Today's art is by @Imkilluaswifee ! There's something so compelling and sweet about this drawing. It just captured the moment so perfectly. They look like teenagers in love. Carefree, dancing in the rain. This is one of my favorites :)

BACK TO THE STORY

"I'm a terrible person," you muttered, delicately tugging the cover open with your thumb and pointer finger. 

A nervous, fluttery anticipation beat its hummingbird wings in your chest. You guiltily glanced over your bare shoulder, exposed by the sleeveless nightgown. Did he write about me? What's going on inside his head?

Someone had printed a neat, stiff-lettered dedication on the back of the cover. Careful, dark-blue ink inscribed on faded yellow-white.

For my favorite nephew. Camilo, I think writing everything down will help you. My mama puts too much pressure on you kids already. It's gonna get hard, but I've seen visions of you with this book. When you feel things you don't want to, maybe it will help to express it on paper? More than your cousins, you're going to need it. Good luck, kid. I'm rooting for you.

Lines of jagged scrawl crowded the next page. Camilo. You smiled, recognizing his bad handwriting from the rock-attached notes. Playful, rebellious messages, tossed through your window a lifetime ago. Forbidden rock penpals. That's what he called us.

June 15

Hello! I'm not really sure how to start this book. Tio Bruno gave it to me, just before he left. I think I was five. I didn't have much to write about back then. I mean, when you're a cute little kid everyone likes you for you. I just turned 12, and I don't know why, but I've been getting the feeling that people don't really like me. The real me. I can't seem to make anybody smile without my gift. Except Mirabel, but we've always been close. Maybe I'm overthinking this. But it doesn't hurt to write this where no one's ever gonna see it, right?

November 26

It's getting worse. Today Julieta needed help reaching a fancy glass dish from a high cabinet. Well, I've been trying to be more... me lately. It was stupid, but I was determined to help without shifting. So I stepped on the counter to get it as just me, just Camilo, and surprise, the expensive thing shattered into a million pieces on the ground. Everyone was mad at me. Especially Abuela. I went to the nursery before bed to talk about it with Mirabel, but she got all huffy that I was complaining. I know she's right. I really am just being ungrateful. Mirabel didn't even get a gift, and I feel awful about it. I haven't told anyone this, but I know it was my fault. Think about it: every Madrigal has gotten a gift. Without fail. And our ceremonies were so close together, less than a year apart. The candle must need to recharge. I stole all of the miracle for that year, so she got nothing.

December 2

Things have been weird between me and Mirabel. I don't get it. We used to be best friends. We made blanket forts in the nursery and everything. For the past 7 years since I moved out, I hang out in the nursery before bed. Sitting on the bed and talking with her and stuff. Whenever gifts come up, she lashes out at me. I know better than to complain about mine again, but she's so touchy.

December 29

I messed up really bad. I'm usually good with my words, but I said something I didn't mean and it came out all wrong. Let me explain. It was about my little brother, Antonio. He's two, about to turn three next week. Mirabel and I were talking about his birthday. I was really surprised when she asked what I think his gift will be, because she hates talking about gifts! I thought she was warming up, so I tried to be all enthusiastic. I was coming up with lots of cool ideas, like invisibility or water powers. She asked, "What if he doesn't get a gift, like me? What if the miracle's over?" But I knew he would. Because I wasn't there to suck the miracle's gift away from him. I responded really quick, "He'll get a gift. He has a better chance than you." And she lost it. She was yelling awful things at me, accusing me of thinking my family was better than hers. That's not what I meant. At all! I wish I could go back and explain, but she'd probably just throw her shoe at me again.

December 30

She didn't let me in the nursery tonight. I think she hates me.

February 6

I'm feeling pretty good today. Antonio likes me. He hugs me around the legs like I'm a great big tree. He laughed at the faces I make for him today. A real laugh, for the real me. He's so quiet, but he makes friends with all of the stray cats in our Encanto. They all love him, and so do I.

February 20

It's Saturday, and on Saturdays Abuela always hosts guests for dinner. I never really like the guests she brings, they're always uppity snobs she tries to impress. I'm excited though. For the food. Tia Julieta always goes all out with her cooking. Tonight, it's the richest family in the village, the Roseros. They have a daughter named Abby, about my age. I think Abuela wants me to marry her, which I REFUSE. She's pretty enough, I guess. But I'm never getting married. Ew.

February 20, after dinner

I hate this family. I hate it so much. Tio Bruno had the right idea, getting the hell out. Abuela's formal dinners are always boring. But I tolerate them, and heck, I'm polite. Every time. Remember how Abuela's been thinking about marrying me to Abby Rosero? Tonight, Senora Rosero was talking with Abuela about my face and body like I was a prize cow for sale. I was so uncomfortable. When I got up to leave, Abuela suggested that I show the Roseros my gift. I hated it. Being sized up like a slab of meat and then being asked to perform like I'm Abuela's pet monkey. So I said no. And Abuela insisted, and pushed, until I exploded and yelled at her. I've never yelled at Abuela before. I've always liked her, so I've never wanted to. But she got really quiet and yanked me upstairs. I was acting all tough because I thought she'd just chew me out. Scold me or something. Say I was embarrassing myself and the family. But she slapped me. Really hard, until I teared up.

March 6

Today was Mirabel's birthday. She's 12 now, too. I got her a gift. It was just a silver bracelet. I don't really know her that well anymore. We don't talk much. I was disappointed that I couldn't think of anything more personal. I've always given her inside joke gifts. Like when she turned 8, I got her a plastic spider because she'd always smushed them with her fist in the nursery when I was scared, and I called her "spider-hero" all year. Sounds stupid, I know, but we both thought it was hilarious. She loved that plastic spider, and she kept it on her bedstand. I found it in the trash last week.

March 20

This book doesn't really show my whole life. It's not all bad, I only write when I'm feeling really down. Here's a list of things I actually do like: (1) My ruana. I'm not half bad-looking in it, and it feels super comfortable and cool. (2) Entertaining my little brother and his friends. Antonio loves me whatever I do. The other kids mainly want to see my gift. But it's okay, with kids I don't really mind. I put on these comedy shows for them, and I'm pretty proud of some of the jokes I come up with. They've all started waiting for me in the market every Sunday. (3) Annoying Isabella. I mess up her flowers on purpose sometimes. Obviously, it takes her a millisecond to fix it up with her gift, but I have fun trying to do it without her noticing. A wrong flower in her room, a mis-matched tree planted in her Flower Farm. She'd lie, but I think she likes the challenge of looking for it. (4) Tio Bruno's other prophecy. Yeah, I'd be lying to say I'm not looking forward to it. Call me a typical teenage boy. (5) Tia Julieta's cooking!

June 3

I'm so excited! My birthday is in two days. I'll be 13! We've all been preparing a party! Abuela loves parties, but so do I. She hasn't hit me again, but I've been too scared of her to give her a reason to. She wants me to perform with my gift. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I know she's using me to show off. But hey, I like showing off too. Maybe I can work in some of the comedy I've been doing with the kids. Make my gift my own.

June 5

The party was awesome. I think that's the key to finally loving my gift. Making it mine. Using it to complement my talents. I'm going to start using my gift all the time. There was this crazy energy running through me when I performed at the party tonight. Maybe my gift is who I am. And is that so bad? My hands are still shaky in a good way and I'm high off of all that attention. I feel like shouting and laughing and crashing a million parties. I feel invincible. They loved me tonight. Finally, they loved me.

August 12

I'm so scared.         I've been freaking out for the past hour. I even used my room to make a mirror, right above      my desk.   Darn, I just started      crying and now       I'm having trouble writing       or even holding     this stupid pen. Tio Bruno said writing would       help. I need to write. I can do this. Okay, I'm a little calmer. It'll be okay. Here's the problem, and I'll say it bluntly because there's no other way to say it: I can't remember what I look like. I've been standing in this mirror, and shifting my nose a little more to the left or my eyes a little smaller. I'm going insane. I'm not even sure where my eyes and nose are supposed to go on my face. Here's how it started: I was joking with these boys my age last week, we always egg each other on and play Truth or Dare in the market. My dare was to shift into Valeria, that grumpy fish lady, for a whole week. I thought it was hilarious. Valeria came to dinner instead of Camilo, and I was cracking all of these great fish jokes all week long. Even Abuela just laughed instead of getting mad. Today I'm supposed to meet back with the guys. As Camilo. But I've been sleeping and eating and living as Valeria. I've always felt the reset of my own body in the back of my mind, like a home base. Like muscle memory. But now I feel... so disconnected. I'm really scared. Who even is Camilo anymore?

August 19

I snuck into Abuela's room and found a picture of me. I think that helped. But I don't know, what even am I supposed to look like? It's hard to describe, but I'll try. My skin feels elastic and plastic, like it doesn't belong to me. My hair feels sweaty and thick and this nose looks wrong when I cross my eyes. Is this what Camilo looks like? I swear I've gotten something wrong. Maybe the fingers. Or the ears. It doesn't feel right.

September 20

I stand in front of this mirror. Every single morning. I spend hours shifting little details, trying to bend this skin to feel like mine. Papi caught me at the mirror once, but he just thought I was being vain. He laughed and slapped me on the back. He was trying to make me feel confident, and I appreciate that. He said with a face like mine, all the ladies would come running. Honestly, I only care about one lady. But that's besides the point. I keep a comb with the mirror now. If someone walks in, I pretend to be adjusting my hair. They always make fun of me, and I grin and roll with the jokes. Camilo Madrigal, the cocky, easygoing narcissist. The funny cousin.

You forcefully shut the book, and a spiral of dust whisked from the pages. I didn't know. Any of that. You hadn't even flipped through half of the thick yellow book, but you couldn't finish it. You felt sick. Disappointed in Mirabel. Furious at Abuela. Angry at yourself.

A jumble of hazy scenes reeled through your head. Moments where you should have smiled more at his cheesy romantics. Silences you should have softened with reassuring words. He needed a lover. And I was so cold. 

You numbly waddled over to the last object in his room, the beautiful guitar. You instantly recognized it's bold, black curves and steel strings. He'd crafted this guitar for you, on that faraway night when he'd laughingly smuggled you into Casita and shared this part of himself.

"You kept this?" You smiled, smoothing a hand over its cool side. You admiringly lifted it by the neck, disturbing a loose stack of papers that fluttered like doves. Confused, you bent at the knees to curl your fingers around a paper. As you drew closer the marked-up page, light air from its movement fanned your face. It was a chord sheet.

You'd been shakily balancing on a tightrope over tears, and this shoved you over the edge. He'd been trying to learn guitar. For you. To impress you, to serenade you, to make you like him. Because wasn't that all he ever wanted? To be liked?

"I loved you, Camilo," You wobblily strained, kneeling by the head of his bed. You propped your elbows on either side of his sinking pillowcase. With a sob, you pressed your forehead against his. Your tears slicked down his hair like dewdrops. "So much. I'm sorry I didn't show it."

You planted a gentle, upside-down kiss on his lips. Your hands held his freckled face, fingers curling softly underneath his chin. His nose brushed against your chin, and as you lifted away his warm breaths mingled with yours.

It had been an desperate impulse, on a favor begged from a distant star. But the stars coldly swept their moonshine dresses behind dark clouds. And the boy you loved didn't wake up.