Chapter One

The Plaza, The Workshop, The Attic

October 31st, 2017

The mariachi chuckled at her while Michaela focused on polishing the fine leather of his boots. From her cross-legged position on the ground, she glowered up at him. "It isn't funny! I don't see why I, alongside every generation of my family after my dead great-great grandfather, have to deal with the repercussions of a dead woman!" She held up the shoe in the bright sunlight, checking to ensure there was no smear of polish or unsightly blotch of dirt on the leather. A virtuoso she may be, but she was also a Rivera Girl. The family motto was "Rivera's are shoemakers through and through" and when you've been raised under the Matriarch Elena Rivera, the woman with iron toes and perfectly stitched sandals, you didn't ask questions about it either.

In other words, when it came to shoes, whether it be polishing them or constructing them, the expectation was nothing less than perfection. Pride in the family business was fine to Michaela, she just wished her grandmother wasn't such a hard-ass about Rivera Standards and that damned music ban. At this point, her close friend of four years burst into outright laughter. Antonio Chavez, a sweet kid and quite handsome to every other girl in town, son of a well of Ranchero to boot...and an utter pain in Michaela's ass. Sometimes, she couldn't believe he was older than her by an entire year.

Looking up, she turned her glower into a complete death stare. It was the look that screamed 'Do-You-Want-Me-To-Hit-You-With-My-Shoe'? Antonio paled ever so slightly at her as she slowly began reaching down to her boot laces, returning his perfectly shined mariachi boots to the bench. Finally getting his raucous laughter under control, he tugged at one of her ribbon bound braids.

"Michaela, if you dislike the ban so badly, why don't you just tell Senora Rivera to her face? I get that your grandmother is intimidating, I know so from the amount of times she's chased me out the house each time I forgot to leave my guitar at home or put my phone on silent, shoes flying through the windows! You sing and dance as great as any silver-screen star! In my eyes, you could be the next Ernesto de la Cruz even. Just go up to them and say 'Hey, I'm a musician! Deal with it!'" His dark eyes twinkled with mischief, mischief that had gotten her grounded more times than she could count over the near half-decade of their friendship. Internally, she debated punching him as hints of anxiety poked holes through her exasperation.

"Tell that to Abuelita's face? I knew you were loco, but now you come off as downright insane. She'd absolutely freak, tan my hide, and ground me for life." Re-lacing her boots, she stood and swiped his hat from his head before smacking him with it lightly. "You know how Abuelita is. I'd never get away with it and she'd go after you too as soon as she found out you gave the idea. Maybe she'd just kill us both and be done with the whole affair."

Antonia crossed his right leg over his left knee, slipping his shoes back on and leaning forwards on his elbows, guitar carefully cradled in his lap. "There's no way Elena would kill both of us...your parents would save you at the very least." There was a brief moment of silence between the two, the pair silently engaging in a battle of wills displayed only by their eyes. The faint refrains of music drifted around them on the heated, humid breeze passing through the plaza. Even through the humidity, a chill ran down Michaela's spine as a sudden light burned itself into Antonio's eyes. She pulled her red jacket tighter around herself. The idiot seemed to have gotten an idea into his head.

"Michaela, you are the most brilliant musician Santa Cecilia has seen since Ernesto de la Cruz. You studied and learned poetry into order to build a basis for songwriting, you did so right under your family's nose. You'd sneak out for months, teaching yourself to dance in the shadowed corners of the plaza. Half an hour ago you were singing as clear as a Nightingale Bird. I know that you've even learned how to teach yourself guitar through old videos. You have the chance to be the most brilliant, radiant star in the world!"

"Flattery gets you nowhere Antonio." She crossed her legs at the ankles and stuck her hands into her pockets, fingers drumming nervously against her side. It was a habit she had picked up from her parents. Her cheeks burned as a warm sensation of embarrassment and joy spread through her body. Antonio's grin widened, making him seem more like the joyous 13 year old from four years ago than a 17 year old boy in the middle of transitioning from a child to a man. His voice and eyes softened even as Michaela was steadfast in her decision not to meet his eyes. "I'm not saying this to flatter you, mi Amiga. I truly believe every word I just said."

He nudged his shoulder against hers, a familiar movement that had her heart skipping beats in her chest like a broken boombox on maximum volume. He turned away from her and lifted his hand to point at a brilliantly colored flier stapled to the wooden structure of the plaza's stage. "Look over there! They're setting up for the annual Dia de los Muertos Talent Showcase, the one that has shows every night until the Festival ends! That would be the perfect chance to show off and prove to your family that music is good and not just something belonging to old, dead homewreckers!"

The exhilaration made his voice sound laden with expectation even as Michaela's stomach dropped as though she had ingested a ball of lead or ate a piece of spoiled chorizo and got food poisoning (again). "No way. Like I said, my family would freak! Abuelita really would drop dead of a heart attack, just like Papa Imelio." Antonio turned back to Michaela. "If he was as much of a hard-ass as your grandmother, I'd almost say he deserved what he got...but it's hard not to respect a single father even if his way of coping was stupid. That's also me just being petty about how stubborn you are."

"Don't be rude about my family, jerk! Even if you are kind of right." She poked at his side with a frown. "Seriously, there's no way I'd get away with it." Antonio scoffed. "You're as much of a musician as I am, Michaela. You always say you wish you could be like Ernesto de la Cruz, that he's your idol, and your chance to be like him is staring at you just a few feet away pinned to the stage. Seriously!"

Michaela really did start blushing when Antonio leaned even closer to her, the dark brown eyes gleaming. He quirked an eyebrow at her and his grin widened so much he looked like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. "If you're fine with sticking to your family business for the rest of your life, it's fine. We're friends and I'll stick by your side no matter what, but I don't think you'll ever be happy Michaela. You might end up sacrificing music from your life entirely, the same way your father and grandfather did when they married into the family."

A strange sense of melancholy washed over them both for a moment, slightly more profound within Michaela. She couldn't understand how her father and grandfather had willing gave away music. Especially her grandfather when her grandmother was such a terrifying hurricane-like force to be reckoned with. They found love worth more than something that they had been raised with all their lives, gave that up for love...yet her great-great grandmother had abandoned her family due to love of music. The parallels were striking. Could she truly give up music to be with her family? Or would her wish to sing and dance be greater than her familial bonds? Would she end up as nameless and shamed as her great-great grandmother, or could there be a way for her family (even abuelita) to accept her and music?

Antonio looked back to Michaela, startled by her unusually long silence. Her lips were turned down at the corners into a slight frown, her nails digging into her fingertips unconsciously. "Hey, don't worry about it. There's no need to stress." He placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a smile that seemed to be a slight grimace. There was an awkward silence from the attempted gesture of reassurance. Then he spoke again. "This is kind of awkward, but I love you and shall valiantly make an attempt to cheer you while being significantly less awkward. Michaela, what was De la Cruz's most famous motto?"

She snorted. "Seize your moment! To make the most of your life, he believed you had to capture every passing moment to the best your ability, no matter the cost, no matter how much effort you needed to put into your actions, regardless of even your own conviction." Then she sat up properly and finally gave Antonio a slight smirk. "Then all the ladies will fawn to you." She made the faux act os swooning, leaning against Antonio while suggestively raising her eyebrows a few times. He started snickering. "He was a womanizer after all, as brilliant as a musician, he was also one charismatic sleazeball with how much time he spent flirting. What else could you expect when he was born in the machismo era?"

Antonio took a slight pause while Michaela continue giggling slightly. Then he handed his guitar to Michaela, whose eyes widened. The shock sharply cut off her giggles. "Even if you don't want to perform at the Talent Show, I'd love to see what you got. I'm your #1 fan and audience member, right?"

It had started as a running gag, Antonio saying he was her #1 fan. He had snuck her books on dancing, books on different instruments and how they worked, even going as far as to spend long hours with her at the library so that it wouldn't be strange for him to be bringing her books. Most people assumed they were study buddies. He'd help her go over her mother's stacks of old poetry, learn music notes and how staffs works, the differences between Bass and Treble Clef, he even help her practice her dancing and prevent injuries in the making. He was the one who had her get up on stage the first time when she was 12, wearing a mask of leather roses and faux crystals from the small craft store in town. It wouldn't do for someone to recognize a Rivera Girl on stage after all, they were the crazy family who hated music.

That's also why he was probably her only friend in the world.

Gingerly, she tightened her grasp on his guitar. It was a fine instrument, the light amber wood gleaming in the sun and the silver strings seeming like threads of glimmering light. She was holding a guitar, a real musical instrument. Not something she had cobbled together, but something professional made. Michaela reached forwards, the tips of her fingers just barely being able to brush the strings of the instrument when a piercing shout had her stumbling away from the bench, lurching away from Antonio while scrambling to return his guitar and gather up her shoe polishing kit left discarded at her feet.

"What are you doing Michaela?!" Back straight, head up, and a chancla in hand, into the plaza marched Elena Rivera, the matriarch of the Rivera Family.

What a great day to be grounded.

5 Minutes Later

Elena kept a tight grasp on Michaela's wrist, even as the teenager fought to keep pace with her shorter-by-a-foot elder. "You didn't have to throw your sandal at him Abuelita!" Michaela explained, trying not to stumble on the paved stone street. She winced as she thought back to how swiftly Elena had whipped off her shoe and smacked the teenager with it, even if she hadn't hit him that hard. Elena nearly paused in her tracks to stare at Michaela. "Of course I did, my sweet bebita. He was corrupting you with that no-good music nonsense!"

With the way her Tio Berto, and her prima Rosa had reacted as well, you would have thought they caught her and Antonio kissing each other! She hoped his guitar hadn't gotten damaged in the fall. Repairs could be expensive. The idea of his guitar getting broken because of her hurt more than seeing him get hit with Abuelita's chancla, mostly because seeing him get chased off with a shoe wasn't anything new. Michaela had stumbled over her words in her attempt to defend him while soothing his grandmother ("We just passed by each other, he almost dropped his guitar...Ay, no Abuelita, don't hit him!")...it was a catastrophe and completely mortifying to witness. It probably hurt like hell too now that she was really thinking on it.

Berto turned to her while balancing a stack of shoe boxes in his arms. "How many times have we told you to avoid the plaza? That place is infested with mariachi's, even if your friend isn't as corrupted as they are!" More like her family had a distorted view on musicians. The flyer she had grabbed from the stage felt as though it was burning a hole into her pocket. "Of course Tio Berto, I know. It's not like I talk to anyone at the plaza besides Antonio or the vendors though!" Her cheeks still burned when she remembered the way people had stared at her as Elena dragged her down the street. Pity, fear...some had even looked at Elena with disgust. She had hit an innocent 17 year old with no reason after all, to their eyes.

The sound of quiet whining reaching her ears as something brushed past her legs. Looking down, she was met with big dark eyes, floppy ears, and a wagging tail. In other words, her little stray dog. She named him Dante, and he was a mighty (and stupid) Xolo dog. Dante jumped up, trying to put his paws on her stomach, his long tongue hanging out the corner of his mouth as he begged for treats. "No, Dante! Down! I don't have any treats for you right now." She repeatedly motioned with the flat of her palms for Dante to back away, hoping he'd realize what she was telling him.

Abuelita narrowed her eyes at him, shaking her chancla in his direction. "Get away, you! Away!" She scolded Dante, who eventually darted off, frightened of the short lady who smelled similarly to his human. Even if he didn't have a tag, she had given him a nice leather collar she made herself with a silver buckle and leather scrap, and that made her his human. He'd meet with his human later, because he was a good boy, and when he was a good boy he would get scratches on the back and treats. For good measure, Elena threw her shoe at him to scare him off. Michaela winced in sympathy.

Elena (who had released Michaela's wrist at some point) narrowed her eyes at her granddaughter. "Never name a street dog. If you do, they will follow you for the rest of your life and steal your food." They continued walking down the street in silence, Michaela occasionally glancing at Elena's feet and wondering if her grandmother would just walk home with a missing shoe.

They passed a house, then another. There was another moment of empty, almost awkward silence. "Berto, go get my shoe."

The Rivera Workshop

October 31st, 2017

They entered through the gate of the hacienda, the lights in the house dimmed except for the lamp in Mama Coco's room. When Elena continued to march on the cobblestone path through the courtyard to the Old House, she realized that everyone was still working in the shoe shop. They likely wouldn't stop working at orders until the bells signifying the start of the Festival de los Muertos rang.

Entering the workshop, Michaela was greeted with the sight each of her family members working on orders, whether it was organizing the files, preparing boxes, working leather on the lasts, or adding the final stitches to a product. After dropping off the boxes her uncle had been carrying onto his desk, she sat down on a stool in the corner, fully prepared for an incoming lecture that would probably culminate in losing her phone for a day or two and given several orders to work on. As expected, abuelita cleared her throat as she came up besides the table her mother and father worked at as a pair.

"Just now, I found your daughter in the Mariachi Plaza." She announced, and in her own mental exaggerations Michaela thought she did so rather flamboyantly. Her mother, Elisa, paused in smoothing a piece of leather over a small last, one the size of a child's foot. Her lips pressed together as her eyes softened, even as her eyebrows furrowed together as her forehead creased. Giving her daughter a look of absolute disappointment, she spoke softly. "Michaela, you know how Abuelita feels about the plaza." Her father just shot her a pitying glance. Michaela wanted to stick her tongue out at him. He had gotten the choice on giving up music, music she had never been allowed even a taste of.

"I was just shining shoes." She muttered petulantly, looking down at her knees and fighting back frustrated tears. It wouldn't do anything to start crying. If anything, they'd just misinterpret her frustration towards them as something else, though only God himself could know what they would think. Elena placed her hands on her hips and gave her a hard stare. "You were shining mariachi's shoes!" Almost as a whole, Michaela could hear everyone sharply inhaling in shock. She didn't look up. If she even tried, she knew she really would start crying.

In a corner of the workshop, there was an odd thud. Her oldest cousin, Abel, had been seated at a shoe-polishing machine. In his shock, he lost grip of the shoe he was polishing and it shot up straight to the roof and dug into the already slightly burned wood. Michaela had always wondered where those scorch marks had come from, but not even Abuelita had known. They were years, probably decades old. It was a miracle that whatever had cause the damage hadn't burned down the entire Old House and the workshop.

"In my defense, the plaza has the best foot traffic in town. So many people pass through there everyday! It's so easy to find someone who needs shoes to be polished or are interested in ordering new shoes, isn't that good for business?" Her mother stepped closer and laid a gentle hand over Michaela's head, stroking the dark strands of hair as though her daughter was still 8 years old and able to crawl into her lap. "That's a very smart idea of yours Michaela, but if Abuelita says no more plaza, then no more plaza."

Anxiety crawled through her veins abruptly. If she couldn't go to the plaza, she wouldn't be able to apologize to Antonio or even spend that much time with her friend. He was always busy after school with extracurricular or his part-time job, and due to conflicting schedules they only had time to see each other between classes in school. On top of that, that was one of the only places she could practice dancing. Her secret hiding spot, where she hid her music paraphernalia, was so crowded with objects collected over the years that there was no space for dancing.

"Wh-what about tonight though?" She blurted out, shrinking down on the stool as everyone sharpened their gazes on her. Abuelito Franco looked at her from his seat at the table he and Abuelita worked at, the one right next to the middle table with the antique sewing machine. "What about tonight?" He asked, warm voice slightly raspy with age but no less gentle. Michaela begin fiddling with her fingers, not meeting anyone eyes. She shouldn't have said anything. She pulled the flier paper from out of her pocket and handed it to her Mama, sweet and gentle Mama would understand.

"I learned that there's going to be a talent show held there, and I just thought- well, maybe I could-" She stammered, cheeks turning red in her embarrassed and flustered state. Abuelita seemed suspicious of her intentions. Mama simply seemed curious as she scanned the flier before returning it to her. Finally, Papa looked at her. "You thought you might sign up?" Michaela turned to him, looking as meek as a kitten. "Maybe?"

Rosa, who had briefly moved to package some finished orders, stood next to Abel and put down the boxes with the Rivera label. "I'm pretty sure you have to have talent to enter a talent show." Mean and brilliant Rosa, a perfectionist with perfect grades and perfect stitches and a clean room. Of course she would say that. When she entered the seventh grade, she told Michaela to stay away from her in school. She didn't want to seem lame while being saddled with an elementary kid. Abel snickered besides her. "What will you do on stage, shine people's shoes?"

Deep down, Michaela knew they were only teasing her. That didn't make their words hurt any less. If anything, it just mortified her even more. A small moment of relief was granted to her when the shoe Abel had accidentally sent up into the ceiling fell back down and landed right on his head. It faded to a curious mixture of anger and sadness and complete numbness when Abuelita spoke.

"Absolutely not! Tonight the Festival of the Dead begins, this is a time meant for family and not trivial events such as Talent Shows! It will be crawling with Mariachi's." She walked to Michaela and dropped a bouquet of cempasuchil flowers, loose petals scattering around her like fluorescent orange rain. "Ofrenda room, now. Vamonos!"

Out the two walked, through the the courtyard, down the path between the Old House and the hacienda. They walked for less than 20 seconds, coming to the small two floor chapel her Great-Great grandfather had built. He had been catholic, so it wasn't exactly odd for him to build such a thing. Just strange to Michaela, who wasn't piously catholic or born in the late 1800's / early 1900's. Overtime, the altar had been transitioned into the family ofrenda. As Elena began arranging the marigolds on the altar, Michaela took a time to observe it.

At the very top, just beneath a golden cross (she still didn't know if it was real), was an absolutely ancient family photo. Well, not ancient, but it was definitely old. It was 96 years old to be exact, taken January 14th of 1921. It was very fragile too, the image yellowed around the edges. To the middle right (Michaela's right), Papa Imelio was sitting in a chair with his hands clasped over a prayer book which rested on his lap. His face was cold and aloof, completely closed off and stern. His eyes seemed to burn like hellfire though. Behind him, his younger brother Felipe was standing with a slightly mischievous grin on his face.

Felipe's twin and Papa Imelio's other brother, Oscar, was positioned behind the second chair in the photo. Almost anyway. He was closer to the middle of the picture to be honest. They both died in a car crash of a rogue invention about a month after Papa Imelio passed. In the second chair, a three-year old Mama Coco sat on the lap of her mother, a woman Michaela did not know the name of. She couldn't even know what she looked like either. Her head had been cut away with a pair of scissors, likely to preserve the rest of the picture. On her right hand, she wore a ring that looked like interwoven metal. Two types intertwined as one. Papa Imelio wore the other.

There was another picture too, of a man standing besides another woman seated in the chair. A golden pocket watch had been set at the foot of the photograph frame. If Michaela was remembering the faces and names right, that was her great-great-great grandfather named Gabriel and his wife...Isobel? Papa Gabriel had died when Papa Imelio had been pretty little though. Apparently Isobel remarried, and the stepfather and Papa Imelio had carried some bad blood. There was another photo besides that one too, though if Michaela was being honest she didn't remember his name. Just that he was Papa Imelio's step-brother and had helped set up the family business.

On the second tier of the ofrenda, there were two pictures. One was of Papa Julio (Great Grandfather, her Mama Coco's husband). The other was of Tia Rosita, Papa Julio's sister. Papa Julio passed away sometime after Papa Imelio in the 1970's. They said he died in his sleep. Mama Coco was heartbroken and it was one of the greatest reasons her health declined so quickly. Losing her only parent and then her husband had death a sharp blow she never quite recovered from. On the lower tier, beneath and slightly to the right of Papa Julio's portrait, was a picture of another set of twins in the Rivera family. Victor and Victoria, Abuelita's brother and sister.

Victor had actually died before Papa Julio, but just after Papa Imelio. His death...he had been killed by someone, shot for protecting a couple about to get robbed. He'd been in his mid-30's by that point. He was born some point in the late 1930's (Late December of 1939 if she was recalling correctly), Mama Coco was around 21 when they were born. He died 30 years before his twin. Tia Victoria had died shortly after Michaela had turned 5 in 2005. It had been just before Dia de los Muertos too, a sudden and painful new placement on the ofrenda. Michaela only had faint memories of the woman, mostly of lemon and peppermint candies and the scent of well-worn book pages and leather. They were a decade older than her Abuelita (born in 1949).

As her abuelita continued to arrange the flowers and offerings, Michaela crinkled her nose. She could sense an incoming lecture from her abuelita, once more about the importance of Dia de Los Muertos...and she was right.

Elena turned to Michaela and began to speak, her voice raspy with age and holding a note of exasperation, but no less warm than usual. "What's with that expression on your your face, mija? Don't give that look! Dia de los muertos is among the most important holidays we celebrate. It's the one night of the year that are ancestors can come and visit us, from the land of the dead to the land of the living!" She paused, one hand grasping Michaela's as her eyes roamed over the ofrenda. "We put up their photo's every year so that their spirits can cross over. That's the most important part of the ofrenda after all! Without their pictures, without us putting them up, they can't cross over!"

"All this food, these items, these are the things they loved in life, so we offer these to them in death, and this is, all this work and effort, it's all meant to bring our family together." She began to arrange the flowers again, unaware Michaela had quietly stolen her hand from her abuelita's grasp and was ever so silently sneaking back to the courtyard. "I don't want you sneaking off to who-knows-where." Elena looked up to meet her granddaughter's eyes, only to be met with empty air. Pivoting on the heel of her sandal, she found the teenager in question mid-step towards the door. "Michaela! Where are you going?"

Michaela laughed nervously, "I- I thought we were done?"

Grabbing her granddaughter by the arm, she led (read:towed) the girl back over to the ofrenda. "Ay dios mios", she murmured under her breath, exasperated with Michaela's antics, "Being part of this family means being here for this family, Michaela. I don't want you to disappear and end up like that...that wrench!" At the end up her sentence, she motioned upwards, presumably towards Papa Imelio's photograph. Her gaze hovered over the profile of the nameless, faceless woman. "Like Mama Coco's Mama?"

Elena went rigid before the palms of her hand landed flat of the surface of the ofrenda. Michaela heard the glass cups on the altar and the photographs quiver. "Never mention that woman! She'd be better of forgotten for what she has done to this family!" Michaela took a step back. "You're the one who-" Elena cut her off and there was a brief moment of back and forth in which Michaela made an effort to speak and Elena stopped her in her tracks. The minor sound of movement drew both of their attention to the back corner.

Reclining in a wicker wheelchair, an elderly woman had lifted her head up and disoriented brown eyes began almost frantically scanning the room, portraying excitement beyond what her frail body could exhibit physically. Hair, gone silver and grey and white with age, tied back into matching twin trenzas with pink ribbons, glinted dully in the fading light of the afternoon and flickering candle flames. Mama Coco looked towards the door, a fragile expression of hope adorning her face, the faintest glimpse of a beatific smile. "Mama?"

While Elena ushered over to her mother, perhaps to calm the elderly woman, Michaela had what she had aptly named an 'Oh-sh#t' moment. She hadn't realized Mama Coco was in the room! It was an unspoken agreement in the Rivera Household that if were you were curious enough (Read: Insane) to bring up Mama Coco's Mama, you were never to do so while Mama Coco was present. Ever. It excited her too much, and many doctors were concerned that too much excitement at Mama Coco's ripe old age of 99 (100 in December, she was born December 8, 1917) would prove to possible induce some fatal heart attack. As it were, Mama Coco seemed to be getting more agitated the longer her mother remained out of sight.

"Mama is home?" she repeated, unaware of her own daughter at her side. "Where is Mama?" Elena grasped her mother's hand gently, the other gently stroking her shoulder to calm the frail woman. "Mama, calmese, calmese..." she murmured, a soft and endless refrain as potent as the words 'come back to us, come back'. Mama Coco was unaware of everything but the idea of her mother finally coming home. Finally, everything would be all right. Mama was...Mama...she was...

"Mama is coming home?" She spoke, her voice rasping and cracking with age but so impossibly happy that it made Michaela's heart ache. The girl slipped out of the ofrenda room, feeling both ashamed and guilty. Ashamed because she had worked her great-grandmother up to such a state, and guilty because she was using it as a way to escape her grandmother's annual sermon on the importance of family and dia de los muertos all while scorning on a woman dead for at least 40 years or more.

Elena continued to reassure her mother, minutes passing as Coco continued to search for her mother. Mama had always said she loved her, missed her so much, would bring back a new doll for her when she returned..."Mama is coming home?" Her voice lost its hope, its happiness. She didn't see her mother anywhere. Where...where was her mother? A woman stood besides her. "No mama. It's okay, I'm here." She watched Coco with sad eyes and a warm, watery smile. "Who are you?" she asked, feeling as though something was incredibly wrong the girl, always so headstrong like Papa, looking so sad.

Elena swallowed down the grief which had risen in her throat, pressing her hand to her mother's crown of soft hair. "Rest, Mama." She pulled away and steps forward, returning to her position before the ofrenda. The soft orange glow of the marigolds accentuated the candle light, and the comforting scent of homemade food soothed her nerves though it didn't help much in soothing the sting of a slightly broken heart. "I'm hard on you because I care Michaela...Michaela?" The room remained silent and she looked up to find her third youngest grandchild missing once more.

With a sigh, she looked to the one person she had held in the highest regard, whether it be in life or death. "What are we gonna do with the girl, Papa Imelio? She's just as headstrong as her mother was at that age." The woman smiled wryly. She was no longer a child in search of guidance on a homework worksheet. Years had passed since then, Papa Imelio was no longer there, and life had no worksheet. What was she to do...it seemed, in that moment, that Papa Imelio's eyes gleamed at her from the portrait just as a magnificent thought came to the forefront of her mind. Her eyes brightened as well.

"You're absolutely right! That's just what she needs!"

With flame burning in her eyes and the shoeshop just next door, Elena had a plan.

As Berto unloaded several bolts of leather from the truck bed, Dante was jarred awake from beneath the nearby tree as the engine shut off. Pushing himself up on his legs, he walked up to the man for some brief scratches on the back before remembering why he was there. He was looking for his human, his good human who gave him good food. After a few more scratches behind his ear, the dog picked up the drifting sound of humming vibrations, a twanging noise. Following his ears, the dogs found a rather unsteady pathway up to the rooftop of the Rivera workshop, his nose beginning to nudge at the loose sign before he was able to lift the wood panel up entirely.

Michaela, bent over in the corner of the attic room and fiddling over something, turned with a startled gasped at the sound of the panel creaking. Hr hand flew to her chest in fright before she actually registered what she was seeing. "Oh, it's just you Dante." On her knees she marched over to him as quickly and quietly as possible. "Hurry up and get in here before you get seen!" Her fingers fastened over his red collar as she help him beneath the sign before lowering it down again and correcting it so that (from the outside at least) nothing would seem out of place.

Bringing him over to her little corner, she pressed a finger to her lips and hushed him. "Please be quiet, Dante. If anyone heard you up here, I could get in trouble. Someone could hear me!" Petting his head, she felt a bit bitter as she added, "I wish someone actually wanted to hear me other than you and Antonio." Scooting over slightly, she picked up what she very well believed to be her most precious possession. It wasn't the real thing of course, merely a replica, but she had toiled for months on end to make this, looking up endless reference materials on line and even going as far as sneaking into the mausoleum at night to see the real thing.

Very carefully, she lifted the white guitar from the ground where she had placed it and returned in to her lap, adding one final addition to her secret product. With a black marker, she added a nose to the head of the guitar. It was mainly white, the head of the guitar shaped like a skull with a golden front tooth, like a crown placed over a chipped tooth or cavity. It was as famous as its owner, what a pair, Ernesto de la Cruz and his Guitar. In most live performances, in music videos, even in many of the movies he filmed while alive, De la Cruz was rarely seen without the guitar.

After fiddling a bit with the keys and adjusting the guitar's pitch, Michaela eagerly crawled over to an old portable VCR player that used to be Rosa's until it was eventually retired to the attic in exchange for a 'grown-up' TV. Pulling out a cardboard box filled with old tapes, her eyes locked onto the very top and the most recent recording to modern day.

Ernesto de la Cruz, La Entrevista Finale, Noviembre 1942.

A montage of Ernesto de la Cruz's best movie scenes, of small phrase of his songs began to play quietly, and Michaela let her mind drift and melt into the soft music. Quietly, almost too quietly for even Dante's ears to pick it up, she replicated small measures of the melodies, fingers stiff from nerves but otherwise nimble and swift as they danced over the guitar strings.

The camera eventually shifted to an old recording studio, an interviewer on one side speaking into a microphone and behind the camera, Ernesto de la Cruz situated across from him and in the center of the camera's sharp lens. They spoke for a few minutes, the interview relativley short, yet not holding anything of interest to the teenager. Honestly, the voices were almost white noise to her, pleasant background as she debated what to do about the talent show. She wanted to perform, or to at least go see the show so badly it felt as though her heart would start bleeding, regardless of how part of her viewed the idea as selfish.

After all, she was a teenager...wasn't it a part of growing up to grow out of being selfish? Lost in her thoughts, something drew her attention back to the recording, an itch at her mind. The interview was drawing to a close.

INTERVIEWER (FILM CLIP): Senor de la Cruz, for our final question, I have to ask: what did it take for you to seize your moment?

DE LA CRUZ (FILM CLIP) I had to have faith in my dream. No one was going to hand it to me. It was up to me to reach for that dream, grab it tight, and make it come true.

Michaela exhaled as the tape ended, thoughts lingering on that parting phrase. "Make it come true..." The words sink into her mind, her heart, and in seconds the small candle flame in her heart grew to a conflagration larger then hell itself, louder than a lion's roar combined with the screams of the damned. She reached for the flyer she had folded up and shoved into her hoodie pocket. The words "TALENT SHOW" seemed to burn into her eyes. She took a deep breath.

"No more hiding, Dante. I gotta seize my moment!" She stood up, cradling her guitar and turning to her fur-less and drooling companion. Dante waged his tail at her and butting his head against her legs, panting happily. Dark eyes glowed with fire. "I'm gonna play in Mariachi Plaza if it kills me!"

A/N:

How long ago did I start writing this? Because it took so long and I honestly still don't feel satisfied with how it turned out. Sink or swim, I guess. It probably would have done faster if I actually was writing but that's spilt milk by now. To anyone still reading, thank you for all the previous reviews! It made me so happy to read them and are the main reason why I managed to finish to chapter. I'll start writing the next chapter now, but again, no idea how long it might take. Please tell me what you think of this chapter. I think I overwrote some things or was a bit to redundant in places, so it would be incredibly helpful to know what the readers think.

I'm also thinking of starting a new story for a different fandom, like a genderbent or AU version of Sailor Moon (or both, since who the hell knows with all the random ideas sprinting through my brain). I'd like to hear people's ideas on that as well (though it's highly likely that I'll write a story anyway, it just interest me how many of the Coco Fandom would be interested in reading it).

Anyway, that's it for my rather lengthy random thoughts and Thank You author note.

Thank You for your patience and loving comments.

Chapter Two

Shattered Dreams, Broken Locks, and Family Reunions!