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When I arrived at my room, there was a small red box lying in front of the door. It had an expertly tied and fluffed bow made of a black-silk ribbon.
Javier was sitting on the bench in my hallway, but his partner was absent.
“Who left this?” I asked. My blood turned to ice. Gifts weren’t given to candidates before the tournaments to ensure our own safety incase someone sent any made with dangerous materials.
But, I saw the growing crowds outside the training center. There was a small army of people rooting for me, and I was sure they would have showered me with gifts. All of them were hoping for the same thing I had hoped for: a miracle.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t a princess. It was good that they saved their money.
He shrugged. “I haven’t seen anyone.”
I smirked, even though I was feeling anxious. “So you left it for me.”
He opened his mouth to respond.
“Thank you, Javi.” I winked at him.
Then, I scooped up my present and slipped into my room. Habit had me hurrying at an abnormal speed because I wanted to ensure that no one else would see what I had been given and want to use it, which had been common practice at both Bendiciones and Maestra Cecelia’s Theater.
I pressed my back to my door as I silently flipped through all the plausible reasons that I would receive this. My mind landed on the one glaring possibility Ana Olguín had been beating me over the head with for weeks: a husband. A gift could be a sign of romantic interest, and the red dressing was… painfully clear. It was a surprising commonalty threaded through our culture, from Trabajadores to Élites.
When Ronaldo had first wanted to date Magda, he bought her a pair of earrings with small pearls that glowed in the low light.
I lightly shook the box and something thudded inside. It had that same heaviness which gave a clue to its price and made my heart beat even faster. It was almost too pretty to disturb. Suffice to say, my curiosity was piqued.
The ribbon on the present slid off with a grace and elegance usually only achieved by water itself, not fabric. I carefully wound the silky-smooth ribbon around my hand, and slid the lid off.
Inside was a card, and something wrapped in red tissue paper. I picked up the card first. It was handwritten in gold ink on top of a fine piece of cream paper with gold embossing. A touch over the top, but I found it… endearing.
Para La Chica Dorada
A reward for all your hard work and perseverance. You are breathtaking.
There was no signature. I flipped the card over, hoping for to find a clue where this had come from. No monogram, no initials. Nothing.
After picking up the wrapped item, I undid the neat pleats.
I gasped.
Before me was one of the devices I saw so many people using: a docufone. But this one had gold trim that stretched around the outer perimeter and framed the inner screen.
For a moment, I considered Antonio. He had once mentioned getting one for me, but we never spoke of it again. And this wasn’t a casual passing on of items, this was a gift with the expectation of reciprocation. A declaration of intention sealed with a sweet note.
I shook my head. If our meeting earlier was any indication, then I was certain Antonio Castillas Morales did not want to give me anything other than a pass to leave his home forever.
I had met so many men at Antonio’s night caps, though I could barely remember their names. Had I caught one of their eyes? The fluttery sensation in my stomach multiplied.
Hesitantly, I tapped one of the buttons and a screen lit up. Inky black words and images were on top of a plain slate-gray screen, and I used a button to scroll through the list of words.
Noticias
Reportes
Documentos
Mensajes
I clicked on each one briefly, scrolling through news, then reports, and documents, savoring the strange flickers of fascination and amusement that lit up my otherwise lonely mind.
