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Intrigued, Danya opened another letter. A second photograph fell out: this one of Danya learning to ice skate with her dad at Christmas. She wore red-and-white-striped mittens and was laughing because her dad had just slipped and fallen.

“They're all marked
return to sender
,” Pia said. Danya barely heard her. She'd just noticed a thick, manila envelope underneath the stack of letters. This one didn't have an address written on it at all. She picked it up and dumped its contents onto the carpet. Several dozen folded letters fluttered out. Unlike the return-to-sender letters, these hadn't been stamped by the post office. They'd never been sent at all.

With shaking hands, Danya unfolded the first letter and stared down at her own crooked handwriting. She'd written it months ago, right after finishing the second Ferdinand and Dapple book.

“I wrote these,” she said, almost in a whisper. “My mom and dad always said they'd send them to my
abuelita
in Cuba, but . . .”

Danya's voice caught in her throat, along with the thick, sour taste of tears. No wonder her mother called this box the
mailbox
. Every time Danya asked her to send one of her letters to her grandmother,
this
was where she'd put it. Her parents never mailed anything she'd written. Her
abuelita
didn't live in Cuba. She swallowed hard and shook her head.

“They
lied
to me,” Danya said. “About
everything
.”

“Danya Marie Ruiz!” Danya's mother's voice echoed throughout the small house, surprising Danya enough that she jumped, dropping her
abuelita
's letters. The patio door slammed shut.

“She sounds mad,” Pia said, glancing at the mess surrounding them. Photographs and postcards covered the floor. “We need to get this all cleaned up. . . .”

Danya knelt on the carpet next to Pia, mechanically sweeping the letters back into the shoebox. But her mind was still on her
abuelita
, her letters. The lies.

Footsteps thudded in the hall, and the bedroom door swung open.

“Danya, what—” Maritza started. Danya stood, the letters to her
abuelita
still clenched in her fists. Maritza stared at the letters, and the anger drained from her face.

“Where did you find those?” she asked in a gentler voice. Before Danya could explain, her father's voice drifted in from the front porch.

“Maritza? You in here?”

“Come with me,” Maritza said quietly. Danya followed her mother into the hallway, moving numbly. So many emotions tumbled around inside her head that she felt like it might explode. There was guilt over sneaking around and anger at her parents for lying to her, but also confusion. What did this mean? Why had they lied?

But when Danya saw her father, she froze and her mind went blank. Her dad wasn't alone—the bald man from the farmer's market was right behind him.

“What's he doing here?” Danya asked, surprised by the anger in her voice.

Her father didn't answer her question. “Danya, where's Sancho?”

“Why?” she asked. The bald man smiled his strange, stretched-out smile, and all her other confusing emotions faded away. Sancho was alone in the yard outside, without her there to protect him. She itched to run to his side.

“He's out back, by the tent,” Maritza cut in. Her dad gave Danya a sad smile, then led the strange man through the back door.

Danya moved to follow her father and the man outside, but her mother took hold of her shoulder and pulled her back. “Why does that man need to see Sancho?” Danya asked, trying to wiggle away.

Maritza took a deep breath. “Sweetheart, when your dad lost his restaurant, there was lots of money we couldn't pay back. Things have gotten harder lately and now we're overdue on loan payments to the bank. We've all had to make sacrifices, and it's just getting too expensive to keep Sancho. This way, we can pay the bank back, and that man can give him a better home, with lots of fresh hay and plenty of space to run around.”

“Wait . . .” Danya said, her voice strangely hollow. “You're not . . . we can't
sell
Sancho.”

Something in her mother's eyes caused a cold chill to sweep through Danya's body.

“
Mija
,” she said. “We already did.”

CHAPTER THREE

The Hero's Journey

“T
hat man offered
to buy Sancho,” Maritza continued. “He came by early this morning to look at him, but your father and I didn't have the heart to wake you and tell you what was happening. First thing Friday morning all the paperwork will be finalized, and he'll come by to pick him up.”

“No.” It took Danya a second to realize she'd said that word out loud. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but she couldn't think of what else to say. That one word echoed through her head.
No no no no no.

Finally, she found her voice. “But . . . you can't . . .” Danya couldn't finish her sentence. She squeezed her eyes shut. Sancho! No wonder he'd been so upset this morning—it wasn't about the hay at all—he'd been trying to tell her about
this
, and she'd completely missed it. She wanted to collapse on the floor and scream and cry, like she used to do when she was little and didn't get her way. She tried to hold back the tears, but when she opened her eyes, her cheeks were damp anyway. “Why would you . . .”

Before she could finish her sentence, the patio door swung open and her dad walked back inside. He paused to wipe his boots on the doormat.

“Daddy! Tell Mom we can't sell Sancho.” Danya raced into the kitchen and grabbed her dad by his sleeve. “Tell her I need him. Tell her!”

The bald man with the sunglasses stepped into the kitchen just behind Luis. He smiled at Danya, and she took a step backward, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible. She remembered what he'd said back at the farmer's market.
That horse needs to be broken.

Danya knew with a sudden certainty that Sancho could
never
go live with this man. He wouldn't care that Sancho didn't like the stiff brush or that he hated grass mixed with his alfalfa hay. He wouldn't know Sancho sneezed when he got a splinter or that he needed a haircut every two weeks or his mane would grow so thick he wouldn't be able to see.

“Mr. Howard, this is my daughter, Danya,” her dad said, ruffling Danya's hair. “She loves her pony, you know? Come with me and we'll finish up all the paperwork.”

Luis led Mr. Howard over to the dining room table. Panic rose in Danya's throat.

“Dad!” she shouted. Maritza took Danya by the shoulder and ushered her down the hall. As they drew near her bedroom, Danya yanked her arm away.

“I . . . I know everything,” she said in a shaky voice. “I know you lied to me. Abuelita Angie doesn't live in Cuba. You never sent her my letters.”

“Danya . . .” Maritza lifted her hand to her head and pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers. “Listen
, mija
, we never meant to lie to you. Things between your dad and his mom are just complicated. I didn't send your letters because I didn't want to risk you getting hurt, too.”

She reached out to squeeze Danya's shoulder, but Danya pulled away roughly.

“You never meant to lie to me? You told me the reason Abuelita Angie and I could never meet was because she lived so far away. But she lives in Florida! And you said you sent her my letters, but you didn't. And now . . . now you're giving away my best friend.” Danya's voice cracked, and she had to work hard to hold back her tears. She felt like everything she thought she'd known was crumbling beneath her, like sand.

She opened her mouth to say it wasn't fair, but the only thing that came out was a choked sob. Panic set in, and the room around her began to spin. Without looking at her mom again, Danya raced into her room, threw herself onto her bed, and let the tears come.

• • •

Hours later, after refusing to come to dinner, Danya rolled onto her back and stared at the horseshoe pattern she'd helped her mom paint on her wall years ago. As the sun set outside her window, shadows covered the horseshoes, slowly growing so dark that Danya couldn't see them at all. She felt numb all over, like crying had drained her of every single feeling. She almost didn't notice her stomach growling from missing her dinner. Almost.

When the sky outside was completely dark, the bedroom door creaked open, casting a wedge of light across the room. Pia slipped inside.

“I figured you'd need some space. But I brought you leftovers.” She flicked the light on and set a plate down on the dresser, easing onto the edge of Danya's bed.

Danya wiped her nose with the back of her hand and sat up, pulling the dinner plate onto her lap. Pia had brought her a piece of lukewarm chicken and some green beans.

“Look, we're not going to let them take Sancho away,” Pia said firmly, reaching out to squeeze Danya's hand. “We need a plan, that's all.”

Danya stuck a green bean in her mouth, barely tasting the food as she chewed. “Yeah . . .” she said. “A plan.” She sniffled, trying to think. “Maybe . . . maybe your parents could take Sancho for a while? Just until my dad gets a better job.”

Pia frowned, considering this. “We might be able to hide him in the bathtub,” she said. “He's small, and my mom mostly uses the shower in her room. Or maybe—” Pia was cut off by the sound of arguing coming from the other room. The girls fell quiet. Danya motioned for Pia to follow her as she crouched near her bedroom door, pushing it open an inch.

Danya's parents spoke in rapid Spanish. Pia leaned in close to the door, screwing up her face in concentration. Like Danya, Pia had picked up bits and pieces of Spanish from her family, but neither of the girls was fluent enough to translate a whole argument. Danya lifted a finger to her lips.

Danya's dad was talking. His deep voice was rumbling and quick, making it hard for Danya to understand what he was saying.

“. . . barco ha navegado . . .”
Danya heard. She frowned. It sounded like he said the
ship
had
sailed
?” .
 . . esperanza . . . . hundió . . .

“Something about hope? And something was sunk, I think?” Pia whispered.

Danya knelt closer to the door just in time to hear her dad rumble,” .
 . . la fortuna!”

Danya and Pia turned to each other, eyes wide. “The fortune!” they translated together. In the kitchen, her mom and dad fell quiet. The girls glanced at each other nervously, and Danya's heart thudded in her chest. Had her parents heard them? Did they know she was listening in?

Danya scooted closer, holding her breath so she wouldn't make a sound. Finally, her mother spoke. In English, this time.

“You know Angie might help. Just ask her,” she said.

“I can't,” came her father's firm reply.

Carefully, Danya pushed the door closed. Before she knew it, she was on her feet, pacing the length of the room. She stopped next to her dresser and picked up
The Adventures of Ferdinand and Dapple, Book One: The Hero's Journey
. Turning it over, she stared at Angie's photograph on the back cover. Her
abuelita
's kind face looked back up at her.

“What happened between you and my dad?” Danya wondered out loud. But Abuelita Angie just stared, silently, from her photo, refusing to reveal her secrets. Sighing, Danya flipped absently through the book, as though it might yield some clue. Just before she reached the back cover, a piece of paper fluttered from the pages and drifted to the floor.

Frowning, Danya bent over and picked up the paper, wrestling back the thick fall of curls that dropped over her forehead. It was the list of fifteen heroic tasks Ferdinand had to complete in order to become a true hero. Danya had read the list so many times the page must've come loose from the binding. She'd long since memorized every item, but she still ran a finger down the words on the page as she fitted it back into its proper spot in the book.

 

1.
Be called to action

2. Receive a “sign”

3. Rescue someone suffering an injustice

4. Act in the name of love

5. Suffer a great sadness or loss

6. Offer your service on a royal mission

7. Give chase to the enemy

8. Taste of the forbidden fruit

9. Receive supernatural aid

10. Experience a profound shock

11. Face a personal demon

12. Speak to a prophet

13. Reconcile past harms

14. Make the ultimate sacrifice

15. Win the coveted treasure

 

She felt her eyes filling with tears again. She'd always had a secret dream that one day she and Sancho would go on an adventure like this. But the adventure in the story wasn't real, and in a week Sancho would be someone else's pony. His adventures with Danya were over.

“Wow,” Pia muttered, her face inches from Danya's ear. Danya jumped. She'd been so lost in the comforting words that she hadn't realized her cousin was behind her. Pia reached out and snatched the book from Danya's hand. “One . . . be called to action for a mission.” She looked up from the list, her lips all pursed together, eyes shining. “Danya, don't you see?
This
is your call to action. Saving Sancho is your mission!”

“What do you mean?” Danya said.

“This is
just
like Ferdinand and Dapple, right? Ferdinand's mother lost all of her prizewinning cattle to that bandit at the beginning of the book, but instead of just letting it happen, Ferdinand set out on an adventure, and he got them back! That's how he became a hero.”

“It's just a book, Pia.” Danya pressed her face up against her window, trying to see Sancho in the yard outside. But the sky was too dark for her to make out much of anything.

Pia grabbed Danya's arm and spun her around. “It's more than a book. It's a guide. If you follow all of the steps in the book, you get to be a hero.
You can save Sancho.
” Pia waved the list excitedly in front of Danya's face.

Danya stared at the book in Pia's hands, doubtful. She thought back to the fire-blackened grass in the yard outside, and a shiver ran up her back, like a thousand spiders dancing over her skin. Pia might think this was a sign—Pia might think Danya could be a hero, but Pia still believed in make-believe and magic and fairy-tale adventures. Danya knew better. Danya and Sancho had been close enough to the fire that took Jupiña to hear the horse whinny and kick in her stable, but they hadn't been in the backyard when it started. Sometimes Danya remembered that sound, and it always made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Pia hadn't been here on the night of the fire. If she had, she'd realize that sometimes bad things happened and there was nothing you could do to stop them.

This book wasn't a magical guide to saving Sancho—it was just a story her
abuelita
had written.

Just as she opened her mouth to protest, a lightbulb in Danya's head switched on
.

La fortuna
, her mother had said. The fortune. Angie Ruiz had made a small fortune writing the Ferdinand and Dapple books. And her mother said they couldn't keep Sancho because he cost too much money.

Danya grabbed the book from Pia's hands and stared down at her
abuelita
's picture. They couldn't follow a list of tasks in some book and expect to become a hero—that didn't make any sense. But they
could
figure out how to find her
abuelita
. Her mother said it herself—Angie would help. Danya's father didn't want to ask her, but that didn't mean Danya couldn't.

“Pia,” Danya said, a smile spreading across her face. “I think I have a plan.”

Pia grinned, the hollow space in her teeth peeking out from beneath her lips. “I knew it! We're going on an adventure, right? We're going to become heroes, just like Ferdinand?”

“Not quite,” Danya said. “But I think I know how to save Sancho.”