Chapter 2
RAUL
"Mom!" I yell from the backyard, my voice bouncing off the chain-link fence and the neighbor's peeling cinderblock wall.
Miami sun beats down like a fist, turning the patchy grass yellow and the air thick with hot asphalt and someone frying plátanos down the street.
I round the corner and see her worried face soften when she spots me — whole and unharmed.
My mother's loose dark curls bounce as she hurries across the cracked concrete patio.
"Ay, Mijo! What's wrong? What do you want? " she says, hand on her hip.
"Look at this lizard!" I hold up the tiny iguana in my bug catcher, its tail flicking against the plastic.
She mutters a curse under her breath. "Raul, I told you no more lizards. Your dad's already killed a ton this year." She pinches the bridge of her nose, shakes her head, then ruffles my sweaty dark curls. "Come on, take it to your dad, mi amor."
"Okay. I'm sorry," I mumble, mostly to the lizard. "I just love them."
"I know, corazón. But they're invasive. We're supposed to kill them when we catch them," she says, softer now. "Especially the little ones. There's probably a bunch more of his brothers and sisters hiding in the mangroves."
"Mom, please! Can I keep this one? Just this one?"
"Keep it? Where, Mijo?"
"In my room! Please. He just needs a home."
"Raul, no! Go on now!"
I let out a big huff and stomp toward the house, holding my new friend close as cicadas scream from the royal poinciana overhead.
"Be quick, mi amor. Diego's on his way!"
My mood lifts instantly. My cousin Diego is my best friend, and I can't wait to show him my new buddy.
I skip around the corner and stash the bug catcher, lizard and all, under a thick hibiscus bush, then bolt inside before anyone spots me.
I scrub my hands fast at the sink, ready to help with dinner.
Mom's got a bowl of diced pineapple, habanero peppers, red onion, and cilantro waiting on the counter.
My job is to mix her famous pineapple salsa.
Aunt Val and Diego come over every Sunday night since Uncle passed three years back.
It's the one thing I look forward to all week, this little pocket of normal in our peeling two-bedroom.
The screen door creaks open just then. "Donna!" Aunt Val's voice bounces through the living room into the kitchen. "Ay, it smells so good in here!"
Diego nearly trips her, dodging around her legs to find me. His eyes lock on mine and he launches full tackle. My wooden spoon clatters to the floor as I topple, both of us dissolving into giggles on the linoleum.
"Val!" Mom laughs. "I'm making little DJ's favorite — glazed pork with pineapple salsa."
Diego's head snaps up at his nickname. "Yum! Is it ready? Is it ready?!"
"Not yet, Mijo. Soon. Go play for a bit." She shoos us out with a dish towel.
"Outside!" I yell, already running.
Diego's right on my heels as we round the corner toward the trash cans and the bush-lined sidewalk. I drop to my knees, reach under the hibiscus, and pull out the bug catcher. "Meet my new friend."
His eyes go wide. "What's his name?"
"Hmm…" I tilt my head. "Oscar?"
"Oscar the Grouch?" He wrinkles his nose.
I crack up because, yeah, that name fits perfect. The little guy already tried to chomp me. Twice.
"Mom won't let me keep him, though. She told me to give him to Dad."
"You gonna?" Diego asks, eyes wide, knowing what that means for the fate of Oscar.
"No way! I don't want him to die."
"Then let's put him by the cul-de-sac trees. He'll be free there."
I nod, eyebrows furrowed.
We bolt around the house and slip out the side gate, holding it so it doesn't squeal.
Miami evening heat wraps around us thick as a blanket.
The salt air from the bay mixing with jasmine from Mrs. Lopez's fence and charcoal smoke from somebody's backyard grill.
We duck low under the front window, palms scraping our knees on the gravel, giggling because if Mom or Aunt Val catch us we're dead meat.
We hit the edge where our concrete jungle meets the lush mangroves crowding the canal that snakes through the neighborhood.
Hearts pounding, we drop to our knees and squeeze through a jagged gap in the hibiscus hedge, thorns snagging our shirts.
Then we're up, sprinting for the cluster of trees and tangled vines.
Crouching in the dirt that still smells like last night's rain, we pop open the bug catcher.
Oscar freezes for a heartbeat, tail twitching. Then he feels the earth, real Miami earth, warm and alive under him. He bolts, disappearing into the green so fast we collapse against each other, laughing till our sides ache and tears mix with sweat on our cheeks.