Page 27 of The Night We Became Strangers

One of her pencil-thin eyebrows arched upward—it always did when she was flirting or when she talked about boys.

Something twisted inside of me. She couldn’t have him! I met him first—days ago! Didn’t that count for something? I just hadn’t told her about him. This was exactly what I was afraid of, although I’d been hoping her inebriation last night would’ve made her forget all about Agustín.

“He’s so handsome and nice, and a great dancer, too! Do you think he liked me? Did he say anything about me after he dropped me off?”

“No.”

I should just tell her. It was the only way to have a fair battle.

I was going to—just as soon as she stopped babbling about last night’s events in excruciating detail, starting with how they’d met, how he’d held her while they were dancing, the way he’d sung softly into her ear during a bolero —with that voice— or how he’d laughed when she poured vodka into his soda.

“What about Mario Sánchez? I thought you were taken by him,” I said, reminding her of a boy she’d met a few weeks ago at another party.

“Mario is nothing compared to Agustín. I’m surprised you would even think there is a comparison!” She slapped my leg, goodnaturedly. “Did you take a good look at Agustín?”

Unfortunately, I had.

“You know what?” she added. “There’s someone for you, too. Agustín introduced me to a friend of his at the party—what was his name?” She snapped her fingers, trying to recall the information. “I think it was Saúl or Paul, one of those two names.”

I was mildly offended that she thought I needed her help getting a boyfriend.

Then again, I’d never had one. I’d been so busy with my theater classes and the job at Radio Cantuna that I didn’t have time to do things other girls my age did.

Plus, I had an ogre for a father. Once in a while, though, I would go to melcocha parties with Alicia, but only if my dad had a concert that evening.

“It would be perfect!” Alicia said, applauding. “The two of us going out with two friends! We’ll have so much fun.”

This was why I never liked talking about boys with her—she was always trying to find me a partner. I bet that Saúl or Paul was horrible. She stood up. I could see by the shine in her eyes and her conspiratorial smile that an idea was forming in her mind—an idea I wasn’t sure I was going to like.

“I know! We’ll go see Agustín. We’ll take him—I don’t know, pristinos or something—to the newspaper, to thank him for taking care of me last night and for bringing us home. What do you think?”

“Today is Sunday, Alicia. We’re supposed to go to church.”

Even I knew that was a lame excuse. Ever since we turned fifteen, the two of us had stopped going to mass on Sundays.

We had told our fathers we would rather go together to the later mass, and they had hesitantly agreed.

My mother frankly didn’t care. She’d never been concerned with religious doctrine, though she called herself “spiritual.” She hadn’t been going to church for years, as she said she felt closer to God when she was creating.

After all, He was the one who had given her such a vocation, she would say.

Thus, Alicia and I would stop by Iglesia de San Juan, the church closest to my house, and we would pick up the hoja dominical— a piece of paper with the litany of the day’s gospel, but instead of going inside, we would go grab the paper and ran to the bazaar at Mercado Santa Clara.

There, rows and rows of vendors would extend long cloths on the ground and set their imported Colombian goods, such as brassieres and fabrics.

Other days we would visit the seamstress.

When we got home, we would leave our papers on the console table so the adults in our lives—who cared enough—thought we’d gone to mass.

That was not the only way Alicia had made me break the rules.

When we were younger, she would mimic our parents’ handwriting to perfection and she’d bring notes to the teachers saying we had a doctor appointment the next day.

Odd as it might be that the two of us would have appointments the same day, our teachers never questioned us because Alicia had a true talent for forging signatures and other people’s calligraphy.

She used to say it was her superpower. And so, the day would be spent at the park and galivanting all over town.

At the mention of Sunday church, Alicia winked at me. “Great idea.”

“It’s Sunday,” I repeated, “he’s not going to be at the newspaper.”

“ Crónicas is a daily paper, Marisa. I’m sure he’ll be there. He seems like the responsible kind.”

“Well …” I was trying to come up with the perfect excuse. Something made me think that if I agreed to her plan, I would lose my chances with Agustín forever. “ Pristinos are supposed to be served warm or they harden. How are you going to manage that if we have to walk all the way to Crónicas ?”

Pristinos were fried pastries in the shape of a crown, drizzled with syrup. Just thinking about them made my mouth water.

She tapped her chin. “That’s a good point.” She paced the parlor, going back and forth from the console radio to the grandfather’s clock.

“In that case, we’ll just stop at the bakery on the way and get him suspiros and aplanchados .

We could leave right away, without having to bake.

” The urgency in her voice made me realize how enthusiastic she was at the prospect of seeing Agustín again.

I couldn’t remember a time when she’d been this excited about a boy.

A cause for concern.

Then again, it was Alicia, a girl who changed her mind about people and things every day.

This was no different. We’d gone through so many schemes with boys before, and it always came to Alicia getting bored with them after a week.

I had nothing to worry about. But maybe I should tell her that I’d met him before, that I was meaning to talk to her about him but hadn’t had an opportunity.

“You know Crónicas is in the same building as Radio La Voz?” I pointed out.

“Is it now?” she said, but I could tell she wasn’t too interested as she headed for the stairs. “Tell me about it later, amiga , I’m going upstairs to change. I’ll be back in a minute!”

She was already halfway up the staircase, leaving me standing by the radio, wringing the gloves in my hands. Something told me this was not going to be as simple as I’d originally thought.