words I’d heard on the wind.
“What’re you doing?” Maggie asked as she skidded into the room with Frida on her heels.
“Just writing.” I liked the way that sounded. Like I was official or something.
“What’re you writing? Anything about me?” Maggie asked, bouncing on the bed.
“I really don’t have a story yet. Just bits and pieces.”
“Could you write one for me? I’ll be the princess and you can be in it if you want and make sure I get to fly. Oh, and you could talk about the ladder I’m going to build and—”
I raised my hands in the air, laughing. “Hold on. That’s a lot of information. When I learn to write a whole story, I promise to write one for you.”
“How long is that gonna take?”
I flipped through my stack of cards and shrugged. “As soon as I can make any of these fit together.”
Maggie hopped off the bed and leaned over the desk. “So that’s all? You just have to fit those cards together?”
“Kind of.”
She grabbed a blank card, and with her tongue sticking out one side of her mouth she wrote:
Flyeng Princis
. Then, she handed me the card. “As a reminder case you forget.”
I tugged on one of her braids gently. “I won’t forget, but Mateo is waiting for our treasure hunt.” And to finally show me the map. “You ready?”
I grabbed my canvas bag, which I’d filled with
tortillas
, and darted outside.
Outside, Frida raced ahead, stopping every so often to sniff the ground as if she were hunting for clues. As planned, we met Mateo by the hammock, then followed the dirt-lined path through the trees. My bag bounced against my hip, my ball tucked safely inside.
Mateo walked in front, clutching the map. “Pancho Villa was a famous bandit from Mexico who robbed a U.S. Army wagon and hid the treasure somewhere near here.”
“Mateo, how do you know about the treasure?” Maggie asked, walking behind us.
“Well, my father told me, and his father told him.”
“Why do you think no one has found it?” I asked.
Mateo put his arm around my shoulders. He leaned into my ear and whispered, “Because ghosts guard the treasure.”
I allowed him to linger for a moment before I pulled away.
“The legend says that Pancho Villa killed his guards and threw them in with the treasure so that it would be guarded forever,” he continued.
“Are they gonna get me, Izzy?” Maggie ran to me and put her arm around my waist.
I gave Mateo a dirty look. “No. Don’t be silly. Ghosts can’t hurt you, Maggie.”
Mateo patted the top of Maggie’s head, “No one will get you. I’m the one who’s going to go after it.” He gave me a crooked smile. “I heard someone found where the treasure’s buried, but was too afraid of the ghosts to uncover it. He was the one who made the map. My great grandfather won it from him in a poker match.”
Putting out my hand expectantly I said, “So a deal’s a deal. I proved I’m brave, so, show me the map.”
Mateo hesitated, but then, head bent low, handed me the map. “For you, brave Izzy.”
I stood straight and winked at Maggie as I took it. It was a wrinkled, brown paper,
I knelt in front of her and smiled. “Of course not.”
“Why did you take so long?” Mateo asked.
“No reason.” But I could feel the reason bumping alongside my hip all the way home.
18
Mateo’s Treasure Map
With three weeks left until I had to go back to California, I felt like there were still so many unanswered questions. I hope, hope, hoped the truth catcher would hurry and show me what I needed to see. Maybe it would tell me what the wind had been trying to say for so long, or give me the missing words from my baseball.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Socorro’s instructions to let my story simmer. So for the next few days, I wrote everything down. How the gold and pink hues reflected off the Sandia mountains, the way the moon looked like a feather floating down from the sky, the way Nana’s
tortillas
filled me up, the words I’d heard on the wind.
“What’re you doing?” Maggie asked as she skidded into the room with Frida on her heels.
“Just writing.” I liked the way that sounded. Like I was official or something.
“What’re you writing? Anything about me?” Maggie asked, bouncing on the bed.
“I really don’t have a story yet. Just bits and pieces.”
“Could you write one for me? I’ll be the princess and you can be in it if you want and make sure I get to fly. Oh, and you could talk about the ladder I’m going to build and—”
I raised my hands in the air, laughing. “Hold on. That’s a lot of information. When I learn to write a whole story, I promise to write one for you.”
“How long is that gonna take?”
I flipped through my stack of cards and shrugged. “As soon as I can make any of these fit together.”
Maggie hopped off the bed and leaned over the desk. “So that’s all? You just have to fit those cards together?”
“Kind of.”
She grabbed a blank card, and with her tongue sticking out one side of her mouth she wrote:
Flyeng Princis
. Then, she handed me the card. “As a reminder case you forget.”
I tugged on one of her braids gently. “I won’t forget, but Mateo is waiting for our treasure hunt.” And to finally show me the map. “You ready?”
I grabbed my canvas bag, which I’d filled with
tortillas
, and darted outside.
Outside, Frida raced ahead, stopping every so often to sniff the ground as if she were hunting for clues. As planned, we met Mateo by the hammock, then followed the dirt-lined path through the trees. My bag bounced against my hip, my ball tucked safely inside.
Mateo walked in front, clutching the map. “Pancho Villa was a famous bandit from Mexico who robbed a U.S. Army wagon and hid the treasure somewhere near here.”
“Mateo, how do you know about the treasure?” Maggie asked, walking behind us.
“Well, my father told me, and his father told him.”
“Why do you think no one has found it?” I asked.
Mateo put his arm around my shoulders. He leaned into my ear and whispered, “Because ghosts guard the treasure.”
I allowed him to linger for a moment before I pulled away.
“The legend says that Pancho Villa killed his guards and threw them in with the treasure so that it would be guarded forever,” he continued.
“Are they gonna get me, Izzy?” Maggie ran to me and put her arm around my waist.
I gave Mateo a dirty look. “No. Don’t be silly. Ghosts can’t hurt you, Maggie.”
Mateo patted the top of Maggie’s head, “No one will get you. I’m the one who’s going to go after it.” He gave me a crooked smile. “I heard someone found where the treasure’s buried, but was too afraid of the ghosts to uncover it. He was the one who made the map. My great grandfather won it from him in a poker match.”
Putting out my hand expectantly I said, “So a deal’s a deal. I proved I’m brave, so, show me the map.”
Mateo hesitated, but then, head bent low, handed me the map. “For you, brave Izzy.”
I stood straight and winked at Maggie as I took it. It was a wrinkled, brown paper,
Similar Books
