Natalia Sylvester - Running

Clarion Books

3 Park Avenue, New York, New York 10016

Copyright 2020 by Natalia Sylvester

All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

Clarion Books is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

hmhbooks.com

Art and cover illustration by Alex Cabal

Cover design by Sharismar Rodriguez

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Sylvester, Natalia, author.
Title: Running / Natalia Sylvester.
Description: New York : Clarion Books/Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, .[2020] | Audience: Ages 12 and up. | Audience: Grades 7 and up.
Summary: When fifteen-year-old Cuban American Mariana Ruizs father runs for president, Mari starts to see him with new eyes. A novel about waking up and standing up, and what happens when you stop seeing your dad as your herowhile the whole country is watching.Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019029658 (print) | LCCN 2019029659 (ebook) ISBN 9780358124351 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780358330806 (ebook)
Subjects: CYAC: Fathers and daughtersFiction. | Politics PracticalFiction.
Cuban AmericansFiction. | Conduct of lifeFiction. | Family lifeFloridaFiction. | Miami (Fla.)Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S994 Run 2020 (print) LCC PZ7.1.S994 (ebook)| DDC [Fic]dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019029658LC
ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019029659

v1.0620

For Nonno

Gloria collects the mangoes from the tree in our backyard once theyve fallen but before the birds or bugs can get to them. She cuts them into cubes and lets me nibble on the pepa and then she packs them into my lunch in a little Tupperware with a spoon. When I get home from school the first thing she always asks is, Did you remember to bring back the Taper? Then she washes the container by hand and leaves it to dry facedown on the kitchen counter.

In the mornings I help her pack me and my brothers lunches while I wait for my mom and dad to get dressed. I cut our sandwiches into triangles and put them in ziplocks. I put the cold cuts back in the fridge and wipe the counter. Somehow, Gloria always sneaks in a note on my napkin. I know Im too old for them, but theyre funny, usually some pun having to do with my food. Like with the mangoes, shell write, Man, go eat some frut! She always spells fruit like that. Shes learning and shes trying; but its the words that are similar in English and Spanish that trip her up. She even has a language app on her phone that she plays in the kitchen while she cooks, but only if my parents arent home yet. It makes her say things like, The mountain is too far to walk, which cracks me up because theres not a single mountain in Miami, unless you count Mount Trashmore, the landfill we pass on the highway anytime we go to Orlando.

The morning after Papi dropped his bombshell of a plan on our futures, the papaya tree in our neighbors yard had yielded fruits the size of footballs. Itd grown at an angle so that one of the fruits dangled over our side of the fence. Gloria ran across the grass to get it before the neighbors could see her. That day at lunch, along with a Tupperware full of diced papaya, I got a napkin that read, Pap ya agradeci a los vecinos.

Dad already thanked the neighbors. Its a play on words, so it loses all its humor in English, which is what I said to Zoey, who speaks so little Spanish that the joke was entirely lost on her.

Pap and ya mean Dad already. Gloria just likes to make double meanings with different words for food, I said.

Its not that funny if you have to explain it, Zoey said.

Vivi and I locked eyes and smirked when she wasnt looking, a silent acknowledgment that we, of course, had gotten it. Even though she teases me about the notes being childish, Vivi also thinks theyre cute in a charming retro kind of way. I told her about the stolen fruit and the mango tree thats ours and how Gloria jokes theres so many mangoes, we should sell them off the side of the road. Vivi only laughed and said, Oh my god, Mari, thats so reffy.

Papi got home late that night, so we waited for him to eat because he kept calling to say hed just left the office, he was just five minutes away, he was just eight minutes away. When he arrived twenty-five minutes later, I got so upset watching him take off his tie and unbutton his shirt at the table that I blurted out, Oh my god, Papi, thats so reffy.

He stopped and gestured to me with his right hand balled up in a loose fist, his thumb sticking out. Mariana. We do not talk like that in this family. What would people say?

People. Hes always saying that, like theres some invisible audience watching us at all times. When I was little I thought these people were on the other side of every mirror in our house, even the bathrooms, so Id never undress in front of them. Id brush my teeth, twenty seconds on each side of my mouth exactly, just like the dentist ordered, thinking people were judging my every move.

Why not? What does it mean? my brother asked. Rickys seven years younger than me, but his question made me realize that I didnt know what it meant either. Not really.

Mami cleared her throat and wiped her mouth with the napkin on her lap. This is her not-so-subtle way of warning my father to be careful. Ive gotten this look so many times, it might as well be a neon light flashing CUIDADO across her forehead. Its... its a horrible thing to say about people whove been through difficult times.

Its short for refugee, Papi added harshly. And very insensitive.

Im sorry, I said. I didnt know.

You know better than to be so careless with your words, he said.

That could be your grandparents, Mami added. They fled Cuba not even a week after they were married, leaving everything.

My dad set his hand on the table, rattling our silverware, the salt and pepper shakers. We dont make fun of people like them.

When Papi says people, theres a hierarchy: first its his campaign manager, then his biggest donors, then the news anchors and Twitter and Facebook and, basically, the entire internet. People we cant see but who can see us. People Im devoting my life to, he always says.

Thats why my fathers running for president.

To make things better for everyone.

Except, it turns out, me.

Im Anthony Ruiz. My father pauses, widening his smile. And I approve this message.

From behind the camera, the director says, Just a few more times.

Im Anthony Ruiz, and I approve this message.

Someone holding a light over me and my family coughs. Papi leans forward and looks across the couch at Mami before trying again. Im Anthony Ruiz and I approve this message.

Not so fast, Tonio, she says.

Im Anthony. Ruiz. And I approve this message.

Ricky tries to keep from laughing, but ends up sounding like he sneezed with his mouth closed. I shoot him my most stern dont-laugh-at-Papi look, but I fail miserably at keeping a straight face.

You sound like a robot, Papi, he says.

Its super unnatural, I add.

Ill try it one more time. We dont have all day, he says, but I think hes trying not to laugh too. The dimple on his left cheekthe one that, according to Mami, makes the focus group of women her age meltstarts to peek through.

Actually, this is going to make great blooper reel footage, the director says. The PACs will love it.

At the mention of PACs, my mother clears her throat and turns her nose up, away from the director. Its no secret that shes not comfortable with what were doing. When I asked her why before the shoot, she said that Political Action Committees can help the candidates theyre supporting, but they cant donate more than five thousand dollars directly to their campaign.