Children's Fiction
Cold fear twisted in my stomach. I couldn't argue now, not with José lying on the ground, shaking, while Mamá and Marcos tried to hoist him up. But how could I talk to the patrón? A man who yelled at his workers about any little thing would never listen to a kid, especially a kid whose English was sure to come out all wrong. It always did when I was nervous or upset. And yelling the names of vegetables in Spanish wasn't going to help me one bit this time.
At first, relief flooded her. Nobody in sight—just the bare gray rock gleaming in the hot sun. Then she spotted the blue canoe floating in the reeds. Before Melissa could turn around, someone waded out of the shade cast by the low boughs of a tree overhanging the water.
It was a girl in a red bathing suit, standing waist deep. She had long blond hair that hung down her back and a thin pointed face. She didn't look at all surprised to see Melissa. In fact, Melissa thought afterwards, it was as if she had expected her.
Suddenly the air exploded. A gunshot. And it came from behind them. Ben! Sheila stumbled, half-turned.
"Keep going!" Wendell said.
The air filled with another sound. Barking. At the same moment a light flashed. On and off. Again. On and off. The signal!
