Chapter Text
Make your family proud!
The bed springs and Mirabel bounces off it and lands in a tangle of pajamas and glasses on the floor. It creaks happily under her weight as, without missing a beat, she leaps back off and grabs her white blouse, hanging off a chair and illuminated by the bright sun filtering through her window.
First day of school! She finds her favorite, patched pair of blue jeans next, draped over Luisa’s bed; Luisa was in college and she wouldn’t mind Mirabel using her bed for clothing storage purposes. Tonio’s first day of school! She straightens her glasses, grabs her backpack and swings it over one shoulder, then finds her mochila and slings it over the other. New day, new people, new classes, new start! Deep breath, then out the door, dodging one of Isabela’s wilting plants.
“Make your family proud!”
She’s out the door, dashing past the framed photo of Abuelo Pedro (“Morning, Abuelo!”), where her mom is dabbing some sort of ointment on her dad while trying to make the café and taking calls off her phone – “Sí, yes, I will be right there, right there – no, Dr. Trujillo will be there, but keep them stabilized until I get there – saline solution only, do not put them on anything else – Agustín, when I’m done, tell Cecilia’s mami that I will have to see her later tonight, there’s an emergency and I’ll be back late – Mira, have a good first day of school!”
“I will!” she replies cheerfully, then she’s out the door and running straight into Camilo, who’s gesticulating, posturing in the hall that divides their apartments. “Already got all your parts nailed down, Milo?”
“Lines and blocking!” he exclaims, dodging her in a whirl that sends both backpack and mochila in an arc before slamming into her pelvic bone.
The door of their nearest neighbor opens, and Mariano Guzmán, local hunk, sticks his head out at the ruckus. “Buenos días, you two! Have a wonderful first day of school!”
“Will do!”
“And say hello to your sister for me?”
Isabela, of course; Abuela had had her earmarked for Mariano since they were both in the womb, probably. “Will do that, too,” she says, with slightly less enthusiasm.
Camilo picks up as if there was no interruption. “Director sent me a heads-up on all the stuff we’ve got planned this year–” he waves his phone, because of course the director of their high school theater directly texts Camilo – but Mirabel is distracted from that line of thought as Camilo slides into a dramatic pose, hands billowing out his coat like a bat’s wings. “We’ve got a musical of grand tragedy.” Ramrod straight, holding an invisible bat to his shoulder. “A drama of family dysfunction.” Into a stiff, hand-wringing pose, upper lip curling like he’s holding tight to a mustache. “A comedy about a play going wrong!”
He waggles his eyebrows at Mirabel as if expecting her to be impressed. Mirabel, however, has been putting up with his antics since he was five and is decidedly not.
Though speaking of someone who is easily impressed… “Oh Camilo!” Señor Ortiz waves to them as they pass by his apartment. “First day of school, eh? Trying out for all the roles already?”
Camilo salutes, the picture of a military soldier, which is probably the next play on the director’s list. “That’s the plan!”
“Your hermana doing great at her school, eh?”
“Yeah, you know Dolores: a good ear for listening, a good eye for news, and a good sense of when to keep her mouth shut.” Abuela loved to say that. It’s probably the only reason she let Dolores go for a journalism major. Camilo sometimes says it a bit less charitably: whispers are like gritos to Dolores.
“Mirabel!” It’s Señor Flores, rubbing ointment over his shining scalp. Mirabel perks up. “How are Isabela and Luisa doing? Straight A’s?”
She holds her shoulders up and her lips in a grin. “Oh. Yeah, definitely. You know Isa – perfect as always. And Luisa will be inviting us to one of her games any day now.”
“They’ll make your Abuela proud.”
“We all will!” Mirabel says, and keeps her back straight and a shine in her eyes.
“Buenos días!” Señora Ozma calls out – was everybody on their floor coming out just to wish them a brand new start to the school year. “Where’s your hermanito?”
“Mami’s making sure he’s fit to go out. Papi is helping her, because…” Camilo shakes his head, and Ozma mimics him, even down to the expression, or maybe Camilo is imitating Osvaldo. Pepa’s mood swings are notorious throughout the Casita, and only Mirabel’s uncle Félix, and sometimes Camilo, could help stabilize her. How Pepa had made it past law school, let alone to one of the most prestigious firms in the city, is beyond Mirabel.
Right then, like he’s following the cues for one of Camilo’s stage musicals, come the pattering of footsteps, and suddenly her youngest primo Antonio is there. He’s in his brand spanking new shirt and big boy pants, a shiny backpack strapped tight to him, and just behind him, waving goodbye, are his parents.
“My little Papito, all grown up,” sobs Pepa, clutching her hands tight to her chin. “Have a wonderful, magical day at school, Toñito! Be good to the teacher! Don’t get into any trouble!”
“Amor, he will be fine,” soothes Félix, smiling fondly at their youngest.
Antonio waves goodbye shyly, and Mirabel can see the nervousness in his eyes. Then, as if he just wants to get it over with, he rushes towards her and Camilo, grabbing their hands and practically jerking them down the hall (“Careful, Tonio!”). The momentum sends both Mirabel and Camilo forward… and straight into Abuela.
They all come to a stop, the sunny atmosphere dimming. Even the building seems to descend into solemnity with them, the cheerfully squeaking floors silenced.
Abuela regards them all, before inclining her head towards Antonio. She holds her candle in her hands, despite it being early morning and the entire hall well-lit.
There’s an old family legend behind that candle, which Mirabel is sure Abuela’s told Antonio of last night. It’s Abuela’s wedding candle, which she carried with her when she left Colombia with her three newborn children, along with several other friends and neighbors. Their Abuelo Pedro had stayed behind, promising to join her, but Abuela made it with her children – Mirabel’s mom, Tía Pepa, and her mysterious Tío Bruno – and settled here.
From there, she had raised her children and aided those who had come with her, fighting for food and money and safety. She had learned the language, taken the most menial jobs, saved up each penny and dollar, and always inculcating in her children and grandchildren the ideals of family, duty, and responsibility. It was a blessing to be here, she had told them; their own little miracle, and they must never take it for granted, but always work to prove themselves worthy of it.
Over time, more had joined her, some living in the Casita, the apartment building their family shared along with several others, while later arrivals had lived outside it, but always within the neighborhood they informally called the Encanto, a protected area, a refuge, guarded and led by Abuela and her children and her children’s children. And always, she tells them of the sacrifices made for them by their parents, their grandparents, their friends and neighbors. They must work hard, educate themselves, find work that will make them a benefit to not only themselves, or their family, but to the Casita, to the Encanto.
And the candle is at the center of it all. At any other place people would find it odd that someone still uses a candle when electricity and modern lighting is so commonplace, but somehow, it only makes Abuela Alma more highly regarded, more held in awe. Mirabel has even seen a few of her neighbors bow when she passes by with the candle.
Family tradition says it’s the same candle from Abuela’s wedding – not a new candle lit by the old, but the same one. Butterflies have been carved into it, and the flame that lights it makes it glow a warm gold. Mirabel doesn’t quite believe it’s the exact same candle – secretly she thinks Abuela must replace it when nobody is looking – but she has to admit, she’s never seen that candle drip wax, or melt, or waver in its strength, in all the times she’s observed it. And somewhere along the way, though Abuela has never said it out loud, the strength of that candle has become entwined with the wellbeing of the Madrigal family. When its burns strong, so do the Madrigals; should it flicker or die, then it could only spell misfortune and doom for them all.
It was probably only symbolic, of course. And it’s not that they have anything to worry about right now. The candle glows as bright as ever, and the flame stands erect, not faltering even as Abuela glides towards them.
“Antonio,” Abuela says, with such gravity that it drags Mirabel from her reminiscing. The last time she’d heard that tone of voice was on her own first day of school, ten long years ago. “Mi nieto. I know you will do great things today.”
“Yes, Abuela,” says Antonio, subdued in the face of Abuela’s seriousness.
“Will you do your best to serve our community?”
“Yes, Abuela.”
“Will you help to earn the miracle that brought us here?”
“Yes, Abuela.” Antonio’s voice has grown even quieter.
Abuela regards him for a moment. Then her face breaks into a smile. “Have a wonderful first day of school.”
Antonio glances up at her shyly, and offers the tiniest smile back. “Yes, Abuela.”
“And Camilo.” Abuela’s eyes sweep over him. “You as well. Strengthen our home. Strengthen our family.”
“Yes, Abuela,” echoes Camilo, his jokester persona diminished under her gaze.
Mirabel waits. But Abuela merely regards her, almost thoughtfully, before straightening her already firm spine and speaking to all of them.
“Make your family proud.”
They all bob their heads.
That’s all. She sweeps away, off to help one of their neighbors with a family argument, to counsel another over their grief for a sick family member, to congratulate a third on the birth of a new baby.
Mirabel blows out a gust of breath as she leaves. Abuela has done that to all of them on their first day of school, a sort of tradition. It doesn’t make it any less nerve-wracking, like they’re being inducted into a secret society. She only wishes… well, it’s not important. They rush to the elevators, where Camilo smacks a hand on the button to bring the lift to them.
“Antonio!” They all startle at the sight of José, another member living in the Casita, emerging from the elevator. “First day of school, eh! What do you think your favorite subject will be, hmm? Drama, like your brother? Math and science, like your primas?”
Antonio shakes his head, chewing his lip nervously.
José just laughs. “Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll be as good as the rest of your family!” His gaze passes to Camilo and right over Mirabel.
“Good luck on your first day!” Señor Ortiz shouts after them on his way to the trash. The elevator dings and the doors open to reveal the dingy inside.
“Say hello to your hermana and primas for us!” Señora Rendon says as she carries in some bags.
“Make the Madrigals proud!”
“Have a perfect day!”
“Yeah, I’ll have a great day too!” Mirabel calls – just as the elevator doors shut.
Camilo crinkles his brow at her. “They would’ve gotten to you, eventually.”
Mirabel pastes a smile on. New day, new start. “Yeah, I’m sure they would’ve.”
Camilo fumbles in his backpack for his schedule, while Antonio watches with interest. The world of rotating classes and school schedules is far away for him. “So what are you trying this year? My entire schedule’s filled with theater, look at that – tech design, advanced drama, I’ll be in school until evening…”
“Oh, you know, the same things as everyone else. But I signed up for creative writing as my elective.”
That brings Camilo to a momentary halt, or rather as much a halt as one can have when swaying in an elevator. “Creative writing? But you hate that!”
“I don’t hate it!” Mirabel says, nettled. “Sure, maybe I could be better at it… but that’s why I’m taking the class! Abuela is always saying how we need to self-improve. I’m self-improving.”
Camilo snorts as the elevator comes to a halt. “Abuela doesn’t actually care about self-improvement. She just wants you to be perfect.”
Antonio’s eyes grow round at that.
She glares at her older cousin. “Good job.”
“I don’t mean that, Tonio,” he says hastily.
“Thanks so much, Camilo.”
But she refuses to let him get her down. Even the weather agrees with her, beaming sunlight down brightly. Overhead, a cluster of butterflies flutter through the sky, making their annual autumn migration. On most other days it’d be just a normal occurrence, even annoying, but today, it just adds a bit more magic to the day. It was going to be a great new year, a great new start.
Antonio’s school was not far from their Encanto, which was good because if Camilo couldn’t pick him up (often the case – so many rehearsals) and Mirabel couldn’t pick him (rather less often the case, but who knew, one day she might be invited to some incredible party or become leader of the debate club), he could brave the journey home on his own, or at least get his mom or Mirabel’s dad to come get him.
Antonio’s face falls as soon as they arrive. Their apartment is in the middle of a neighborhood full of ten-story apartments, and the school apparently got the memo to follow that design plan as well. It’s huge, even more imposing for someone as tiny as Antonio.
“But there’s a field!” Mirabel exclaims, waving her hand as if the dying lawn is the grand reveal of the last act of a magician’s performance. “And, and – look! Balls! With kids attached to them! Doesn’t that just look so fun? So incredible?”
Antonio just looks scared. Scared and unconvinced.
Camilo sighs. “What’s wrong, Antonio?”
Antonio shuffle-slides close to them and says, in the lowest whisper, “What if I don’t like it?”
“You? Not like school? Come on.” Mirabel grabs him in a fierce hug. “Remember last year? First day of ninth grade? You were screaming to go with us.” It was the loudest she had ever heard Antonio.
“Mami didn’t calm down for a week,” says Camilo. “Which, funnily, is exactly how long you were screaming for.”
“Milo.” Mirabel shoots him a mock glare. “Remember how we’d have all our books out on the table and you’d beg to join us? Like you wanted to do our homework for us!”
“And you’ve had your backpack picked out for weeks.”
“And all your school supplies…”
“Your outfit all ready, though that was Mami too…”
“The point is…” Mirabel squeezes him. “You’ve got this.”
Camilo nods. “And we’re the Madrigals. Anyone messes with you, they mess with all of us.”
Antonio huffs, hands clutching the straps of his backpack. His eyes are wide, but Mirabel sees resolve steal into them. Once that had been her and Camilo, and Luisa, and Dolores and Isabela before them. They had all gone to the same elementary school, the only one in this Encanto, leaving the safety of their Casita, the tranquility of their home, for something new, something bigger.
And what had sustained them? Their family. Make your family proud…
Antonio starts off on unsteady legs that grow stronger with every step. But at the gate, he can’t resist looking back at them. Mirabel had done that too, she remembers, hands sweaty as she had clutched her own bag, looking for the smiling face of her Abuela and her parents.
“Go,” she whispers.
He goes, skirting into the crowd of children playing in the field, as they watch him from behind the chain-link fence that surrounds the boundaries of the school. All the grades are out there, and he’s the smallest, dodging the fifth graders dominating the makeshift soccer field, angling past the third graders pounding the asphalt nearest the classrooms. A cluster of children his size huddle together in a corner, all of them wearing the same nervous looks. As Antonio joins them, Mirabel waits, holding her breath.
One of them glances at Antonio, a tiny girl with two long braids.
She breaks into a toothy smile, and beckons him in.
Her primo lights up. Like magic, it draws the attention of the other children, and their circle widens, opens, including him, hands tugging on his arms and admiring his new backpack. Enveloping Antonio, they draw him into their fold.
“Looks like he’s gonna be all right,” says Camilo, already turning for their school. Confident that his hermano has nothing to worry about. “See, he didn’t need us at all.”
Mirabel, however, lingers. Just for a moment, she lingers.
She says, sadly, “Looks like it.”
New day, new start. She turns away from the fence. Going to be a great new year.
*****
“Mirabel… Madrigal?” Her trigonometry teacher glances up at her. “Why, I had your sister Isabela in my class. Perfect marks on every exam. I imagine it’ll be much the same for you.”
She smiles. “Yup, definitely!”
“Madrigal? The same Madrigal as Luisa Madrigal? I coached Luisa during her weight-lifting sessions. What a worker that girl was! Though you don’t seem to take much after her.”
“I hear that a lot,” she says cheerfully.
“Camilo! That’s who you remind me of!” her creative writing teacher explains. “That boy came up with the most amazing scripts.”
“So a lot of people tell me!” Her smile is becoming a rictus grin.
“Mirabel! How’s your cousin doing? Can he get us tickets for the play? We’re big fans!”
“When are you going to see your sister in her game? Can we come?”
“Look Mirabel, we just put up one of your cousin’s articles on our Alumni Spotlight board! You know, I still think we have her old articles from Yearbook Club…”
“Hey, you think this video of your sister’s valedictorian speech is still good?”
“Is Isabela going to be–”
“Have you heard from Luisa–”
“So Dolores is supposed to–”
“I was just talking to Camilo–”
Mirabel pulls up in front of her locker and smacks her head into its center. “Gah… when is this year going to be over?”
Make your family proud, make your family proud, make your family proud…
But the family’s already proud – of everyone else.
Mirabel lifts her head to stare at the lights, hoping that this will make everyone get the hint and avoid her. Unfortunately, the school uses fluorescent lights and all they do is refract through her glasses to blind her.
Even they’re against me.
What was she thinking?! “New year, new start” – there wasn’t new anything when all her family members had done it already. Antonio didn’t need her. Camilo was the most popular kid in school, the best actor in the drama department, already stealing plum roles from seniors even though he was only a tenth grader. Dolores had run Yearbook Club and Newspaper Club and was pulling near-perfect grades at college and will probably start her own paper someday. Luisa had taken their school’s team to finals and first place. And Isabela – what hadn’t Isabela done? Head cheerleader, valedictorian, Prom Queen, her radiance flowing around the school –
And throwing Mirabel into complete darkness.
I need this year to end already. What day is it?
Oh, right. It’s only the very first day of school!
What could Mirabel do? Sure, she could maybe hold a tune and dash some colors on a piece of paper, but she wasn’t as transcendentally good at anything artsy like Camilo. When she was younger she had learned to play the accordion, but nobody wants an accordion player in their band. She was too clumsy for sports, too graceless to be a cheerleader or prom queen, too much of a loner to be making yearbooks or interviewing people for newspapers, too average to pull more than B’s in her classes. She can’t even find a subject she likes: English, history, math, science, they all inspire about the same amount of passion as anything else, which is to say, very little. And even if she does find something she’s good at, some great undiscovered talent, chances are her sisters and cousins have already mastered it already.
She resists the temptation to smack her head back into her locker. There are already enough people staring at her.
At this rate, she’s not going to survive to October, let alone the end of the year.
Stop wallowing, she berates herself. Look at all the amazing things your family has done. Have they ever complained? The least you can do is your best. All she’s good at is drowning herself in self-pity. Yeah, stop doing that, too, her mind adds.
Sighing, she scoops up her mochila and shoves it out of sight into her backpack, which is now weighted down with, what, five textbooks? Slinging it over her shoulders, she’s on her way to find Camilo to see if they want to have lunch together – if he’s not somehow caught up in a rehearsal on the first day, but if the director is crazy enough to personally text Camilo his roles, he might be crazy enough to do that – but then something catches her eye.
SEWING CLUB, a flyer says in bold colors. Lines that resemble threads curl around the borders, and a cartoon needle pokes out of an equally cartoon-y ball of yarn. Stitch your way to success! Room 204, Tuesdays and Thursdays at lunch.
It’s cheesy, and dumb, and whoever designed the flyer was good with colors but not anything else (was that the Papyrus font?). Yet Mirabel finds herself lingering by it, eyes narrowing behind her glasses. Inadvertently, her fingers drop to a line of thread running horizontally several inches across her jeans.
A few months ago, she’d ripped that pair, a giant gash across the thigh that would have gotten her sent to the principal’s office for dress code violation if she’d worn it – or worse, put her on the receiving end of Abuela’s disapproving gaze. The first Madrigal to get detention is definitely not an accolade she wants. She could easily have gotten a new pair – heck, she had several other jeans in her drawers – but this was her favorite: roomy, comfortable, flattering, and in a shade of cyan she’d never found anywhere else. She couldn’t bear to toss it out.
Her dad was busy, her mom knew how to stitch wounds but not cloth, and Isabela and Luisa had both been away taking summer courses, so there was nobody to fix it but Mirabel herself. So off to YouTube she’d gone, and before she’d known it, she’d found a nice sewing channel with several thousand subscribers that had detailed exactly the method to sew up tears in her jeans. After sneaking some thread and needle from her mother’s little-used sewing kit, she’d gone ahead and tried it, and to her amazement, not only succeeded but enjoyed it.
Still, that had been a relatively easy fix, requiring no more skill than looping threads and matching colors. It didn’t necessarily mean she had some kind of talent at it. It wasn’t even that big a deal… who needed to sew nowadays, when you could buy a dozen pieces of clothing from any store down the street? Plus, she’d have to give up her lunches. And she’ll probably go in, immediately find herself out of her depth, and leave before she embarrasses herself.
New year, new start, though.
Quickly, before she changes her mind, Mirabel takes out some paper and scrawls down the times and locations. Stuffing it away, she clutches her backpack a bit closer – not in delight, just… minor anticipation – and heads not to the theater but down the hall, a little more bounce in her step.
Room 204 is, appropriately, the room of one of the art teachers. Mirabel had taken art last year – she had to, school requirement – but it had been with a new teacher who hadn’t even had a room of her own but had rotated to whatever place was open to her. So it had been a pretty bland classroom.
This one, though, exudes “art teacher vibes”. The desks are more like long tables and benches, plenty of space for students to spread their projects and materials all over. Paint splatters mark their surfaces every few inches. The back and front of the room has equally long racks and shelves crammed with supplies of all kinds: giant rolls of butcher paper taller than Mirabel, buckets of paint, clay ready to be smacked into shape, boxes full of pastels and markers and color pencils.
And yarn. Lots of yarn, and thread, and even a few of those panels that people do embroidery on. There’s even a sewing machine set up in the back, battered and dusty.
There’s only one other girl in the room, and she’s busy on her phone, gnawing a lip nervously. But she glances up when Mirabel comes in.
“Uh, hi?” says Mirabel uncertainly.
“Hello.” For some reason the girl looks wary. “Ms. Diaz is in room 205, if you wanted to talk to her.”
“Um, actually, I’m here for the sewing club?” Did she wander into the wrong room? That’d be just Mirabel’s luck…
But the girl brightens. “Oh! Oh, awesome, wow – I actually wasn’t expecting to get anyone, the last two guys were looking for the teacher.” She dashes forward, blonde hair flying. “Yeah, sorry, I’m Sam – Samantha, but everyone calls me Sam – and I guess I’m the… leader? Club president? Go on, sit down, I don’t really have a plan at all today…”
Mirabel sits, tugging the straps of her backpack off her shoulders and letting it rest against her back.
“So, um…” Sam looks a little flustered at having an audience of only one. “Well, I guess if it’s only us, I was thinking of just having everyone – meaning, us two – do some projects? I have a few ideas, some are pretty simple, others are complicated, you know, so for all skill levels…”
Mirabel leans forward as she starts placing papers around. Thankfully, more people start to come in soon after, one girl named Yasmin who Sam clearly is already friends with, but another who’s a stranger, and a boy who says he’s named Oliver and has the uncertain look of a kid who’s not sure he wants to be seen doing this by his friends. Mirabel tenses, waiting for the familiar refrain of “You’re a Madrigal, you must be so-and-so’s sister slash cousin slash kid”, but it doesn’t come.
It’s a nice change.
She’s distracted, then, by one of Sam’s proposed projects. It looks simple enough at first glance, a sort of doily, but there’s a variety of different photos, some of them showing stitches and designs of unusual complexity. Mirabel is particularly drawn to one showing a teacup balancing on it. They don’t have those kinds of cups at home.
But they – or rather, Abuela – do have something of a similar shape. Her candle.
In addition to bringing it whenever it’s their first day of school, Abuela always carries the candle with her to their Saturday dinners. None of them really know why or what the significance is of bringing it around, other than for sentimental reasons; they just know that Abuela never leaves her apartment without it.
And Abuela never had anything to place that candle on besides the simplest of holders.
What if Mirabel was to change that?
She tugs the paper with the doily designs forward, envisioning it. It would be of deep maroon, to match Abuela’s gowns (floor-length and old-fashioned, but only making her more respected and revered among the neighbors), with dark stitching to contrast it and bring out the more complex designs. She would radiate the patterns outward, like the tassels of Abuela’s shawls, but work into it gold threads to mimic the light of the candle.
Anticipation grows as she hops to her feet and grabs the box; she’s the first up and gets dibs on everything. It’s the perfect gift, the perfect way to show that she’s a good granddaughter, a useful Madrigal, that she’s as skilled and exceptional and accomplished as all the other members of the family. Abuela will surely love it.
Abuela will surely be proud of her, at last.