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PREADOLESCENCE
Alex and Priscila didn’t have overly much to do with each other after that summer of 1997.
As the years went by Priscila turned nine, ten, eleven, twelve years old, and feelings she’d never had before began to overwhelm her, curious and strange. Feelings like shame—she became shy, embarrassed by some of her actions, especially the ones that had to do with Alex. She didn’t understand, now, how she’d had the guts to kiss her neighbor, much less how she’d dared to spy on him while he was swimming. Not to mention how she used to go under the water to hold her breath next to him. So she stopped doing it, simple as that.
Alex showed no interest either. Those years—when he was eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—were a time to hang out with boys, not so much with girls.
He spent those years focused on his few friends, although they were more acquaintances than friends. Guys from school, from his swimming club—acquaintances. Alex never got into anything deep.
And he didn’t bother looking for Priscila at the swimming pool either; he saw her from time to time, but he didn’t pay her much attention.
Besides, he had rather more important business at hand. He’d made an important decision: to dedicate his life to water. He wanted to be a professional swimmer; nothing—and no one—would stop him. Or so he thought.
He was still in the same swimming club he’d been in since he was eight. He started his career there as a junior and he’d been specializing in butterfly stroke ever since, attending every regional competition that they entered against the other swimming clubs.
That was his third year at the Junior National Championship, and the first time he won, achieving the necessary mark to qualify for the World Cup that same year. He came back from that with his coveted gold medal. It was confirmation of his potential, the assurance he needed to dedicate his life to swimming.
And then the summer of 2002 came and found a fifteen-year-old Alex with an overabundance of hormones and thoughts of girls filling his head and his body.
That was the first summer Priscila was allowed to go out on Saint John’s Eve, the longest night of the year. Priscila was twelve—almost thirteen—and her parents gave her permission to go to the annual beach party with her brothers. It was a quiet town and Priscila would be well guarded by her older siblings, so her parents didn’t put up much of a fight when the four boys made the request out of deference to her, their beloved little sister. Because let it be said: the Cabana boys adored her, spoiled her even. She was the princess of the house.
That night the beach glowed like never before in the light of the gigantic bonfire. The five Cabanas walked onto the crowded beach, weaving between groups of people each with a different song playing from their devices; every step they took had a different beat: Fangoria’s “No sé qué me das,” Las Ketchup’s “Aserejé,” “By the Way” by Red Hot Chili Peppers, Juanes’ “A Dios le pido,” among others.
The younger siblings, Adrián and Priscila, stayed with their older brothers’ friends until they managed to sneak away and join their own gang, which was the same for them both.
At least, Priscila thought they were sneaking away. The truth was, she didn’t see the look River and Adrián exchanged as they left. The latter would protect the little princess with his life. Yes, with his life—that’s exactly what he thought. He was thirteen; he knew what he was doing.
They found their friends in one of the many circles dotted near the huge bonfire. They made room for Adrián and Priscila who sat chatting and listening to music with them, until...
“Hey, Adrián! Adrián! Hello!”
“Adrián, they’re calling you...” some of their girlfriends told him, giggling.
The boy turned his head toward the voice and discovered the source of all that hollering. It came from a group next to theirs; a bunch of people were waving their hands, gesturing for him to come closer.
As it turned out, one of the girls in that circle—made up of five girls and five boys—was head over heels for the youngest of the Cabana boys. He was so handsome and reserved, he stirred up passions wherever he went, and even if reserved wasn’t really the best word to describe Adrián, girls saw him that way. The truth was, Adrián did his own thing; he minded his own business and couldn’t really be bothered with people—with the exception of his family, of course. Basically, even at thirteen, Adrián didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone else.
As nothing interesting was happening in their current circle of friends, Adrián decided to follow the call; he was curious by nature, and he had seen these girls at school from time to time. They were a couple of grades ahead of him and his sister.
Interesting, he thought.
Of course Priscila followed him, since they were attached at the hip. And that’s when she saw him. There, in the group they were joining, sitting close to the fire. Her neighbor.
“Come and play with us,” one of the girls—the one who was head over heels for him—suggested to Adrián.
“What are you playing?” he asked, disinterested as usual.
“Kiss, Truth or Dare,” the girl answered.
Adrián didn’t dislike this idea; he’d tried it a few times at school, and it was certainly more interesting than listening to the other group talk nonsense. And they weren’t doing anything wrong. That’s what he was pondering as he glanced at his sister, who was watching him with a strange look, somewhere between let’s leave right now and let’s sit with them, pretty please. He didn’t understand where her emotional battle was coming from, but he’d ask her about it later. He held her gaze until he could read clearly on her face that the pretty please side had prevailed.
“She goes with me,” Adrián said, pointing at Priscila.
“She’s your sister, right?” another girl asked.
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” the five girls agreed cheerfully.
