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Informationen zum Autor Celia C. Pérez is the author of The First Rule of Punk , a 2018 Pura Belpré Author Honor Book; Strange Birds , a 2020 Rise: A Feminist Book Project List Selection; and Tumble , which received six starred reviews and is an NPR Best Book of 2022. She lives in Chicago with her family, where in addition to writing books about lovable weirdos and outsiders, she works as a librarian. When she was in middle school, she filled diaries with recaps of televised wrestling matches. Visit her at celiacperez.com. Klappentext From the award-winning author of The First Rule of Punk, a dazzling novel about a young girl who learns the missing pieces of her origin story from the family of legendary luchadores she's never met. Twelve-year-old Adela "Addie" Diaz has a big decision to make when her stepfather proposes adoption. Addie loves Alex, the only father figure she's ever known, and she's always wanted to be part of a family unit with a shared last name and members who live in the same house. But now that the opportunity has presented itself, Addie doesn't immediately accept like she thought she would. With a new half-sister due in a few months and a big school performance on her mind, everything suddenly feels like it's moving too fast. She has a million questions, and the first one is about the man in the photo she found hidden away in her mother's things. In her search to learn where fifty percent of her genes come from, Addie's world expands to include the Bravos: Rosie and Pancho, her professional wrestling grandparents; Eva and Maggie, her older identical twin cousins who never take off their lucha masks; Uncle Mat, whose costume designs and advice are unmatched; Hijo, the stocky family dog; and Manny, her biological father. Their teamwork in the ring is strong, but being part of a family is about showing up, taking off your mask, and working through challenges together. Story Locale: New Mexico Leseprobe Chapter 1 I bit into a french fry, one of those tiny crunchy pieces that always make their way to the bottom of the pile, just as Apollo slammed a folding chair across The Eagle’s back. The small TV on the shelf behind the counter was muted, and while I couldn’t hear the whack of metal against muscle, it startled me anyway. I flinched and jabbed myself with a shard of potato so hard that my eyes watered. “Uyyyy,” Alex said. He peered up at the TV from the flat-top grill and let out a slow whistle. “El Águila is getting his butt kicked again, eh, Adelita?” “Yeah,” I said. I ran my tongue over the fresh cut on the roof of my mouth. “Again.” “Maybe he’ll win this one, right?” Alex winked at me and cracked an egg into a bowl. I watched as he attacked the egg with a fork. Alex said the key to making a good scrambled egg was to keep the heat low and to beat the egg before pouring it into the pan. In general, I found the idea of eating eggs gross, but even I had to admit that Alex made a fine scrambled egg. Still, when he caught my eye and motioned to the runny glob he was cooking, I shook my head. Bacon grease popped and snapped on the grill as Apollo smacked the palm of his hand across The Eagle’s chest. A sizzle and the scrape of a spatula accompanied The Eagle bouncing off the ropes, zipping across the ring, and attempting a failed clothesline. My insides jumped as if the mat, which vibrated with each impact, were sitting in the middle of my stomach. On-screen, The Eagle showed no signs of winning this one. He struggled to get up, only to be met with the toe of Apollo’s golden boot. He didn’t stand a chance. “Why does The Eagle always have to lose?” I asked. “Because he’s a jobber,” Alex said, not looking up from the grill. “What’s a jobber ?” “A jobber puts over the other wrestler,” Alex explained as The Eagle tried to untangle himself from the rop...
