Read Online Tortilla Sun by Jennifer Cervantes - Free Book Online

tipped his hat back. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”
    I smiled. “No. I was just thinking.”
    He turned off the electric switch by the French doors. “I came by to check the pump on the fountain. Your nana says it isn’t working.” After pulling off the top tier of the fountain, he stuck his arm inside.
    “Are you having a good time this summer?” he asked.
    “Yeah, it’s really different from California.” Mr. Castillo seemed like the happiest and simplest person I’d ever met. It was easy being around him. I felt a tug of envy that Mateo had him for a father.
    Mr. Castillo pulled a small black box from the fountain and held it up to the sky for inspection. His eyes shone like polished black stones.
    “Oh,
sí
. The village is different from anywhere on Earth, I think. Perfect skies, perfect wind.”
    The memory of our first visit in the truck flashed in my mind.
People come from all over to ride these skies.
    The wind would be stronger up high, like Mateo had said. I leapt from the chair. “Remember when you told me the village has a hot air balloon?”
    He nodded.
    “Do you think we could find it?”
    He fiddled with the little black box and laughed. “You know, it got me thinking that day I met you how long it’s been since I rode the skies myself. I finally remembered where the balloon wasstored.” He set the box back in the fountain and replaced the top. “I think it’s in the old chapel behind the church.”
    I wrapped my arms around my waist to keep from quivering. “Could I see it?”
    Mr. Castillo flipped the switch near the French doors and the water flowed from the top of the fountain, splashing over the sides. “Just needed to be cleared out is all.” Mr. Castillo smiled. “Can you go now?”
    “Yes,” I said excitedly.
    “We’d better head over before the sun sets. There isn’t any electricity out there.”
    I hurried behind him out the gate.
    Mr. Castillo parked his truck in back of the church and we walked together toward the chapel, crisscrossing down the rocky hill.
    “This used to be the village church before the new one was built. Must be a hundred years old.”
    A smaller version of the
adobe
church stood in a thicket of trees. Long fissures ran down the walls like cracks in the sun-dried ground after a rainstorm. Strands of straw poked out from the exposed
adobe
bricks.
    “We didn’t have the heart to tear it down, so we use it for storage.” Mr. Castillo pushed open the dilapidated door, just barely hanging on its hinges, and we stepped inside.
    The air was thick and musty. We zigzagged through piles of boxes, dusty toys, broken chairs, even an old doghouse. Each item or box was labeled with family names: Sanchez, Garcia, Solis. Toward the back of the shed was a tall stack of more boxes. We followed the streams of sunlight filtering through the small stained-glass window, bathing the dark corner in pink light.
    “There it is,” Mr. Castillo said, like he’d found a long lost friend.
    Specks of dust swirled in the sunlight above a huge basket that nearly came to my shoulder. I traced my fingers over the intricate weave. A strip of dark brown wicker poked out from the side.
    “This is it. I’m going to fly the skies, to talk to the wind,” I whispered as I tucked the loose wicker strip back into place.
    “You want to climb inside?” Mr. Castillo asked.
    I nodded eagerly.
    He lifted me into the basket.
    “Hey, there’s some stuff in here.” I bent down to sift through a jacket, an old pair of shoes, and a white jersey. I held the jersey up to the early evening light. “What’s this?” I asked.
    Mr. Castillo stepped back and cleared his throat. “I didn’t know anything was still in here.”
    I glanced down at the jersey in my hands, and saw the name Reed stitched on the back.
    “Was this my dad’s?”
    Mr. Castillo nodded. “We flew together all the time.”
    All this belonged to my dad? I turned the jersey around. Across the front, black letters