I
Don’t Go Near the Mango Tree Belle Tan
go outside my house and feel the summer heat on my face. My face drips with sweat as I stare at my friends playing Patintero. “Maria! Go! Maria! Go!” They say as Gina moves left and right, trying to block her. “Hindi mo kaya!” Gina teases. From the corner of my eye, I see someone sitting on the bench under the mango tree beside my house. There’s a girl wearing a bright yellow sundress with white polka dots, taking a bite of the sweet ripe mango as she reads a Geronimo Stilton book. I hear the little angel on my shoulder say: Don’t. Don’t. I walk towards her. “Do you want to play with us?” She looks at me with this blank expression, moves to the left side of the bench, and pats the right side of it. “No,” I say and repeat the question. She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen you before. Are you from the village? How long have you been here?” “Yes. For a long time. I live at the end of the street.” I look to my right and see the yellow house beside the cluster of mango trees.
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