BACK IN THE Blazer, I breathed a long sigh of frustration. I’d intended to drive straight to Llorona and visit Papá’s grave; now it seemed I couldn’t. Not only was the Guerrilla prohibition still in place, but it would upset Mamá, which was the last thing I wanted.
Instead, I picked up Palillo and drove to our old school, Colegio Santa Lucía. We parked opposite the wrought-iron gates, near the grassy football field where I’d played Saturday football with Papá barracking from the sidelines. There, we waited for the principal to ring the lunch bell and Camila to emerge.
I’d wanted to give Camila warning – meeting after school and seeing her on my own. But Palillo had argued persuasively for a group attack using the element of surprise – it would give her less time to think.
At 12.30 pm, the principal, Rector Prada, emerged from the main building with his wooden-handled bell. He’d never missed a day of school nor rung a single bell late.
As Prada shook his bell, a swarm of students streamed onto the playing field. Palillo’s eyes lit up at the sight of the fresh-faced schoolgirls in their blue plaid dresses, black shoes and knee-high white socks.
He rubbed his hands together and made kissing sounds. ‘Succulent and ripe for the picking!’
They were the same girls Palillo had been staring at lustfully for years, but fruit that had once been out of reach was now within his grasp. Four months older, an inch taller and having left school, he’d climbed several rungs of the attractiveness ladder and his confidence had ascended with him.
News of our arrival spread like wildfire. A crowd of curious students quickly gathered, their fingers poking through the cyclone wire fence. I spotted Camila a moment before she saw us. She hesitated at the gate and looked directly across the road at me. Leaving school grounds during lunchtime was forbidden, but that wasn’t the problem. I could read her face. It told me that despite having hoped for this moment, she was suddenly dreading it.
I smiled and waved, but she continued to stand there uncertainly until her best friend, Carolina, snatched up her wrist and dragged her across the road.
We hugged. Holding her, I felt tingles down my spine. I’d missed her so much. Coming out of the embrace, I tried to kiss her but she turned her face, and all the nice things I’d been meaning to say melted in my mouth.
I searched Camila’s face. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘You cut your hair.’ There was an implied question – my hair was military-short.
‘It was getting long. But I can grow it again for you.’
‘Don’t! Short hair brings out your cheekbones.’ She ran her fingers down my cheeks and gave me a half-smile, but still no kiss.
‘We’re going to shoot some billiards at Francisco’s,’ I ventured tentatively. ‘Want to come?’
I thought going to one of our usual haunts would remind Camila of the old days, but her eyes fired with anger. ‘Pedro, you’re acting like we saw each other yesterday. You can’t just turn up after months of silence and expect everything to be the same!’
Behind her, dozens of noses poked further through the cyclone fence.
‘Can we talk in private?’ I held open the back door for her to get in. Surprising her at lunchtime had definitely been a mistake. ‘Please. I’ll explain everything.’
On his side of the truck, Palillo was faring much better with Carolina. During that same interval, he’d flashed his fake gold necklace and imitation Rolex, made passing mention of his high-paying job and established legal ownership of the Blazer.
Suddenly, our spectators dispersed. Rector Prada appeared in the playground, reaching for his whistle. Palillo slid into the front passenger seat and turned the sternly-approaching principal to our advantage.
‘¡Rápido! Jump in!’
The girls obeyed, slammed the door, and we sped off. In my rear-vision mirror, I saw the principal standing in the middle of the road blowing his whistle. Palillo and I tapped knuckles while Camila and Carolina shook their heads, laughing.
Speeding towards the pool hall, I felt invigorated. Seeing Camila in person – hearing her voice, smelling her hair and touching her – silenced my doubts. I couldn’t ignore how I felt when she was near me. Of course, I didn’t know what future we had or what would happen when I had to leave. But I wanted her. I needed her. And I had to win her back.