Daffodil Sprouts🌼

Ch. 3 ' Guatemala

New York, to my mom.
There's nothing wrong with that, nothing that requires secrecy. Perhaps, he would be considerate and let us go. Worth the try.

"To New Y—"

"Guatemala," Felicie shrieks, giving me an unpleasant glimpse.

It appears she has no idea of what she said, it was an action that was just meant to stop me from letting the cat out of the bag.

My forehead lines up, and so does Dad's.

"Guatemala?" he questions.

"There's a country called tha—" I start to ask, but the stare I receive shuts me up.

"Yes," Felicie says to Dad, smiling like she didn't just shoot me a murderous glare. "Guatemala."

She comes closer and nudges my arm. "Let's not bother hiding it from your dad. It's a bit embarrassing, but there's nothing wrong in him knowing." She whispers, "Smile, Idiot."

"Ahh," I croak, then widen and separate my lips, knowing very much I look like a fool, rather than a person trying to smile.

Felicie nudges me again and smiles. "Stop acting awkward. Okay, I'll do the telling."

The way she laughs effortlessly after talking gets me wondering why I'm bad at pretending. She makes it look easy.

"Yesmi and I were watching . . . um, what music channel was it?"

Music channel?
"Trace Naija," I blurt at the same time she says, "Hip t.v."

Our mouths open simultaneously, but I'm quick to catch myself.

"I," I stop to clear my throat, a move to stop my voice from sounding tiny. "I believe it was Trace."

"Trace," she repeats with emphasis. "We switched from channel to channel a lot, that's why I got confused."

"Yes," I put in.

Dad shuts his eyes; I'm certain, from difficulty to comprehend.
"What's all this about music channels?"

"That's where we heard the" —Felicie rubs her palms together— "um . . . song. Guatemala."

Song?
"I thought it was a coun— oh. Yes. I see how you're trying to explain it," I say, hoping my face doesn't give off that I'm just as confused as Dad.

Felicie drops one of her 'hehe' laughs, and mouths 'you're doing great' to me.

I smile, genuinely.

"We were listening, and it turned out Rae sremmund, the artists, you know, that sang Guatemala, named it after a place. Actually, they were singing about going, you know, to Guatemala. Yesmi and I were fascinated," I nod when she looks at me, "what a nice place that must be. So we made a plan, you see . . . a plan to travel to Guatemala, imaginarily."

My head moves towards Felicie in a slow, dramatic manner. I swallow hard, the action stopping me from 'what-ing'.

Dad doesn't have a reason to swallow his though. "What?"

"Yeah, imaginarily." Felicie fiddles with the end of her braids, something she only does when bored or nervous. "Pack some clothes, go to an airport, and come back."

That sounds stupid.

"That sounds stupid."

Oops. You really are my father.

"What sort of nonsense is that?"

Felicie and I exchange glances, and we're asking each other the same question with our eyes.
He's buying that?