17

Three weeks after my trip to El Mozote with Alex, there was a swearing-in ceremony for a new group of volunteers. These were always a big deal; everyone went to the capital for the weekend, attended a party at the embassy, got to dress up and eat fancy hors d’oeuvres.

I was busy with my health census and wasn’t able to travel to San Salvador until the day of the ceremony. It had been a while since I’d left Cara Sucia, and I looked forward to blowing off steam.

I went straight to the Peace Corps office to pick up my mail and drop off some paperwork. Courtney came and found me in the volunteer lounge.

“Did you just get here?” she asked. Her face was white.

“Yeah. A few minutes ago. What’s up?”

“We need to talk.”

Courtney led me out of the office to the parking lot, lit up a cigarette, and said, “What’s going on with you and Alex?”

“What do you mean?” I shrugged. “I figured I’d see him today. I paged him, asking him to find us a room.”

“Did something happen between you guys?”

“No. We had a nice trip to the mountains a few weeks ago. That’s the last time I saw him. Why?”

“He was attached to one of the new girls last night,” Courtney said. “They were, like, all over each other at the bar.”

“Seriously? Alex?” At first, I thought this must be some sort of misunderstanding.

She looked at the ground and blew out smoke. “Everybody was watching them. They were practically making out on the dance floor. It was gross.”

“Is he staying at the Estancia?” I asked.

Courtney shrugged.

I left the office and headed straight to the taxi stand at the Hotel Princessa. The driver quoted me a price for where I wanted to go; I handed him nearly double the amount, asking to please get me there as fast as possible.

The taxi seemed to go eighty miles an hour from the second I shut the door. I should’ve felt terror at the run red lights, the weaving through lanes, and the near-misses. But my heart was so full of anger that I had no space left for fear. A trip that took an hour plus by bus was over in a few minutes.

Other guests sat on the front patio, drinking coffee, so I had no trouble getting into the hotel. I opened the door to two other bedrooms before I finally found Alex—in a shared room with three twin beds, all of them occupied, him in the center one.

What I hadn’t expected to find was that new volunteer, still tangled up in Alex’s arms. The two of them turned to face me. Oddly, the thing that unnerved me the most was that she was also Asian. She pulled the covers up to her shoulders; I glared at her from the doorway.

“Hi, Malia.” Alex was remarkably calm. “Did you just get here?”

“Shut up. You’re an asshole; you know that? I never want to see you again.”

“Okay,” he said. “I guess I didn’t realize you thought of our relationship as an exclusive thing.”

“You had to pull this in front of all my friends? Is this, like, your thing?” I literally shivered in disgust. “You know, you try to come off as this dark, brooding, smart guy—but the truth is, you’re just a jerk.”

He nodded, as if agreeing.

I left the room, took a bus to El Centro, bought a bottle of cheap vodka, then found my connection out to Cara Sucia. At that point, the project hadn’t yet broken ground. I hadn’t yet discovered Ben or La Lib. I drank vodka by candlelight in my little house that night, listening to sad songs on my tape deck, wondering if there was any place for me in this country.

Not long after, Courtney sent me a letter explaining that the new volunteer from Alex’s bed had quit and gone home after a few days in the campo. That news gave me a smug, superior feeling that I carried around for weeks.