Chapter 1 - RESTLESS DREAMS

The coquí frogs were calling me again, just like they had in every dream since I was a kid. In that half-lit space between asleep and awake, I saw their tiny bodies perched on broad leaves glistening with moonlight. Except tonight, there was something more—a flicker of red among the shadows, a faint echo of chanting voices I didn't recognize. I caught a glimpse of my abuela's face, her features blurred and shifting, and then—

I woke with a start.

My heart pounded as I pushed damp curls from my forehead. Early-morning sunlight streamed through the flimsy curtains, dust motes floating in the golden beams. My bedroom was a cramped rectangle of comfort: posters of local bands taped to the walls, a stack of comic books toppling off my desk, and in the far corner, Abuela's old trunk half-buried under clothes. I could still hear the last echoes of those distant frogs ringing in my ears.

"Mateo!" my father yelled from the kitchen. "If you don't get up now, you'll be late for school."

I dragged myself out of bed, running a hand over the tangle in my hair. The dream clung to my thoughts like wet sand. When I turned, my gaze snagged on the trunk. A spark of memory flared—Abuela's gentle voice telling me about the coquí as guardians of the island, about a great ceiba tree where ancestral spirits gathered. Since her passing last year, I'd been feeling her absence everywhere.

But there was no time to dwell on ghosts. The clang of pots and the smell of café con leche wafting from the kitchen called me to reality. I tugged on a clean T-shirt, rummaged for my battered sneakers, and dashed out.

Our tiny dining nook was alive with the buzz of a Puerto Rican morning. Outside the window, neighbors' voices carried through the sultry air—someone hollered about fresh bread from the panadería; another teased a stray cat perched on a fence. The radio played a snappy salsa number that made the walls vibrate. Dad stood by the stove, arms folded, eyebrows knit.

"You look tired," he observed, gesturing at me with a wooden spoon. "Another one of those dreams?"

I shrugged, slipping into the rickety chair by the table. "Nothing serious. Just restless." My voice sounded hollow to my own ears.

He eyed the faint circles under my eyes. "You know, Teo, you could talk to me if something's bothering you," he added, a quiet note of concern tingeing his usual sternness.

I forced a small smile. "I'm good, Dad. Really."

His expression flickered, uncertain. We'd never quite learned how to fill the space Abuela left behind. She was always our mediator, the warm presence bridging my father's strict worldview and my wandering curiosity. Now it was just the two of us, and we both felt the missing piece.

He turned back to the stove without pressing further. "Eat up. Don't be late."

A plate of tostones and scrambled eggs materialized in front of me, smelling of garlic and home. I wolfed them down, half-listening to the radio host bantering about last night's rainstorm, half-lost in the swirl of my dream. There had been chanting—words I couldn't quite place. A hum of something… magical. I mentally shook myself. Magic wasn't real, right?

Ten minutes later, I was out the door with my backpack slung over one shoulder. The morning heat wrapped around me like a blanket even though the sun was barely up. The distant whoosh of cars on the main road blended with the chirp of birds in the palm trees. From next door, Mrs. Rivera waved over the fence, holding a pot of red flowers in one hand.

"Morning, Mateo," she called in Spanish, adjusting the battered straw hat perched on her silver curls. "You tell your father he should drop by for dominoes this weekend!"

"I will, Mrs. Rivera!" I responded, quickening my steps.

A block down, I paused at an old wooden shrine overshadowed by a tall, leafy ceiba. Abuela used to say ceibas were sacred to the Taíno people, the island's first inhabitants. Some claimed the trees housed spirits—benevolent or otherwise. Taking a moment, I closed my eyes. The coquí pendant under my T-shirt warmed unexpectedly against my chest, as if responding to my thoughts. I'd found it in Abuela's trunk the night she passed, a small wooden charm shaped like the island's iconic frog. Sometimes, it felt almost alive.

In that second, I swore I heard a rustle in the branches overhead—like someone whispering my name. My heart kicked into gear. I glanced up, seeing only sunlight filtering through green leaves. Shaking it off, I marched on, telling myself it was just leftover nerves from the dream.

At La Estrella High School, the courtyard bustled with students complaining about homework or gossiping about a rumored fight last night downtown. I sidestepped the jostling crowd, searching for my best friend Soraya. She was easy to spot in her bright yellow shirt and dyed purple braids. She waved, practically bouncing on her toes.

"You look like you saw a ghost," she quipped the second I got close.

I smirked despite the lingering heaviness in my chest. "Just the usual: no sleep, weird dreams, fatherly concern. What's up with you?"

She jerked her chin, eyes alight. "I heard something wild happened in Old San Juan last night—some kind of brawl with… sparks? People are saying it was either fireworks or a freak accident. But you know me," she added, tapping the camera hanging around her neck. "I smell a story."

A twinge of interest sparked in me. Maybe it was just petty vandalism or a street show gone wrong, but from the half-remembered chanting in my dream, I felt goosebumps form along my arms. "And you want to investigate?"

A mischievous grin stretched across her face. "Obviously. Wanna come along?"

Before I could reply, the bell clanged overhead, warning everyone to get to class. Still, an uneasy thrill ran through my veins. If there really was some bizarre fight last night, could it have anything to do with the red flicker I'd witnessed in my dream? It sounded impossible, but my instincts refused to let it go. The coquí pendant felt heavier against my chest—another reminder that maybe my life wasn't as ordinary as I tried to pretend.

For just a second, I closed my eyes and pictured Abuela's voice. "There is power in these lands, Teo. Listen to the heartbeat of the island." The memory sent a prickly warmth down my spine.

Shaking off the sensation, I forced myself to follow Soraya inside, weaving past sweaty teens and half-closed lockers. Yet the dream, the hush of the ceiba, and the subtle tug of the pendant stayed with me all morning. Somewhere beyond the horizon of my ordinary day, something was waiting—something bigger than I could imagine. And as much as it scared me, I couldn't ignore the slow, exciting rhythm beating beneath my feet.

I just had no idea that everything I'd once called "normal" was about to change.