Mateo walked beside his mother through the La Boca market. Colorful stalls rose on every side.
A vendor called out prices louder than ever. Mateo frowned and dropped his coin back in his pocket.
'We'll come back another day,' his mother whispered. They walked home with empty hands.
Mateo set up his wooden crate on the sidewalk. He filled it with bright yellow lemons from his abuela's tree.
Passersby glanced at the lemons but kept walking. Then a small boy tripped and tumbled into the crate.
Mateo picked up one lemon. It still smelled sweet and sunny.
Mateo carried the crate to the market square. 'Fresh lemons!' he called out. Señora Flores shook her head. Don Pablo kept walking.
Then the vendor called out, 'More lemons! Cheaper!' Mateo's eyes went wide. The price had dropped all by itself.
A plate of empanadas landed on Mateo's crate. Then another. And another. The square filled with neighbors sharing food and laughter.
A group of kids started a conga line through the market. Mateo grabbed his mother's hand and they joined the dancing, flour on their noses.
That evening, Mateo sat on his abuela's porch, full of empanadas. The vendors shared stories of tough times they got through together.
The next morning, Mateo woke up early. He grabbed a basket and headed to the market with his abuela walking beside him.