He ignored me, and steered me towards a sidewalk vendor selling tamales. I could see steam rising from the metal cooking cart. “You didn’t eat last night,” he said. “And I’m hungry, even if you aren’t. So you can keep me company, yes? And then I’m going to show you around el DF. You’ve hardly seen it at all since you’ve been here.”

I managed a faint smile. “You hate Mexico City.”

He shrugged as we waited at the tamale stand. “It has some nice places. The only rule is you can’t ask if you’ve gotten a text, all right? I’ll tell you, I promise. Just forget about it for now.”

Thank god for Seb that day. If it hadn’t been for him I would have slowly gone insane while I waited to hear from Alex. Instead, he showed me things he knew would interest me, so that even though the sick worry never went away for a second, it didn’t completely drown me. An art museum that was all towering ceilings and baroque gold gilt. A plaza where Aztec ruins sat side by side with a medieval church and a modern office building. Another church; a small stone one that tilted so dramatically I felt dizzy just walking through it. “This is what happens when you build a city on mud,” said Seb, smiling at my expression.

We went to a park across the street and sat drinking Cokes on the steps of a monument. Someone was playing guitar, and the sell of cornmeal and spices from the food carts wafted past. The afternoon had grown warmer, so that Seb had pulled off his sweater and tied it around his waist; I’d done the same with my sweatshirt. We hadn’t seen many angels feeding, which was a relief. The city seemed to have a calmer feel to it than usual, or something. I wished I could say the same for my thoughts.

“I think you’ve saved my life today, you know,” I said.

“I’ve saved mine too, then,” he said easily. “So I’m being very selfish, really.”

He sat leaning back against the white stone steps with his legs stretched out. I saw a girl about our own age eye him appreciatively, and suddenly realized again how attractive he was – his lean, firm body; his high-cheekboned face and curly hair.

If you weren’t with me, would you still just want to be his friend?