Antes | Oscar Diaz

september.

No matter what Oscar likes to claim, Claudia has friends besides Araceli. Chilango's sister, who everyone calls Chilanga but who stays yelling at them when they do, is a year older than Claudia, and the only one who hates Santi as much as she does. That might be because they went out for a hot second, but still. Claudia's going to take whatever she can get.

Leti starts complaining about him the second Claudia walks in.

"You hear what this pendejo is saying?" she says, and Claudia knows better than to ask which.

"What now?"

"Que us fucking Salvis stay ruining shit for everyone else in California," Leti says, and slams the cutting board in her hand down on the counter. "This muthafucker wants to complain about child migrants? Are you kidding me? I'm glad he can't fucking vote."

"He still on parole?"

"Of course he is," she says, mouth pulled into a scowl, "I can't believe he's pissing clean."

"You know he's probably buying samples off Rudy on Fourth," Claudia says, and picks through the fruit bowl in front of her. Leti swings the knife down, grunts a little when it doesn't quite manage to slice through the thick flesh of the pineapple she's cutting. Claudia grabs a clementine and gets settled.

"I don't give a fuck if God Herself is helping him stay outta trouble with his PO," Leti says, dark hair falling over her eyes for a second before she flips her head back, "I catch him around here I'm calling the fucking police, estoy hasta 'cá," and she lifts her hand, still holding the knife, to about eye-level, "I'm tired of him."

"You been tired of him," Claudia says, because she knows for all their talk neither of them would call the cops. Not on a Santo.

Leti's tried, sure. She and Santi were a thing around the time Claudia and Oscar got together, even if Santi stayed fucking other girls throughout their less-than-a-year-long relationship. The two of them used to have shouting matches at Santos parties whenever she caught him with someone else—kept taking him back, worst of all.

Claudia didn't know her super well back then. Knew she was running around with Santi, knew she hated to be called Chilanga even if her brother didn't mind the nickname so much. Later, she'd find out it was because their Mexican side did them dirty, on account of their dad being from Metapán.

"Doesn't matter that he treats her good," Leti told her, "we're just dirty Salvis to my mom's folks. I dunno how you can call yourself that."

Claudia's not the only girl she knows who calls herself Salvi, though. It's the other words she likes less.

So Letty doesn't claim Mexico and Chilango pretends not to claim El Salvador. Fine. Chilango probably shouldn't have let her run around with Santi, though, even before the time the police got called and no one wanted to take her statement.

Claudia has to be honest: dating a Santo ain't all that. She has to pretend not to notice a lot of shit, has to pick her battles carefully. Not everything is her business, doesn't matter that she's Oscar's girl. He comes by with a new tattoo on his face, she's going to catalogue it carefully. She remembers him getting that tear. She knows he could probably fit a few more.

They were real quiet that day, and she doesn't like to think about it. But Oscar—he's good to her, she thinks. Doesn't sleep around, doesn't put his hands on her if it's not to make her feel good. They're not good at arguing with each other, sure, and she lets him get away with too much. He's done shit she can't imagine doing but that she lets herself forget matters. Fine. But he doesn't throw her into walls, smack her around, none of that shit.