Telltale Tango | Complete

Seven - Giselle

I could kick myself for not paying attention in Geography class. Why are there so many countries in that part of South America? What's left?

Feliciano pulls my hand and snakes through the park paths, narrowly avoiding a group of teenagers trying to jump high enough to touch a tree branch. I half expect him to join in the fun, but he doesn't.

The pace at which we're running through the park has the surprising effect of warming my chilled arms, despite the fire still raging in my throat from the microscopic amount of hot sauce I'd consumed. Peak white girl moment, honestly.

"Where are we going?" I call out to him.

"Keep up, Giselle. We're not trying to be late, right?" He turns to shoot me what is already becoming his trademark grin.

"Late for what?"

"Can't give up the answers that easily," he jokes, stopping at the edge of the sidewalk to wait for the stoplights to change. "You look cute, by the way. And I love the napkin you're still gripping on to."

"I. I cannot believe you just said that!'

"So you'd prefer if I lied to you?"

No. "That's beside the point. What's your favourite sport? Has to be soccer, right?"

He pulls his hand to his chest. "Oh, no. I don't know if this is going to work. You never told me you were a soccer person."

He seems like he's joking, and I'm in the middle of a crowded street, so I risk it. "You don't like soccer? Isn't that a crime or something?"

"I think they recently took jail time off the table for people who don't like fútbol," he emphasizes the last word to make a point.

"Oh my gosh we're going to have a nomenclature debate? Here in the middle of a downtown street while you drag me to an undisclosed location?"

"It's not a debate. I'm right. Come on." He pulls me by the hand as a car screeches to a stop in front of us. "I'm getting there on time if it kills me."

"Which it might," I mumble. Once we're clear of the street and the threat of death is gone, I speak loud enough that he can hear me. "So, what's your favourite soccer—sorry, I meant fútbol—team?"

"Everyone knows— Ah!" He taps his nose. "Not going to get me that easy, chica."

"It was worth a try."

"And what about you?" he asks, pulling me through a narrow alleyway I would never ever go through alone.

"What's my favourite soccer team?" I find it hard to believe I look like I have a favourite sports team at all, but it's the only question that makes sense.

"Do you have one?"

"No," I laugh. "Of course I don't."

"Well, then how about you tell me about something else. Like, what's the best vacation you've ever been on?"

"That's a hard one because I feel like you're going to judge me. I really don't like warm places. Went to a beach once and actually came home with hives. Hives!"

His laugh fills the air and bounces off the dilapidated brick buildings surrounding us. "You're allergic to the heat?"

"Yeah, how am I going to handle you, right?" I cannot believe I said that. I cannot have said that. The embarrassment heats inside, rising like a thermometer into my face. I'm sure he can see it, so my feet become exceptionally interesting as we walk.

I brace myself for an onslaught that never comes. Instead, Feliciano just pulls me through another narrow street and around a corner where we meet with the back of a really long line.