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The Bluest Sky

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Hardcover
$17.99 US
5.81"W x 8.56"H x 1.09"D  
On sale Sep 06, 2022 | 320 Pages | 978-0-593-37279-1
| Grades 6-8
Reading Level: Lexile 650L | Fountas & Pinnell Z
A boy and his family must decide whether to remain in Cuba under a repressive government or risk everything for the chance of a new beginning in this gripping story from the award-winning author of The Red Umbrella.

There are two versions of Héctor: the public and the private. It’s the only way to survive in communist Cuba—especially when your father was exiled to the U.S. and labeled an enemy of the people. Héctor must always be seen as a fierce supporter of the regime, even if that means loudly rejecting the father he still loves.
 
But in the summer of 1980, those two versions are hard to keep separate. No longer able to suppress a public uprising, the Cuban government says it will open the port of Mariel to all who wish to leave the country—if they can find a boat. But choosing to leave comes with a price. Those who want to flee are denounced as traitors by family and friends. There are violent acts of repudiation, and no one knows if they will truly be allowed to leave the country or not.
 
So when Héctor’s mother announces that she wants the family to risk everything to go to the United States, he is torn. He misses his father, but Cuba is the only home he has ever known. All his dreams and plans require him to stay. Can he leave everything behind for an unknown future?
 
In a summer of heat and upheaval, danger and deadly consequences, Héctor’s two worlds are on a collision course. Will the impact destroy him and everything he loves?

Christina Diaz Gonzalez's great-grandmother, great-uncle, and extended family came to the U.S. through the Mariel boatlift. She vividly remembers meeting them all for the first time in the summer of 1980 and is proud to share this part of her family's history.
CHRISTINA DIAZ GONZALEZ is the award-winning author of several books including The Red Umbrella, A Thunderous Whisper, Moving Target, Return Fire, and Stormspeaker. Her books have received numerous honors including the American Library Association's Best Fiction for Young Adults, the Florida Book Award, the Nebraska Book Award and the International Latino Book Award. Christina currently lives in Miami, Florida with her husband, sons, and a dog that can open doors. View titles by Christina Diaz Gonzalez

1

The palm fronds rustled in the warm tropical breeze as I hunched down to take a sprinter’s stance. My best friends lined up next to me. Our daily race was about to begin.

“Ready?” Teo asked, adjusting his grip on the schoolbooks nestled under his arm.

I nodded and looked over at Isabel, who was poised to take off as soon as I counted to three.

Ahead of us the cracks in the sidewalk fanned out like an intricate spiderweb, providing an extra challenge to our competition. We had to reach the lamppost at the end of the street without stepping on any of the jagged lines that crisscrossed our path.

I untucked my shirt, pushed up my eyeglasses, and waited for a few people to get out of the way.

Maybe this would be the day that I’d finally win, although I wasn’t too optimistic. My wins were usually in math competitions. I’d never been fast like Teo or agile like Isabel, but that didn’t stop me from trying to beat them . . . even if the statistical probability was extremely low.

“¡Uno . . . dos . . . y TRES!” I shouted, hopping over the first crack and sidestepping another. I ran as fast as I could, but was quickly left behind.

“I win!” Isabel announced, prancing around the lamppost with one arm in the air and the other still holding her books. “And I saw you both step on a bunch of the cracks.” Her ponytail bounced around as she taunted us. “I should really try out for the Cuban track team because . . . ¡Soy la campeona!”

“Ooh, you better write down the date,” Teo scoffed. “April 16, 1980 . . . the one day you win. But we all know who the overall champion is.” His smile showed off his chipped front tooth. “Me. Your older and wiser brother. The one who beat you from day one.”

“Here we go,” I muttered.

“Ugh.” Isabel rolled her eyes and held up two fingers. “Dos minutos. You were born two minutes before me and I have to hear about it for the rest of my life. And you are definitely not the wiser one.” She paused to look at me. “Right, Hector?”

I laughed. It was the same back-and-forth almost every day. For twins, the two of them couldn’t be more different. Isabel was short, fair-skinned with dark curly hair, and her personality was like a stick of dynamite . . . explosive at any moment. Teo, on the other hand, was the biggest kid in the entire sixth grade, but he hated fighting or any type of confrontation . . . except with his sister. And he didn’t look much like Isabel either. In fact, some people thought Teo and I were the twins because we were always together and we both had tan skin, wavy brown hair, and similar noses. The only huge difference between us was our size.

“Hector,” Isabel prodded. “Back me up.”

I shook my head. “No me meto.” She wasn’t going to get me involved in their pretend fight. I’d seen this play out several times where it was all a joke until someone took the teasing too far and then it became a real argument.

“Boys, ugh!” Isabel threw her hands up in mock disgust. “Why do I hang out with the two of you?”

“Because you have good taste!” I flashed her my biggest grin. “And we all know who the wisest is. . . .”

“ME!” the three of us shouted at the same time, then doubled over laughing. That settled, we continued our trek home.

As we rounded the corner, Isabel kept on about her victory. She figured that Teo’s bigger size was slowing him down and that she would soon be the overall champ. I was about to suggest creating an equation that might calculate the size-to-velocity ratio when Teo reached his breaking point.

“All right, that’s it.” Teo dropped his books onto the sidewalk in front of a yellow-colored house that had patches of peeling paint. “I’ll race you around the block, right now. First one to come back and tag Hector wins.”

“Nah.” She smiled, knowing she’d finally gotten under his skin. “One win per day is enough for me.”

“Chicken?” Teo challenged.

I leaned against the short white wall that bordered the house’s front yard. There was no way Isabel was going to back down from her brother calling her out.

“¡Vamos!” Isabel spun around and thrust her books into my chest. “Hector, hold my stuff and count us off.”

I gave Teo a slight nod and he understood what I was about to do.

“¡Uno, dos y tres!” I said quickly, not giving Isabel any prep time while Teo took off running.

“¡Tramposos!” Isabel yelled as she chased after her brother, and I laughed at them as they headed down the street. “You’re both cheaters!”

As they disappeared around the corner, I took a deep breath. I could almost catch a hint of salt air in the wind, even though we were miles from the coast. I wished it were already summer so we could ride our bikes down to the beach to go for a swim. Technically, we could go now, but every Cuban knew the water was best in months that didn’t have an r, no matter how nice the weather was.

That meant there were only a few weeks left until my skinny, count-all-my-ribs body would be seen next to Teo’s gargantuan frame.

I glanced over at my shadow on the stretch of white wall. The dark silhouette made me look even longer and skinnier than I already was.

“Kleto,” I mumbled to myself. It was the nickname my older brother, Rodrigo, had taken to calling me lately. It was his own slang, which was supposed to be short for skeleton. I pretended it didn’t bother me, but it did. I wanted to have muscles, even tiny ones, and not just be skin and bones.

The elongated shadow on the wall seemed to taunt me. I narrowed my eyes and stuck out my tongue.

“¿Que tu haces?” a voice called out.

I glanced over at a boy standing in the house’s doorway. He wasn’t very tall, but he was stocky, and as he stepped into the sunlight, I recognized him as one of the older kids from my school. People called him Tincho, and it was rumored that he had failed eighth grade twice because of cheating and fighting. He was someone I knew to steer clear of.

“Me? I’m not doing anything, just waiting for my friends,” I explained, adjusting my eyeglasses.

“I saw you sticking your tongue out at my house. . . . You think you’re better than us or something?” Tincho took a few more steps onto his front porch as a mangy-looking dog snuck out from behind his legs and growled at me.

“No, that was just me goofing around with my shadow.” I sounded like an idiot, but this was not the time to be cool. Besides, his house didn’t look bad. It was like most buildings . . . patched up with whatever people could find.

Tincho squinted as he studied me. “Wait . . . I know you. You’re Rodrigo’s little brother.” He headed toward me. “Which means I know who your father is.”

My pulse quickened. He seemed bigger than when I saw him from far away in school and had a hardened expression, like he was looking for trouble.

“Tu papa es un gusano,” Tincho declared, pushing open the small front gate and walking out into the street.

Gusano. Worm. It was a word charged with meaning. It was an insult reserved for those who opposed the government. And opposing the government, or even expressing anti-revolutionary ideas, could mean losing everything. Your home, friends, job, and even your freedom could all disappear.

“Isn’t that true?” Tincho persisted, getting closer to me. “He’s a traitor, which probably makes you one, too.”

“No, you’ve got it wrong,” I said, backing away and getting ready to run. “You have me confused with someone else.”

I wanted to defend my father, but I had to play it smart. It was something my mother had taught my brother and me from the very beginning. There was what we believed in private and what we said in public. Two versions of who we were.

“Liar.” Tincho poked me in the chest. “I’m not confused.”

“What’s . . . going . . . on?” Teo said, pulling up to the scene a little short of breath, with Isabel only a few feet behind him.

“Nothing,” I said, trying to defuse the situation. I had wanted to run away, but now I didn’t want to seem like a coward in front of my friends. “Everything’s fine.”

“You know this gusano?” Tincho asked as he sized up Teo.

“Who are you calling a gusano?” Isabel pushed her way in between me and Tincho, standing right under Tincho’s nose.

Tincho chuckled. “Tranquila, companera.” He sidestepped Isabel and kept an eye on Teo. “But you should know who you’re hanging out with.”

“I know who he is,” Teo replied, his voice flat. “But you must not.”

“Yeah,” I added, trying to make my presence felt. “We’ve been friends since . . .”

Teo shot me a look that said it all. I needed to shut up.

“Well, do you know that his father is a traitor? My parents told me about him. He’s just like those scumbags hiding out in the Peruvian embassy . . . trash-talking our country and trying to leave Cuba.” Tincho turned to glare at me. “I heard your father was in prison for spreading lies about the revolution, until a few months ago when they kicked him out to go be with the rest of the escoria in the U.S.” Tincho spit at my feet, barely missing my shoes. “That’s what I think of you and your family, gusano.”

I froze for a moment, not sure how to react. My father hadn’t been spreading lies about the revolution, but he had been saying something much worse . . . the truth.

Mama told us he just wanted more freedom. Freedom to voice his opinion, freedom to go where he wanted, freedom to choose what kind of life his family should have. But it was the truth about this lack of freedoms that got him into so much trouble that he did end up in prison.

“No, you don’t understand.” I took a deep breath and tried to push aside the feeling of disgust for what I was about to do. This was simply part of surviving, I told myself. “You’re right that my father is a filthy gusano, but I don’t agree with anything he’s done. I love Cuba. I believe in the revolution . . . in Fidel.” I raised my fist in the air to add more significance. “¡Que viva la revolucion!”

Tincho scoffed. “I don’t believe you. Like father, like son.” He stepped closer, so that I could now smell his rancid breath as he breathed down on me. “Your brother is scum, too.”

“No, i-i-it’s true,” I stammered, inching back until I was up against the short wall. “I’m nothing like my father. He’s--”

“¡Basta! ¡Vete de aqui!” Isabel shoved Tincho as hard as she could, causing him to stumble sideways. She looked defiant standing between the two of us again. “I said GO!”

“Why you little--” Tincho said through clenched teeth.

“Isabel!” Teo scolded his sister.

I pulled Isabel away. Things had gone from bad to worse. I had to fix it.

“Listen, Tincho,” I said in the most soothing voice I could muster. “I’m not--”

I couldn’t even finish my thought.

Tincho had already cocked his arm back and his fist was flying through the air. I swerved backward trying to avoid it, but I wasn’t fast enough. The edge of his balled-up hand caught me on the mouth and the impact dropped me to my knees, my glasses flying off my face.

“¡Idiota!” Teo yelled at Tincho. “Don’t you know who you just hit?”

“A traitor?” Tincho scoffed.

Teo pointed to me on the floor. “He’s Marcela Fulgeira’s grandson. Recognize the name?”

“Huh?” Tincho looked confused.

“She’s the delegate to the National Assembly!”

“¿La Asamblea Nacional?” Tincho repeated, beginning to understand my family connections.

“Hey, Tincho!” A couple of girls from across the street had come outside to see what was happening. “¿Todo bien?”

Teo ignored them and continued directing all his attention at Tincho. “Do you know what kind of trouble his grandmother can bring on you and your family?”

“I . . . um . . .” Tincho shifted his weight from one leg to another.

All I could do was stare at Tincho’s hairy knees, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I hated hiding behind my grandmother’s name. It usually offset my father’s legacy and kept our family safe, but suddenly I wasn’t thinking about keeping up appearances anymore. I didn’t care about being seen as a loyal Communist. I wanted revenge.

I wrapped my arms around Tincho’s legs and knocked him to the ground. Before I could land a punch, Teo yanked me up by my collar and pulled me away.

“Enough!” Teo stretched out his arms to prevent anyone from moving as the girls across the street laughed. “Tincho . . . go home. I know you don’t want problems with Delegada Fulgeira . . . Hector’s grandmother . . . right?” He stared at Tincho, who had stood up again.

Tincho glanced over at the girls, then back at me. He slowly nodded, but his eyes were full of hate.

“All right, then, this is over. No one mentions anything about this . . . to anyone.” He stared at me and Tincho. “Now, shake hands and no more talk about anyone being a gusano.”

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and saw a smear of blood. My lip was busted. I’d have to come up with a story to explain this to my mom.

“You okay?” Isabel asked, handing me my glasses.

“Yeah,” I muttered as Tincho extended his hand.

I went to shake it when he pulled me closer. He lowered his head so that I could feel his putrid breath blow past my ear. “Watch your back, gusano,” he whispered. “There won’t always be people to protect you.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

Life in Cuba hadn’t been easy before, but I had a feeling it was about to get a whole lot harder. The odds of avoiding Tincho in the future were not in my favor.

 

2

“Stick to the story,” Isabel warned as we walked down our street on the outskirts of Havana. “If my mother asks, you say that you tripped and fell while we raced. Keep it simple.”

Educator Guide for The Bluest Sky

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  • WINNER
    Florida Book Award
  • WINNER | 2023
    Latino Book Award
  • SELECTION
    NCSS-CBC Notable Children's Trade Books in the Field of Social Studies
  • SELECTION
    Cooperative Children's Book Center Choices
  • SELECTION
    Junior Library Guild Selection
  • SELECTION | 2024
    South Carolina Junior Book Master List
  • SELECTION
    Bank Street College Best Children's Book of the Year
  • NOMINEE | 2024
    Utah Beehive Book Award
  • SELECTION | 2023
    ALA Notable Book
** Gold Medal Winner, International Latino Book Awards **

"Heartbreaking, riveting, beautifully written."Kirkus Reviews, starred review

★ "A heartrending exploration of friendship, family, and freedom set against volatile times." —School Library Journal, starred review

"Brimming with tumultuous events of Castro’s Cuba, Gonzales’s… novel balances historical traumas with empathy and hope, tackling timely themes of personal beliefs and individual versus government freedoms." —Publishers Weekly

"Danger, betrayal, and heartbreak.... This poignant story captures themes that remain timely and resonant today." —Booklist

"A bittersweet ending."—The Bulletin

"Heartbreaking yet hopeful. This book has so many things I love: real history, impossible decisions, surprising twists and turns. Read it!" —Alan Gratz, New York Times bestselling author of Refugee
 
The Bluest Sky tells a powerful story that shows the emotional impact of the Mariel Boatlift, one of the most important events in modern Cuban history.” —Margarita Engle, Newbery Honor winner for The Surrender Tree
 
“In this beautifully nuanced story, Christina Diaz Gonzalez brings us into the hearts of all Cubans torn between the love of their homeland and the dream of freedom.” —Ruth Behar, Pura Belpré Award winner for Lucky Broken Girl
 
Powerful, extraordinary, and brimming with hope, this is an absolute must-read for everyone.” —Jenny Torres Sanchez, Pura Belpré Honor winner for We Are Not From Here

“A heart-wrenching story and a moving affirmation that families belong together, always.” —Emma Otheguy, acclaimed author of Sofía Acosta Makes a Scene
 
“The characters in this book will stay with me for a very long time. Their desire for freedom will stay with me forever.” —Jennifer A. Nielsen, New York Times bestselling author of A Night Divided

About

A boy and his family must decide whether to remain in Cuba under a repressive government or risk everything for the chance of a new beginning in this gripping story from the award-winning author of The Red Umbrella.

There are two versions of Héctor: the public and the private. It’s the only way to survive in communist Cuba—especially when your father was exiled to the U.S. and labeled an enemy of the people. Héctor must always be seen as a fierce supporter of the regime, even if that means loudly rejecting the father he still loves.
 
But in the summer of 1980, those two versions are hard to keep separate. No longer able to suppress a public uprising, the Cuban government says it will open the port of Mariel to all who wish to leave the country—if they can find a boat. But choosing to leave comes with a price. Those who want to flee are denounced as traitors by family and friends. There are violent acts of repudiation, and no one knows if they will truly be allowed to leave the country or not.
 
So when Héctor’s mother announces that she wants the family to risk everything to go to the United States, he is torn. He misses his father, but Cuba is the only home he has ever known. All his dreams and plans require him to stay. Can he leave everything behind for an unknown future?
 
In a summer of heat and upheaval, danger and deadly consequences, Héctor’s two worlds are on a collision course. Will the impact destroy him and everything he loves?

Christina Diaz Gonzalez's great-grandmother, great-uncle, and extended family came to the U.S. through the Mariel boatlift. She vividly remembers meeting them all for the first time in the summer of 1980 and is proud to share this part of her family's history.

Author

CHRISTINA DIAZ GONZALEZ is the award-winning author of several books including The Red Umbrella, A Thunderous Whisper, Moving Target, Return Fire, and Stormspeaker. Her books have received numerous honors including the American Library Association's Best Fiction for Young Adults, the Florida Book Award, the Nebraska Book Award and the International Latino Book Award. Christina currently lives in Miami, Florida with her husband, sons, and a dog that can open doors. View titles by Christina Diaz Gonzalez

Excerpt

1

The palm fronds rustled in the warm tropical breeze as I hunched down to take a sprinter’s stance. My best friends lined up next to me. Our daily race was about to begin.

“Ready?” Teo asked, adjusting his grip on the schoolbooks nestled under his arm.

I nodded and looked over at Isabel, who was poised to take off as soon as I counted to three.

Ahead of us the cracks in the sidewalk fanned out like an intricate spiderweb, providing an extra challenge to our competition. We had to reach the lamppost at the end of the street without stepping on any of the jagged lines that crisscrossed our path.

I untucked my shirt, pushed up my eyeglasses, and waited for a few people to get out of the way.

Maybe this would be the day that I’d finally win, although I wasn’t too optimistic. My wins were usually in math competitions. I’d never been fast like Teo or agile like Isabel, but that didn’t stop me from trying to beat them . . . even if the statistical probability was extremely low.

“¡Uno . . . dos . . . y TRES!” I shouted, hopping over the first crack and sidestepping another. I ran as fast as I could, but was quickly left behind.

“I win!” Isabel announced, prancing around the lamppost with one arm in the air and the other still holding her books. “And I saw you both step on a bunch of the cracks.” Her ponytail bounced around as she taunted us. “I should really try out for the Cuban track team because . . . ¡Soy la campeona!”

“Ooh, you better write down the date,” Teo scoffed. “April 16, 1980 . . . the one day you win. But we all know who the overall champion is.” His smile showed off his chipped front tooth. “Me. Your older and wiser brother. The one who beat you from day one.”

“Here we go,” I muttered.

“Ugh.” Isabel rolled her eyes and held up two fingers. “Dos minutos. You were born two minutes before me and I have to hear about it for the rest of my life. And you are definitely not the wiser one.” She paused to look at me. “Right, Hector?”

I laughed. It was the same back-and-forth almost every day. For twins, the two of them couldn’t be more different. Isabel was short, fair-skinned with dark curly hair, and her personality was like a stick of dynamite . . . explosive at any moment. Teo, on the other hand, was the biggest kid in the entire sixth grade, but he hated fighting or any type of confrontation . . . except with his sister. And he didn’t look much like Isabel either. In fact, some people thought Teo and I were the twins because we were always together and we both had tan skin, wavy brown hair, and similar noses. The only huge difference between us was our size.

“Hector,” Isabel prodded. “Back me up.”

I shook my head. “No me meto.” She wasn’t going to get me involved in their pretend fight. I’d seen this play out several times where it was all a joke until someone took the teasing too far and then it became a real argument.

“Boys, ugh!” Isabel threw her hands up in mock disgust. “Why do I hang out with the two of you?”

“Because you have good taste!” I flashed her my biggest grin. “And we all know who the wisest is. . . .”

“ME!” the three of us shouted at the same time, then doubled over laughing. That settled, we continued our trek home.

As we rounded the corner, Isabel kept on about her victory. She figured that Teo’s bigger size was slowing him down and that she would soon be the overall champ. I was about to suggest creating an equation that might calculate the size-to-velocity ratio when Teo reached his breaking point.

“All right, that’s it.” Teo dropped his books onto the sidewalk in front of a yellow-colored house that had patches of peeling paint. “I’ll race you around the block, right now. First one to come back and tag Hector wins.”

“Nah.” She smiled, knowing she’d finally gotten under his skin. “One win per day is enough for me.”

“Chicken?” Teo challenged.

I leaned against the short white wall that bordered the house’s front yard. There was no way Isabel was going to back down from her brother calling her out.

“¡Vamos!” Isabel spun around and thrust her books into my chest. “Hector, hold my stuff and count us off.”

I gave Teo a slight nod and he understood what I was about to do.

“¡Uno, dos y tres!” I said quickly, not giving Isabel any prep time while Teo took off running.

“¡Tramposos!” Isabel yelled as she chased after her brother, and I laughed at them as they headed down the street. “You’re both cheaters!”

As they disappeared around the corner, I took a deep breath. I could almost catch a hint of salt air in the wind, even though we were miles from the coast. I wished it were already summer so we could ride our bikes down to the beach to go for a swim. Technically, we could go now, but every Cuban knew the water was best in months that didn’t have an r, no matter how nice the weather was.

That meant there were only a few weeks left until my skinny, count-all-my-ribs body would be seen next to Teo’s gargantuan frame.

I glanced over at my shadow on the stretch of white wall. The dark silhouette made me look even longer and skinnier than I already was.

“Kleto,” I mumbled to myself. It was the nickname my older brother, Rodrigo, had taken to calling me lately. It was his own slang, which was supposed to be short for skeleton. I pretended it didn’t bother me, but it did. I wanted to have muscles, even tiny ones, and not just be skin and bones.

The elongated shadow on the wall seemed to taunt me. I narrowed my eyes and stuck out my tongue.

“¿Que tu haces?” a voice called out.

I glanced over at a boy standing in the house’s doorway. He wasn’t very tall, but he was stocky, and as he stepped into the sunlight, I recognized him as one of the older kids from my school. People called him Tincho, and it was rumored that he had failed eighth grade twice because of cheating and fighting. He was someone I knew to steer clear of.

“Me? I’m not doing anything, just waiting for my friends,” I explained, adjusting my eyeglasses.

“I saw you sticking your tongue out at my house. . . . You think you’re better than us or something?” Tincho took a few more steps onto his front porch as a mangy-looking dog snuck out from behind his legs and growled at me.

“No, that was just me goofing around with my shadow.” I sounded like an idiot, but this was not the time to be cool. Besides, his house didn’t look bad. It was like most buildings . . . patched up with whatever people could find.

Tincho squinted as he studied me. “Wait . . . I know you. You’re Rodrigo’s little brother.” He headed toward me. “Which means I know who your father is.”

My pulse quickened. He seemed bigger than when I saw him from far away in school and had a hardened expression, like he was looking for trouble.

“Tu papa es un gusano,” Tincho declared, pushing open the small front gate and walking out into the street.

Gusano. Worm. It was a word charged with meaning. It was an insult reserved for those who opposed the government. And opposing the government, or even expressing anti-revolutionary ideas, could mean losing everything. Your home, friends, job, and even your freedom could all disappear.

“Isn’t that true?” Tincho persisted, getting closer to me. “He’s a traitor, which probably makes you one, too.”

“No, you’ve got it wrong,” I said, backing away and getting ready to run. “You have me confused with someone else.”

I wanted to defend my father, but I had to play it smart. It was something my mother had taught my brother and me from the very beginning. There was what we believed in private and what we said in public. Two versions of who we were.

“Liar.” Tincho poked me in the chest. “I’m not confused.”

“What’s . . . going . . . on?” Teo said, pulling up to the scene a little short of breath, with Isabel only a few feet behind him.

“Nothing,” I said, trying to defuse the situation. I had wanted to run away, but now I didn’t want to seem like a coward in front of my friends. “Everything’s fine.”

“You know this gusano?” Tincho asked as he sized up Teo.

“Who are you calling a gusano?” Isabel pushed her way in between me and Tincho, standing right under Tincho’s nose.

Tincho chuckled. “Tranquila, companera.” He sidestepped Isabel and kept an eye on Teo. “But you should know who you’re hanging out with.”

“I know who he is,” Teo replied, his voice flat. “But you must not.”

“Yeah,” I added, trying to make my presence felt. “We’ve been friends since . . .”

Teo shot me a look that said it all. I needed to shut up.

“Well, do you know that his father is a traitor? My parents told me about him. He’s just like those scumbags hiding out in the Peruvian embassy . . . trash-talking our country and trying to leave Cuba.” Tincho turned to glare at me. “I heard your father was in prison for spreading lies about the revolution, until a few months ago when they kicked him out to go be with the rest of the escoria in the U.S.” Tincho spit at my feet, barely missing my shoes. “That’s what I think of you and your family, gusano.”

I froze for a moment, not sure how to react. My father hadn’t been spreading lies about the revolution, but he had been saying something much worse . . . the truth.

Mama told us he just wanted more freedom. Freedom to voice his opinion, freedom to go where he wanted, freedom to choose what kind of life his family should have. But it was the truth about this lack of freedoms that got him into so much trouble that he did end up in prison.

“No, you don’t understand.” I took a deep breath and tried to push aside the feeling of disgust for what I was about to do. This was simply part of surviving, I told myself. “You’re right that my father is a filthy gusano, but I don’t agree with anything he’s done. I love Cuba. I believe in the revolution . . . in Fidel.” I raised my fist in the air to add more significance. “¡Que viva la revolucion!”

Tincho scoffed. “I don’t believe you. Like father, like son.” He stepped closer, so that I could now smell his rancid breath as he breathed down on me. “Your brother is scum, too.”

“No, i-i-it’s true,” I stammered, inching back until I was up against the short wall. “I’m nothing like my father. He’s--”

“¡Basta! ¡Vete de aqui!” Isabel shoved Tincho as hard as she could, causing him to stumble sideways. She looked defiant standing between the two of us again. “I said GO!”

“Why you little--” Tincho said through clenched teeth.

“Isabel!” Teo scolded his sister.

I pulled Isabel away. Things had gone from bad to worse. I had to fix it.

“Listen, Tincho,” I said in the most soothing voice I could muster. “I’m not--”

I couldn’t even finish my thought.

Tincho had already cocked his arm back and his fist was flying through the air. I swerved backward trying to avoid it, but I wasn’t fast enough. The edge of his balled-up hand caught me on the mouth and the impact dropped me to my knees, my glasses flying off my face.

“¡Idiota!” Teo yelled at Tincho. “Don’t you know who you just hit?”

“A traitor?” Tincho scoffed.

Teo pointed to me on the floor. “He’s Marcela Fulgeira’s grandson. Recognize the name?”

“Huh?” Tincho looked confused.

“She’s the delegate to the National Assembly!”

“¿La Asamblea Nacional?” Tincho repeated, beginning to understand my family connections.

“Hey, Tincho!” A couple of girls from across the street had come outside to see what was happening. “¿Todo bien?”

Teo ignored them and continued directing all his attention at Tincho. “Do you know what kind of trouble his grandmother can bring on you and your family?”

“I . . . um . . .” Tincho shifted his weight from one leg to another.

All I could do was stare at Tincho’s hairy knees, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I hated hiding behind my grandmother’s name. It usually offset my father’s legacy and kept our family safe, but suddenly I wasn’t thinking about keeping up appearances anymore. I didn’t care about being seen as a loyal Communist. I wanted revenge.

I wrapped my arms around Tincho’s legs and knocked him to the ground. Before I could land a punch, Teo yanked me up by my collar and pulled me away.

“Enough!” Teo stretched out his arms to prevent anyone from moving as the girls across the street laughed. “Tincho . . . go home. I know you don’t want problems with Delegada Fulgeira . . . Hector’s grandmother . . . right?” He stared at Tincho, who had stood up again.

Tincho glanced over at the girls, then back at me. He slowly nodded, but his eyes were full of hate.

“All right, then, this is over. No one mentions anything about this . . . to anyone.” He stared at me and Tincho. “Now, shake hands and no more talk about anyone being a gusano.”

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and saw a smear of blood. My lip was busted. I’d have to come up with a story to explain this to my mom.

“You okay?” Isabel asked, handing me my glasses.

“Yeah,” I muttered as Tincho extended his hand.

I went to shake it when he pulled me closer. He lowered his head so that I could feel his putrid breath blow past my ear. “Watch your back, gusano,” he whispered. “There won’t always be people to protect you.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

Life in Cuba hadn’t been easy before, but I had a feeling it was about to get a whole lot harder. The odds of avoiding Tincho in the future were not in my favor.

 

2

“Stick to the story,” Isabel warned as we walked down our street on the outskirts of Havana. “If my mother asks, you say that you tripped and fell while we raced. Keep it simple.”

Guides

Educator Guide for The Bluest Sky

Classroom-based guides appropriate for schools and colleges provide pre-reading and classroom activities, discussion questions connected to the curriculum, further reading, and resources.

(Please note: the guide displayed here is the most recently uploaded version; while unlikely, any page citation discrepancies between the guide and book is likely due to pagination differences between a book’s different formats.)

Awards

  • WINNER
    Florida Book Award
  • WINNER | 2023
    Latino Book Award
  • SELECTION
    NCSS-CBC Notable Children's Trade Books in the Field of Social Studies
  • SELECTION
    Cooperative Children's Book Center Choices
  • SELECTION
    Junior Library Guild Selection
  • SELECTION | 2024
    South Carolina Junior Book Master List
  • SELECTION
    Bank Street College Best Children's Book of the Year
  • NOMINEE | 2024
    Utah Beehive Book Award
  • SELECTION | 2023
    ALA Notable Book

Praise

** Gold Medal Winner, International Latino Book Awards **

"Heartbreaking, riveting, beautifully written."Kirkus Reviews, starred review

★ "A heartrending exploration of friendship, family, and freedom set against volatile times." —School Library Journal, starred review

"Brimming with tumultuous events of Castro’s Cuba, Gonzales’s… novel balances historical traumas with empathy and hope, tackling timely themes of personal beliefs and individual versus government freedoms." —Publishers Weekly

"Danger, betrayal, and heartbreak.... This poignant story captures themes that remain timely and resonant today." —Booklist

"A bittersweet ending."—The Bulletin

"Heartbreaking yet hopeful. This book has so many things I love: real history, impossible decisions, surprising twists and turns. Read it!" —Alan Gratz, New York Times bestselling author of Refugee
 
The Bluest Sky tells a powerful story that shows the emotional impact of the Mariel Boatlift, one of the most important events in modern Cuban history.” —Margarita Engle, Newbery Honor winner for The Surrender Tree
 
“In this beautifully nuanced story, Christina Diaz Gonzalez brings us into the hearts of all Cubans torn between the love of their homeland and the dream of freedom.” —Ruth Behar, Pura Belpré Award winner for Lucky Broken Girl
 
Powerful, extraordinary, and brimming with hope, this is an absolute must-read for everyone.” —Jenny Torres Sanchez, Pura Belpré Honor winner for We Are Not From Here

“A heart-wrenching story and a moving affirmation that families belong together, always.” —Emma Otheguy, acclaimed author of Sofía Acosta Makes a Scene
 
“The characters in this book will stay with me for a very long time. Their desire for freedom will stay with me forever.” —Jennifer A. Nielsen, New York Times bestselling author of A Night Divided

PRH Education High School Collections

All reading communities should contain protected time for the sake of reading. Independent reading practices emphasize the process of making meaning through reading, not an end product. The school culture (teachers, administration, etc.) should affirm this daily practice time as inherently important instructional time for all readers. (NCTE, 2019)   The Penguin Random House High

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PRH Education Translanguaging Collections

Translanguaging is a communicative practice of bilinguals and multilinguals, that is, it is a practice whereby bilinguals and multilinguals use their entire linguistic repertoire to communicate and make meaning (García, 2009; García, Ibarra Johnson, & Seltzer, 2017)   It is through that lens that we have partnered with teacher educators and bilingual education experts, Drs.

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PRH Education Classroom Libraries

“Books are a students’ passport to entering and actively participating in a global society with the empathy, compassion, and knowledge it takes to become the problem solvers the world needs.” –Laura Robb   Research shows that reading and literacy directly impacts students’ academic success and personal growth. To help promote the importance of daily independent

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