{"product_id":"lotera-isbn-9780593176993","title":"Lotería","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe turn of a card could change your destiny in this captivating middle grade adventure based on the Lotería card game and perfect for fans of \u003ci\u003eCoco\u003c\/i\u003e. While searching for her missing cousin, a young girl is transported to a mythical kingdom, becoming entangled in a perilous game of chance.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“A magical, philosophical tale rooted in Mexican lore.” —\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the hottest hour of the hottest day of the year, a fateful wind blows into Oaxaca City. It whistles down cobbled streets and rustles the jacaranda trees before slipping into the window of an eleven-year-old girl named Clara. Unbeknownst to her, Clara has been marked for la Lotería.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eLife and Death deal the Lotería cards but once a year, and the stakes could not be higher. Every card reveals a new twist in Clara’s fate—a scorpion, an arrow, a blood-red rose. If Life wins, Clara will live to a ripe old age. If Death prevails, she’ll flicker out like a candle. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eBut Clara knows none of this. All she knows is that her young cousin Esteban has vanished, and she’ll do whatever it takes to save him, traveling to the mythical Kingdom of Las Pozas, where every action has a price, and every choice has consequences. And though it seems her fate is sealed, Clara just might have what it takes to shatter the game and choose a new path.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eKarla Arenas Valenti weaves an adventure steeped in magic and mythology—gorgeously illustrated by Dana Sanmar—exploring the notion of free will in a world where fate holds all the cards.\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eLotería\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Clara’s unexpected decisions lead to the story’s heart: “Even when you have no choice about what has happened to you, you can still decide what you’re going to do about it.” The tale is a scaffolding for this debate, and what a lush, verdant scaffolding it is.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Horn Book\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“From the first line of this philosophical debut, Arenas Valenti demonstrates a gift for interweaving immersive, sensory-rich storytelling (“Life sauntered into town on a wave of heat”) with a thoughtful discussion of fate vs. determinism. \u003cb\u003eFans of \u003ci\u003eCoco\u003c\/i\u003e will savor this tale \u003c\/b\u003eand Sanmar’s occasional illustrations, which visualize Clara and Esteban’s journeys and the Lotería cards as the game progresses.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“The magical realism employed adds a \u003cb\u003ewarmth and imaginative quality\u003c\/b\u003e to the world-building that is only enhanced by the rich feast of language Valenti offers up . . . \u003cb\u003eA magical, philosophical tale rooted in Mexican lore\u003c\/b\u003e that will hold readers from beginning to end with its verdant language and setting.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e, starred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003e[A] spellbinding story\u003c\/b\u003e about fate versus free will.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePeople Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eLotería\u003c\/i\u003e packs a heavier punch than most middle-grade offerings with its meditations on the consequences of our choices and the inevitability of our mortality.”\u003cb\u003e —\u003ci\u003eEntertainment Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Inspired by the Mexican card game, la Lotería, “Lotería” is a children’s fantasy book also inspired by the author’s Mexican heritage . . . With whimsical illustrations from Dana Sanmar, “Lotería” instills the resilience and the power of having faith.”\u003cb\u003e —\u003ci\u003eL.A. Parent\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“In this \u003cb\u003eunforgettable story\u003c\/b\u003e, the beauty and mystery of Mexican lore is put in the spotlight. Clara's strength and care for others shines through the pages of the story, making \u003ci\u003eLotería\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cb\u003ea heartwarming read that is sure to stay with the readers long after they've turned the last page\u003c\/b\u003e.”\u003cb\u003e —\u003ci\u003eCommon Sense Media\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Karla Arenas Valenti's debut middle grade novel is packed with action. Combining Día de los Muertos imagery, Mexican folklore and the game of Lotería, readers will follow Clara on an adventure of fate.”\u003cb\u003e—Tiny Beans\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“This coming-of-age tale and one of the best kids books . . . . is \u003cb\u003ea magical and engaging novel\u003c\/b\u003e that will keep kids eagerly turning the page.” \u003cb\u003e—Daily Mom\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“In this \u003cb\u003emarvelous blend of magic realism, suspense, and adventure\u003c\/b\u003e . . . Valenti seamlessly infuses Mexican culture and myth into a spellbinding story that explores free will through a traditional Mexican game.”\u003cb\u003e —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Vibrant and gloriously textured, grounded by Sanmar’s simple, inviting grayscale illustrations . . . [\u003ci\u003eLotería\u003c\/i\u003e is] sure to generate discussion about reader expectations and what constitutes a happy ending, as well as spark interest in magical realism.”\u003cb\u003e —\u003ci\u003eThe Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eRich with Hispanic culture, magical realism, and imagination,\u003c\/b\u003e Lotería is a profound story in reminding Hispanic girls of their power and determination.” \u003cb\u003e—Her Campus\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Combining magical realism and a celebration of Mexican culture, Karla Arenas Velenti’s novel introduces readers to Clara, a girl desperate to save her missing cousin and caught up in a game of fate. If you loved \u003ci\u003eJumanji\u003c\/i\u003e or Karuna Riazi’s \u003ci\u003eThe Gauntlet\u003c\/i\u003e, you’ll love this fantastical middle-grade with dazzling illustrations.” \u003cb\u003e—The Young Folks\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“I clung to every word of Lotería, never wanting this captivating novel to end. Brave Clara will forever live in my heart.” \u003cb\u003e—Jennifer A. Nielsen,\u003c\/b\u003e \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“An enchanting story, rich with riddles, fantastic creatures, and mythical lands, and guided by the magic of hope.” —\u003cb\u003eAida Salazar,\u003c\/b\u003e award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eLand of The Cranes\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eKarla Arenas Valenti\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of many books for children of all ages. She grew up in Mexico City in a house that was built around a tree and surrounded by magic (which has stayed with her long into her adult years). Her storytelling is seeded in Mexican culture and lore, and often deals in explorations of philosophical and identity-based themes (inspiring the mind) while also taking readers on riveting magical realist adventures (inspiring the heart). She currently resides in the Chicagoland area.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eDana Sanmar\u003c\/b\u003e is a Colombian illustrator and graphic designer currently established in Atlanta, USA. Her love for illustration started from a early age due to her parents' love for books. And her early exposure to arts and crafts by her mother nourished her love for creating things by hand, while her dad showed her how to work with different materials and the importance of being resourceful. Following these influences, she got a B.F.A in Graphic Design in her home country. She recently graduated from her M.F.A in Illustration at the Savannah College of Art and Design and currently works a a freelance Illustrator.\u003cp\u003echapter 1 \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn Which Life and Death Arrive, and a Girl's Destiny Hangs in the Balance \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLife sauntered into town on a wave of heat. He looked quite dapper in his black suit and matching vest, with a crisp white shirt and the tiniest hint of red peeking out of his jacket pocket: a crimson handkerchief, monogrammed. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis tall short-brimmed hat provided little shade from the blinding white sky, and his walking stick left cracks on the dry and brittle land. The high-pitched whine of cicadas pestered him incessantly. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLife raised his walking stick. With a tap, the stick opened into an umbrella that shaded him and his companion, a skeletal figure in a bright pink dress delicately embroidered with flowers and birds. A crown of roses rested on her skull; a few petals trailed behind her, plucked by a curious draft of hot air. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Shall we?” Life asked. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“We shall,” his companion replied, brushing dust off her sleeve. She may have been Lady Death (though she preferred to go by the name Catrina), but that didn’t mean she was immune to the allure of beauty. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCatrina placed her bony wrist, clinking with gilded bangles, upon Life’s outstretched arm. Together, they walked up to the main plaza in front of the Santo Domingo cathedral. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I wonder where everyone is?” Life asked. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Taking shelter, no doubt,” Catrina replied. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was already one of the hottest mornings on record in the hottest summer anyone in Oaxaca City could remember. People burrowed deep inside their houses shaded by the massive branches of purple-flowered jacaranda trees. Exhausted fans made eddies of hot air bloated with lethargic mosquitoes and flies. The ceramic tile floors, usually so cool to the touch, radiated an infernal heat. Jugs of water steamed like pots on a stove. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCatrina’s bracelets rattled against her bones as she flicked her bangled wrist, spreading out a fan. Made of black lace and glinting with tiny white pearls, the fan was a gift from one of her admirers--of whom she had plenty. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt had been left for her on one of the many marigold-covered altars that blossomed around the Día de los Muertos celebration, tucked between candied skulls and photos of lost relatives. A note attached to the gift read, “Por favor cuídalos.” Of course I’ll take care of them. Catrina watched over all her wards with a fierceness matched only by Life. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Well, let’s get to it,” Life said. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Let’s,” Catrina replied, and she began to fan herself. A cool breeze spread out from the black lace, a welcome relief in the searing heat. Strings of silver frost emanated from the fan, drifting out like so many wishes. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBeneath their makeshift parasol, Life and Death followed the silver strands unfurling before them. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey peeked into a doorway where a little boy played with a kitten in a box while his mother made a batch of tortillas to sell later in the day. The kitten meowed at the intruders, and the little boy looked up. He saw a handsome, well-dressed man and a beautiful woman with creamy brown skin and long dark hair. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLife nodded at the boy. Catrina smiled. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe two companions moved on. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNext they passed a peeling wall painted with a faded mermaid clutching a basket of fruit. Bold letters above the mermaid spelled the store’s name: la frutería sirena. It was run by a wrinkled man who had been there longer than anyone could remember. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe man and his wrinkles were fast asleep on a hammock strung up in the middle of the fruit shop. A strategically placed fan spun endlessly beside the slumbering man, its blades in a losing battle against the heat. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCatrina took extra notice of the old man; his light was fading, and he would soon be joining her. But not today. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey walked past La Rosa hair salon and the aptly named nursery La Maceta, the Flowerpot. Meaty cacti bursting with fruit stood sentry on either side of the door. Towering palm trees shaded the owner while he read a newspaper. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt the end of the street, they approached a small church. Life gazed up at the brightly colored papel picado--paper cutouts--tied from the bell tower to the lush trees surrounding the church. Each cutout depicted a scene of love. Crushed flower petals clung to the papers and stained the ground. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“There was a wedding,” Catrina said. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“May the couple live long and well,” Life replied, briefly bowing his head. The couple would indeed go on to live long and well, never knowing they owed their good fortune to the blessing of this strange visitor. But that is a story for another time. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCatrina fanned herself again, sending out a new wave of silver strands. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt that very moment, on another cobblestone street, a young girl in a small house with walls painted robin’s-egg blue looked up. With an urgency she couldn’t quite explain, she turned her gaze toward the window. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFrom her perch, the girl could just make out the twin crosses that crowned the cathedral’s blue-and-white cupolas. A lone white dove beat its wings against the hot sky. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe girl rose and opened her window. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe church bells tolled. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Clara,” the girl’s mother called. “Come.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA hint of cool breeze entered Clara’s room. Hesitant at first, the breeze tentatively explored the confines of the space, just big enough for a child-sized bed, a two-drawer dresser, and the girl herself. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe breeze wrapped around the girl and tightly wove itself into her braids. A shiver ran down Clara’s back, and she shook her head, trying to dislodge the breeze from her hair. She tugged at a stray strand of silver. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Child, I need you,” her mother called. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m coming.” Clara set down her sketch, a messy doodle of a horse with eagle’s wings. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eClara was not a good artist, and she knew that. Perhaps with more time and resources, she could develop this interest into an actual talent. As it was, she could sketch only on weekend mornings before her parents awoke. The rest of the time she spent in school and helping her parents run their small restaurant, La Casa de Juana. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe restaurant had started off as just a few tables in their living room, where Clara’s parents liked to host dinners for friends. However, as word of Juana’s talents in the kitchen spread, more and more tables were added. Their guests insisted on helping cover some of the costs of the food and preparation, and the living room was gradually transformed into a restaurant. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Clara!” her mom called. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Okay, okay,” Clara called back, and made her way to the kitchen. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJuana was Clara’s mother, and by all accounts the best cook in Oaxaca. Her tamales were light and flavorful. Wrapped in banana leaves, the cornmeal patties were stuffed with mole, corn, chicken, and black beans, or pineapples and raisins, then steamed and sold still hot to the touch. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJuana also made the best tlayudas: large, thin, and partially toasted tortillas covered with a spread of beans, cheese, lettuce, and avocado, topped with beef, pork, seafood, or, Clara’s favorite, mushrooms. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJuana’s specialty dishes were many: tasajo, chorizo, cecina, guacamole, dozens of salsas. But what made La Casa de Juana truly special was the hot chocolate.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eClara’s mother had inherited the recipe from her mother, who had in turn received it from her mother, and she from her mother . . . and so forth for generations.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt some point, Clara had taken it upon herself to sample hot chocolate from every vendor in the city, just to see if what people said was true. There was no contest. Her mother’s combination of hand-ground cacao, almonds, cinnamon, and sugar was unmatched. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“She must have a touch of magic!” the other vendors speculated, and their words felt as true as the sharp bite of cinnamon on Clara’s tongue. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eClara walked into their small kitchen to find her mother bent over a large ceramic pitcher bubbling on the stove, surrounded by a swirl of scents. A long wooden stick jutted up from the thick dark mixture. The molinillo was a wooden whisk, specially designed to yield the frothiest hot chocolate. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Gracias, mija,” Juana said. “We’re meeting with your cousins later today, and I need to pick up some things for the picnic. Can you keep an eye on this while I run to the mercado?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sure.” Clara stepped up to the stove. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What’s that in your hair?” Juana asked. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eClara looked down at her braids and marveled at the dozens of thin silvery strands interlaced with her own dark strands of hair. She pulled at the ribbons at the ends of her braids, loosening the plaits. Her hair spilled out, releasing the silver strands. She watched them slip gently to the ground. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Strange,” Clara said, retying her hair. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut the deed was already done. She had been chosen. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eClara took the molinillo from her mother. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I won’t be long,” Juana said. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Okay.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Do not stop stirring that,” Juana added, giving Clara a stern look. “It’ll burn.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs she stepped outside, Juana stumbled over a bottle at the threshold of her house, discarded the previous evening by a drunken man. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHad the bottle not been there, Juana would have noticed the pack of stray dogs sitting quietly beneath Clara’s window. And she would have remarked on the unusual flowers that had suddenly sprouted along the wall of the house. And she surely would have paused at the sight of a festively clad woman on the arm of an impeccably dressed gentleman watching her from across the street. But Juana saw none of that. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNot that it would have made a difference. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s settled, then,” Life said. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“And so it is,” Catrina agreed, gathering the silver strands of frost that had, in one instant, changed Clara’s fate forever.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 2\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn Which Life and Death Begin a Game of Chance\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter Catrina collected all the silver strands, she and Life found a cool patch of shade in a small plaza not far from the blue house. In the center of the plaza, a stone fountain defied the heat with a cascade of bubbling water. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGnarly trees, as ancient as Life, encircled the plaza. Their rough trunks split five, six, seven times, like fingers reaching up to the sky. Their branches interlaced in a tangle of leaves so dense no sunlight could penetrate. Birds hopped from branch to branch, calling to each other, while cicadas thrummed to the pulse of the sun. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFrom his jacket pocket Life pulled out his handkerchief. He unfolded it neatly, then spread it out in the air before him, where it lay perfectly flat, suspended like a magic carpet in flight. The handkerchief grew, expanding on all four sides until it was the size of a small table. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFrom another pocket Life extracted a single card displaying the image of a man in a suit with a top hat and a cane. “El Catrín,” the card read. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLife set the card on a corner of the table and tapped it. Beneath El Catrín fifty-three cards materialized, each with a different image. He shuffled the deck of cards three times, then placed it facedown in the center of the table. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFrom her skirts Catrina produced a delicately embroidered bundle. She tugged at the ribbon around the bundle and pulled out a small circle of glass framed in silver. Catrina placed the glass on the table between them. In the clear oval, Clara’s image materialized, a small window into the girl’s life. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNext, Catrina poured out a handful of frijoles--beans as black as night--and gathered them into a pile in the center, beside the cards. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You won last time,” Life said, holding out a spread of tablas, cardboard placards with a different image printed in each of the sixteen squares. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“And the time before that,” Catrina replied, selecting one of the tablas. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I do hope this isn’t becoming a trend,” Life added, choosing his own tabla. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I suppose we’ll have to see.” Catrina smiled. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe two laid out their tablas on the handkerchief table and placed a handful of black beans beside them. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Let the game begin,” Life said. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLa Lotería was a simple game of chance. The first player to get four cards in a straight line--horizontal, vertical, or diagonal--would win. A win by Catrina would deliver Clara into her hands. A win by Life would spare the child, granting Clara a long life. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd so it was that the fate of a child tending to a pot of hot chocolate hung on a pile of beans and a deck of cards. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe players had three days to complete the game and deliver their prize, after which they would part ways for another year, meeting only to play another round. The rules were clear: if they failed to complete their game in the allotted time, it would be their final round, and they would never meet again. Those thirty-six hours were a rare gift, and one the friends cherished deeply.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCatrina pinched a black bean in her knobby fingers. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLife flipped over the first card. “El que le cantó a San Pedro no le volverá a cantar,” he said. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The one that sang for St. Peter will never sing for him again.” Catrina repeated the riddle as the two friends studied their tablas. “The rooster.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That it is,” Life replied, discarding the card in the center of the table. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Alas, no rooster for me,” Catrina said. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Or me.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLife drew a second card. “El que a buen árbol se arrima buena sombra le cobija.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCatrina laughed, pointing at the branches overhead. “How fitting! He who approaches a good tree is blanketed by good shade.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe placed a black bean on the image of a tree on her tabla. “And so it begins!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter 3 \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn Which a Failure Leads to Unexpected Consequences \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn the blue house, Clara looked up from the chocolate she was diligently stirring. A sudden and invisible weight pressed upon her shoulders. The chocolate became impossibly thick, and she strained to move the molinillo. Just as quickly, the feeling vanished, and the molinillo flew out of her hand, splattering chocolate all over the wall. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs Clara reached for a cloth to clean up the mess, she could not shake the feeling that something important had just transpired. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA noise in the restaurant interrupted her thoughts. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hello?” she called out. “Papi?” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe listened closely, but all she could hear was the bubbling mix on the stove. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Is anyone there?” Clara stepped through the beads that separated the kitchen from the dining room. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSix square tables were draped in plastic tablecloths, with salsas for centerpieces. An old radio tucked behind the counter burst into a lively canción norteña. Clara jumped. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sorry, mi hija,” her father said, appearing behind the counter. “I didn’t mean to startle you. This old box was giving me a hard time.” He walked over to an even older TV bolted to a shelf in the corner. The black-and-white image on the screen showed her father’s favorite luchador, El Apache, locked in the grip of another beefy wrestler.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Yearling","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304872956133,"sku":"NP9780593176993","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593176993.jpg?v=1767731836","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/lotera-isbn-9780593176993","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}