So far the responses to this story have been positive. I'm glad that you guys like it.
And in case you're confused, the Rivera family tree has obviously been rearranged a bit in this version and the original Teacher AU that this story is an AU of. Héctor is the cousin of Enrique, Berto, and Gloria. Essentially, Elena and Victoria had a third sister who wasn't exactly mother material and he ended up being mostly raised by Elena alongside his cousins through most of his childhood. This results in Héctor being Miguel's cousin once removed, but he's mostly called "Tío Héctor" for simplicity's sake.
Héctor doodled absently along the margins of his gradebook, enjoying his free time between classes. He'd managed to get Miguel to school on time, albeit barely. He even managed to have a quiet word to his teacher to keep an eye on the boy. But that left Héctor late to teach his first class. His students thankfully didn't seem to mind though and didn't speak a word about his lateness. Nor about his distracted state.
True, the first day of school tended to be relaxed and casual. But most teachers probably didn't spend the entire morning daydreaming about a beautiful young woman carrying boxes up the stairs. He barely managed to get through explaining the curriculum to his students without stumbling over the words.
He abruptly noticed that his random sketching had produced a rather nice likeness of Imelda. Héctor shook his head sharply, trying to clear his thoughts. He was acting un poco loco. He couldn't be this infatuated with someone that he barely knew. Ernesto would laugh his head off if he realized.
It wasn't like there was any chance of something developing either. Imelda undoubtedly had a handsome husband to go with her adorable daughter. Even if Héctor barely knew her, he knew that she didn't seem like the type of woman who would cheat. She wouldn't have the time or temperament for such clandestine activities when she didn't even have the patience to accept an offer to help move boxes. And anyway, Héctor wouldn't want to be involved in ripping a family apart.
And yet he couldn't stop thinking about her.
A smile kept sliding across his face. The memory of that brief glimpse swirled continuously through his mind. Warmth kept washing over him at the thought of her. She was intriguing and tantalizing in ways that he couldn't put into words. And crafting words was a talent of his, finding the proper phrases to put into his songs. He needed to see her again. He wanted to get to know Imelda better.
Ay, he could only imagine her smile. If that tiny look on her face left him awash with warmth, her smile would set him aflame.
A bell rang overhead, startling Héctor out of his distracted musings. Right. His break was over. His next class of students would be showing up soon. Maybe he would be able to focus on the curriculum this time.
He closed the gradebook and hide the sketches from sight. Then he stood up and smiled as a couple students wandered in.
Coco carefully positioned her doll against her pillow. With her pink comforter and soft pillows, she'd finished being helpful by making her bed after Mamá put the metal frame together.
Well, maybe. Coco frowned as she looked closer. The blankets might be a little crooked and uneven. Maybe Mamá could help her fix it later.
Coco was trying to help. She unpacked her toys. She put away her clothes in her small dresser since she couldn't reach high enough to hang them in the closet. And she tried to make her bed. Mamá was so busy fixing up the rest of the house, so she needed Coco to be a big girl and help.
There were lots and lots of boxes. All the boxes with all their things.
She didn't know why they had to leave their house though. She missed her old room. She missed their orange kitchen, the pretty pink flowers outside, and the blue tile in the bathroom. Mamá's room was too far away and the floors were the wrong color. It wasn't right. It wasn't home.
But Mamá liked it. She'd been sad and mad for a long time, even when she tried to pretend that she wasn't. And Mamá said they could be happy here. Coco wanted Mamá to be happy. That's why she drew Mamá so many pretty pictures. And that's why Coco was going to be a big help. If Mamá liked the house, even if it was wrong and different, then Coco would try to like it too. That way Mamá would be happy.
It wouldn't be that bad. She had Mamá, her doll, and a comfy bed that she wasn't allowed to jump on. Maybe after Coco covered the walls with drawings, she would like it better.
And maybe Mamá was wrong and Papá would come see them. Mamá used to tell all sorts of stories about him and papás were supposed to be good, loving, and fun. Coco wanted that. Maybe Papá would come and he would like the house too. He would play with her, draw pictures, sing songs, tell stories, and lots of fun stuff. That's what papás were supposed to do. Then he would stay and Mamá would be happy. And everyone would be happy.
But until then, Coco would be a good girl and help out Mamá. And she would try to like the house, even if it wasn't the right one.
She would be happy, just like Mamá said. And maybe Mamá would be happy too.
Miguel swung his feet as he watched the clock tick forward, waiting to escape his desk. School was boring enough already, but today was just plain awful. He didn't know anyone. He used to have a few boys that he played fútbol and talk about cartoons with, even if he didn't have a best friend. But at least he knew everyone that he went to school with in Santa Cecilia. All his new classmates were strangers. And no one wanted to be friends with the new kid.
And even though Miguel kept staring at the clock, he doubted things would be any better once class ended. He wouldn't be walking home with Rosa and Abel. He wouldn't be going back to the familiar workshop, filled with the smell of leather and the sounds of people crafting shoes. And Mamá and Papá wouldn't be waiting there, eager to hear about his day.
Miguel blinked rapidly against the burning sensation in his eyes. He wasn't a baby. He wouldn't start crying in class. He couldn't help it when he awoke from nightmares in tears and Tío Héctor held him close while humming songs and whispering reassuring words. He couldn't help what he did in his sleep. But Miguel refused to cry in school just because he missed his parents.
He rubbed his arm against his face, ensuring that no tears had escaped. He missed his parents and the rest of his family. He missed his old room, his old house, and his old school. He liked Tío Héctor, but he really missed having something familiar.
But Papá and Mamá apparently wanted Tío Héctor to take care of him if something bad happened. All the adults discussed and argued over it, though they tried to keep Miguel from hearing. Everyone kept saying that Tío Berto and Tía Carmen or Abuelita and Papá Franco would be better suited since they had experience. They said Tía Gloria would also be a good choice. Abuelita even said that taking care of Miguel would be too much pressure to put on him. But Tía Carmen was pregnant again, so they would have a new baby to take care of soon. And his parents did pick Tío Héctor and put it in writing.
And no matter what anyone might say or how much Miguel missed more familiar surroundings, Tío Héctor was doing his best. Miguel could see it. And he wasn't Papá, but he was nice, he had the coolest roommate, and he didn't say anything about the nightmares or the times the boy crawled into his bed like a little kid. Tío Héctor didn't try to make him talk about how he felt. He didn't push Miguel to explain things that he couldn't even put into words inside his own head.
Even if Miguel wasn't certain of anything else, he knew Tío Berto's whispered words were wrong. Tío Héctor could be trusted with a child. He wasn't "someone who could barely take care of himself without help," whatever that meant.
Miguel liked Tío Héctor. He just missed how things were supposed to be.
He dropped his head on his desk. He hated this. His head felt all muddled, he was tired, and he just wanted out of there. Miguel wanted to leave all day. By lunch, he'd considered sneaking out. He could have slipped over to the secundaria, tracked down Tío Héctor's classroom, and hid there while his tío taught music. It couldn't be that hard to find him. The idea seemed so tempting. But Miguel stayed for the rest of the day, bored and frustrated by the lessons. Now he was just counting down the minutes.
"Miguel, have you finished the math problems on the board?"
Raising his head from the desk, he grumbled, "Almost, Profe Adriana."
He returned to his previous efforts as she resumed her casual pacing around the room, the teacher observing their work. Miguel bit his lower lip as he considered the numbers. Why was math so boring?
If they wanted to hear a song or to have someone demonstrate that tricky fingering from Ernesto's video three months ago, Miguel would be the first to volunteer. Practicing the guitar by watching those videos left him confident when it came to music. Or… mostly confident. Maybe not confident enough for an actual performance.
But music was fun. Math was completely boring. And who really needed to know so much math? No one liked math.
On the other hand, he wasn't going to be able to escape math any time soon. After a little studying, Miguel scribbled down an answer. And he was even relatively certain the answer was the right one. But the best part, however, was that he'd finished the final problem on the board.
Just in time too, the bell abruptly ringing to signal the end of the day. Chaos erupted as the students scrambled into action, gathering up backpacks and bolting for the exit. And even if it was a new school for Miguel, some things were universal. No one wanted to linger any longer than necessary. They had better things to do than hang around the classroom when they could go home, play fútbol, watch cartoons, or almost anything other than math.
"Miguel?"
Looking up from his attempts to shove his papers into his backpack, he asked, "Yes, Profe Adriana?"
"Profe Héctor asked me to remind you to meet him at the front of the school," she said. "He might be a while finishing up."
"The secundaria is right next to the primaria. I can walk over there."
"I know, but he probably wants to keep things simple for your first day. There's a bench near the front door where you can wait for him."
Miguel nodded, but he had already decided against that plan. He wasn't a little kid and he didn't need help walking over to the other school. And sitting on a bench outside sounded boring. He really didn't want to hang around forever. The alternative sounded a lot better. Seeing the different instruments that the older students played would be nice. Tío Héctor taught them how to play and even if Miguel hadn't heard him play yet, Miguel knew that his tío's classroom would be filled with instruments and music. He would probably learn something there even if Héctor wasn't famous on the internet like his roommate, Ernesto de la Cruz.
So while Miguel slipped his backpack on and followed the rest of the students out of the building, he bypassed the waiting bench outside. Shoulders hunched and head bowed, he moved through the crowds of rushing older students as if he belonged. He'd learned years ago that as long as he acted like he belonged and that he knew what he was doing, he could get away with a lot before anyone questioned him. Miguel adopted that façade of confidence to slip into the secundaria.
Once inside, occasionally being jostled by the older students, Miguel did realize that there was a slight problem with his plan. He barely knew his way around the primaria after one day. He had no idea where anything in the secundaria might be. All he could see was hallways and doors to nearly identical rooms. The numbers or even the occasional posted teacher's name didn't clarify anything. After a few minutes of wandering, Miguel began to reconsider the whole "wait on the bench" option…
No way. He wasn't going back to the bench like a little kid.
He was smart. He could figure this out. There had to be a logical way to find Tío Héctor's classroom. He could ask someone for directions or…
Something soft, slow, and beautiful wove through the halls and filled his ears. A simple tune, but one that coaxed a smile to his face. He recognized the instrument as a guitar. And music meant the music teacher. Miguel followed the sounds through the building.
It was beautiful and yet drastically different than what Ernesto de la Cruz tended to play on his videos. Those were loud, confident, and meant to show off. This was warm, gentle, and felt deeper. The music seemed to wrap around him and flowed through him. Miguel felt himself swaying as he walked. His fingers itched to try and mimic the sound himself.
He reached a door just as the simple song came to an end. Miguel peered inside. The back wall was covered in tall cabinets, each one labeled with a different instrument. The rest of the room was filled with chairs arranged in a half circle around a podium. On one side were the two remaining people. An older boy sat in a chair, resting a violin on his lap as he peered at the sheet music on the stand. And beside him was Tío Héctor with a guitar in his hands, pointing at the sheet music as he spoke to the student.
"Now try it again, Arturo," said Héctor. "Nice and slow. Pay attention to each note as we go. Hit each one before moving on to the next. Don't rush through the song. Play it largo."
Taking a deep breath, the student brought the violin up to the correct position. Tapping his foot and briefly mouthing the words of a countdown, he drew the bow across the strings. Tío Héctor joined in, strumming gently and matching Arturo's hesitant playing. The two of them slowly worked their way through the song again, but with the violin setting the pace and leading the song. Miguel could tell that the older boy was still learning, but he was pretty good. But Tío Héctor…
Miguel didn't know he could play like that.
As the duet came to a close, Tío Héctor set the guitar down and said, "Very nicely done. I told you that you'd get it."
"Gracias, Profe Héctor," said Arturo with a relieved smile.
As the older boy began putting his instrument in its case, Héctor continued, "You can play the song, Arturo. You just tend to get ahead of yourself and start stumbling over the notes. We'll work on that."
Arturo nodded before slinging his backpack over his shoulder and picking up his violin case. He stepped out the door, pausing for a moment when he spotted Miguel lurking there. He gave Miguel a short nod and smile, but he didn't linger any longer. The older boy headed down the hallway and out of sight.
Miguel waited a few minutes as he watched Tío Héctor straighten up the music stands and stack the chairs. He was even humming cheerfully as he worked. But as Tío Héctor seemed to finish, he couldn't keep quiet any longer. There was something that he desperately needed to ask after that performance.
"Can you teach me to play like that?"
Tío Héctor startled, nearly tripping over the closest stack of chairs and knocking over one of the music stands. Miguel cringed at the series of crashes, regretting how his outburst startled his tío. He didn't expect that much chaos. But Tío Héctor eventually untangled himself from the mess and regained his footing.
"Miguel, I thought I told you to wait outside your school," said Héctor, trying to reclaim a hint of his lost dignity and authority.
He shrugged and said, "That's boring. And why didn't you tell me you could play like that? It was amazing."
"I'm a music teacher. How did you expect me to play? And what did you think me and Ernesto did growing up, Chamaco? We played music together," said Héctor. "Taught him everything he knows."
"No manches," he said.
"You know that song he plays at the start of his longer videos or his livestreams?"
"The World Es Mi Familia?"
Miguel knew exactly which song his tío must have meant. While many of the songs that Ernesto tended to perform were covers and remixes of famous songs, a few were original pieces of music. Those tended to be more popular with his fans, at least from what Miguel read in the comments. People would pay money to download copies or to use them in other videos. And one of his signature songs that appeared in all the longer videos, some people describing it as his standard opening number, was "The World Es Mi Familia."
Miguel remembered how proud that he was when he learned to play it.
"I wrote it for Ernesto," said Héctor. "I also do a lot of the editing on the computer before he posts his videos."
"You wrote it?"
"Sí. I don't know why that surprises you. It's in the description below the videos."
"No one ever scrolls down to click and read that stuff. And if you help him so much, then why aren't you in the videos? You could play songs and everything with him."
Picking up the guitar and putting it back in its case, Héctor said, "I do play with him for our live performances during the summer and school breaks. But all that internet stuff? Performing like a trained monkey for strangers half a world away? Bleagh." He made a disgusted face that nearly startled a laugh out of Miguel. "No thanks."
Rolling his eyes and shaking his head at his tío's weirdness, Miguel asked again, "So, can you at least teach me how to play like that?"
He had hoped that maybe his new school would be different than his old one when it came to music, but a few quick questions squashed that idea. Only the older kids at the primaria were taught how to play an instrument. And even then, it was mostly squawking out simple tunes on recorders. That wasn't worth waiting until he was ten. Miguel wanted to play real music like the kids at the secundaria. He already knew some and Tío Héctor could explain the rest.
Like what the dots and lines and symbols on the sheet music meant.
Sighing tiredly, Tío Héctor ran a hand through his hair as he stared at Miguel. Neither of them said a word. Miguel just stared up at him with his most pleading expression. He didn't even know how well it might work on him. Unlike his long experience with most of his family, Miguel hadn't had time to try out most of his begging tactics on the man. He could be immune for all Miguel knew. But Tío Héctor seemed to find what he was searching for because he slowly nodded.
"Okay, okay," said Héctor. "You keep up on your schoolwork, keep your grades up, and actually listen when I tell you to go or stay somewhere… and I'll teach you the same material as the rest of my students. It'll be hard work though."
Miguel stared for a moment before launching himself at the man, hugging tightly and laughing excitedly. Enthusiastic agreement and thanks tumbled out of his mouth. He desperately wanted this.
Learning music wasn't like learning math. It wasn't dull and tedious. It was something fun, exciting, and wonderful. It made sense. He liked learning how to play the guitar, how it sounded and felt. He loved music and all the work he put into learning was always worth it. Miguel would happily work as hard as necessary.
He wanted this so badly and now he would someone who would really teach him. Not just videos, but a real person.
"It's a deal, Tío Héctor," he said, finally pulling out of the impulsive hug.
Giving him a warm smile, Tío Héctor stepped away briefly to slip the instrument case into the cabinets with the rest of the school's instruments. Then he scooped up his bag and joined Miguel at the doorway. Tío Héctor even took a moment to ruffle his hair, earning a chuckle.
But before the pair could head out, voices came echoing down the hall. And Miguel saw Tío Héctor scowl and slump his shoulders in response to the sound. His entire posture quickly filled with frustration.
Miguel spotted a small cluster of teachers approaching them down the hallway. Gossiping and laughing together, they reminded him of a bunch of excited kids after a fútbol game. And it didn't take long to identify the leader of the pack. With a short beard, a thin mustache, and what was probably meant to be a fashionable hat and scarf combo, the man seemed to laugh the loudest in the chatting group of teachers.
"Hey," said the man as he spotted the pair. "There you are. We figured you'd already run off."
"Hey there, Gustavo," muttered Héctor without a shred of enthusiasm. Clearly trying to scrape together a hint of his manners, he gestured at Miguel and said, "This is my primo and godson, Miguel. He moved in with me and Ernesto recently. He's in Profe Adriana's class at the primaria."
"You'll like her class. I mean, she isn't up to my level, but she's decent." Straightening his posture and puffing out his chest a little some of the birds that Miguel had seen, Gustavo said, "Granted, teaching kids at your age isn't as challenging as what I expect of my students. She has it easy in comparison."
"He teaches history," said Héctor evenly.
"And my classes have the best grades in the school for a reason. I mean, I could have taken over the music department years ago and really made something special out of it, but I couldn't take the time away from students. They deserve my full attention."
"Tío Héctor is a great music teacher," said Miguel, glaring up at the man. "He can also write music and play the guitar. I heard him. He's amazing."
Scoffing slightly, Gustavo said, "Yeah, but anyone can play guitar. That's easy. Mastering instruments like the violin takes skill."
"Anyway," interrupted one of the other teachers, "we were heading out to celebrate surviving the first day. You know. A little drinking, a little dancing… You should come with us, Héctor. It'll be fun."
Shaking his head, Héctor said, "No, gracias. It was a nice offer though."
"Too good to hang out with us?" said Gustavo. "I know we're not famous internet celebrities like that 'roommate' of yours…"
"It doesn't matter who's asking. Even if it was Ernesto offering me a shot of tequila, I'd still turn it down. I'm just not much of a drinker." Placing a hand on Miguel's shoulder, Héctor said, "Besides, I need to get the kid home. Have fun."
"You don't know what you're missing out on," called Gustavo as the pair turned around to leave, his voice gaining a taunting edge, "Profe Chorizo."
Miguel saw Tío Héctor sigh and roll his eyes in response. And while Profe Gustavo laughed like he'd said the funniest thing ever, the other teachers didn't join in. Apparently whatever joke that he was making was already getting old with them.
"Chorizo?" asked Miguel quietly as they headed down the hall.
"I ate some bad chorizo almost a year ago and got sick. One case of food poisoning left me laid up for a couple days and I've still not heard the end of it." Shaking his head tiredly, he muttered, "Self-important jerk."
"But that doesn't sound funny. You were sick. Why does Profe Gustavo think its funny to call you 'Chorizo'?"
For some reason, Tío Héctor's ears seemed redder than a moment before. He coughed awkwardly while his eyes dropped to the floor at Miguel's rather innocuous question. And he couldn't seem to manage to choke out a word until they made it outside the building.
"Don't worry about it, Chamaco. It's a bad joke anyway."
Miguel narrowed his eyes and asked, "Is this one of those things that no one will explain until I'm older?"
"Sí. Like when you're twenty. Or forty." Tío Héctor paused a moment before giving Miguel a stern look. "And don't try asking Ernesto. Because he'll explain and neither of us will enjoy hearing it."
"Largo" means to play the music broadly. Or rather, play it slowly with the notes drawn out. It is a way of describing the tempo of the piece. And if you notice, it is how Héctor tells his student to play the song in this chapter.