It wasn't only my feet, though, that lacked smoothness. My heart felt brittle too. Papá twirled
me around, and I glimpsed Abuela leaning back in her chair. She sank into the shadows, and
her face disappeared into a streaky gray smudge, as if it were being erased. I pushed back a
tear.
Other dancers joined us when the song ended. Mamá cursed me with her eyes, but Juan
saved me when Lupe dumped him into Mama's arms.
The libro de recetas sat where I'd left it on a loveseat. I flopped down and opened it to the first
page. Smeared ink read, "1881, Guadalaja, Juanita Alvarez," my great-great grandmother.
Flipping through the book, I stopped when I recognized Abuela's handwriting. I whispered
some of the ingredients, "Canela, azúcar, caramelo." It sounded like poetry.
The setting sun flamed across the patio. Papá twirled Mamá, her arms encircling Juan, and
Jaime serenaded Lupe. Consuela texted from the porch, unaware that Manuel, a friend from
school, gave her a love-sick look.
"Te gusta?" Abuela said from behind me. Her dress billowed around her as she joined me on
the loveseat. When had she lost so much weight? I scooted closer, remembering how her
knees creaked when she kneeled at Mass that morning.
"I like it very much. Will you teach me some of Juanita's recipes?"
She smiled, her black eyes disappearing into the wrinkles lining her face. "I teach you
everything I know.

Question 4
Write: What is Ana's point of view of her abuela? How do
you know?