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“Oh, cool.”
Very cool.
So cool I’ve been secretly watching him do it through the kitchen window for the last half hour.
I love Edier’s pictures. He can make anything come to life, even the ugly, gray gargoyles by the front gates of this estate. I find them sad sometimes too, like there’s a story behind the picture that he can’t bring himself to tell the world about yet.
Sam, our other childhood friend, thinks they’re stupid. He says that Edier’s nearly a man now—a Santiagosicario-in-training—and he should be shooting guns, not farting about with pencils and paint brushes.He says that if you’re a guy and you’re brought up in this world, you never leave it.
He’s right, even though I think it’s wrong.
Edier just won a place at some fancy art college in London, but we all know he’ll never accept it. Edier’s adoptive father runsPapá’sorganization for him in Colombia so he’s pretty much stuck here for life.
“I’m bored,” declares Thalia with a yawn. “I’m going to find Gabriela.”
“Not outside the compound, okay? You know whatMamásaid.”
“Iknow,” she sing-songs, muttering her next words like a reluctant chant. “Bad men want to hurt us.”
Bad men always want to hurt us, but ‘bad men’ is a catch-all for all the dangers lurking beyond our security.It’s super confusing to me because I know that some bad men can do good things too.
Once she disappears into the house, I swing back to Edier, and my breath catches. He’s not drawing frogs anymore. His head is turned and he’s watching me.
Me.
“Mi Cielo,” he beckons me over with a grin. “Come and tell me about your morning.”
There’s a new huskiness to his voice this summer. I noticed it the other day.
Stories.
It’s full of stories.
TíaAnna once told me that Edier couldn’t talk when they first met him. She said that sometimes the eyes see too much and that the heart and mouth need a little extra time to process stuff.
To me, it’s like all those unspoken words have built up inside him, and now they’re scratching at his throat like sand.
“Well? You coming or not?”
I shrug my shoulders, biting back a smile—acting like he hasn’t just granted my best wish.
Truth is, I adore him even more so than his drawings, and that’s, like,a lot.He never treats me like an annoying little kid, and he always sticks up for me, like the time Sam’s younger brother Seb said I wasn’t brave enough to jump into the lake, and then again, last year, when he hit Sam in the face for making me cry over something stupid and made his nose all bloody.
“Like that, huh?” His grin splits even wider. “On second thought, I’m way too busy to stop and talk—”
“Ugh, don’t you dare!”
At this, I fly across the patio in my sandals, my pale blue summer dress brushing against my fingertips.His dark eyes grow lighter the closer I get, and when I go to sit down next to him, they’re so blinding I can’t look away.
He’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but he’s not my secret anymore. Women turn their heads like sunflowers when he passes, and I know he has girlfriends. Lots of them. I overheardMamáandTíaAnna talking about it the other day. I’m not jealous over something that can never be mine, but I often find myself wondering if he smiles at them too.
“For you.” He hands me his drawing of Thalia’s frog and it’s stunning, like I knew it would be.
“If I kiss him, will he turn into a prince?”
He snorts and pushes his messy black hair out of his eyes. “No princes here. Not in Colombia.” He glances at the spiky rainforest skyline borderingEl Refugiowith a strange look on his face. He does this sometimes, slipping from this world to another, but he always comes back to me. “What’s up, Mi Cielo?There are blue notes in your smile today.”
That’s the other thing about Edier, he noticeseverything.
