Furia(17)

“But why, Camila? You’re so thin already. I know summer’s coming, but you don’t need to look like the skeletons on Dancing for a Dream.”

I took a deep breath. I’d never aspired to star in a dancing show. She said I was too thin, but the moment I picked up a pastry, she’d tell me to watch my carbs. My goal was to be fast, strong, and unstoppable, and I couldn’t be that by starving myself or by eating pastries. My mom wouldn’t get it.

“I feel better when I run. You should come with me sometime,” I said. “Besides, Mami, I need to make room for your amazing food. What are you cooking?”

“Gnocchi,” she said with a smile. “You’re going to love them. I made some spinach ones so Pablo can get vegetables, you know? I need to sneak them in.” She babied him so much. “Roxana said to call her.”

My heart went into batucada mode. I had to know what was so urgent that she’d call in the morning, but I couldn’t risk using the house phone. My mom had super hearing.

“I’ll call her later,” I said.

Mamá went back to her embroidering and didn’t glance at me as I left.

Earbuds in, I let the energy of Gigi D’Agostino’s songs set the tempo of my steps.

A couple of blocks into my run, a German shepherd jumped at me from behind a makeshift chicken wire fence that sagged under the weight of his body. A deep voice called him from inside the house. I didn’t look back. I ran and ran, imagining the bite of the dog would shock me at any second. I breathed, chasing my goal, the Sudamericano, a chance at a future in which I was the master of my own fate.





The first autumn Diego lived in el barrio, when he was twelve and I was ten, everyone was obsessed with running. An Argentine athlete had won an Olympic medal for racing, and every kid in el barrio was trying to imitate our new idol. Some were good runners. Not me.

When I asked Pablo for help, he said I wasn’t built for running. My legs were thin like a tero bird’s. Determined to prove him wrong, I raced the girl from downstairs, Analía, the monoblock’s best runner after my brother.

I tried to keep up with her, but as I watched her reach the finish line, I tripped on the uneven pavement and fell. Blood bloomed from my knee and ran down my leg, seeping into my white knee-high sock. My mom was furious when she saw how I’d ruined my school clothes.

I was crying on the balcony when I heard Diego, whistling as he climbed the stairs. I would have climbed up onto the roof if I’d known how, but there was no way to escape.

Diego saw me. The melody died on his puckered-up lips. “What happened?” he asked. “Did someone hurt you?” His voice was so gentle.

I shook my head. I didn’t want him to be angry, not even at Analía. When boys and men became angry, they tried to fix the world by breaking it down with their fists. I tried to speak, but I burst into tears instead.

In hushed whispers, I told him everything. He listened, and when I was done crying, he wiped my face with the inside of his Pokémon T-shirt.

Unable to find words to express my gratitude, I wrapped my arms around his neck.

Diego’s skin smelled of sunshine and sweat.

In the tone my teacher at school used when telling a story, he said, “The other day, Ana told me the legend of a warrior princess who had your name.”

I couldn’t help but look up at his face. Was he making fun of me? No Disney princesses—the only ones I knew—had my name.

“Camila? Like me? She was a warrior?”

He nodded. “And not only that, she was a great runner. She ran so fast that when she ran across the sea, her feet didn’t even get wet.”

I peered down at my ugly black shoes and saw the blood stain on my sock getting darker and bigger as it spread through the cotton fibers. “Can you teach me how to run like that?”

His eyes flickered in the direction of my brother’s window before returning to me. “Abuelo isn’t home, is he? You know he’d teach you like he taught Pablo. He’d do anything for you.”

“He’s out.”

Diego hesitated, but then he said, “Let’s go to the road behind the sports center. I can teach you there. I’ll tell your mom where we’re going.”

But I shook my head. Even then, I’d known there were things she didn’t want to hear.

While we walked under the naked paradise trees that lined the street, Diego told me more stories about the other Camila, the warrior princess who fought in the great Trojan War. The sunlight painted intricate designs on the ground. The dust swirled on the shimmering air before it settled on my dry lips.

“I’ll hold your hand and run,” he said. “You hold on tight and raise those knees. Don’t look down.”

I bit my lip and nodded.

“Ready?” he asked.

I looked ahead at the curving road that went on forever. We could run to the end of the world.

“Ready,” I said.

Our feet hit the compacted dirt hard, raising a cloud of dust around us. Diego’s hand was sweating in mine. He picked up speed, and for a second, I panicked. I imagined myself falling, bringing him down with me. I pulled his arm back to slow him down.

“Don’t give up,” he yelled.

I willed my legs to keep up. We ran and ran until he let go of my hand. “Race you to the willows!”