The Storytellers

Adrián meandered over to sit by Zachary in the cafeteria, letting his tray clatter on the table. The heads turned of those who were curious about the new kid, but Adrián didn’t care; the newness would wear off soon enough. Might as well get some enjoyment out of it while he could.

“What brought you here, anyway?” Jayden narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the newcomer.

Realizing Jayden wasn’t referring to this specific lunch period, Adrián said, “My dad’s company transferred him.” He chomped into his burrito, which was stuffed with beans, asadero cheese, and bits of chicken.

“Tell us another of your dad’s wacky stories,” Zachary requested.

Jayden interrupted before Adrián could begin talking. “What stories?”

Adrián swallowed, scattering grains of rice with a fork, composing his thoughts. His dad claimed he heard the stories at work, but Adrián had never quite figured out who the storytellers were.

Sensing his comrades had settled down enough for him to get a word in edgewise, he launched into his anecdote. “He has one tale about a commander in the military. Seems the rest of his unit fled the enemy, leaving him the only remaining soldier, and he was out of ammunition. Somehow he managed to stun the general and escape. I don’t remember the details,” Adrián mumbled the last line and took a gulp of orange juice.

Zachary glanced at him quizzically. “What exactly does your dad do for a living?”

“Uh,” Adrián stammered. “He takes care of people.” That’s how his dad described the lawn-mowing, flower-tending, and ground excavation that comprised his daily duties.

“Where?” Jayden taunted him.

Adrián scraped a pencil against the edge of the table, rubbing off golden flecks of paint, eyes downcast. “The cemetery.”