I refrained from smiling. I so wanted him to touch my hand again. Or even . . .

As if reading my mind, he leaned over and brushed his lips against mine. His kiss was so unexpected I remained stiff. I’d never had another face this close to mine before and I did my best not to bump my nose with his. Maybe I should close my eyes? That was what the heroines in those novels my mother hid under the mattress always did. When I closed my eyes, something weird happened. Juan inserted his tongue inside my mouth. It was warm and wet. I panicked and pushed him back. What kind of kiss was this? What did the tongue have to do with anything? The books didn’t talk about tongues.

“Sorry,” he said.

“No, don’t apologize. I . . . I just wasn’t expecting that.”

“I have to go,” he said. “My father wanted me to help him with something.”

I knew he was lying. The entire town knew his father had only one obsession in life: chess. He’d given up on everything else a long time ago: his work, his family, or any activity outside staring at his chess board and studying every move and book on the subject he could get his hands on.

I didn’t say this, of course, I would rather die than embarrass Juan—I loved him so. I wanted him to kiss me again. I would even take his tongue inside my mouth if it meant he wouldn’t leave.

But the magic was over.

He was about to say something else, but instead, he picked up his box and walked away.

What was I supposed to do now with this grasshopper jumping up and down in my stomach? I could barely suppress my own desire to jump and scream myself. I never thought Juan liked me this way. From now on, I would always wear this dress. He said I looked older in it.

I stared after him as he walked away with the snake.

CHAPTER 15 - Puri

CHAPTER 15

Puri

April 1920

If you saw Soledad Duarte from a distance you wouldn’t think there was anything wrong with her. She must have been beautiful once with that abundant, wavy mane. But up close, you would notice a thick scar starting on her throat, across her collarbone, and continuing into the neckline of her blouse. As you glanced up immediately—to avoid being rude—you might notice her angular eyebrows, which appeared to be painted with a fine brush, and you would also see that despite her confident stance, there was a frailty about her, as if the mere act of breathing took an extraordinary effort.