Train to Mexico

The driving force for which I persevered for days and would have for months was the glass porcupine. There were originally two, but, when my pawpaw died, he left one to my father and one to my uncle. These heirlooms were of great value, and it was my mission to reclaim the other before my greedy uncle realized their value. Now, I boarded the express train to Mexico, land of my ancestors (and my uncle), with my head and my hopes high.
“Hola. Me llamo Umble Fumble,” said the girl seated next to me, fiddling with a AA battery.
“No. Uma-bell Fum-bla.” She corrected me, curling her lips in the strangest ways. Her accent was almost indescipherable, but, regardless of the hopelessness, I continued to flip through my many books of Spanish phrases until my fingers went numb.
“Nice to meet you… Umblefumble. And my name is Tucker.”
“Oh! Encantada!” answered Umblefumble. My fingers were once again put to work as I found the page, marked with a post-it note, that read “encantada—> enchanted.”

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