Page 15

Would he thank me for leaving? Would he understand?

Or would knowing make the hurting worse?

I have always been a late night snacker. As a boy, it was tostones con limón y sal while I sat on the rusty swing in the backyard. In my adult years, I have shifted to making smoothies: traveling with a handheld blender, protein powder, and then using whatever local fruit I can get my hands on.

Thanks to the tiny freezer box in the mini fridge, I have frozen bananas, strawberries, and quandong, a tart stone fruit native to Monstralia. My hands keep busy as Cafe Tacvba plays on the small travel speaker I propped up on the countertop.

As the blender whines over the music, I think about Aleks sitting alone in the dining hall. At this point in an athlete’s life, especially someone as decorated and accomplished as he is, events like the Clash of Creatures are typically filled with socializing and connecting with other athletes. But, if what I have seen so far is any indication of Aleks’ relationship with his peers, he has lost more than his siren family in his transition.

I wish…I wish there was something I could do for him. Maybe I can introduce him to Zephyr?

“¿Qué más puedo decirte?/Tal vez puedo mentirte sin razón,” I sing. I love this song: the tragic, heart-wrenching voice of Rubén Isaac Albarrán Ortega asking What more can I tell you? Maybe I can lie to you without reason. No matter how far away I travel, or how many years pass without setting foot in Yucatec’a, the music stays with me, woven into every part of my life.

The door slams, and I look up, my voice cutting off mid-song.

“Shit, my bad,” Aleks says, wincing at the loud sound.

I turn the volume down. “No problem. You live here, too.”

“Yeah.” Aleks shifts his feet, looking uncomfortable and unsure of what he should do next.

I am about to offer to take my smoothie outside and give him some space when he asks, “What are you listening to?”

“Cafe Tacvba.” When there is no recognition on his face, I go on. “They are a Yucatec’an band.”

“Oh. Cool.”

He makes no move to shift from where he stands by the door.

“Would you like some smoothie?” I hold up the blender. “There is plenty, if you want.”

“Are there strawberries in it?”

I nod.

The smile on his face is a fragile, brittle thing. “No, thanks.”

This moment is growing painfully awkward. Aleks seems frozen in place, and I feel myself starting to sweat. “Would you like to go outside? It is a nice night.”

Aleks nods, shoulders dropping, like he is relieved at my suggestion. I pour my smoothie into a cup and hold the back door open for him.

The air is just cool enough to not be categorized as warm. Aleks sits on one of the provided plastic chairs, slinging one leg over the arm of the chair and tucking the other below him like a human pretzel. The chair creaks when I sit down.

My music, which I did not bother to turn off when we came outside, is barely audible through the closed door. The playlist has moved on to Maná now—another one of my favorites.

My gaze settles on Aleks, who looks out into the darkness, lost in thought.

“What piece are you dancing to?” I finally ask.

He blinks, but does not look at me. “Il Barbiere di Siviglia.”

“The Allegro Vivo from Overture?”

He nods.

I try to hide my disappointment, but the smile I force feels weak. It is the most popular part of the symphony, and a piece I have seen performed many times over my years as a coach. But for Aleks? It would be a shame for him to use such a standard piece of music.

“You hate it.”