Coco

Characters

Miguel Rivera

A smart and brave boy who was born in a shoemaker family. The whole family banned music while Miguel wanted to be an accomplished musician just like his great-great-grandfather. Along the way of chasing his dream, Miguel accidentally traveled the Land of the Dead and met the spirits of his families. A fantastic adventure began.

Hector

A trickster who disguised himself as a famous artist. He was actually a kind and poor young man. He left his hometown and abandoned his family for his dream so that he was forgotten by his family and was going to disappear in the Land of the Dead. After meeting Miguel, he helped him a lot and encouraged Miguel by his humor.

Ernesto de la Cruz

A welcomed musician. Each year on Día de los Muertos, he would put on a show to mark the end of the festival. However, there were many dirty secrets hidden behind his success.

Coco

Miguel’s great-grandmother. She was an old lady who couldn’t remember many things any more. She missed her father and her childhood when the whole family often sang beautiful songs together. Finally, with the help of Miguel, she remembered her father again and left the Land of the Living happily.

Chapter 1

Leaving the family home behind, Miguel breathed the crisp air of another sunny morning in Santa Cecilia.

• crisp /krɪsp/: adjective (HARD) hard enough to be broken easily

As he headed into town with his shoeshine box, he passed a woman sweeping a stoop.

• shoeshine /ˈʃuːˌʃaɪn/: n
  • the act or an instance of polishing a pair of shoes
  2. the appearance or shiny surface of polished shoes
• stoop /stuːp/: noun (STEPS) to bend the top half of the body forward and down:
  The doorway was so low that we had to stoop to go through it.
  Something fell out of her coat pocket and she stooped down and picked it up.

She waved.

“Hola, Miguel!”

• hola : informal. （Spanish）hello

“Hola.” Miguel waved back.

Closer to town, Miguel smiled at a lone guitar player plucking away at a song.

• pluck /plʌk/: verb (REMOVE) to pull something, especially with a sudden movement, in order to remove it:
  Caged birds sometimes pluck out their breast feathers.
  He plucked the letter from/out of my hand, and ran off with it.
  Do you pluck your eyebrows (= remove some of the hairs from them to give them a better shape)?

The farther in Miguel went, the more music f illed the air.

• farther /ˈfɑːr.ðɚ/: adverb comparative of far : to a greater distance:
  How much farther is it to the airport?
  The fog’s so thick, I can’t see farther than about ten feet.

Church bells chimed in harmony. A band played an upbeat tune. A radio blared a swift cumbia rhythm.

Miguel soaked it all in.

He couldn’t help tapping out a beat on a table covered with brightly colored wooden animal figurines.

As Miguel rushed past another stand with pastries for sale, he grabbed a pan dulce and tossed the vendor a coin.

Smelling the sweet bread, Miguel’s canine sidekick, Dante, sidled up to him.

Miguel tore off a piece of the bread and Dante chomped it down.

Everywhere Miguel looked, people were preparing for their loved ones to return from the Land of the Dead by hanging colorful papel picado and laying marigold petals at their doorways.

As usual, Mariachi Plaza was full of musicians strolling around, waiting for their chance to serenade a couple or a family with a love song or a classic corrido.

Soon a tour group gathered around a large statue of a mariachi player in the center of the plaza.

“And right here, in this very plaza, the young Ernesto de la Cruz took his f irst steps toward becoming the most beloved singer in Mexican history,” said the guide.

Everyone in the group nodded, familiar with the legendary musician and singer.

Along with the tourists, Miguel gazed up at the statue.

He’d seen it a hundred times, but it always inspired him.

After a moment, Miguel found a spot in the plaza and pulled out his shoeshine box.

A mariachi plopped down for a shine.

Miguel knew the mariachi would enjoy this story.

After all, everyone loved Ernesto.

“He started out a total nobody from Santa Cecilia, like me,” said Miguel.

“But when he played music, he made people fall in love with him. He starred in movies. He had the coolest guitar. He could f ly!”

Miguel had seen that special effect in some old f ilm clips.

“And he wrote the best songs! But my all-time favorite? It’s—“

Miguel gestured to some musicians nearby, who were playing “Remember Me,” Ernesto’s biggest hit.

“He lived the kind of life you dream about. Until 1942, when he was crushed by a giant bell.”

The mariachi looked pointedly at his shoes, which Miguel was only halfheartedly shining.

Ignoring the musician, Miguel shrugged off Ernesto’s unfortunate death.

“I wanna be just like him. Sometimes I look at Ernesto and I get this feeling, like we’re connected somehow. Like if he could play music, maybe someday I can, too.”

Miguel sighed. “If it wasn’t for my family.”

“Ay-yi-yi, muchacho,” said the mariachi, snapping Miguel out of his story.

“Huh?” said Miguel.

“I asked for a shoeshine, not your life story,” replied the mariachi.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Miguel lowered his head and polished the man’s shoe.

As he worked, the mariachi casually plucked at his guitar strings.

“I just can’t really talk about any of this at home, so—“

“Look, if I were you? I’d march right up to my family and say, ‘Hey! I’m a musician. Deal with it’. “

“I could never say that.”

“You ARE a musician, no?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I only really play for myself—“

“Ahh!” the mariachi howled.

“Did Ernesto de la Cruz become the world’s best musician by hiding his sweet, sweet skills? No! He walked out onto that plaza and he played out loud!”

The mariachi pointed to the gazebo, where a giant canvas that read talent show was being unfurled.

“Ah! Mira, mira! They’re setting up for tonight. The music competition for Día de los Muertos. You wanna be like your hero? You should sign up!”

“Uh-uh—my family would freak,” Miguel said.

“Look, if you’re too scared, then, well, have fun making shoes.”

The mariachi shrugged.

“C’mon, what did Ernesto de la Cruz always say?”

“‘Seize your moment’?” Miguel said.

The mariachi looked Miguel over and then offered him his guitar.

“Show me what you got, muchacho. I’ll be your f irst audience.”

Miguel’s eyebrows rose.

The mariachi really wanted to hear him play?

He glanced down the street to make sure the coast was clear of any family members.

He reached for the guitar.

Once it was cradled in his arms, Miguel spread his f ingers across the strings, anticipating his chord, and— “Miguel!” a familiar voice yelled.

Miguel gasped and threw the guitar back into the mariachi’s lap.

Abuelita marched toward him.

Tío Berto and Prima Rosa followed close behind with supplies from the market.

“Abuelita!” Miguel exclaimed.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Um. . . uh. . . ,” Miguel stammered as he quickly packed away his shine rag and polishes.

Abuelita didn’t wait for Miguel’s answer.

She barreled up to the mariachi and struck him with her shoe.

“You leave my grandson alone!”

“Doña, please—I was just getting a shine!”

“I know your tricks, mariachi!” She glared at Miguel. “What did he say to you?”

“He was just showing me his guitar,” Miguel said sheepishly.

His family gasped.

“Shame on you!” Tío Berto barked at the mariachi.

Abuelita’s shoe was aimed directly at the area between the musician’s eyes.

“My grandson is a sweet little angelito querido cielito—he wants no part of your music, mariachi! You keep away from him!” she threatened.

Miguel wasn’t so sure he was the sweet little angel from heaven she’d described, but he wasn’t going to argue when she was gripping her shoe like that.

The mariachi scampered away, pulling on his hat before leaving.

Miguel watched apologetically over his abuelita’s shoulder.

“Ay, pobrecito!”

Abuelita pulled her grandson protectively to her bosom.

“Estás bien, m’ijo?” Miguel gasped for air.

“You know better than to be here in this place! You will come home. Now!” she ordered, and turned away from the plaza.

Miguel sighed and gathered his shine box.

He spotted a plaza talent-show f lyer on the ground.

Behind his abuelita’s back, he snatched it up and put it in his pocket.