“Yes, yes, mija.” He patted her arm. “I’m fine. Just walk and talk with me while we go to the car.”
“Sure, but what do you want to talk about?”
“Nothing. I mean, how was your day?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“Tell me about your students.”
“Well….”
Seeing as he genuinely wanted to know, Zara told him about her session with the kids, about the kids who stood out, the ones who were shy, the outspoken ones.
This was a good idea, she thought in the back of her head.
She was giving back to the community, helping others, and she didn’t have to think about anything—or anyone—else.
“…and he was so adorable, I swear, with his thick glasses and his—” She stopped short, glancing around. “Hey, we aren’t in the parking lot.”
She had allowed her father to lead her as they walked arm-in-arm, and since she was too busy telling him about the kids, she barely noticed where they were going.
“Papá,” she said in a warning voice. “What’s going on? Why are we in the high school football field?”
The smell of damp earth and cut grass reminded Zara of her own high school days. Aluminum bleachers flanked either side of the field and in the middle, members of the school's marching band milled about in their finery, chatting with each other or playing scales to warm up as they waited for instructions from their leader.
“Mija, you know my intentions are good, right?”
She pivoted to face him. “Yes.”
“And I would never lie to you.”
“Uh-huh.” Her patience was running thin. “What is this about?”
“Well…” Grabbing her shoulders, he spun her around to face the field. “There.”
The marching was now in full formation. The band leader stood in front, his baton raised as he blew a whistle, signaling for the members to start the play.
Zara’s nose wrinkled as the first few notes of a familiar tune began to play. “Is that…”
“Can’t Take My Eyes Off You?” Her father had the biggest smile on his face. “Yes. From yours and your mother’s favorite movie.”
“I know. But I don’t understand.” She shook her head in confusion. “What’s going on?”
She froze when a voice rang out from the speakers, low and suspiciously familiar, singing along with the band.
“Hektor?”
Her head whipped around, trying to find him, until she spotted the tall, hulking figure on, where else, but the bleachers?
Just like in the movie.
She covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my gods, is hedancing?”
Well, it looked like an approximation of what a dance should be, but she couldn’t blame him. Watching his tall frame try to move in rhythm with a song was like seeing those inflatable tube men waving out from used car lots. His tail swished clumsily behind as he swayed to the music and stumbled over the words.
Papá tsked and shook his head. “He should stick to…whatever it is Drakkons do best. But it’s okay, mija, you should have enough artistic genes to pass on.”
“Pass…on?” Her gaze remained stuck to Hector’s. “To whom?”
