It Never Rains in Colombia (4 page)

  
              Roberto apologised simultaneously. “Harlow,” he smiled, and all the thoughts fell out of her head like water through a sieve. She was lost in his green eyes.

  
              “Hey, I've been looking for you,” he said. In fact, he'd been looking everywhere for her, desperately hoping to catch a moment alone.

 
              “Really?” Harlow asked.

                “Did you get my text?”

  
              “What? No, I left my bag in class,” Harlow explained.

 
              “Ah, I was wondering why you didn't reply,” he turned around and walked with her down the hallway. “I thought we could, maybe, do something this afternoon.”

 
              She smiled. “Sure, what do you want to do?”

 
              “Um, let’s see,” Roberto said, taking her hand in his as they walked. Enjoying the familiar warmth, all the tension slid out of his shoulders. “There's a 2:15 show of
Casablanca
at Princes Cinema. Meet me after lunch?”

  
              Harlow nodded. “Oh, wait I've got history after lunch.” She hedged, really she hated missing classes. Another battle commenced between the Bad Harlow who wanted to spend the whole afternoon with Roberto and probably every waking second laughing with him, and the Good Harlow. She knew that the Good Harlow would win, otherwise she'd feel guilty for days and it would take the edge off of her favourite time.

  
              “So, history can wait,” Roberto urged, and she could feel Bad Harlow pinching her arm. “You can always find out what you need to know, because it's all in the past,” Roberto said sagely. 

 
              Harlow laughed, “We're doing the Spanish Civil War today. There's only one lesson on it.”

  
              Roberto sighed, “So you don't want to go?” he teased, seeing that she was giving way; he could tell by the way she looked at him and the little smile on her lips.

  
              “I do. I just don't want to miss anything crucial. It's all going to pay off come exam time.”

  
              “Another time?” Roberto asked.

  
              “Saturday?” she offered, “we can go then. Are you angry?”

  
              “Huh. No, of course not. I just wanted to spend time with you, but I understand you need to concentrate on studying.” Roberto let go of her hand, heading over to the jukebox as they entered the empty common room.

  
              “Do you know what's going on outside?” Harlow asked.

   
              Roberto shrugged, “No.” He placed a coin in the machine, looked down the playlist briefly, then pressed some numbers on the keypad and the music started.

   
              Harlow walked past the pool table and settled into a plush leather couch. Roberto sat down next to her.

   
              “There's always something going on in this place. You'll get used to it. After a while, it becomes a bore,” he said.

  
              She nodded, looking around the empty common room casually.

  
              “How was your weekend? How’s ... everything?” He asked, not knowing how to approach the subject of her recent bereavement.

  
              “It was all right. She seems happier now, but sometimes I think she's just putting on a brave face.”

  
              Harlow looked down at her lap sadly. Her hair fell into her eyes as she looked back up at him with a sad smile.

             
He moved the errant curl to the side of her face, “I missed you.”

             
Harlow smiled, “Aww.”

              “The whole weekend I was wondering what you were doing,” Roberto said. “I missed three goals! Some of them were real walk-ins as well.”

  
              “Because of me?” Harlow asked in amusement.

                “I don't want to lay the blame on anyone, but …” he smiled. “We drew, so it wasn't too bad.”

  
              “How does the rest of the team feel about it?” she asked, laughing.

  
              “Not so good. We're two games away from winning the League and Southfield are ahead by three points, so yeah not so happy.”

  
              “The reception is awful up there. You know what, you should call the land line, that way you can fill me in on what goes on in the league while I'm away,” she said. She didn't really care about the league, but she did want to hear Roberto's voice, as well as some of the funny stories he filled their telephone conversations with.

  
              Roberto smiled, taking out his phone. “Good plan. Are you sure your grandmother won't mind?”

 
              Harlow frowned, taking the phone. “Umm, no. I doubt it. She's pretty cool. Then again, this is kind of unchartered territory for us, so we'll see.”

  
              The door to the common room opened and students poured in.

  
              “Do you want to play pool?” Roberto asked, getting up.

 
              “I have to get my bag,” Harlow said as she rose, “I completely forgot. I'll see you later.”

  
              “Okay,” he said, going over to the pool table as she left.

  
              The hallways were full of uniformed students. When she returned from class with her bag in tow, the chatter of the other pupils mingled in with her thoughts as she walked along the corridor. She felt a touch on her shoulder and turned around to find Mei behind her.

  
              “You missed it,” Mei said. “It was awesome. Who would have thought, hey?” Mei linked arms with her.

  
              “What class do we have now?” Harlow asked.

  
              “Class?” Mei gave her a strange look, “it's lunchtime.” She shook her head disapprovingly, steering Harlow toward the Cafeteria.

   “
You know, she looks different with her hair like that. Blue contact lenses! That's why it didn't click,” Mei said. “She looks a lot like her mother.”

             
“What do you mean?”

   
              “Maria,” Mei said.

  
              “Maria?” Harlow asked in confusion.

  
                Mei started singing, “My heart goes boom boom every time we kiss.”

  
              “No!” Harlow stopped, her feet rooted to the ground in shock. Her words came out slowly, drip by drip, as if each one were struggling to be comprehended by its speaker. “Maria's daughter.”

 
                Mei nodded, “Monica Sophia Valdes.” Mei smiled, “You're a fan too.”

  
              “I have her album,” Harlow sputtered in disbelief. “I have all her albums!”

  
              “Join the club,” Mei laughed, “but I prefer her mother's stuff from the eighties. Retro Latin Pop always gets me moving.” 

Chapter 4 – Before I Met You

One year and four months ago

Buenos Aires – May 6th

                 She looked up from her crouching position. The stage was blacked out. There was a buzz from the sea of people below, watching, waiting in giddy anticipation. It was a large crowd—90,000 strong. She saw only blurry shadowy faces under the flickering flames of lighters held high and mobile phones held aloft like torches in the dark. Her heart thumped in fear and excitement as the elevator came up. It was always the same, that nervous feeling in her stomach like butterflies were floating around inside. When it reached the correct height, she jumped up, high, straight into the air, not looking at the other girls. Her right arm outstretched as if she were trying to touch the stars beyond the arena's dark ceiling. The lights came on simultaneously as the hard bass of the song started. A roar came from the crowd. The screaming was deafening.

   
              She pressed the microphone closer to her mouth, skipping to the front of the stage, singing:

  
              “
I can only breathe when I'm with you
…”

  
              The main spotlight followed her as she reached the front of the stage. She got in line with her two band mates. Antonia began to sing.

             
“Monica, Monica,” she heard someone scream, “I love you!”

             
“I love you too,” Sophia said breathlessly into the microphone. She stepped out with her left foot bouncing lightly back onto her right. She brought her hands together as if she were praying, then pushing her elbows back she shoved her chest out and back in and forwards again like she had seen Beyoncé do so many times when she was younger.

  
              A backing dancer sailed through the air in front of her, his body crunched up into a ball, flying through the air as he flipped to the other side of the stage. As soon as he landed, just as his feet touched the ground, the two girls in matching white dresses on either side of Sophia began to spin, right on cue, pirouetting.

   
              Sophia sang, skipping forwards, feeling the beat infuse her muscles with new energy. The rhythm was fast. The pink spotlight followed her as the blue and white runner lights clashed across the stage following the other two members of the group. She sang with all her heart following the heavy reggaeton beat.

   
              “
You were there when I needed you

   
             
I've grown up, things have changed

  
             
I can only breathe when you're around. Feel like I'm free, but now…”

   
              She reached a hand out to Javier, the most experienced dancer. He pulled her closer quickly, making her costume jingle in time with the guitar solo. It was an all red outfit, a red dress made up of sparkly red jewels that hung at the end of red tassels. As she spun around to meet Javier, the jewels threw out an array of colours on the stage around her. The crowd cheered as she pushed her right knee upwards. He held it securely, allowing Sophia to arch her back slowly as Antonia sang. Four of the backing dancers ran forwards, circling Sophia and Javier waving large grey Ostrich feathers as the music changed nearing the end of the song. It became slower. Sophia circled Javier, strutting around him to the expectant beat of the drums. She flipped her long blonde hair nonchalantly from one side to the other. Then they joined hands and began to salsa. It came to her automatically after all these years of practice and months of rehearsals.

   
              She was glad she could hardly hear the crowd. The flash of cameras and the jumping, bouncing, bodies near the front of the stage were all she needed to see. Any more and she might forget the words even after all this time; all those shows, she could still be overwhelmed. She moved lightly, stepping forwards then back, shaking her hips as she went. He spun her outwards and she pirouetted across the stage, bringing a rain of glorious colour, purple, gold, blue, and pink, as she went. Her dress twirled out around her, the lights flashed haphazardly. Fans scrambled to take photos. The excitement built as she sank into the splits. The cymbals clashed. Then all was dark again.

   
              Two backing dancers helped her up. She pulled out her ear plugs and heard a deafening roar, as if the sea had hit the shore. The crowd was cheering so loudly that she had to put the yellow ear plugs back in.

   
              “Thank you for coming!” Sophia shouted. The screaming, though muted, could still be heard. “We love you all!” She ran backstage

   
              In the dressing room, Sophia wasted no time. She changed at lightning speed; she couldn't wait to leave. She smiled as she thought of him. Anna the stylist had barely finished unzipping her dress when Sophia pushed the straps off of her shoulders and shimmied out of the dress.

   
              “I couldn't breathe,” Sophia said, realising the irony of her statement. Antonia laughed. Sophia, now in her underwear, sat down in the makeup chair without stopping to look at her reflection in the large mirror across from her. She bent down, unbuckling the heels without waiting for Anna to come and help. She glanced surreptitiously at Anna, who was placing the red dress back on its hanger, and then looked around the full room at Hannah, Antonia, and the man and woman from the styling team. She wondered if anyone had noticed her urgency.

  
              “Sophie.” Anna called her by her nickname, breaking her out of her reverie. Sophia looked up. Anna handed her a silky, deep purple top and a black miniskirt. “I think this will work for the press conference.”

  
              “I thought we were going for the whole demure thing?” Hannah commented. 

  
              Sophia waved Anna away as she opened her mouth to speak.

  
              “It doesn't matter,” Sophia said.

  
              She slipped the purple top over her head, and once she was dressed, she padded over to the styling rack, walking barefoot. Her toes pressing into the soft furs of the lush, thick, white rug.

  
              “Shoes,” she demanded impatiently. She didn't mean to be a diva today, but she was in a hurry.

   
              Anna picked up a pair of black strappy heels with gold soles and handed them to her. Sophia went back to the chair and considered that after this one little press conference, she would get to see
his
face again, and settled back into the chair with a satisfied smile as Armand, the makeup artist, came over.