CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Forbidden Fruit of Juggs Casino

Sancho thundered around the goats in Circe’s backyard, hooves kicking up clouds of dirt as he ran. Danya clung to his neck, and behind her stood Pia, her sneakers shoved beneath Sancho’s saddle for balance.

“Heel!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. She gripped Danya’s shoulder with one hand and waved at the stampeding goats with her other. “Heel, goats, heel!”

“You keep saying that!” Danya yelled up at her friend. “I don’t think you know what it means.”

“It’s working, isn’t it?” Pia called back down.

Meanwhile, Circe sat comfortably on an old lawn chair, her feet propped on an overturned bucket. While the girls worked, she ate a sandwich, lazily turning the pages of a paperback novel. It wasn’t until they’d gathered the goats around her truck that Circe put her book down and sauntered over to the trailer to unlock the latch.

“Good work,” she said to Danya and Pia as the goats tromped up the gate to the trailer and huddled together inside. “Now, if you want a ride, you better hurry.” She tapped her bare wrist like she was wearing a watch. “We’re on a schedule.”

Circe helped Danya load Sancho into the trailer with the goats. Then, after giving him a quick kiss on the forehead to say goodbye, the girls crowded into the truck’s main cabin. To their surprise, Circe pulled two more sandwiches out of her glove compartment.

“Better eat these,” she said, tossing a sandwich to each of the girls. “You look like you’re about to drop dead from hunger.”

Danya tore into the sandwich, unable to believe just how good plain old peanut butter and jelly could taste on an empty stomach. Next to her, Pia downed her entire sandwich in a single bite.

“Dees er so gud,” she said through a crumb-filled mouth.

While they drove, Pia peppered Circe with questions about her life: How was it that she got to live on her own when she was so young? How’d she make any money? In exchange, Circe told the girls all about her goat business.

“People from neighboring cities hire me and my goats to come in and clean up the litter from their parks and schools and highways,” she explained, though Danya was so nervous she could barely focus on what she was saying—Circe was a terrible driver. She was too short to reach the pedals, so she kept a brick on the gas. She steered with one hand, tapping a beat out on the side of the truck with the other. It made Danya so uneasy that every few minutes she tested her seat belt to make sure it still worked.

“Goats are great animals for a farm, you know?” Circe continued, whistling a completely different tune from whatever she was tapping on the roof of her truck. “Much better than pigs. And my goats will eat anything, so business is booming.”

“Pigs?” Pia asked. Unlike Danya, Pia seemed to love Circe’s driving style. She sat sideways in her seat so she could stick her legs out the passenger-side window, and whenever she wasn’t asking questions, she yodeled along with Circe’s strange, off-key whistling.

After a few hours of tapping and whistling and yodeling it was enough to give Danya a headache. And then there was the snorting from Sancho and bleating from the goats out back—Danya couldn’t help wondering if they were trying to sing along, too.

“Yeah, I used to sell pigs,” Circe explained. “And peaches, but, uh, that didn’t turn out so well. Don’t ask. Anyway, the goats are new. I’ve been wanting to make a fresh start.”

At a sign pointing the way to New Orleans, Circe took a sharp turn, causing the entire truck to rock. Danya slid over her vinyl seat, nearly hurtling into Pia’s lap. Hair hanging over her eyes, she pushed herself back up, blowing the thick curls away with a puff of air.

That’s when she saw it: red and blue police lights flashing in the rearview mirror. For a moment she was so shocked that all she could do was open and close her mouth wordlessly.

“Cops!” she finally croaked, at the exact same moment a robotic voice issued from the police car’s speakers:

“We know Danya and Pia Ruiz are with you,” the voice said. “Pull to the side of the road immediately!”

Eyes narrowing into thin slits, Pia whipped around to face Circe.

“You!” she yelled. “You traitor! You called the cops on us!”

“I . . . I didn’t.” Circe’s face was pale as she watched the police cruiser approach. “I . . .”

“You’re the only one who knew where we were,” Danya said. “It had to be you.”

“Pull to the side of the road!” came the voice from the cruiser. Circe’s eyes flitted to the rearview mirror. A resigned look passed over her face, and she pulled up on the emergency brake. The truck skidded to a stop, and Danya shot forward, her seat belt cutting into her neck as it stopped her short.

“Look,” Circe said, glancing again at the rearview mirror. “I didn’t call the cops—I swear it. There was a time when I would have done that sort of thing, but I’m trying to start fresh. Turn over a new leaf, you know?”

“Why should we believe you?” Pia shot back. Circe closed her eyes, then shook her head.

“I had a friend in a similar situation once. Or she would have been a friend, but I messed everything up. I’m not going to make that mistake again.

“Besides,” she added after a short pause. “I’m going to get in a lot of trouble when they find out I’m driving. I don’t exactly have a license, being only thirteen and all.”

Danya studied Circe’s face—she looked sincere. “I believe you,” she said finally.

“Guys, this is a nice moment and all, but we’re about to be captured by the cops!” Pia said.

“Don’t worry about it.” Circe pushed open the driver’s-side door, a determined look on her face. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Just ahead is an old dirt road most people don’t know about. Follow it south and you’ll get to New Orleans, no problem.”

“What are you going to do?” Danya asked. Circe took a deep breath.

“Release the goats!” she yodeled. Then she hopped out of the car and raced for the trailer.

“What does that mean?” Danya asked, but Pia didn’t stop to answer her. Grabbing her arm, she kicked her own door open and pulled Danya out.

“I think it means she’s going to release the goats,” Pia whispered, motioning for Danya to duck as the two of them crept around the back of the truck.

Circe snuck toward the police cruiser, bending low so the officer couldn’t see her. When he leaned over to grab his radio, she raced toward the back of the trailer and quickly pulled out the latch.

“Hey!” the officer called, fumbling with the radio as he pushed open his car door. “You’re supposed to stay in your vehicle.”

But he was too late. The goats tumbled out of the back of the trailer in an avalanche of fur. Bleating and snorting, they raced for the officer in a terrifying stampede. His eyes grew wide. He stumbled back a few steps.

“Wait . . . no!”

And then they were upon him, chewing at his shoes and pants and the sleeves of his shirt. He tried grabbing for his nightstick, but a brown-and-black-spotted goat got to it first.

“Meh eh eh!” it cried, chomping down on the stick with its front teeth. The police officer pulled the nightstick away, then lost his balance in the struggle. Hair flew in all directions as he went down and the goats moved in on him, licking his cheeks and forehead with tiny pink tongues.

Just then Sancho crept out of the back of the trailer, his tail tucked between his legs.

“Sancho!” Danya hissed, her heart aching. He looked so confused! At the sound of her voice, he trotted over to the side of the truck, relieved to be away from the goat mob.

“Go!” Circe peeked around the side of the trailer, waving at Pia and Danya to run.

“We can’t leave you!” Danya insisted. “How will you get the goats back in the trailer? You need our help!”

Circe just scoffed, shaking her head.

“I’ll get them into the trailer one goat at a time, just like I always did before you two troublemakers came along.” She smiled then, waving them on. “I can take care of myself. Now, go!”

“Thank you!” Danya mouthed wordlessly. Then she, Sancho, and Pia raced for the windy dirt road that would lead them to New Orleans.

• • •

The girls took turns riding Sancho down the road, the air around them so hot and humid it felt like they were inside a mouth. As they got closer to the city, Danya could feel her nerves whirring to life inside her. The more people around, the more chances someone would figure out who they were. Eventually they made their way to a street filled with yellow, pink, and green houses. Lush vines and flowers dripped from overhanging balconies, and old-fashioned lamps dotted the sidewalk. Danya froze, watching the people stroll down the streets.

“Maybe we should go around New Orleans,” she whispered to Pia. She adjusted the fake nose propped on her face. “This is bad news—someone here will recognize us for sure.”

“If we go around the city, there’s no chance we’ll find a ride,” Pia pointed out. “Just act like you belong, and no one will notice you.”

The girls and Sancho started to cross the narrow street, then leapt back onto the sidewalk as a carriage driven by a man in a velvet cape and top hat rolled past them, nearly taking off their toes. It wasn’t until the carriage disappeared in a cloud of dirt that they felt safe enough to try again.

“Maybe we can get Sancho a job pulling one of those things?” Pia said. She coughed and waved a hand in front of her face to clear the remaining dust from the air.

“You know we’re supposed to stay under the radar.” Danya tugged on Sancho’s ear to get him to move a little faster—she didn’t want to get trampled by another carriage.

“Snap, I was joking. And besides, in case you didn’t notice—we’re broke.”

Danya pursed her lips. She couldn’t exactly argue with that.

“Ooh! Your pony is so cute!” someone said from across the street, interrupting Danya’s thoughts. Sancho seemed to enjoy their attention. He shook his mane out, trotting in place while Danya swiveled around in her saddle. To her horror, two women teetered toward them on dangerously tall stiletto heels. They were beautiful, with intricately curled hair, heavy eye makeup, and layers of multicolored beads glittering from their necks. Danya gaped as they approached. Now that the women had seen them, they couldn’t hide or run away, so Danya crossed all her fingers and toes for luck, hoping they wouldn’t recognize them.

As the women came closer, Danya realized they both looked exactly like a character from the fourth Ferdinand and Dapple book—Dulce, the tavern girl Ferdinand was helplessly in love with. Danya had always loved how her grandmother described Dulce’s cascading, raven-colored curls and glittering beaded necklaces. For a second she forgot her nerves, admiring the women’s hair and jewelry.

The women stopped in front of Sancho and patted him on the nose. “Aren’t you a purty pony? Oh, you’re such a purty pony!” one of them cooed. Sancho snorted, and Danya thought she detected a blush creeping over his fur. He stood up a little taller, tossing back his mane.

“What are y’all doing out here?” the second woman asked. A plastic name tag attached to her tank top said her name was Tina. “You’re too little to take this town on your own! Where are your parents?”

Danya felt some of her nerves ease up a little. At least the women didn’t seem to know who they were—that was a good sign. She tried to think of an explanation fast, but it was Pia who answered.

“See, we were on this tour group that was just here, but a carriage whizzed past and kicked up all this dust, and when the air cleared, the rest of the group was gone.”

The two women shared a look. “How about you come along with us,” Tina said. “You got a number you can call, don’t you? We’ll let you borrow a phone so you can find the rest of your group. Maybe grab you a soda while you wait?”

“No thank you,” Danya said at the same time Pia said, “That sounds great!” Danya tried to shoot her cousin a “we’re not supposed to draw attention to ourselves!” look, but Pia carefully avoided her eyes.

“We work across the street at Juggs,” the other woman said. “We’re waitresses. My name is Molly.”

“I’m P . . . rissy,” Pia said, changing her name at the last second. She winked at Danya. “And this is Dakota. My sister.”

They all shook hands, and Molly and Tina ushered them across the street, not listening to their protests.

“What are we doing,” Danya said under her breath. “We don’t have anyone to call, and the longer we hang out with them, the more likely they are to recognize us!” Pia waved her worries away.

“They’re going to give us a soda,” she said. “And I’m thirsty.”

Juggs, it turned out, was a bar and casino that had been built in a renovated church. Danya hesitated near the door as Pia bounded up the steps. Then, with a sigh, she tied Sancho up outside and, with a kiss on his forehead, hurried after Pia, Tina, and Molly.

The church still had stained glass windows and pews, but now there were slot machines lining the aisles. Little blue-haired old ladies sat in front of the machines, diligently slipping in quarter after quarter. A huge, fluorescent green angel hung from the rafters above them, and a stone bust of Abraham Lincoln stood next to the door, a curly blond wig perched on his head.

“I’ll grab the cell from my purse,” Molly said, handing Pia a soda before tying an apron over her short skirt. “Y’all wait right here, okay? Children aren’t supposed to be back here.”

Danya and Pia nodded. Tina patted them on their heads and grabbed a tray of drinks, then she and Molly teetered across the bar on their sky-high heels.

“What are we doing here? Why are we waiting?” Danya hissed as soon as the women were out of sight.

“We’re not actually waiting for them,” Pia explained, finishing half the soda in one gulp before handing the rest to Danya.

“Then what are we doing here?” Danya said, taking a drink of soda. The bubbles tickled the back of her throat, making her cough. Her parents didn’t usually let her drink soda. “We should go.”

“Go? Are you kidding? This place is amazing. I just meant we needed to do a little exploring.”

“But Pia, we . . .”

“I know, I know, we’re on a schedule and someone might recognize us. Just hold on one minute, okay? I have an idea.”

Before Danya could argue, Pia darted across the casino. She snatched the blond wig off the Abraham Lincoln bust, grabbed a handful of sparkly beads from a basket near one of the slot machines, and pulled an abandoned shawl off the back of an empty chair.

“What are you doing?” Danya demanded as Pia raced back over to her. “That’s stealing.”

“I’ll give it all back, promise. Now climb on my shoulders. If kids aren’t allowed in here, we need to become a grown-up, fast.”

In response, Danya crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head. If Pia thought there was any way she was climbing onto her shoulders and wearing a wig when they should be finding a ride to Florida, she must’ve bumped her head on Circe’s windmill.

“Come on, Snap,” Pia pleaded, shaking the beads in her hand. When Danya still wouldn’t budge, Pia stomped her foot, much like Sancho sometimes did when he was annoyed about something. “Look, I have a plan to get us some money. Doesn’t that sound nice? Money could buy bus tickets, you know. And maybe even some real food. Besides, everyone’s on the lookout for two kids and a pony, not a grown-up blond woman.”

Slowly, Danya lowered her arms. Pia did have a point there. “Fine,” she muttered. Then, with a smile, “You know, this is your worst plan yet. No one’s going to believe we’re a grown-up.”

Pia took this as agreement. In a flash, she hoisted Danya onto her shoulders and tossed up the wig. Danya flapped her arms around to steady herself, a little surprised when the curly hair landed on her outstretched fingers. She pulled the wig over her own dark hair, then wrapped the shawl Pia handed up to her over her shoulders. It was so long it covered Danya’s legs and Pia’s head and shoulders.

“Don’t forget your beads,” Pia whispered, passing her the brightly colored necklaces. Danya strung them around her neck, swaying back and forth as Pia walked over to a mirrored wall.

Looking at her reflection, Danya had to smile. Almost all of her hair was hidden beneath the curly wig (though one long, frizzy strand of brown twisted down around her shoulders). Plus the beads gave her a little added something that made her feel beautiful, like Molly and Tina. As long as no one saw her stubby little arms, she and Pia would definitely pass as a grown-up.

“We look good,” Pia said from beneath the shawl, letting out a low whistle.

“Hey, torsos don’t talk,” Danya whispered, adjusting her wig. “How, exactly, is this going to make us any money?”

Pia dug into her pocket for their last quarter. She blew on it for good luck. “According to the hero’s list, we need to taste the forbidden fruit,” she said, sliding into a seat in front of a slot machine. Danya wobbled on her shoulders and Pia grabbed her legs to hold her steady. “Gambling is forbidden, and look—this slot machine has little pictures of fruit on it.”

“Wait, you want to gamble our last quarter away? Pia, no!” Danya tried to grab the quarter from Pia’s hand but started losing her balance again and had to steady herself by holding onto the back of their chair.

“According to the list, after doing the fruit thing we, apparently, receive supernatural aid. So maybe an angel will help us win some money. Here goes nothing!” Pia slid the quarter into the slot machine and pulled the lever. Three pictures popped up: one strawberry and two cherries.

Danya watched, amazed, as the machine pinged and five quarters dropped into a tray just below it, clinking against the metal. That was . . . surprisingly easy.

Pia whooped. “How much do you think we need for lunch?” she asked, digging the coins out of the tray. “Now what were you saying about gambling away our last quarter?” she asked, holding up the coins.

“Fine,” Danya said. “Let’s keep going.”

Pia slid coins into the slots again and again. Every few minutes, more quarters spilled into the tray, clinking happily. Pia handed them up to Danya, who collected them in her shawl and counted. They had three dollars . . . then four.

“Maybe we should stop now,” she whispered to Pia. They had enough to get some hot dogs for dinner from a street cart, and she didn’t want to press her luck. Danya tugged her wig farther down over her forehead and glanced around. Luckily no one seemed to be paying them any attention.

“Just one more,” Pia said, sliding a coin into the slot. Then she slid another coin in and another . . .

“Pia!” Danya warned, just as her friend was sticking another quarter into the machine. A light went off at the top of the slot machine, and three strawberries lined up in a row: Jackpot! Coins poured out into the tray, faster than Danya could count them. Pia began stuffing them into their pockets.

“I told you this would be the forbidden fruit!” Pia hollered.

“Pia, hold still,” Danya muttered. She tried to grab onto Pia’s shoulder, but at that second, Pia jerked forward to catch a quarter spilling from the tray, and Danya lost her balance, toppling backward. She fell to the floor with a grunt, scattering her curly blond wig, sparkly beads, and stolen shawl across the floor.

“Danya, I’m so sorry!” Pia said, her arms filled with quarters.

“Hey—what’s going on here?” someone shouted. Danya and Pia glanced up. A security guard was standing at the end of the pew. He looked . . . well, not so happy.

“Time to go!” Pia said. Shoving the coins in her pockets, she grabbed Danya’s arm and the two scrambled over the pews, dodging little old ladies with blue hair as they ran.

The guard tried to follow them, but he was too tall, and he knocked his head on the fluorescent angel hanging from the ceiling. The angel wobbled, then came crashing down, blocking his way to the door.

“And that’s receiving supernatural aid!” Pia yelled. Groaning, Danya pulled her toward the door.

Sancho was rolling around on his back in the grass, his belly facing the sun when Danya and Pia raced outside, dropping quarters they had no time to pick up. When he saw them, Sancho rolled back over and stumbled to his feet, looking a little sheepish.

“Sancho, there’s no time for this!” Pia shouted.

“You’re as bad as me,” Danya muttered, climbing onto the pony’s back. Sancho snorted at her and pawed at the dirt with his hoof.

Together the three of them raced around the corner until they were certain the guard was no longer chasing them.

“That was awesome!” Pia exclaimed. She pumped the air with her fist. “How much did we get?”

Danya slowed Sancho to a stop and counted their winnings on his back. Pia handed over the extra quarters from her pockets. All together, they had nearly fifty dollars!

“Woo-hoo!” Danya said. “Florida, here we come!”

“This is the life!” Pia ran up and down the street and jumped in the air. “I don’t ever want to leave. I don’t ever want to go home!”

Danya watched her cousin whoop and run. She tried to feel as excited as Pia looked, but she felt bad about running away from Dulce and so much more anxious than she had a few minutes ago—they’d almost been caught again!

But then Sancho nudged her on the shoulder and horrible sparks of anxiety went off in her gut. This was exciting, sure. But it didn’t make any sense at all if they didn’t get to their destination, if they didn’t find her grandmother and get enough money to keep Sancho from being sold.

She slid off Sancho’s back and put her forehead to his nose, closing her eyes.

Sancho was her home. She couldn’t lose him.