The dragon had thought Milagros felt like home.

  “¿Yo soy como tu hogar?”

  At the words, the monster leaned back in.

  Milagros stepped back so fast that she almost tripped, her foot sinking into a puddle that soaked all the way up her socks.

  “No!”

  The dragon didn’t really nod, but pressed her large head against Milagros’s open palms, which felt like an understanding.

  Maybe it was the relief that distracted her, so that when she finally noticed the fast-approaching train, it was too late. Milagros was paralyzed, legs shaking with the need to move but unable to fight the gravity of her own panic.

  She threw herself to the side, toward a small, slippery ledge covered with cables. She’d barely grabbed at hope when the light of the train blinded her. Fear overwhelmed anything else, and through the thrum of her blood in her ears, she heard a savage, thundering roar—

  She remembered a home of old houses and beaches, the soft, ever-changing clouds against a blue sky, a sun that was relentless but welcomed. She was free then, free to graze the water and curl on the sand, free to wrap herself around treetops and rest, safe in the reverence of those who could see.

  She remembered the curiosity that came with the whispers of travelers, the rumors of far-off places with cold fluff that fell from the sky. She remembered a woman’s face, a man, a child. Then an offering of salt. Then the journey.

  She remembered the new crevices and sounds, cities filled with people filled with dreams. She remembered the machine, the trap.

  Long, interminable trips in the darkness, where there was no rest and no time.

  She snagged on something now—not a memory, but something sharp and hard and ugly, a lure set by strangers with their lies to pin her here forever. She pulled until her mind bled, until it gave. Until it dissolved, and her anger with it—Milagros staggered back, light flooding in as her eyes opened. She blinked.

  Her hands were pressed against cold Plexiglas, her face reflected back at her. When the doors of the train opened, she stared out into the station like she was the ghost.

  She hadn’t moved past the yellow platform edge when the doors slid closed, the train speeding away behind her with such force that she swayed.

  She was not dead.

  Milagros looked back into the empty tunnel, searching for an explanation and a friend, but neither had stayed behind.

  “I miss our home, too. Ya no tienes que estar sola.” There was no one there to hear her words, but she said them nonetheless. Maybe they would get to the dragon somehow.

  The night outside was alive with wild, wonderful things, and Milagros felt the strangeness inside her answering.

  When she finally got back home, she lay awake on her bed with her eyes wide open.

  Above her building, under the calm, moonless night sky, the dragon slept at last.

  Author’s Note

  In my mind’s eye, Venezuela is a building slowly crumbling, paint peeling and furniture on fire as people go about their day-to-day in rooms about to disappear. In my mind’s eye, Venezuela is the vine-covered wall behind my grandmother’s textile shop, sunlight filtered through ceiling slats hiding rainbows between leaves as I looked for magic doors.

  The first time I saw my country mentioned in a young adult novel, I cried. I remember it was a throwaway comment, an exotic detail in a list of other interesting bits, with no bearing on the characters or plot, but all the bearing in the world to me. For years, I unconsciously—then, consciously—avoided bringing my own background into my writing. It felt like revealing too much, inserting myself where I wasn’t wanted: Here’s a story about a Venezuelan girl . . . Who would want that? But the thrill of being seen, even briefly, never left me. Vines can grow from a single tendril, and here was mine: I could do that for someone else.

  Milagros is not the first Venezuelan girl I’ve written, but she is the first to be shared with others, with love and fear. She is the resistance at being uprooted from one’s own soil, the uncertainty of unfamiliar and dangerous monsters. Most importantly, she is a girl with her eyes wide open, trying to hold on to who she is and figure out who she’ll become.

  As so many Venezuelans do in the current state of affairs, Milagros sees both the crumbling building and the vine-covered wall. She finds the magic door. She walks through.

  I hope every reader can follow her there.

  The Creep Factor in MONSTERS

  by Nova Ren Suma

  A story doesn’t need to fall into the horror genre in order to play with fear. A growing sense of unease, a crawling creep factor—call it whatever you like—can tighten a story’s grip. There is something so arresting about a head-on look into what’s terrifying, bringing it into the light to be faced, and even fought and overcome.

  There is an electrifying moment at the start of this powerful story when Milagros realizes she is seeing monsters that no one else around her can see. The creature caught through the window doesn’t need to be described in full to cause a shiver up the spine. We get only a sketch: the “two silver slit-pupil orbs,” each as big as a hand . . . and the dark tunnel beyond. The scene ends with a simple, striking line: “Milagros stared, and the monster in the darkness stared back.” This spare moment doesn’t tell too much, which allows the fear to seep into the cracks, between the lines, into us. The most frightening things gain weight when a reader’s imagination is allowed to take over.

  This continues. Fear billows in the spaces that are left blank, empty of unnecessary description that would kill the magic. Milagros “watched those eyes, the darkness behind them, and did not move.” The eyes. The darkness. There is an open gap, ready and waiting for your worst fears to take over. This helps us feel the terror when a hand wraps around Milagros’s wrist.

  Notice in MONSTERS that the fear begins to dissipate, and the story begins to feel more hopeful and less unnerving, as more details about the “monster” are revealed. Eventually it comes clear that the terrifying monster Milagros sees is something else in the eyes of others. “Had you never seen her before?” a man asks Milagros . . . personifying the creature, which begins to dilute the terror, so by the end of the story that fear is almost entirely gone. Milagros’s monster—the dragon—is a blessing to some. When they look, they see something beautiful.

  Fear in fiction can mask something much more vulnerable and personal. By the end of MONSTERS, it’s revealed that Milagros’s dragon is carrying a loss, “a deep, unmistakable loneliness,” a feeling Milagros, so far from home, recognizes and shares. The horror stories that linger the longest are the ones that shake loose a fearful truth from inside our core, one that is uncomfortably human.

  Story Prompt: Embodying a Fear

  Characters must often face their fears in order to change. Sometimes they need to come close enough to be devoured.

  If you want your story to go beyond a coating of creepiness to reveal something hidden under the surface, staring a monster down can do the work. It may be possible to fight your character’s worst fears if you can see those fears. Literally. On the page. How might the terrible, unspoken things inside your character come to life if they took on the shape of a monster? What would happen if your character was confronted by their fear . . . in physical form?

  To try this exercise, first ask yourself: What is your character most afraid of? Next, consider the ways that could be embodied. Create a physical manifestation—a creature, perhaps—that takes on the shape, the mood, the scale of your character’s worst fear.

  Now write the scene where they meet face-to-face.

  Break

  Sophie Meridien

  “I read BREAK with a smile on my lips and butterflies in my stomach. This story is a delightful confection—clever, witty, well-written, and oh-so-romantic—but it also packs a punch. I hope Sophie Meridien has more up her sleeve/on her hard drive, because YA lovers will be craving more (and also, maybe, Kikade’s father’s famous cake).”

  —Gayle Forman, author of I Have Lost My Way

  Spin #1

  Izzy Morgan’s Drinkapalooza

  June 3rd

  Kiki St. Germain had no business being at this party, or anywhere near the tenth circle of hell known as Seven Minutes in Heaven.

  She was in a sour mood. She’d just had her braids done—thick, chunky, heavy ones—and her scalp was extra tender. Kendra does them too damn tight. But she’d promised herself that senior year was going to be her year. She was gonna get the grades, secure an acceptance letter to her dream school, and perfect a damn crème brûlée.

  She was gonna get out of her comfort zone.

  This party seemed like the perfect way to do just that. Every summer, the neighborhoods surrounding Orange Grove High became a battleground for competing house parties, and Kiki was never allowed to attend any of them. Considering what some of these other kids were doing, her parents should’ve been thankful that she wasn’t much of a rebel. She wasn’t even in the circle. She was hovering, watching, working up the courage to join.

  She set a timer on her phone. Lying to her parents was one thing, but she wasn’t going to risk missing curfew.

  From the circle, Josie and Amari tried to wave Kiki over. She immediately squinted at her phone like she’d just received a very important text. She even muttered to herself to sell it.

  “Kiki?”

  She turned and tried not to groan. Chris Keller exuded the type of sheer assholery that she tried to avoid.

  His pale skin was sunburned. He smiled a too-perfect smile. “I’ve never seen you at one of these before.”

  She forced a smile of her own. “Yeah, just thought I’d stop by.”

  He looked at her quizzically. “Your hair grows superfast.”

  She felt every bit of her soul leave her body as he took a few braids and played with them.

  Just as Kiki was contemplating punching his screaming red skin, Chris put his arms up and whooped loudly. He wasn’t the only one. A boy she didn’t recognize had just entered the living room, and everyone seemed very excited about that.

  He was a twig of a boy, tall and slim. It was too hot for the gray hoodie he wore under his oversized Marlins jersey. His skin had the slightest tan, and judging from the way he kept running his fingers through it, he was a big fan of his sleek, dark hair.

  Kiki knelt down behind Josie and Amari. “Who’s he?” she asked.

  Josie raised a brow. “He just moved onto my block. Name’s Kastov.”

  “He’s new here?” Kiki looked him up and down. He spoke to the lacrosse team like they were all best friends, threw an arm over Izzy’s shoulder, and plopped himself in the circle next to the notoriously selective Alexa Ayers.

  Impossible. He already had a group of friends larger than hers, and she’d known these people since kindergarten. Maybe it’s better to be new. Kiki had only just managed to shake off the nickname Vomi-gator from when she threw up on the airboat during the fifth-grade trip to the Everglades. And some people could just be friendly and cool and magnetic without effort. She decided she was into it, totally buying what he was selling, right up until Chris whispered something to him and the kid threw his head back and laughed.

  Ugh, another douchebag to avoid.

  Amari passed the bottle to Kastov.

  Kiki returned to her phone.

  The bottle spun and spun and spun.

  “Woof, I gotta pee,” Josie said lazily.

  Kiki, scrolling through her favorite fic, scooted over to let Josie out of the circle.

  The bottle stopped, and the crowd cheered.

  Kiki looked up.

  The bottle pointed at the gap that Josie had just created. The one Kiki now sat in.

  “I wasn’t—” she started, but the circle drowned her out.

  Amari shouted, “Go ’head, Kiki!”

  The new kid was already at the coat closet, holding the door open for her. She considered walking away, but she knew the judgment would be merciless. She didn’t need another nickname.

  Anxiety biting at her stomach, she followed him.

  He closed the door, wiped his palms on his jeans, and offered his hand. “Hi, I’m—”

  “Just so we’re clear, I’m not kissing you, okay?” she blurted out.

  The corner of his mouth ticked up in amusement. “Probably for the best. I’ve been devouring salt and vinegar chips all night.”

  Her lips twitched, but she held in the laugh. “I mean, I don’t even know you.”

  “To be fair, I don’t know you either.” His hand was still held out to her. “I’m Kastov.”

  She took it. “Kikade.”

  “Kikade—”

  “Rhymes with cicada,” she added, before realizing that he’d already gotten it right.

  She waited for it. Can’t I just call you Kiki?

  She liked being called Kiki. Her parents called her Kiki. She called herself Kiki. She just wasn’t into people deciding a nickname was owed to them.

  “Kikade,” he repeated.

  He let go of her hand.

  She crossed her arms.

  He wiggled to the music, then took a step back to give her some space. He seemed utterly unperturbed by this situation, as if he found himself in close quarters with girls he’d just met all the time.

  Kiki needed to fill the silence. “You’re new here? Josie said you just moved into her neighborhood.”

  “Yeah! It’s funny because where I’m from, you act like your neighbors don’t exist unless their tree grows over your fence or their dog craps all over your lawn. But Josie and her dad brought us this really, really, really yummy cake—”

  Kiki’s eyes widened. “What kind of cake?”

  He closed his eyes momentarily. “Coconut . . . something . . .”

  “Coconut rum cake?”

  “Yes!”

  “My dad made that cake! She got it from our restaurant. I love it, but his butter cake is even better. It’s like a slice of heaven—”

  Her phone chimed, and the screen lit up with a clock counting down.

  Kastov’s expression changed—now there was slight disappointment in his eyes, though he was still smiling. “We can totally just walk out of here. I know that breaks the rules, but—”

  “Oh! No, I—it’s not you—” Kiki could feel herself reddening. She had the tendency to ramble. “Thing is, I’m not actually here right now. I’m at the movies. My parents would kill me if I were here.”

  “Ah. What are we seeing?”

  “Man vs. Robot 3.”

  He snorted.

  “Don’t judge me.”

  “I’m judging.”

  “The first one’s not bad.”

  “Uh, it’s notoriously bad.”

  “But the second one gets better!”

  Kastov paused for a moment. “Is that the one where The Rock fights a thousand ant-sized robots with nothing but a spoon?”

  “Yes! Shirtless!”

  Kastov chuckled again. Something about his laugh made her crave another once it was over. She’d never been one to turn to jelly solely because she was on the receiving end of a face-crinkling smile, but here she was. Jelly. She hated it.

  “Still,” he continued, “MVR 2 is a pretty bad movie, and I don’t mean that in a so bad it’s good sort of way.”

  “I heard that in the new one, Channing Tatum rips off the MegaMech’s arm and slaps him with it! So it’s already an improvement.”

  “Sold. I guess we’ll have to check it out.”

  Kiki didn’t let her mind linger on that we. But she figured this was how you made friends as quickly as he did. You opened an invitation to someone you barely knew. “Where’d you move from?”

  “New York. My dad’s sick of the cold.” His voice softened, and his toe-taps to the beat became an awkward shift from one leg to the other. “It was kind of abrupt.”

  Kiki sensed that there was something more there that he didn’t want to talk about. He’d said it himself: I don’t know you either.

  He pointed at the orange emblem on her phone case. “You go to Orange Grove?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Same—nice. Well, if I can get into twelfth grade. I’m taking summer classes at Miami Dade; some of my credits didn’t transfer. Just gotta pass calc and French.”

  “French? Easy.”

  “You know French?”

  “I know Kreyòl, and it’s helped a ton.”

  “I could use some help.” He leaned in a little. “Hey, maybe—”

  Thankfully, someone opened the door, and Kiki and Kastov were greeted with applause. Some of the boys bowed or thumbs-upped when they walked out, but Kastov only turned to her once more.

  “I gotta go,” she said quickly. “Curfew.”

  Kastov dipped his head, touching his prayer hands to his lips. “See you around? I heard Chris is throwing a party next week.”

  She said, “Yeah, maybe,” though she had no intention of going.

  As she made her way out of the house, gleeful yells erupted from the living room. Someone turned the music up higher, and Kastov was at the center of it all, dancing. He was terrible, but between the grin on his face and his sheer confidence, it didn’t matter.

  He pulled some people away from the spin circle to dance with him. They rushed to him like wildcats to prey. Or maybe he was the cat—Kiki wasn’t quite sure yet.

  Just as his eyes found her, she hurried out the door.

  Spin #2

  The González Twins’ Birthday Bash

  June 16th

  Kiki missed when Marisol and Luna’s birthday party had involved pizza, cake, and a PG-13 movie. But Kiki swam and socialized for a good hour, and then she thought it was finally an appropriate time to wish the twins a final happy birthday and make a swift exit. She could only force extroversion for so long.