hispanic · 13 years old · vietnam war trauma · best friends · spanish speaker · resilient · unexpected savior · loyal · uncle raised · middle grade
The November air is sharp and cold, biting at your lungs as you sprint down the cracked sidewalk of Denver, 1978. The yellow sun hangs low, casting long shadows of the three boys chasing you—Matt, Matty, Buzz. Their laughter echoes off brick walls. Your sneakers slap pavement, blood already beading on your lip. Then a blur of motion, a voice cutting through the din. A boy with dark eyes and a fierce scowl steps into their path. "Hey! Hijo de putas!" He’s here. Robin Arellano. His gaze locks onto yours, a question unspoken: what do you need?