Cece Rios and the Desert of Souls, Kaela Rivera [english novels for beginners TXT] 📗

next three months, they would not come near our homes. I stared into the darkness and listened for the sound of frightened criaturas running away. For some reason, it made me sad.

Once all signs of the criaturas had vanished, the dancers turned back to face us. Juana’s chest lifted and fell like a warrior who’d won her first battle, and she looked at us with a confident grin.

The townspeople clapped. The cheers were so loud, they echoed through the street.

“Thank you, dancers. You may return to your familias.” The mayor, standing at the center of the throng, waved his hands. “Everyone, follow the roped-off road back to the town square. And remember to stay close to your familias and away from the Ruins!”

Juana immediately spun toward where Mamá, Papá, and I were waiting. She dove into Mamá’s arms first.

“Oh mija, you were wonderful!” Mamá squeezed her.

Papá’s dark mustache twitched upward. “You made our familia proud, mija.”

Papá stroked her head, his face softer than usual. It nearly made me smile. But then he looked down at me, and his warm expression vanished. “Remember this, Cece. This is what you must do—aspire to be like your sister.”

The words stung me, like the strike of a scorpion. Right. I bowed my head and wished the desert would swallow me up.

Juana pulled hard out of Mamá’s arms and wrapped me in a hug. “That’s right, Cece. You’ll be just as bright as me one day!”

The words didn’t bring any comfort. But I was grateful to hide my flushed, embarrassed face in her shoulder for a few moments.

Mamá patted Juana’s back and offered her a small, fried tortilla dipped in cinnamon sugar—a buñuelo. My mouth watered just looking at it. “Here, the first of the batch for my firstborn. Go dance for fun now. Your Papá and I will handle the buñuelo stall.”

Juana gasped excitedly and took it, still holding me in one arm. “Gracias, Mamá! Cece will stay with me, so you two don’t have to worry.” She rocked me back and forth in both arms again. My anxiety loosened its grip, and I giggled. “We’ll come by for more buñuelos later.”

Noche de Muerte wasn’t exactly a celebratory festival, but there were a few game booths and plenty of sweets. The smell of cinnamon and fried tortillas already seeped through the crowd. Mmm, buñuelos were my favorite treat, and Mamá always made them with the best ratio of cinnamon to sugar.

Mamá and Papá disappeared among the partygoers. Juana finally let me go. She stared after them, and for just a moment, her mouth tightened and her gaze grew dark.

“Juana?” I asked quietly.

“Just wait, Cece. They’ll be proud of you too. When you perform the Amenazante dance, they’ll see your soul has as bright a fire as anyone’s.”

My insides fell quiet. For a second, I tried to hold on to her hope. Maybe she was right. But more likely, she wasn’t.

She looked at me. “Don’t you think?”

“Well . . . I can’t imagine the dancing committee ever picking me,” I said. They chose Amenazante dancers for the thing that Juana had always carried inside her, like weapons in her eyes. They chose them for their fierceness. For the fear they could inspire in the criaturas.

Juana frowned at first, but then lit up with a sparkling smile. “We’ll just have to show them that you’re the best choice! Here, Cece, we’ll practice now. Stand like this.” She posed with the first move of the Amenazante dance—one foot forward, one firm and bent close—and lifted her skirt so I could see her feet.

I looked around nervously. There were still a few people nearby chatting with familia or friends. “You mean here? In front of everyone?”

“Sí! Come on, don’t think about them. Just put your feet like this and crouch.”

Easy for her to say. When people watched her, it was in admiration. But going unnoticed was better for someone like me. The best I could hope for was being a shadow cast from the light of other people’s fires.

“Can’t we just go have fun?” I rubbed my arm. “Think of the churros and buñuelos and tres leches—”

She waved Mamá’s buñuelo in front of my nose. “You can eat this after you practice dancing with me. Okay?” She grabbed my arm with her free hand and tugged me into place beside her. A few people glanced our way. I swallowed hard but mimicked her step, if only so this could be over faster. “Great! Now, just scowl. Come on, you’ve got to look the part.”

I tried to frown like she said. She rolled her eyes. “You look scared, not scary.” She pursed her lips. “Never mind, we’ll work on that later. Next you’ll do this—”

She pinched her skirt hem with her free hand and pulled it high in the air until it became a wide red flag. A couple of people passed us, their eyes drinking in Juana’s grace. I tried out the same stance. The people’s expressions turned from awe to scorn instantly, and they shook their heads dismissively as they left us behind.

Heat spread up my chest and neck.

“And then you turn in a circle.” She turned her feet in a complicated three-step pattern and stopped to face me. She grinned. “Now you!”

“I don’t even want to do the dance, Juana.” I squeezed out.

She frowned harder than the dance required. “Come on, you can do this.”

She didn’t get it. The townspeople didn’t want me to be a part of their dance. I could accept that. Why couldn’t she? I hunched over and looked around, hoping for an escape. Juana waved the buñuelo in my face until I looked at her again.

“Cece!” The warmth in her face gave way to agitation. “At this rate, you’re never going to learn the dance, and then how will you get picked?”

My shoulders slumped. “I’m—I’m not—”

“What? You’re not what?” She leaned in, jaw set.

The embarrassed heat in my neck flushed upward into something pricklier, something hurt. “I’m not going to get picked, Juana!” I snatched