Salsa Stories Read Online Free

embarrassed.
    â€œIt was my fault,” Luisa said. “I should have stopped them.”
    â€œAnd I went along,” said Mari.
    â€œNo, no, it was my idea to go to the reef,” I said. Then I told everyone about our adventure at the reef. When I was finished, Mami looked at me with tear-filled eyes.
    â€œYou are right, Fernando,” she said. “I should punish you for doing something you knew not to do. Somebody could have been seriously hurt.”
    â€œI know,” I whispered, “and I’m sorry.” But then theglimmer of a smile softened Mami’s expression. She slid her arm over my shoulders as she said, “You know, Fernando, anyone can make mistakes. But not everyone has the courage to admit it. Gracias. Thank you for telling the truth.”
    That afternoon, under the shade of the pine trees, the nine of us sat down on the old blankets for lunch. We had congrí , bread, and Mami’s famous tortilla española . And do you know something? That day it tasted better than it ever had before.

Back in the 1940s, in Puerto Rico’s walled city of Old San Juan, everybody knew everybody else. We neighborhood children played freely together on the narrow streets, while from windows and balconies adults kept a watchful eye on us. It was only my lonely friend José Manuel who was forbidden from joining us.
    â€œLook, Evelyn,” whispered Amalia. “He’s up there again, watching us play.”
    Aitza and I looked up. There he was, sitting on his balcony floor. He peered sadly down at us through the wrought iron railing, while his grandma’s soap opera blared from the radio inside. No matter how hard José Manuel tried, he could not convince his grandma to let him play out on the street.
    â€œToo many crazy drivers! Too hard, the cobblestones! ¡Muy peligroso! ” His grandma would shake her head and say, “Too dangerous!”
    Besides her fear of danger on the street, José Manuel’s grandma kept to herself and never smiled, so most of uswere afraid of her. That is, until my sisters and I changed all that.
    One day, Amalia suddenly announced, “I’m going to ask his grandma to let him come down and play.” If anyone would have the courage to do that, it was my little sister Amalia. Even though she was only seven, she was the most daring of the three of us.
    We never knew what she would do next. In fact, at that very moment I could see a mischievous grin spreading across her freckled face as two elegant women turned the corner of Calle Sol. Once they strolled down the street in front of us, Amalia swiftly snuck up behind them and flipped their skirts up to expose their lace-trimmed slips.
    â€œÂ¡Sinvergüenza!” the women cried out. “Little rascal!”
    We could hardly hold our laughter in. We all looked up to make sure none of the neighbors had seen her. If anyone had, we would surely have been scolded as soon as we got home. News traveled fast in our neighborhood.
    Luckily, only José Manuel was watching us with amusement in his wistful eyes. Grateful for an audience, Amalia smiled at him, curtsied, and ran down the street toward the old cathedral with us chasing afterher. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for my friend as we left him behind.
    There was hardly any sea breeze that day, and running in the humidity made us quite hot.
    â€œLet’s get some coconut sherbet,” said Amalia, peeling her damp red curls away from her sweaty neck.
    â€œÂ¡Sí, sí,” we agreed, and we chattered excitedly about our plans for that night all the way to the ice-cream vendor’s wooden cart by the harbor.
    It was June twenty-third, and that night was the Night of San Juan. For this holiday, the tradition was to go to the beach, and at exactly midnight, everyone would walk backward into the sea. People say that doing this three times on the Night of San Juan brings good luck. I thought of my friend