Taylor

“All of us rise from the dirt that's more and more become our mattress. We're wearing our shirt-hoods again, our chamarras tied around our waists. The air heats up. The moon is about to crash into the mountain. It's nine A.M., and my watch's plastic band begins to burn. I'll keep it on. I have to know the time when I see my parents.”
― Javier Zamora, Solito

“I smile and keep nodding, imagining my parents' hands. Their house. Their lawn. Their garden. Their swimming pool and cars. I want The Four to meet my parents. I look over at Patricia and Carla. At Chino. I'm gonna say goodbye to them soon. The sun is a bit over the center of the sky, shining in every direction. Our shadows are so small, but they touch. We're one big shadow. Our own family. I hope we rest a long time.”
― Javier Zamora, Solito

“My hands are drenched. I check my watch constantly. I stare at the short pollero's thin gold chains around his neck. His shirt and pants aren't as tight as the other pollero's, who walked outside minutes ago. Then the ring against the door, tap, tap, tap.

I stand up before the door opens.

The door unlocks. Tarsi is awake, and he watches me. His mom smiles and stands up with me.

The door opens, a bright flash.

My name booms throughout the room.

Two shadows appear. At last.”
― Javier Zamora, Solito

“Then we stop. "¡Down!" Coco Liso almost yells. We crouch. Pick a bush. I hold my breath. It sounds like an ocean wave is approaching the shore. A loud crash. Then it keeps crashing, but softer and softer until we can't hear it anymore. Shhhhhh. It quiets down like sand absorbing water, fizzling,

"Car," people whisper.

¿A car? ¿That was a car? ¡It sounded like the ocean! I look at Carla, who looks at me. Her eyes are big. I smile. She smiles back. I look at Chino, and he nods, doing his lip thing, meaning he thinks it's cool también.

We wait until there aren't any noises. We move again. People look back and whisper, "Stay low." I don't have to. Most bushes are taller than me. At most, I tilt my head. Carla has to bend a little, but she's also not that tall. The road is real. We hear it. We crouch from Crayon bush to Cheerleader bush. Past Fuzzies and Lonelies. We stop when we hear a wave forming, nearing, crash - then it fizzles away. I love it. ¡This is the ocean! The asphalt road is the ocean water, the cars the waves.”
― Javier Zamora, Solito