Free A Thunderous Whisper by Christina Diaz Gonzalez Page A

without otherkids around.” Mathias took off his beret and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Plus, I’ve been helping Garza around the farm.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Anything … everything. His sons joined the war, so he doesn’t have much help. Plus, I like the work.”
    I lifted my head to look at Mathias. “Farming?”
    Mathias moved to lie flat on the ground. He stretched his arms over his head as if willing himself to get taller. “Yeah. Anything wrong with that?”
    “No, just didn’t think you liked that sort of thing. Thought you were all about being a spy … making a difference.”
    “There are lots of ways to make a difference. Garza says I’m a natural farmer.”
    “What else does Garza tell you?” I teased.
    “He tells me stories and stuff that might come in handy one day. Besides, I could be a spy and use being a farmer as my cover.”
    I propped my head on one hand. “What kind of stories?”
    “Mostly war stories. Tips on how to be a good soldier. Like remembering to breathe and listen before firing your gun because you can aim better when you know which direction the enemy is shooting from. Also to never run in a straight line because zigzagging targets are much harder to hit.”
    “Sounds pretty obvious.”
    “Well, of course.” He rolled his eyes at me. “Good advice usually is. But the one thing he says I should always remember is, if under attack, find a foxhole and stay there … especially if there’s a bombing run.”
    “Bombing? Hmph, I don’t think that’ll really happen.” I stuck out my finger and watched a little ant crawl up and over it, continuing on the path set by the other ants. “Look how many false alarms we have every week. Lots of people don’t even go to the shelters anymore when they hear the bells and sirens.”
    “That’s because they take things for granted. My father makes us go down to the shelter near the theater every single time.”
    “Well, my mother says that when your time is up, it’s up. She keeps on selling … siren or no siren. Plus, what could anyone really want to destroy here … the Guernica Tree? What kind of commander wastes bombs on an oak?”
    Mathias shrugged. “Still. You never know.”
    “I think boys just like to talk about war,” I said.
    Mathias closed his eyes again and laid his head back. “That’s because there’s always a war to talk about, princess. Always.”

TWELVE
    T he school day seemed to drag on longer than normal.
    All I could think of was that there was an exciting world outside and that suddenly I was a part of it.
    I stared at the pages of my book, not really reading the words. The jarring sound of the school bell and the rustling of the students getting up from their desks snapped me back to the world at hand. My usual routine of having to meet Mamá in front of our building to help with the sardine sales could explain why I was never in a rush to get out the door.
    As I trudged along the school’s courtyard, my thoughts kept wandering to all the “what if” scenarios that working with the spies might bring. What if we messed up and lost a letter? What if we got caught? What if—
    “Hey, princess! Over here!” a voice called out.
    Usually I kept my eyes fixed on the ground, but the voice made me look up.
    “¡Aquí!” It was Mathias, standing by the archway closestto the front steps. He was waving his makila in the air, trying to get my attention.
    My first instinct was to run over to him, but then I remembered where we were. School. Other kids were around. And he had just said “princess,” not “Sardine Girl.” This would not be good.
    I casually walked over, looking around to see if anyone noticed. “What are you doing here?” I asked in a hushed voice.
    “Father wants us to make more deliveries … on Fridays as well as Mondays. Can you do it?”
    I glanced behind me. There still wasn’t anyone paying attention to me … as usual. “I don’t know. Mamá was