▴ Act Three | Tristesse et Joie ▴

When Montoya sees our painting, she gasps as if she's unveiled some ancient artifact. She leans in close to inspect the canvas, steps back, and stares at it speechless for another minute, her eyes gleaming.

"Girls... this is... this is beyond anything I expected... this is..."

Eris smiles cheekily.

"I knew this was the right decision!" Montoya chirps. "This is profound—it should be on display in a cathedral! This is far more than what I envisioned... you see now why I needed you two to work together! The judges will love it, I am sure of it—this is so, so wonderful!"

"When will we know if we passed?" I ask.

"Oh, it should be another week."

Another week of Eris ignoring me. She's already mentally checked out, scrolling through her phone again, barely saying a word. I'll approach her again once I get ahead in my research for the final round. There are so many different deities we could paint. From the Yoruba Orisha to their Brazilian reinventions to the Akom in Ghana, but I want to find the spirit, goddess, or saint that supposedly used to protect my family. Once I find her, I'll know. I'll have to. I wish there was someone I could ask, but there's no one alive that can answer my questions.

▴ ▴ ▴

Dad is doing better than he has in a long time. William has a friend who's been bringing anti-depressants from Mexico for cheap, since it's not as if we have health insurance here. Who would've thought smuggling could actually be constructive. With his new job as an art teacher, I'm finally seeing him paint again.

William says the leads dried up for the Ximena Leyva story. Anyone who might've been working on it before has gone radio silent, shifting their focus elsewhere. Her name is absent from the new headlines. Her picture now only shows up in a few search results. If she's trying to erase herself off the face of the earth and disappear, she's doing a rather good job.

But she's not doing it alone.

William tells me Iker approached not only him, but Dad as well. In a deal that was more a thinly-veiled threat, he said he would clear my dad's debt—as long as William, as a journalist, stays on the side of the Sinaloa Cartel. That means no sticking his nose in their business. He, and everyone else at his press, will have to focus on their Jalisco enemies instead. Make them look bad and present Sinaloa as the lesser of two evils.

And why does Iker, who wasn't even originally working with them, suddenly care about protecting their image? There's only one explanation. He's abandoning the sinking ship that was the Tijuana Cartel and officially switching sides, and I'm sure Ximena is right there with him.

In the following days, just as Fitz was mopey and low-energy after his song didn't reach a million views overnight—it's currently sitting at about 50k—William is definitely not his usual self. The main tenet of ethical journalism is impartiality, a commitment to objective truth rather than cherry-picked realities. But if he doesn't want to end up like the dozens of journalists murdered for covering crime in Latin America, he has to pick a side. No cartel will protect him for his commitment to exposing the truth. If he wants to make it far, he'll need to sacrifice his ethics.

And I get why that would make him feel defeated. He leaves dirty dishes in the sink, forgets to take the trash out, and doesn't make his bed. Dad is the one that tries to cheer him up, talking in the living room for hours over beers, sharing cigarettes in the backyard, and never leaving him alone for too long.

It's actually kind of bizarre how close they've grown. You wouldn't think that your dad would want to be roommates with your dead mother's brother, but there they are. Fitz makes a joke one night about how it's like we're being raised by two gay dads, and I laugh so hard I choke on my vitamin-C-infused green juice.

I'm expecting Eris to ignore me for as long as she can. I am not expecting a text at eleven p.m. with a sheet mask on my face as I finish painting my nails. I lean over to glance at the screen, and when I see that it's from her, I forget all about my drying nail polish and lunge for my phone.

It's a picture of her hand. Her hand holding a paintbrush, hovering over a palette with all the shades I used in my painting Spring in Ottawa, color-matched to perfection.

From Eris 🤮:

get ready for the greatest forgery yet b

I should wait for my nails to dry before texting back, but I carefully type a response anyway, even though it takes me three times as long.

To Eris 🤮:

Wow, I thought you would never get around to it.

The absolutely idiotic thought pops in my head to ask her how her day's been. I can't deny that I'm curious about what's going on behind the scenes, everything she doesn't tell me until she ends up spilling all at once.

From Eris 🤮:

wyd right now?

God, it's such a teenage boy type of text—she should be embarrassed of herself.

To Eris 🤮:

Getting ready for bed.

I can't hold a text conversation to save my life. She doesn't respond, so I send her another.

To Eris 🤮:

Do you think it will be a problem for the final round of the competition if I'm not a US citizen? Since we have no choice but to represent the US.

From Eris 🤮:

nah i don't think they care that much. pero yeah it sucks we have to represent the US unlike last time 👎

To Eris 🤮:

I don't even know if Montoya knows I'm not a citizen. When we were registering for school we ended up omitting that detail, and they just didn't verify the information. So I'm concerned. If worst comes to worst, can you get me a fake US passport?

From Eris 🤮:

lmaoooo look at the perfect princesita being so unethical.

To Eris 🤮:

Am not.

From Eris 🤮:

y'know, it would be easier to just marry me. i could be your citizenship shorty 💋

To Eris 🤮:

You talk about marriage so much I'm starting to think you have a crush on me.

From Eris 🤮:

NOOO IT'S JUST A JOKE BRUH CALM DOWNNNNNN

I'm laughing at my screen while my nail polish dries.

From Eris 🤮:

anyway you won't need a passport. i can get us a private jet so we can skip the airports.

To Eris 🤮:

Would that not be extremely risky? Military would probably bomb us out of the sky.

From Eris 🤮:

just as risky as going to LAX and having the cartel spotters find out where we're going. air patrol can always be bribed to look the other way 😇

I don't expect her to text me again, but throughout the week, she spams my phone with pictures and articles of different female African deities. She captions them with things such as i like this one she's hot af or this one reminds me of you or imagine if we were raised to worship baddies like this instead of the biblical god like no disrespect but c'monnnnn

Her captions always make me laugh. And her articles can sometimes spring rabbit-holes of research. But I still haven't found the one...

▴ ▴ ▴

"You passed to the final round!" Montoya exclaims. "You're going to Mexico City!"

I'm supposed to feel happy, but since this was the expected outcome all along, I simply nod. Eris appears to be on the same wavelength, nonchalantly picking at another scab in her elbow

"The committee will be here in a few days, and they want to interview the finalists," Montoya says. "You two are the only pair from the US painting division who made it! You'll be competing with painters from all over the world—isn't that exciting?"

Eris' chest heaves with a deep breath. "Uh huh."

We brainstorm some ideas for the final painting with Montoya, who suggests that in addition to a West African Goddess, we should also consider portraying a second deity. Both the Virgin of Guadalupe and Santa Muerte are entrenched in Catholic imagery, and Montoya says that if we want to subvert that, including an indigenous goddess in the final painting—which will be by far the largest canvas of them all—will highlight a transcendent, global union between pre-colonial forces.

It's a great idea, but Eris has been staring at the wall, not present in the slightest. It's been a few days since she sent me her last article, and I haven't talked to her in person since last week when we turned in our painting.

When Montoya dismisses us, Eris is the first out of the office. I hurry to catch up, cornering her in the hallway.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I ask.

Her head jerks toward me. "Nothing I can tell you about."

"If this is about cartel stuff, you owe me explanations. Because I'll be the one traveling with you. If anything happens..."

"Nothing will happen," she affirms. "It's Mexico City. Not even close to the Sinaloa or Jalisco base of operations."

"Nowhere's safe for people who have a target on their back."

"Iker's making sure we have security."

"So why do you look so stressed?"

She crosses her arms over her chest. Then uncrosses them to run her hands through her hair. The cold from last week's rain has persisted, and the black hoodie she's been wearing for the last few days looks entirely too big on her. At least it looks warmer than the thin cardigan I'm wearing today.

"I really shouldn't be telling you anything," she mutters.

"I don't want this to get in the way of our competition."

"Yeah, that's all you care about, huh? The competition?"

"Do you want me to say I care about you?"

"I don't know, do you?"

"I won't repeat myself." I think about our conversation in her pool all those weeks ago. Codependent enemies. "Don't tell me you were too high to remember."

"I remember," she says abruptly.

We go silent, but neither makes the move to leave. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to do with my hands. This weird energy cloaks the space between us that hasn't been there during our late-night texts and the last time we painted together—it reminds me of when she kicked me out after I slept over, how pissed she was after my embarrassing anatomical study.

I take a step toward her. "Tell me what's going on."

She searches my eyes for something—maybe a reason to trust me—and takes a long time to answer.

"Jalisco hit me up."

"What?" I ask. "The rival cartel?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"Fuckin' WhatsApp."

"They found your number?"

"I guess someone in TJ gave them my contact."

"And you answered?"

"The fuck was I supposed to do? They showed me pictures of my house. Like we've only been living there a few years. After what happened, we had to move, but now they know where our new place is at."

My blood runs cold. Have we been watched? Have gangsters seen us swimming together in the pool, the rides to back to my house? Would they know where I live, too?

"What exactly happened?" I ask.

"Caray, I really shouldn't be telling you this."

"I won't snitch. I promise."

"Since when has your word meant anything?"

"Eris, please."

"Fine. Three years ago, when we were in Acapulco, right after my quinceañera actually, the hijos de puta kidnapped Axel and Daphne."

"What?"

"Yeah. They held them for millions of dollars in ransom. For two weeks. It was bad."

I imagine some masked men plucking Axel and Daphne from their fancy resort, shoving them into the back of a truck with guns to their heads. Axel surely shat himself on the spot. Three years ago... what was I doing three years ago? I try to pinpoint some period of time where Eris might've been acting off or strange or stressed, but my memories are hazy.

"And your dad paid the ransom?" I ask.

"He didn't want to. He wanted to find another way to get them back, but the Tijuana O.G.s didn't wanna do jack shit. And since Iker was taking too long to pay, the kidnappers forced Axel to attempt suicide and sent us the video."

The scars. A chill runs down my body. Axel often drunkenly rambled about wanting to kill himself, but the decision to slit his wrists was not his. What would've they done if he had actually died? I think of them recording Axel bleeding out—only to immediately stitch up his wounds, hoping the shock value would be enough to scare Iker into sending the money.

"That's when Iker started getting cozy with Sinaloa," Eris explains. "They were interested in our San Diego connections. Iker's nightclub businesses, the hotels. It's a reason Tijuana survived for so long—we implemented ourselves on this side of the border, so much that California is pretty much the bottom bitch of the cartels nowadays. Anyway, Iker sold out to the devil. When Jalisco heard about that, they back-tracked. They never expected Sinaloa to help a Tijuana guy, so they re-negotiated the ransom for a lower price."

"That's incredibly disturbing," I say. It puts the Lugo family in a whole new light—to know each one of them went through that, two of their own taken and not knowing if they would be back alive... "And now they're sending you messages?"

"I talked to them," she admits. "On the phone."

"Why would you do that?"

"It was dumb, but I needed to know what they wanted. They said they like the way I work. They want me to help them take over Guerrero. Because no one can conquer Guerrero anymore. If I set up an alliance between Jalisco and my mom's cousins, it would help bring order to the state. So they're offering me a deal. Cut all ties with Tijuana and join them instead of Sinaloa. Because Sinaloa would never let me get to the top. It's either kiss their ass for crumbs, or link up with the enemy. And that would mean betraying my dad."

I blink a few times, attempting to fathom the extent of what's at stake here. "How could they think you would want to work with them after what they did to your brother?"

Eris shoves her hands into her pockets. "They said the men who kidnapped Axel and Daphne weren't official Jalisco henchmen. Just some lower faction under their control who didn't get approval first. I don't know that I believe that."

"This whole deal thing seems like a set up," I say.

Eris nods. "Yeah, no one offers powers just like that. What they really want is to strike a blow at Iker. Because he's been getting real close with the Sinaloa fuckers, who are trying to get the border cities back under their control. In Tijuana, Jalisco killed off a ton of Sinaloa people. They don't allow street gangsters to mess with locals or tourists, so the average person is safer now. But I don't know if Jalisco holds up that track record in other places. They need to protect the people because they have a lot more to prove."

Which is exactly why Iker wants William to tarnish their reputation in the press.

"And if you don't accept the deal?" I ask.

"If they don't kill me," Eris says, her voice breaking. "My dad will."

My chest gets tight. "Do they know about the competition?"

"I don't think so."

"That's good. Maybe we can be in and out without them noticing."

"I'm not sure about that." For the first time ever, I see her eyes get watery. Not enough for her to cry, and she quickly wipes them with the back of her hand, smudging her eyeliner. "Maybe I'm just paranoid. But ever since Axel and Daphne got taken nothing's the same. And my hair is falling out because I can't stop pulling."

"I'm really sorry," I whisper. The words are foreign—I can count on one hand the times I've extended my sympathy toward someone, let alone her.

When she looks up at me, her gaze is anything but the distant, self-assured one I've grown used to in the last few weeks.

"I haven't told Iker," she says. "You're the only one I've told and you're the girl who hates my guts more than anyone in the world."

Did we always have to hate each other? Was there room for anything else with our tempers and clashing egos? All I know is that my throat is stinging again, and it's because of Eris. Not because she hurt me, but because she's hurting on a level I can't even imagine, faced with the choice to betray her father for the sake of criminals who would let her die without a second thought. For years, I've failed to imagine the weight sitting heavy on her shoulders. Her recklessness, her fake smiles and over-bearing cockiness—all a façade I convinced myself was real to justify my hatred.

"Move with me to Canada," I blurt out.

"Canada?" she asks, completely taken aback. "With you?"

"I... suppose."

"You hate me."

"I don't want you dead."

"You'd rather me be a pain in your ass in Canada?"

"We could... work something out. We could get an apartment together in Toronto and split the rent. You stay in your room, and I stay in mine. I'll write a contract. You'll follow my rules, and you'll be safer there than here."

"You're being serious?"

"Yes." I take another step toward her, carefully place my hand on her cheek, and wipe the smudged makeup under her eyes with my thumb.

Her smile is so pure and innocent compared to what everyone in her life has been raising her to be. "You're always so quick to come up with a plan."

"I don't know what else to do."

I let my hand drop to my side, and her dark lashes start smudging mascara all over the place again as her eyes well up for the second time. "Fuck, Ef."

And then she shocks me by pulling me into a hug.

She's shaking. I wrap my arms around her, knowing that no matter how tight I grip it won't be enough to ease even 1% of her worries. She hasn't worn her signature vanilla perfume today, and her scent is so much softer. She's on the tips of her toes, arms thrown around my neck, her chest heaving up and down, her cheek against my hair.

Eris is the name of a dwarf planet in the outer solar system millions of miles away. If I let myself cross any further into her orbit, there will be nothing, absolutely nothing, to save me when I crash.

"Persephone," she says breathlessly. "I—"

And then Ms. Montoya comes out of her office and sees us in the hallway—Eris' body pressed to mine, my hands circled around her waist.

"Well, I'm thrilled you two are finally making up nicely," she says, clearing her throat. "Now, let's put that energy toward your next painting, shall we?" 

▴ ▴ ▴

a/n: i don't know what it is about this book, but it's like it's impossible for any chapter to be less than 3k words 😭 as the action escalates in the third act, i went back to edit some previous chapters and flesh out the crime aspect of the story. i've made it so iker lugo originally works for the tijuana cartel, not sinaloa. most of these changes are concentrated in chapter 4, chapter 5, and chapter 12. please consider re-reading these (especially the author's note on chapter 5 which includes a map of mexico and where certain groups have territorial control, but i'll include that here as well). 

i hope this helps you visualize what the characters are referring to here. as you can see, under the gray "disputed territory" is the state of guerrero which eris mentions. and the red dot in the center which is mexico city is supposedly controlled by jalisco, but i am not so sure about that tbh (this map is a bit outdated being from 2017). also the "zetas" cartel is now far less powerful than what's shown here. 

anyway, we only have 9 chapters left! (but maybe it will end up being 11-12, no promises though). do you think eris will betray her father? will she try to escape to canada with ef? let me know what you think!