Diego’s footsteps moved from the dining room to the laundry. “There you are, old boy,” he whispered as he let Nico out.
The dog’s nails click-clacked on the kitchen floor, and from the darkened hallway, I saw him lick Diego’s face with such tenderness that even my prickly heart was moved. Then Nico whined and ran to the door that led to the front balcony, looking at Diego with urgency. Diego laughed and opened the door. My dog lunged from the apartment.
I could only see Diego’s outline illuminated by the pale silver moonlight, unguarded and forlorn.
The times Diego and I had talked on the phone, he’d told me stories about the places he’d visited and what life was like having roommates from all over the world. His tales had sounded like adventures right out of Harry Potter, boys training to be wizards. I’d had to squash my envy—Diego was living a life that I could only dream of, no matter how much I loved fútbol, no matter how great an athlete I might be.
And now he was here.
As if he felt my eyes on him, Diego turned around and looked straight into the hallway where I stood. He looked at me. He saw me. Not the Stallion’s sister. Not Andrés and the seamstress’s daughter. Me, Camila Beatriz Hassan.
The fútbol star replaced the forlorn boy. He took a step in my direction.
“Camila.”
Now that there were no cameras or adoring fans, I stepped into his open arms. He hugged me tightly and picked me up a little, but I refused to let my tippy-toes come unglued from the floor. He smelled like the cologne they sold at the expensive shops in the Alto Rosario Mall, and his leather jacket was buttery soft against my cheek. When I moved my head, my lips brushed the tender skin of his neck. I wanted to kiss my way to his mouth and pick up where we’d left off.
I resisted.
“I missed you.” His voice tickled my ear.
I pulled away from his embrace and looked up at him. From this short distance, I saw the gold flecks in his light brown eyes. His eyes were galaxies I could lose myself in, but the cold floor brought me back to earth. I was a barefoot schoolgirl in my barrio apartment; he was a star flashing past us all, and the glow would disappear with him when he left again. In spite of our shared childhood, we now lived worlds apart. As much as he might say he missed me, it hadn’t been enough for him to stay in touch.
“How long are you here for?” I asked, stepping away from him and crossing my arms like a shield.
“A week. It’s a FIFA date, and everyone else is with their national teams.”
“Héctor and César said you’ll get called up next time, Titán.”
There was a fire in his eyes. “They said that?”
I nodded.
Diego brushed his hand through his hair and said, “We have so much to talk about. Will you invite me for some mates?”
An enemy wouldn’t be refused this request, much less Diego.
“I’m shocked you’re still drinking mate, Titán.” If I used this name, I wouldn’t forget that he wasn’t my Diegui anymore.
He followed me to the kitchen. “Of course! I always have the Central thermos you gave me. But you haven’t watched my stories or liked my posts or been online at all in forever. You disappeared.”
“At least I have an excuse,” I said, trying not to sound like a rejected telenovela heroine and totally failing.
He didn’t seem to notice the ice in my voice. “What happened?”
“Got my phone stolen a couple of months ago. The one I have now is from the nineteen-hundreds.” I laughed like it wasn’t a big deal, but I shivered at the memory of the two young boys, no older than twelve, pointing a gun at me. Diego didn’t need to know the details.
He hugged me one-armed and said, “We’ll have to fix that, then. Come, I’m dying to tell you everything.” He paused for a second, and then said, “I thought I saw you at the stadium today, wearing a gray jersey. What team was that?”
“Wasn’t me,” I said, and changed the subject. “And you didn’t come for pizza with the family. Pali didn’t invite you?”
He shrugged and continued filling up the kettle. “He did, but I went to the stadium straight from the airport and hadn’t seen Mamana yet. After the game I took her out, just the two of us.”
I filled my favorite mate cup with the herbs (yerba and peppermint) and just a pinch of sugar, but then I remembered he was a world-class athlete. “Is this okay?”
He narrowed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “Okay, but just a little, because if the boss finds out . . .” With a tiny smile, I added just a little more, and he whispered, “Temptress.”
I didn’t shake the mate to settle the dust or do any of the theatrics some people fell for. The secret to the perfect mate was in the temperature of the water and the hand of the server. And my touch was magical. Even my father had complimented me once or twice.
I looked up to see Diego staring at me, leaning against the Formica countertop. He looked so out of place here. I had to make an effort not to stare back. He seemed taller, his smile brighter. Had he had his smile whitened and his chipped tooth fixed? Absentmindedly, I brushed my tongue over my own teeth; my gums were still sore from when the ball had hit me. His skin was clearer, too, as if it shone from the inside.
The water started humming; a few seconds, and it would be ready. Just so I had something to do besides gape at him, I pulled my hair into a ponytail. My T-shirt crept up, exposing my belly. His eyes followed it.
“What?” I asked, blushing. His eyebrows were perfectly shaped, way better than mine, and when he moved, the diamond studs in his ears cast sparkles of light all around us.
The kettle sang. I turned off the stove and picked it up. “What?” I asked again.
“So . . .” He swallowed. “I was walking up the stairs, and I looked up at your window, and . . . nena! You were wearing just your bra!”’
I had to put the kettle down so I wouldn’t drop it. My face felt hotter than the water, and I feared steam was coming out of my ears.
“I didn’t notice the shutters were open,” I whisper-shouted.
I wanted to die.
“Be more careful next time, then.” There was concern in his voice. “Don’t encourage the creeps. What if someone other than me saw you? If your dad finds out, he’ll lock you up in the tallest tower, and you’ll have to wait for me to come rescue you.”
“I’ll rescue myself,” I said, a couple of seconds too late. “And don’t worry. No one will ever lock me up in a tower.”
“I’d like to see someone try.” He was standing so close I felt the heat of his body. Or maybe it was just me burning up. “I heard about Gimena.” His face was unreadable, but his voice was so sad. “She was in my class in elementary school. She dropped out in seventh grade, and Pablo was devastated. He had a crush on her, remember? Back when he liked brunettes.”
If she hadn’t been hanging out with the wrong crowd, she’d still be alive . . .
“Every day there’s a new girl.”
“If anyone ever bothers you, you tell me, and I’ll kick his ass. I’ll make him swallow his teeth. Just say the word.”
But what could Diego really do? He didn’t even live here anymore.