Chapter 2
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Julia
Dios mio, it's scorching today. Puerto Vallarta in September might as well be an oven. Even the ocean breeze surrenders to the relentless heat that's gripped us this past month.
High school ended early today when one of the teachers had an emergency, so now I'm trying not to melt into the bus seat on my way home.
My parents aren't exactly swimming in money, but our three-bedroom house outside town gives me and my little sisters, Amalia and Lupe, enough space to breathe. Well, most of the time, anyway. When they're home, they might as well be attached to my hip.
The silence hits me first when I push open the front door. Something is wrong . Our house is never quiet. Amalia has discovered that she likes to talk…a lot… about everything she learned in school, and Lupe's gymnastic routines ensure our house doesn't understand the concept of "indoor volume."
Hushed voices drift from the kitchen, my mother's whispered words freezing me in place.
"Pedro, por el amor de Dios, don't you think about us at all?"
I press myself against the wall, pulse quickening at the panic threading through her words.
"How much money, Pedro?"
"Thirty thousand American dollars."
"CUáNTO?" Mom's voice cracks like thunder, forcing my hand over my mouth to trap the gasp building in my throat.
Even I know we don't have that kind of money. I'd spent all summer washing dishes at a beach café just to buy a phone.
"Rosa, I'll get it." Dad's voice drops, heavy with regret. I can picture him now—shoulders slumped, eyes glistening, his hand covering hers.
"We can't stay here, Pedro. They'll come for us." The terror in Mom's whisper sends ice through my veins.
Who the hell did he borrow that much money from?
"Rosa, where would we go? We have the girls to think about."
"My cousin in Mexico City could take us in until we figure something out. Pedro, they're monstruos." The word 'monsters' hangs in the air, chilling the sweat on my skin.
"I'll get the money."
Mom says nothing, but her silence speaks volumes, disagreement written in every unspoken word.
I should barge in and tell them we should go to Uncle Felipe instead. I should hug Mom more often. I should beg Dad to stop borrowing money we don't have. I should tell my sisters they're the brightest stars in my universe.
Two days later, our life spiraled straight into hell.