Page 86 of Liar
This poker game. The sangria.
“You set me up.”
“No. I’m letting you down gently.”
He abruptly stands, fans his cards out on the table, and with a slight nod to his men, leaves the room.
I glance down at his hand, and at the straight flush displayed there.
25
My first dance instructor used to say dancing is a metaphor for life. Filled with moments of beauty and ugliness, triumph and grief. With no guarantees hard work will pay off. No guarantees that things will go as expected, no matter how prepared you think you are.
A lesson I’ve learned tenfold.
I could wallow in my failures. The wrongdoings. The betrayals. But instead, I get back on my feet.
I’ve set myself up in a vacant room in the Hole’s west wing. Away from prying eyes, though very few Lobos are about these days with war ongoing. So far, Ignacio’s kept his word and stayed on the sidelines. It gives me hope that the violence will be over soon.
I turn up the music and let it wash over me. Working out my body to the point of exhaustion while reconsidering my future plans.
The University of Loreto offers a degree in Health Policy and Administration. My parents would have liked my pursuing a field of study involving helping people. Learning how to raise and manage money for at-risk environments and community health-care needs. Medical supply sourcing. Doctor and nurse training. There’s even a class on best practices in the promotion of protection against unsafe sex.
The irony of the last part isn’t lost on me. I’ve never touched a condom. Never had reason to.
Spring admission is going on. I have time to apply. And who’s to say I can’t offer up my services as a practice partner and quietly prove myself once more? Get my foot in the door, literally. Repair the damage done by my fall. Pursue my dream, except this time with a backup plan.
The only thing stopping me is tuition money.
And this horrible war.
I wipe the sweat off my forehead with a cloth. My T-shirt is soaked with perspiration, my dance skirt clings to my legs. But the physical exertion is a welcome distraction.
Someone loudly clears his throat. “You have a call,” Javier informs me.
“Is it Diego?”
“No.” He passes me his cell phone.
I swallow hard. I haven’t heard from my brother since the war started. “¿Bueno?”
There’s a slight pause. “Luciana?”
“Why are you calling me, Eduardo?”
He clears his throat. “I did what you asked.”
“You kept your promise. Good for you.”
“Don’t be like that. I didn’t have a choice. How could I know you got on my uncle’s bad side?”
“Listen to yourself.” I grind my teeth together. “No woman deserves to be harassed by any man. If we lived in the States, there’d be multiple restraining orders against him. Your uncle has issues with young women. One day, he’s not going to be standing in front of a tamale cart but the barrel of a loaded pistol.”
“I’m not defending his actions. He is very generous with the women he’s involved with.”
“And the women who refuse him? Did he or did he not order you to sabotage our performance?”
“You know the answer.”
