Worth The Shot

Strings and Stones

"Abeula likes the Madrigals!" You blurted from across the lunch table. You'd spent the entire last night and morning attempting to decipher your father's cryptic distaste for the Madrigal family. You couldn't understand what he held against them. Your abuela obsessed over them, her creepy portrait collection proved that.

"It's true," Your grandmother unhelpfully confirmed, raising her eyes from her pesto pasta with a pleased expression.

"Then why-" You broke off, distracted by your father's almost imperceptible head shake. He widened his eyes, as if imploring you avoid the topic around her.

Why can't she know? What did they do to you?

You reluctantly reigned back your questions until you and your father returned to the privacy of his workshop. You impatiently skidded a hand along the glossy curve of Mariano's new guitar. "What's going on?" You finally demanded.

Your father lifted a sheet of sandpaper to a new guitar shell and sighed. You waited. "There's a good reason, (y/n), I promise. I just can't tell you yet."

You crossed your arms, feeling like a belligerent 6-year-old. "Well, why not?"

I need to know. I need to know what they did, before... A sudden image of Camilo's magnetic, dark eyes burned in your head. Before it's too late to stop myself from falling.

The bell on the door trilled as Mariano and his mother strolled into the workshop. The Madrigal abuela followed, and your traitorous eyes instinctively searched for Camilo.

Maybe it already is too late.

Your father turned to you with apologetic eyes. "One more week," he promised, "then I'll tell you everything."  You suppressed a remark about what difference it even made. Instead, you greeted Mariano, who gave you a nervous smile.

"Hello," he awkwardly started, "I'm here for the guitar."

"How long have you played?" You asked, trying to be friendly while handing him the delicate instrument.

He appreciatively cradled it in his hands and responded, "Two years, I started because I wanted to put melodies to the poetry I write."

"That's great! Isabella is so lucky," You giggled. Aw, I bet he wrote the song he wants to play for her when he proposes. What a nice guy.

"If she accepts, I'll be the lucky one," Mariano romantically declared, dreamily plucking a guitar string.

The Madrigal abuela critically leaned over the craftsmanship to scrutinize Mariano's guitar. "It needs to be perfect. The night has to go perfectly."

Perfect. Everything needs to be perfect for you. You mentally retorted, clenching your fists. You would never forget Camilo's tortured sobs in the cave. You couldn't forgive the angry, red welt she had slapped onto his cheek.

"Luisa!" The abuela grandly called, stepping back from the guitar with an approving nod. "Come carry this guitar for Mariano." A muscular girl strode into the workshop and effortlessly lifted the bridge of the guitar between her middle and pointer fingers.

Mirabel's older sister, you realized. You waved shyly at Luisa, wondering if she would recognize you as Mirabel's friend. She returned a stoic nod with a kind expression. Her eye suddenly twitched, but she swallowed and straightened her back. Her eyes nervously flicked to Alma.

The Madrigal abuela swiftly hurried everyone out of the shop after effusively thanking you and your father for your work. "We have to be on time!" She explained, whisking out the door.

You sighed. None of this made sense. After a few more hours of working with your father, you tramped up the stairs and threw yourself on your bed.

Your incessant thoughts whirled around Camilo and your father and the mystery offense that somehow connected them.

Because of your restlessness, you were still up at midnight.

And because you were up at midnight, you heard the rock that softly clattered to your floor from the open window.

Author's note:

HAPPY NEW YEAR!! You guys have the most hilarious comments, they really keep me going. Let's make 2022 a great year!