Rationally, I knew he had to go back to Italy. I didn’t want him to stay in Rosario. I would have hated it if he turned his back on the dream of his life just to be with me. Last night, like the two lovesick kids we were, we’d promised we’d wait for each other; we’d make the long-distance relationship work. It wouldn’t be like the last time he left.
I clenched my body to control the shaking, and all I got was another cramp in my calf. Diego wasn’t there to help me flex my foot, and I didn’t have a physiotherapist to make me drink fancy water.
Mamá looked worried. “Pablo told me you fell in the street yesterday. Are you okay? Maybe you should stay home today.”
I hadn’t missed a day of school since the bus strike in third grade. School and the fútbol field were my sacred safe spaces.
“I can’t miss,” I said. “I have a history quiz and a math test.”
Mamá walked around my room, inspecting it. If I didn’t distract her, she’d find the Juventus jersey hidden under the pillow. My name on the back could complicate things more than if Diego had given me a diamond ring.
“Where were you last night?” I asked.
She smiled, her eyes shining. “I had to turn in a dress, and since it was raining, Papi offered to drive me.” She bit her lip and clasped her hands like a little girl bursting with gossip. But Mamá had practice at hiding things, too. She started picking up my laundry and said, “Later, he drove me to get some fabric for a special dress I’m planning, and then he took me out to eat. Isn’t that wonderful?”
She tripped, and when she picked up the new doorknob I’d left on the floor, a cloud passed over her face.
“What’s wrong, Ma?”
She looked at me as if she was peeling layers of time off me to see the little girl I’d once been.
“You look terrible. I think you’re ojeada.” She shook her finger at me. “I told you, be careful with the promises you make to random saints. You were looking pretty just the other day.”
Her cruelty left me speechless.
“I wish you were still little.” She sighed and put a hand over her heart. “I wish someone had the recipe to keep kids small and safe.”
I hated it when she said things like this. Like it was my fault I couldn’t stay ten years old forever. It wasn’t like I’d had any say in how fast my breasts grew or when I got my period. Why was she making me feel guilty for being alive?
She got up to leave, taking the doorknob with her. “I’ll go ahead and install this. I should’ve done it already. Now, get going. You’re going to be late.”
My limbs were lead, my muscles bruised, but I didn’t waste any time getting dressed.
“Have you talked to your parents?” Roxana asked when the lunch bell rang, and I had no choice but to follow her to the school courtyard. “Mine were sad I had to choose between the graduation and the tournament, but priorities, you know? My mom ordered my dress already and everything. But now she’s spearheading the fundraising for the team.”
I’d been so distracted by everything with Diego that I hadn’t thought about the conflict between the tournament and graduation, or the paperwork my parents had to sign for my FIFA registration, or all the money I had to save. Fundraising would only take us so far.
The gravity of my secrets and all the lies I’d spun to cover them pressed down on me.
I put my head in my hands.
Roxana wrapped an arm around my shoulders. When the warmth of her body grounded me, I realized I’d been shaking again. Georgina and Laura eyed us suspiciously from the hallway. The year before, two girls in the class below us had been caught kissing in the bathroom, and ever since, there had been “a hunt for the gays,” as Roxana called it. Our country had legalized same-sex marriage way before the U.S., but prejudice didn’t read or obey laws. It was a hard weed to pull from people’s hearts.
Roxana didn’t let go of me but inched closer. “Let them think what they want.”
My laughter made me shake even more, and Roxana made a worried face.
“We got caught in the rain last night, and I think I’m sick.”
“Wait . . .” she said. I could practically see her mind trying to make a timeline. “How long were you and Diego together?”
“Not long,” I said, feeling myself turning as red as her can of Coca-Cola. “He’s going back today, anyway.”
She tugged at the red ribbon tied around my wrist.
The bell for last period, math, rang. It saved me from having to explain or lie.
What had happened with Diego the night before had been inevitable yet unexpected. Roxana loved me, but our lives were so different. She’d never understand. Lying to my best friend was probably the worst sin I’d committed so far, but it was too late to back down now.
I blundered through my math test. I probably wouldn’t scrape even a six, which would put a dent in my GPA.
At the end of the school day, Roxana walked out to Alberdi Avenue with me.
“Well, well, well,” she said. “I didn’t expect he’d actually give up so easily. I really thought he’d pull a Tres Metros Sobre el Cielo and come pick you up on his motorcycle.”
“He doesn’t have a motorcycle,” I replied. Although I knew I’d see him later, my eyes still scanned the street for his car.
“BMW—same thing,” Roxana replied.
I kissed her cheek and walked away before she pulled the thread of my lies and unspooled the truth.
On the bus, my eyes searched for Diego. Every black car I saw made my heart race. Sweat beaded on my forehead in spite of the return of winter weather. But every time I caught a glimpse of the drivers, my hopes were shattered.
In the end, Diego’s car was not the one that gave me a jolt.
It was my father’s. I got off the bus a block too late and saw his red Peugeot in the carport of a house just around the corner from El Buen Pastor.
At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. But the Rosario Central banner that hung from the rearview mirror along with the blue-and-yellow rosary beads confirmed that it was my father’s car.
The rain pelted my legs, and the wind pulled at me, trying to snatch my umbrella.
What was he doing here?
The door of the house opened, and in the least stealthy move ever, I shielded my face with the umbrella. I couldn’t stand in the middle of the sidewalk like this, so I darted to the kiosco across the street. From the display case, I grabbed a Capitán del Espacio alfajor. I hadn’t seen this brand of chocolate cookie for years. I checked the expiration date just in case. It was good.
While I waited to pay, I peeked over my shoulder. The front door of the house was still open, and a young woman, not much older than me, walked out. She had dyed blond hair and looked unnaturally skinny in her jeans and leather jacket. Her black boots had heels so high that she walked like a stick bug. Then my father followed her out of the house, opened the car door for her, and got in the driver’s seat. His whole face glowed with happiness.
I stared at him while the car backed out and finally merged into the boulevard’s traffic.
“Nena, are you going to pay for that?” the kiosco guy asked me. An unlit cigarette hung from his lips. When I didn’t respond, he took the cig out of his mouth and put it out on the counter. Then he continued, “Only the alfajor? The things I had to do to find those cookies . . .”
I handed him some money and looked back at the car. My father lifted his gaze to the rearview mirror, locked eyes with me, and then drove away.
20
The first person I saw at El Buen Pastor was Karen reading by the window. The Alma Maritano book covered her face. The sight of her awakened a smile I didn’t know I had in me.
Father Hugo had been right. It was all worth it just for the one.
Karen and I were on different paths headed in the same destination: freedo
m, a place as mythical as heaven. She looked like a younger version of me, poring over Alma’s book, making sense of the secret code the author had woven into the pages for furious girls like us. If part of our souls stayed in the books we read and loved, I hoped Karen was getting some courage from the little Camila I’d once been.
Karen felt my eyes on her and looked up at me. She didn’t smile but held her finger up, asking for a second as she glanced back down at the book.
How many times had that same gesture ended in a fight with my mother? Too many to count.
Keep going, Karen. Keep going.
She turned the last page of the book and closed it softly, her little fingers caressing the worn covers. A satisfied sigh escaped her chapped lips. Her Mona Lisa smile made my eyes burn.
“Did you like it?” I asked.
Karen hugged the book against her chest. “Tell me there’s more.” I nodded, and she exclaimed, “Do you have the next one? I need more Nicanor and Gora.”
I took El Visitante out of my backpack and placed it on the table carefully. “It’s about Nicanor and Gora, but wait until you meet Robbie.”
Karen leapt from the chair, raising her arms in the air like I did when I scored a goal. “Yes!”
The boys arrived in a whirlwind of shouts and smells. Apparently, a pipe had burst in el barrio, and now the street was flooded. Water had blocked the boulevard, and sooner or later, it would reach the sanctuary’s entrance. I thought of our ruined practice field a couple of blocks away in Park Yrigoyen. How long would it take for the mud to dry before we could use it again?
“No mass tonight!” Javier said, high-fiving the air in front of Miguel, who hadn’t reacted fast enough.
Karen sent them a scathing look before diving back into El Visitante. Lautaro and Javier eyed her suspiciously, but they left her alone.
Miguel grabbed me by the hand. “Come, Seño Camila.” He pulled me toward the door. “You have to see this.” His little face sparkled.
I wasn’t remotely interested in seeing sewer water carrying toilet contents into the street, but I had no choice. I followed him. So did the rest of my class.
Diego stood under the balcony that overlooked the internal courtyard. Three giant plastic bags filled to bursting rested at his feet.
“Hey, Mama,” he said. I’d have run into his arms to fare l’amore con lui in front of the Good Shepherd himself, but it was Karen’s presence that forced me to mind my manners. What example would I be setting if I behaved like an airhead botinera?
“Hola, Diegui,” I said.
If only there were a way to stay in this moment forever. If only the rest of the world didn’t matter.
When I reached him, Diego kissed me on the corner of my mouth. He, too, seemed hyperaware of the kids watching us.
“I told you I’d find a way to say goodbye. Also, I brought some gifts,” he said, and the kids shrieked with excitement.
“Order, order,” Diego called. “Make a line next to Seño Camila.” Then, in the most ridiculously seductive voice, he said to me, “Seño Camila, help me out with my balls.”
The kids exploded into laughter, and I swatted his arm. From the corner of my eye, I saw Karen was trying not to smile.
Sister Cruz watched benevolently from the kitchen, where she was kneading bread. With this humidity, the dough would take forever to rise, but she was a woman of faith.
The kids lined up as if it were Christmas, and Diego gave away the contents of the bags. Footballs, sneakers, T-shirts, notebooks, pens, pencils. There was a package with stuffed Juve giraffes and other toys. He put that aside. “For Sister Cruz and her babies,” he said.
Karen hovered at the end of line, El Visitante clutched against her body. When it was her turn, Diego asked, “A football for the little ones?” and she nodded. From the bottom of the duffel bag, he took out two backpacks, a black one and a pink one.
“Here’s a backpack just for you, Señorita Karen.”
Miracle of miracles, Karen’s eyes shone like stars. “Can I . . . I choo . . . choose?”
“Of course. Whichever you want.”
Without hesitation, she took the pink backpack and filled it with school supplies.
When Karen was done, she patted Diego on the arm. He met her eyes, and when she said, “Gracias,” his whole face turned red.
She didn’t hug him like the boys had, and Diego didn’t pressure her to. She quietly walked to the classroom, but even though her backpack was bulging with stuff, her shoulders weren’t slumped.
Diego asked the older kids to help Sister Cruz give out the toys for the babies.
And then, as if by magic, we were suddenly alone. I looked at my watch. If he was going to make his flight, he had to leave now.
Diego took me in his arms and held me tight until the world stopped spinning.
“I thought you had left already.”
“How could I leave without saying goodbye? I had to see you,” he whispered in my ear. “I want to take you with me right now. I want . . . so many things.”
The kitchen door closed softly, and I sent a silent thank-you to Sister Cruz for the kindness. I raised my head and kissed him. I wanted to stop time with that kiss and believe we were breaking a curse. I wanted to reinvent our history, but then his phone rang, forcing us back to reality.
“I have to go,” he said. “La Serie A doesn’t stop in December. Why don’t you come after graduation? Or as soon as your exams are over. You don’t need to be at the ceremony.”
“That weekend is the tournament.”
His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. He was trying to remember what tournament I was talking about. Frustration roiled inside me, but Diego was leaving. I couldn’t ruin this last moment with him.
“I’ll come here, even if it’s just for a couple of days,” he continued, speaking fast, like he too could feel the time rushing past us. “There’s a FIFA date in January, and I’ll try to . . .”
In January there would be team signings. If I got what I wanted most of all, who knew where I’d be then?
Before I could put another wedge between us, I kissed him. How many times had my father promised my mother he wouldn’t cheat on her? How many times had Pablo lied to girls for a moment of pleasure and then forgotten his promises as soon as he zipped up his pants?
If Diego could promise me anything, it was to be ruthless on the field. To never let his dreams go, because if he could make it, maybe I could, too.
He broke away first. “I brought you something, too.”
I opened the black backpack he handed me. I must have looked like Karen as I rummaged through the T-shirts, shorts, socks, training jacket, and best of all, a pair of brand-new Adidas cleats in classic black and white.
“These won’t give you blisters. And those shirts repel sweat, so they won’t stink like your old ones. Camila, if we bottle that scent, we could sell it to the government as a weapon of mass destruction.”
I didn’t know how to thank him. He wouldn’t have brought me all this stuff if he didn’t believe in me, right?
“Gracias,” I whispered, holding the boots against my pounding heart. “I can’t play the scrimmage on Saturday, but—”
“You have to recover. Train harder every time. Don’t give up,” he said, and like that, I forgave him for forgetting my tournament.
He took out a slick cardboard box the size of a chalkboard eraser. “There’s also this.” When he opened it, the glass screen mirrored the shock on my face. It was a phone. The kind of phone not even Pablo could afford. The kind of phone boys in the streets literally killed for.
“Why?” I asked, while in my mind I was doing cartwheels. Now I could be part of all the team chats.
Diego’s mouth curved into a smile.
“You need a phone, right? We’ll be in touch. We’ll talk every day. See? There
are apps for music, and you can keep track of your trainings, and . . . we can talk all day long if we want to.” He sounded like he’d been practicing that speech all week long.
“But the Wi-Fi . . .”
“I prepaid for service. There’s an international plan with enough data that we can chat on WhatsApp all day.” He misunderstood my stunned expression. “We can make this work, Cami. If you want.”
“I do,” I said. I wrapped my arms around his neck, careful not to drop the phone that was worth more than all my other possessions combined.
In my ears, the ghosts of my abuelas whispered like a Greek chorus that their dreams ended with those exact words—I do—but I pushed their advice to the bottom of my mind.
21
From downstairs, I watched a man walk out of my apartment. A black beret and a dark scarf covered his head and his face.
My mom was home alone. What was he doing?
Adrenaline jump-started me. Ignoring my hurt leg, I climbed the stairs two at a time. Just when I was about to reach him, my fists ready, he lifted his face. It was César. The fight left me in a rush. He pushed his thinning hair behind his ear.
“Princesa.” His silver tooth glinted in the corner of his mouth when he smiled.
“César? What are you doing here?” My mind was trying to connect the dots, but no image formed.
Rain dripped from the metal railings, and from the corner of my eye, I saw movement in the downstairs neighbor’s window. Franco waved at me from behind his grandma, who was peeking through the curtains.
“Hola, Doña Kitty,” I said, waving, and she darted back.
César lifted his eyebrows. “These neighbors are better than the secret service, right? I think she’s been keeping track of how long I was alone with your mom. Vieja de mierda.”
I couldn’t help it—I giggled. César was one of those people whose insults made me laugh instead of flinch.
“What were you doing?” I asked.
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