She didn’t hate her friend, just missed her. She watched her from a distance, hoping she wouldn’t notice, and spent more time with the other marginalized girls in the class. There were various categories of marginalization: the fat, the geeky, the dull, the goody-goodies, the sneaks, the tomboys. Adolescence found her unsure which of those labels she’d been assigned, and in the habit of wandering aimlessly around the park that separated Espriu from El Canal. As the image of Tamara’s grandmother floating in a corner of the living room had faded almost instantly from her memory, she never associated the snub with that event. On the other hand, she still remembers going to La Calavera in search of those disjointed creatures that, according to her friend, came from the center of the earth. All she found were used tissues, empty beer cans, and cigarette butts.

One night she came home late after binging on alcohol. Before turning onto the street where she lived, she stood quietly for a while on the edge of the park, her eyes peeled. She wanted to be sure that it was empty, that no one was watching her. There was no way she could be certain of either; the cabbage and sago palms at ground level, plus the thick trunks of the fig trees would provide cover for anyone who didn’t want to be seen.

She headed for La Calavera, following the path she took almost every afternoon, and ducked through a gap in the undergrowth, from where she could see the moon, tinged yellow like a tooth coated with plaque. She was very frightened; certain that someone would be there. Someone who was waiting for her, and her alone. But that didn’t prevent her from going on.

When her eyes had adapted to the dark she saw something glowing. It looked plastic but at the same time like living flesh. The thing moved slowly, making a hissing noise. She thought it might be a snake. A snake that was too rigid and thick. She ran.

Lying in her bed, everything throbbed.

The following morning she put it all down to drunken delusions.