Furia(31)

“St. Francis?” he asked.

He leaned against the back seat with a smirk on his face. His eyes swept over my uniform—the red tartan skirt, white shirt, and knee-high socks, a pervert’s fantasy. I had the urge to send him to hell, but he looked familiar and somehow harmless. He was younger than I’d first thought.

I shrugged. “And you? La Valeria?”

La Valeria was the spice processing factory on Circunvalación, which the bus had passed long ago. When he smiled, the corners of his eyes wrinkled in lines premature for his young face. “First year,” he said. “My uncle knows the manager. I’m heading to a medical appointment first.”

And then I recognized him.

“Luciano Durand?” The name came to me through a fog of memories. I hoped he couldn’t hear the pity in my voice. He used to play with Pablo and Diego. He’d been Central’s most promising player until he tore his meniscus. It ended his career in an instant.

Luciano just nodded, then looked out the window. “I saw my cousin Yael last night.” He winked at me like we shared a secret. And we did. “Good luck in the Sudamericano. Bring that trophy to el barrio, Camila.” He rang the bell and stepped off the bus.

El Mago, the press used to call him.

His magic couldn’t heal his shredded ligaments.

The former Scoundrel limped away.

I replayed Luciano’s last words: Bring that trophy to el barrio. Who else knew my secret? Who else was talking about us?





13





I didn’t notice Roxana waiting for me until she pretty much jumped me at the front door.

“Chill, Roxana! You almost gave me a heart attack,” I said.

“Diego posted a picture of you, and you dropped off the face of the earth. I’m the one who’s been apoplectic,” Roxana hissed as she followed me inside.

At the blank look on my face, she clamped a hand on my shoulder and said, “Wait, you haven’t seen? What happened this weekend?”

A flock of small elementary school girls ran ahead of us, and Roxana glared at them. “Watch it! You’re going to give her a heart attack!”

What had I ever done to deserve her? Nothing.

Before I even asked, she showed me Diego’s Instagram. I dropped my backpack on the floor and grabbed her phone.

It was a picture from when we were eleven and thirteen, which he’d captioned with the word amigos. I wore a blue one-piece swimsuit, and he had on a pair of old Central shorts. We were both tanned dark already, though it wasn’t even real summer yet. Skinny like lizards, we sat in a tree eating nísperos, smiles big as the blue sky. I remembered that day clearly. Pablo had taken the photo with his first phone.

I covered my mouth with my hand to stop myself from swearing in front of the innocent elementary school girls.

What had Diego been thinking? He had no right to post about me, but at the same time, I couldn’t help the rush of tenderness that swept over me for those two little kids who had no idea what was in store for them. Where would we be now if Diego had never left for Turín? What would our lives be like?

“Can you delete it?” I asked, knowing perfectly well that the answer was no.

Roxana rolled her eyes.

“He has to take it down,” I said.

I hooked my hand through the crook of her elbow as we walked to class.

“Everyone, and I mean everyone, is talking about it,” Roxana said. “It’s only a matter of time before the reporters find out who you are. Then what will you do?”

The only thing I knew was that Saturday, the day Diego was supposed to leave, couldn’t come fast enough. Even as I wished for it, a part of me still grieved. At least I had Roxana in my life. I thanked the universe for her, because Deolinda couldn’t take any credit for it.

I’d found Roxana long before La Difunta Deolinda Correa had come into my life. Maybe if Deolinda had had a friend as good as Roxana, she wouldn’t have died of thirst in the desert. Maybe she’d have waited at her friend’s house for her husband’s safe return. Or maybe I should’ve stopped having sacrilegious thoughts.

“I called your house probably ten million times,” Roxana said. “You need to put some credit on your phone, woman!”

“I called you from Diego’s phone, and you didn’t answer. I even texted you.”

“Yeah, and when I called back, you weren’t there, and I had to awkwardly ask about Italy before I hung up.”

“You talked to him?”

The hall monitor, a girl named Antonia who had joined the convent last year after graduating, looked at us from the middle of the courtyard. Her early-morning voice blared, “Fong! Shirt tucked in!”

Roxana glared, but she tucked her shirt in. “Who does she think she is? The traitorous bi—”

“Do you want me to tell you about the weekend or not?” I cut her off, because Antonia had supersonic hearing. I couldn’t risk getting a detention.

“Tell me everything right now,” Roxana demanded.

I didn’t even have time to start.

A small group of girls from the commercial track were chatting by the preschool playground. As soon as they saw me, they started pelting me with questions.

“Are you really moving to Italy?”

“Is it true he gave you diamond earrings?”