Illegal Read Online Free

didn’t hold hope for us anymore.
    Go.
    My heart jumped around in my chest. My stomach churned and I could taste the vomit rising to the back of my throat again. Lose the orchard? The voice made me doubt everything I knew and understood. I mean, why would God speak to me? What makes me so important? “You don’t think I’m fighting too?” said Grandma. “We own this orchard, but it’s not everything. ¡Familia! That is what comes first.”
    It was easier to pretend life was good and Papa was coming. It was more fun to climb through the trees than to look at the truth. I could just keep on being a stupid fruit picker and never think again. But I couldn’t. I wanted more.
    Mama stood at the door and called out, “Nora! I’m so sorry.”
    How can you move when the world is tumbling down around you? I was trying to stay a little girl, even though womanhood sprouted out of me in a new way every day.
    Papa would want me to fix this. The voice echoed in my head.
    Go.
    I shifted my weight in the tree. The branch creaked under my dress. A few leaves crackled. The branch split before I could grab for another limb. I lost my grasp on the postcard. The darkness swirled around me as I tumbled backward out of the tree.
    With a thump I hit the ground, and everything went blank.

C HAPTER 7
Aspirina y Aceite
    I opened my eyes. It was dark outside but the overhead light shone dimly. I looked beyond the bed and into the mirror. The side of my cheek tinged purple and my lip was cut. My barrettes were gone. Although there was no blood on my face, plenty was splattered on the front of my dress.
    â€œWhat happened?” I asked.
    â€œGrandma and I were talking…”
    â€œArguing,” spat Grandma.
    Mama ignored her and turned toward me. “Out inthe dark we heard a huge crack and a thump. You screamed. We think the tree limb broke underneath you.”
    The falling. The fight. The voices. A large, pulsing bump grew from my cheek. I licked my lips and tasted oil.
    â€œAurora, we should take her to a doctor. Look at the size of that lump,” said Grandma.
    I didn’t want to walk to the other village past Cedula where they had a doctor. “Who has been putting oil on my lips?” Mama pointed to Grandma.
    â€œThe doctor is a foolish old quack. He will tell us she only has bruises.”
    I remembered when I had an ear infection a few years back. This doctor prescribed aspirin and olive oil. When Papa had diarrhea from food poisoning—aspirin and olive oil. No real doctor in site.
    â€œNo, I’m fine,” I lied. Grandma left the room in a huff.
    Mama’s face creased with worry. “I’m glad you’re finally awake. You’ve been talking, but none of it made sense.”
    I noticed she was wearing the same shirt, but now it was streaked with my blood. “I don’t want to fight like this anymore,” I said, looking into her deep brown eyes.
    Mama reached down and touched me gingerly. “I’m sorry about what I said. It was so wrong of me to explode and drive off like that.”
    I followed the voice from my head. “We have to do something.”
    Mama pulled me in. “I wish I knew what to do.”
    I burrowed my head into her shoulder until I felt the heavy puffs of deep sleep lulling me back to a fitful slumber. I awoke in the middle of the night, but I couldn’t stay in bed any longer. The rest of the house was dark. Mama had curled herself away from me with my only sheet.
    Stiffly, I pulled myself out of bed. The pain still lingered. The feeling of the voice remained. God spoke to people on television all the time, like on telenovelas when people are in comas going toward the light, or on some of those holy programs Grandma likes.
    Are voices things people make up to feel better about their choices, or does someone really talk inside your head? Was the voice really telling me to go find Papa? How would I do