Ale’s smug smile widened. “Aim higher.”
There wasn’t much higher—apart from Vortex, and they already had Roy Myers and Frank Nelson.
“The manager at Vortex has been watching you,” Ale said. “I kept quiet because they’re not a hundred percent sold. They want to see you after your injury. I told them you were back in the game, which was right before the hand thing.”
“Fuck.” I rubbed my good hand over my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Focus on getting better. Frank is leaving at season’s end; they’ll need fresh talent, Ash. I think they’ll pick you.” Ale glanced at something behind me, smiling.
Manicured fingers squeezed my shoulder. I looked up at Grandma’s stern face.
“What the hell happened to your hand?” she demanded.
“I’ll buy you a new mirror,” I blurted.
She sighed. “See, Alejandro? I can’t even leave him alone.”
“Lo sé, Maricarmen.”I know, Maricarmen.Ale sipped his whiskey, smirking into the tumbler.
“And this.” Grandma waved at the bottle. “You also survive on alcohol and angst?”
Ale quirked a brow. “Isn’t that what all men do? But of course—you can feed me since your grandson didn’t. He also owes me a bonus because if he signs with Vortex, he’ll be filthy rich.”
“Ojalá.”Hope so.Grandma headed for the gallery. “But if I were you, I’d get that promise in writing while he’s regretful and agreeable.”
“Smart woman,” Ale said.
“Too old for you, unfortunately,” Grandma called from the kitchen. “Do you want a sandwich? It’s late,I’m not cooking.”
“Yes, please,” he yelled back. “And one for Ash.”
“Should let him starve, but I love him,” Grandma grumbled.
Fortunately for me, she really did.
MARCH 30TH
Alot has changed since June, but some things stayed the same. Changes: volunteering and a sense of freedom I’ve never known. I’m on my own, doing what I want—teaching English, perfecting my Spanish, and dancing. The dancing started as a party thing.
After dinner one night, I showed the girls volunteering with me a few moves, and that impromptu lesson turned into nightly sessions. By our second month in Mexico, we moved to the street.
One of the girls dropped a cap on the ground, and by the end of the set it overflowed with bills and coins. We split the money six ways. It wasn’t much at first, but the crowds grew, and so did our earnings.
The tradition followed us to Chile, then Colombia, and now Argentina. Something else unexpected—our coordinator, Marta, turned out to be a licensed therapist.
One evening, after a rough call with my father, talking to her slipped into a therapy session. I told her about my parents, about Asher, about nearly everything that’s shaped me these past few years.
When we finished, I felt lighter. Calmer. She refused to charge me, but she’s helped me so much I already know I’ll continue therapy back in the States—and I won’t let her keep helping me for free.
My father still insists I’m wasting time with all this volunteering. The only thing he ever asks about is my college acceptance email. I haven’t gotten it yet, but something tells me it’s coming soon.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Kaia
“Come on, come on, come on,” Alba chanted under her breath, eyes glued to her inbox. “And… it’s here! Oh my God.”
I dropped onto the bed beside her. “Click on it.” Like me, she’d been waiting for her college acceptance, and now the email was finally here.
