Chapter 1: A Slice of Something More

Leo sat alone beneath the sagging “Happy 13th Birthday, Leo!” banner. His legs swung off the edge of the old, worn-out sofa, tapping softly against the frayed cushions as if trying to drum up some excitement. A car rumbled outside, and Leo’s heart leapt, just for a moment, before it sank again when the car kept going. He tugged at a loose thread on the cushion, as if unraveling it might somehow untangle the rest of the day. It wasn’t that he needed a big crowd or a pile of gifts—he just wanted something to feel different. He sighed, wishing for something he couldn’t quite name, a slice of something more that might make today feel like it mattered.

The clock above the TV ticked past 3:30 PM. Emily, Marcus, even Sarah had all said they’d come. Maybe they were just running late, Leo thought, trying to ignore the doubt creeping in. He could still picture their smiles when he handed out the invitations—they wouldn’t forget. Not really. He kept his eyes fixed on the front door, listening for any sound that might signal their arrival: footsteps on the porch, the cheerful chatter of friends finally coming through.

The scent of pandebonos floated from the kitchen, sweet and comforting, but it couldn’t unknot the twisty feeling inside him. The ceiling fan hummed quietly, making the blue and green balloons sway in gentle agreement, as if they, too, were waiting, patient and unhurried, for something worth the wait.

“Think anyone else is coming?” Shane’s voice broke through Leo’s thoughts. He was sprawled out on the rug, his nose buried in a comic book, but Leo knew Shane wasn’t as absorbed as he looked. Shane always noticed things—like the way Leo’s eyes kept drifting to the door.

“Maybe they’re stuck in traffic or something.” He said. He tried to believe it, but his stomach felt heavy, like it knew better.

Shane looked up, squinting at Leo’s face. “Well, if they don’t show, more pandebonos for us,” he said, grinning.

Leo gave a small, crooked smile. “Yeah, I guess.”

Shane leaned forward, holding the comic up so Leo could see. His excitement was unmistakable, his eyes bright as he pointed to the illustration. “Hey, look! My dad drew this one. See how the cape looks like it’s really blowing in the wind? He’s got this style that makes everything feel alive.”

Leo glanced at the page, grateful for the distraction. The cape did seem alive, almost like you could feel the rush of air just looking at it. “That’s amazing,” he said, and he meant it.

Shane kept talking, explaining how his dad did the inking, but Leo’s gaze drifted back to the door. His stomach twisted as he counted again—three out of seven classmates had come, and two had already left. Maybe a weekday party was a bad idea. Maybe people had better things to do, or maybe they just didn’t want to be here. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, but the disappointment settled deep inside him, sharp and heavy, refusing to let go.

From the kitchen came the clang of pots and pans, followed by his mother’s voice calling, “It’ll be ready soon, mi amor!”

“Okay, Mamá,” Leo answered. He glanced toward the kitchen door, his heart giving a little squeeze at the sound of her voice. She was trying so hard to make today feel special, even though things hadn’t been easy since she lost her job at the diner.

Restless, Leo stood and walked over to the window, pushing back the curtain to peek outside. The street was quiet, bathed in late-afternoon sunlight. No cars pulling up. No friends rushing to the door. Only Frantic, the old neighborhood cat, lounged on their front steps. The cat blinked lazily up at him, as if to say that waiting was a fine way to spend the day, that sometimes the world moved slowly on purpose—like a gentle breeze, nudging everything into a kind of patient stillness.

“Maybe they forgot,” Leo mumbled.

“Huh?” Shane looked up. “You say something?”

Leo let the curtain drop back into place. “Nah,” he said quickly, turning back to the sofa and flopping onto it. He stared at the ceiling, trying to push away the thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone.

Shane gave him a sympathetic look. “Hey, remember last year? It was just you, me, and that huge water balloon fight. We still had a blast.”

Leo smiled a little at the memory. “Yeah, we turned the yard into a swamp.”

“And your mom got so mad at us for tracking mud into the house,” Shane said, laughing.

Leo’s smile grew, the tight feeling in his chest easing a little.

A loud clatter sounded from the kitchen—the unmistakable clang of a metal bowl hitting the floor, followed by his mom’s tired sigh.

“Everything okay, Mamá?” Leo called.

“Sí, todo bien!” she answered, though her voice sounded anything but convincing.

Shane grinned. “Sounds like an adventure in there.”

Leo chuckled. “She’s probably wrestling with the mixer again.”

The kitchen door swung open, and there was his mother, Maria, her cheeks flushed, a dusting of flour across her forehead. She smiled at him, her eyes full of a determined light. “Leo, mi vida! I have a surprise for you.”

She held out a small cake, simple but lovely, with white frosting and bright sprinkles. “I know we said we’d keep it small this year, but I couldn’t let your birthday go by without a real cake.”

Leo’s throat tightened at the sight of it. “Mamá, you didn’t have to…”

She shook her head, her smile soft. “Ay, mijo. It’s not much, but it’s made with all my love.”

Leo blinked fast, his eyes stinging. “Thank you,” he whispered.

She reached out and squeezed his shoulder, her touch warm and steady. “Anything for you, mi amor.”

Leo gazed at the cake, its simple frosting catching the light like freshly fallen snow. It wasn’t grand or elaborate, but it was made with a kind of love that made his chest ache—a love that was warm and steady. He thought about wishes and what he might ask. Maybe he didn’t need a room full of guests or a mountain of presents. Maybe what he had right here—a mother who cared enough to bake him a cake from scratch and a friend who stayed by his side—was enough. More than enough.

A low rumble of thunder rolled in from the distance, and Leo looked out the window. Dark clouds were gathering along the horizon.

“Looks like a storm’s coming,” Shane said, following Leo’s gaze.

His mother frowned, glancing out too. Leo watched her face, noticing the crease that formed between her eyebrows. She had enough to carry already, and now it seemed even the sky wanted to add to her burdens. “I hope it waits until after dinner. Ay, por favor, que no llueva,” she whispered, her voice soft, almost like a prayer, as if she believed her words could somehow charm the clouds away.

For a moment, silence settled in the room but then, the oven timer chimed from the kitchen, and her eyes widened. “The pandebonos! I need to get them before they turn negros como la noche!” She hurried back to the kitchen, but before she could disappear, the phone rang, loud and sudden, cutting through the quiet like a jarring note.

Shane grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Whoa, it’s like we’re in a superhero movie or something—all these crazy sounds happening at once. What’s next, the sound of an explosion or maybe aliens landing?”

Another flash of lightning and a crack of thunder hit close by, and Shane went pale for a second. He looked almost like he believed he could control it, like somehow his words had summoned the storm.

Maria glanced at the ringing phone, her brow furrowing slightly. “Who could be calling the landline?” she murmured, wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped over to pick it up. 

“Maybe it’s Aunt Francesca?” Leo suggested. 

She picked up the receiver. “¿Hola?” Her face shifted—surprise, and then a wide smile that lit up her whole expression. “¡Javier! ¡Dios mío, es tan bueno escucharte!” She said, ‘It is so good to hear from you,’ her voice filled with joy.

Leo’s heart jumped at the name. Uncle Javier. He hadn’t seen him in years, not since Uncle Javier taught him to carve that little bear that still sat on his bookshelf.

Shane nudged him, eyes wide. “Is that him? The uncle you told me about? The one who’s been everywhere?”

Leo nodded, leaning in, trying to catch bits of the conversation. His mom’s voice flowed between Spanish and English, her words wrapping around him like a gentle breeze on a summer afternoon, calming and familiar. He caught pieces—cumpleaños, regalo, música. Birthday. Gift. Music. His pulse quickened.

Then she laughed—a bright, joyful sound. She turned to Leo, her eyes brimming with something wonderful. “He wants to talk to you, mi amor.”