The Red Umbrella Read Online Free Page A

new fashion magazines.”
    I shrugged. I wasn’t going to be bought off that easily. A trip to Machado’s for a lollipop or paper dolls worked when I was a kid, but not anymore.
    Frankie ran down the stairs, skipping the last two steps. “All right! We’re finally out of here!”
    Mamá smiled and grabbed her large bright-red umbrella and tucked it beneath her arm.
    I hated that umbrella. It was like carrying a big stop sign that made everyone pause and take notice of us. A ridiculous umbrella for a ridiculous woman. Why couldn’t she bring a plain black one? Why did she insist on embarrassing me with that thing?
    “It’s not even raining anymore,” I said, and pointed outside.
    “Well, just in case,” she answered.
“Mejor precaver que tener que lamentar.”
    It was one of Mamá’s favorite sayings …
Better safe than sorry
.
    I followed her out the door. “Just because you’ve had that umbrella forever doesn’t mean it’s the only one you can use, you know.”
    “I like my umbrella. It’s the only one I’ve ever found that’s big enough to protect all of us from the rain,” she said as Frankie jumped over the puddles lining the sidewalk.
    “But red is the color of the revolution.” I hoped this would make her reconsider.
    Mamá stopped walking to look at me. “No, Lucía. The revolution may have taken over a lot of things, but it doesn’t own a color. For me, red is the symbol of strength, and that’s
all
it will ever represent.”
    *  *  *  *  *
    That evening, I begged Papá to let me join the Jóvenes Rebeldes. On our trip to town, I had noticed that the soldiers seemed to be everywhere. On every street corner, in every park. Despite what I’d seen and how nervous the soldiers made me feel, there was an intoxicating kind of energy that filled the air, cloaking everything. I even saw some classmates putting up flyers regarding the youth movement. They were laughing and waved to me, but Mamá ushered us along. I wanted to be with my friends. To be part of that excitement.
    “Please, Papá, reconsider. Everyone is going.”
    Papá shook his head. “Why can’t you invite your friends over to the house and listen to music like before?” He leaned back in his favorite chair and unfolded the evening paper.
    I read the headline at the top of the page:
Apoya la CTC la Nacionalización de las Escuelas Privadas
. I thought about it for a few seconds. Maybe I could use the fact that Cuba’s labor union was supporting the nationalization of all the private schools to convincePapá that going to the meetings was okay. Show him that the school closings were nothing to worry about.
    I placed my hand on his arm. Ivette had explained that some parents were afraid of change and that it was up to us to lead the way. “Papá, look.” I pointed to the headline. “The schools will open again, and everyone will think it’s strange that I don’t go to the meetings.” I used my most serious voice. “It’s important.”
    He took his reading glasses from the coffee table and slid them over his nose. “Doesn’t matter what others think.” He popped open the newspaper. “And the private schools won’t open again, only the ones run by the revolution. A revolution my daughter is not getting involved with.”
    “But why?”
    “Lucy, you’re just too young,” he said, staring at the newspaper.
    “The revolution doesn’t think I’m too young. See.” I pointed to a picture of teenagers waving from a train that was headed to the brigades’ camp in Varadero. “Thousands of kids my age and younger have joined the brigades.
Their
parents trust them.”
    Papá slapped the side of the chair with the newspaper as if swatting an imaginary fly. “It’s not about trust. Don’t you realize that they’re
having
to leave their homes for months to go teach and live in the mountains?How it’s now expected that all
good revolutionaries
will send their kids to the brigades? Is that what you want? To be by