Free The Painted Boy by Charles DeLint Page A

park is about a mile or so in that direction. If you follow our street, you’ll find a trailhead right where it ends.”
    “That close . . .”
    “Closer,” Rosalie told him. “We might have put down a layer of adobe and concrete and steel, but the desert’s right there underneath it all. Sleeping. Dreaming. Dangerous, if you don’t treat it with respect.”
    “Like my dragon.”
    Rosalie hesitated for a moment, then gave a slow nod.
    “I guess so,” she said. “I guess you could say it’s just like your dragon.”
    “Maybe that’s why I’m here. Maybe I’m supposed to learn something from the desert. Though it’s funny. Paupau says that the dragon clans are born from the sea and we usually live near some large body of water, like she does in Chicago.”
    A chill ran through Rosalie—not of fear, but of recognition, though recognition of what, she couldn’t say.
    “This was all ocean once,” she said. “The old people say you can still see the ghosts of mermaids in the dry washes when it rains.” She gave Jay a thin smile. “Maybe that’s not just some BS story like I always thought it was.”
    “Really? This was all an ocean?”
    Rosalie nodded. “When Ramon takes you out into the desert on Sunday, ask him about it. He knows places where you can see shells and fish that are imprinted right into the rock.”
    “I’d like to see that.”
    “You know,” Rosalie went on, “you should think of keeping a journal. My teacher Ms. Baca says that putting your thoughts down on paper is a great way of figuring out what’s going in your head. Writing it down makes it easer to see the connections or something like that.” She grinned. “Or you could start a blog.”
    “I don’t have a computer.”
    “Tío would let you use his. Or you could use the ones at the library.”
    Jay shook his head. “No, it’s too public. I might as well start an Internet support group for people who think they might be dragons.”
    Rosalie laughed. “I wonder who’d join?”
    “I don’t think I’d want to know.”
    “Well, if you want to try the journal route, I’ve got some extra school notebooks.”
    “Sure, why not. So long as no one else but me has to read it.”

- 4 -
    JAY

    I feel kind of weird writing in the notebook that Rosalie gave me. At first I thought I’d wait for something interesting to happen, but my life’s fallen into such a routine that I realized I could end up waiting forever. That wouldn’t be such a bad thing, because who needs interesting times? They’re just another way of saying “trouble.” Me, I like the normal.
    But Rosalie keeps asking me how the journal’s going, if it’s helping me figure things out. I don’t want to lie to her, but I don’t like disappointing her. She means well. She thinks it’ll help, and maybe she’s right—or she would have been right, except the dragon’s not really a problem anymore. Sure, it never goes away, but I’m happier here in Santo del Vado Viejo than I can ever remember being—even back when I was still just a kid, before the dragon showed up on my back.
    It’s not that I don’t love my family, or Chicago. I miss everything about home except for the weather—even my sister Julie’s teasing and Paupau’s lectures. I like the narrow streets of Chinatown, busy and full of life from early in the morning to late at night—I felt safe in all the noise and bustle. But here I’m free. My life is normal. Maybe things got off to a bad start the first day—what with the bandas chasing me and all—but since then I’ve finally been able to see what it’s like to live an ordinary life.
    Mostly. There are still a few too many “so you’re a dragon” conversations with Tío and Rosalie. Though I’ve got to say I prefer that to the way Anna studiously ignores it.
    I know. I’m whining about how I just want to forget the dragon, then I’m whining because Anna does exactly that. But it’s different with her. She doesn’t want to