Salsa Stories Read Online Free Page B

stuttered. “Tonight is the Night of San Juan, and our parents take us to the beach every year.”
    José Manuel’s grandma scowled at us. How silly to think she would ever let him go. I suddenly felt embarrassed and turned to leave, pulling both sisters with me by their arms.
    â€œWait,” we heard her raspy voice behind us. “Come inside for a surullito de maíz .”
    It was then that I smelled the aroma of the corn fritters that was escaping from the kitchen. José Manuel’s grandma was making surullitos for dinner.
    â€œOh, yes!” Amalia followed her in without a thought. And before we knew it, we were all seated in the living room rocking chairs next to José Manuel, eating the most delicious corn fritters that we dipped in garlicky sauce. Somehow, sitting there with José Manuel, his grandma seemed less scary. After we finished, José Manuel’s grandma thanked us for our invitation and said she would let us know.
    José Manuel smiled.
    When we got home we found Mami waiting with her hands on her hips. She had just hung up the phone with José Manuel’s grandma. She had reason to be upset. Not only were we late for supper, but in our excitement we had forgotten to ask for permission before inviting José Manuel to the beach. We all looked down, not knowing what to do or say.
    â€œIt wasn’t my fault. It was Evelyn and Amalia’s idea,” volunteered Aitza, the coward.
    â€œ Bendito, Mami,” I said. “Don’t punish us, we forgot.”
    â€œForgot?” Mami asked.
    â€œ Sí, Mami,” we all said at once. “We are sorry.”
    â€œActually it was very nice of you girls to invitehim,” said Mami. “But please remember to ask me first next time.”
    Â 
    Late that night the whole family went to the beach as was our tradition on the Night of San Juan. But this time was special, for we had José Manuel with us.
    The full moon shone against the velvet sky. The tide was high, and the beach swarmed with young revelers who, like us, had waited all year for this night’s irresistible dip in the dark ocean. The moment we reached the water we all turned around, held hands, and jumped backward into the rushing waves. Amalia stumbled forward, Aitza joyfully splashed back, and so did I as I let go of my sister’s hand. But my other hand remained tightly clasped to José Manuel’s. When my friend and I took our third plunge into the sea, I wished good luck would come to him, and that from then on, his grandma would allow him to play with us out on the street. And as a wave lifted us high in the water, I suddenly knew this wish would come true.

I used to be a sickly child those years long ago in Buenos Aires. Once I had a severe virus that left me unable to eat or drink any dairy foods for eighty-nine days. Eighty-nine long days. I know because I counted each one carefully on my calendar. And I couldn’t have been more pleased the day my doctor assured me that I could have milk again. That meant that at teatime that afternoon I would be able to have alfajores . Those were my favorite sandwich cookies, the kind that were filled with milk caramel. All day at school I thought of nothing else, and couldn’t wait to get home.
    Finally, the dismissal bell rang loudly and snapped me out of my sweet daydream. I leaped up from my seat, and put on my blue wool coat and matching beret and gloves to protect me from the chilly weather. Buenos Aires is always chilly in July. For while half of the world is warmed by the summer sun, Argentina is gliding through winter.
    â€œSee you Monday, Susana!” I heard my schoolmatescall from behind me as I crossed the courtyard. I barely had time to turn around and wave good-bye to them before I cut into the wind and hurried home to my mother and Abuela Elena. Our apartment house was only two blocks away from school, but the more I rushed to get there, the further away it