“I’m not taking any sides,” Elizaveta said. “I’m saying Jack didn’t mean to make you sprain your ankle, Jesus. He was going after Nitro. You were in way.”

“He caught me by surprise, that’s all,” Jesus said. “I wouldn’t have fallen otherwise.”

“And Jack has a bad temper, Eliza,” Pita said. “He has to learn to keep it under control.”

“Nitro’s a bully,” Elizaveta said.

Jesus chuckled. “What grade are we in?”

“To tell you truth, Jesus, I don’t like him. I don’t know why you like him. You two are so different.”

“Nitro isn’t a bully,” Pita said, blowing smoke out the corner of her mouth. “He’s actually a very nice guy when you get to know him.”

Elizaveta didn’t say anything. She knew why Pita was defending Nitro. She was fooling around with him behind Jack’s back.

They’d all been at a beach house party two months or so ago. Jesus and Elizaveta picked up Pita on the way there, though Jack stayed behind. There was some important American football game on the television he wanted to watch. The beach house was packed with people when they arrived. Jesus and Pita went into mingle mode, working the room. Elizaveta poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle she’d brought, left the rest in the kitchen, and went to the deck for a cigarette. She much preferred going to bars or clubs than these private parties. There was a great community of ex-pats living in Mexico City, and she knew many of them: Russians, French, Canadians, Australians, a few New Zealanders, a lot of Americans and British. They were all intelligent and friendly, and she always had a good time with them. The people around her that evening, on the other hand, fell mainly into two groups: young Mexican socialites who didn’t work and lived off their parents’ credit cards, and older businessmen who drank whiskey and smoked cigars. The bratty socialites looked down on Elizaveta because she was a “salary worker,” while the businessmen often treated her like a prostitute until she firmly put them in their place.