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I forced a smile, pushing down the nerves that threatened to overwhelm me. I had never sought fame; it was merely a byproduct of my survival. Yet now, as the weight of so many eyes rained down upon me, I wondered if I could ever escape the person I had become.
There was music everywhere, as the performances had already begun. They arranged my arrival so I would be here right on time and minimize distraction.
If the camera flashes were any sign, the plan hadn’t worked because all lenses were pointed at me. We reached the back of the stage, and I stepped inside. There were dozens of faces, but the ones I recognized first were Santiago, Isabela, Liliana, and Isaac. I took a deep breath, separating myself from Antonio, and said, “Buenas noches.”
Everyone responded in like. I noted that Liliana and Isaac were standing near each other, and neither moved when they met my gaze.
Worry crept into my heart. Should I be worried about my Key Bearer?
“So nice for the Queen to join us,” Isabela said sarcastically. A few people laughed. Then she came over and put her arm around me. “Do I need to bow?”
I could smell the liquor on her breath.
“Nervous, Isabela?” I asked.
She laughed. “I would rather pull out my eyeball than dance in front of a crowd. It’s good you and Isaac are doing the main thing.”
I smiled, realizing that she wasn’t malicious. I liked this version of her, and I patted her hand. “It will be all right. You look lovely.”
She laughed once more, and someone shushed her.
“Of course, I look lovely. I am Isabela Olguín.” She gestured to herself with surprising grace, despite the beginnings of inebriation.
I couldn’t tell if she was bitter, but it was unusual that she used her mother’s surname instead of her father’s. Whatever the reason, she had made me feel better.
Isaac was practically glowering at me when he thought I didn’t notice, and I shifted myself to speak with him before the performance.
Instead, an Artista came to retrieve us. “Ya es hora, jovenes.”
The competitors from the Cuarta Isla poured in from one side of the stage while we hurried out the other into the spotlight before the adoring crowd.
Roaring cheers threatened to burst my eardrums, and a familiar “La Chica Dorada” chant broke out as a sea of faces swirled around me. My heart leaped when I spotted Magda in the crowd. Our eyes met briefly, and I couldn’t help but feel a rush of relief wash over me. She was here, and a young girl seated beside her pointed at me.
That must be Lirio. My heart squeezed with tenderness. So many girls looked at me with wonder and awe.
It almost made me wish...
I took a deep breath. I didn’t need a family outside of Magda, not with Isaac or anyone.
Seated in an elaborate box directly at the front of the outdoor theater was Canciller Duarte. He nodded deeply in greeting. I returned the gesture and then noticed his wife next to him. It was shocking that she was so visible, even with the small army standing behind her. She was smiling and leaned over to say something.
Breaking away from my gaze, the Canciller reached over and straightened the crooked ruby necklace his wife wore. The action struck me. It was so tender and innocent.
She leaned over to kiss him softly.
He loved her. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. He had killed my family. He created, propagated, and distributed lies with the work ethic of a Trabajador. He was not good, and yet, he was capable of love. Or, at the very least, adoration.
Before I could dwell on the thought further, Isaac came and stood at my side while wearing an enormous grin. My stomach flipped, and I felt guilt-ridden trepidation. I smiled back at him, deciding that if he could pretend, I could too.
As the familiar rhythm of my favorite flamenco song filled the air, I immersed myself in the dance. My body moved instinctively, flowing gracefully from one step to the next, the music guiding me like an invisible partner. The world around me blurred as the dance consumed me, my heart pounding in time with the beat. And as the music continued to play, my soul danced along with it, reaching for the stars.
“¡Olé!” an onlooker cheered, and I felt the world's weight lift from my shoulders, if only for a moment. I was no longer Carmen, the girl with a tragic past, or Renata Valarde, La Chica Dorada—I was simply a dancer, lost in the music’s beauty.
Isaac did well. It was as if he was skilled at putting everything in a box. I had been wrong to worry.
As the song's end drew close, my breaths came in heavy pants, my body glistening with sweat. The crowd roared with excitement, their applause echoing through the streets. This time, I could see Antonio watching me from the spot reserved for parents and mentors. He smiled at me, his eyes filled with pride and admiration.
It was a slight gesture, but the effect it had on my heart was anything but small. I couldn’t help but smile, my heart soaring with the thrill of the dance. I bowed low, careful not to dislodge the delicate gold headdress pinned into my hair.
