~Madisen~

All is right in the world again when Ignacio shows up outside of Terraza Bellavista and folds me into his embrace.

Clara and I have done a bit of pre-gaming at her place--Pisco mixed with Sprite, which she concocted in a questionable plastic water bottle in her bedroom while Bobby, always underfoot, clawed at his chunky, flea-infested bottom.

"Caperucita Roja," Ignacio hums into my ear, kissing my neck briefly with rose petal lips that send electric flutters in zigzag patterns throughout my body. "I miss you last night," he breathes in English, his heavily accented words raspy and irresistible. 

I introduce Ignacio to Clara, who seems to analyze him from head to toe before leaning in to offer her cheek for a light kiss. 

"¿Tu pololo?" Ignacio inquires after her boyfriend, because I had indicated tonight would be a double date.

Clara explains matter-of-factly that Emiliano had a family emergency at the last second and couldn't make it. I can tell from the subtle eye roll as she utters the statement that she herself isn't sure whether to believe it or not. 

Ignacio responds with a friendly smile and a sympathetic: "¡Pucha, po!" before slipping his hand into mine. 

Then he hits me with that intensely genuine eye contact, as if he can hardly believe that I'm here, that I'm real, that I'm his.

The alcohol has me in a falsely relaxed mood, which is covering my true anxiety over Ignacio and Noah meeting tonight. At the same time, there's a wild and undefined giddiness swirling inside me. I don't know if I'm excited to show off Ignacio to my friends, or if I'm feeling some kind of petty, subconscious revenge towards Noah for never speaking up, for letting me slip away.

In other words, my emotions are raw chopped meat scraps with no sense of logic.

"¡Ya llegamos!" Samira rushes to meet us, wrapping one arm around Clara and me in turn. She is dragging Armani behind her as she greets us, face animated, with shimmery, glittery-gold makeup embellishing her rich, gorgeous skin. 

I note Armani's polite but uncharacteristically serious expression when I introduce him to Ignacio. The dread burns in my gut again as I imagine Noah's face when he sees me, fingers laced around my tall, cappuccino-skinned Chilean boyfriend. The Earth drops out from beneath me for a few moments; sometimes all of this feels like a dream.

Maybe Noah won't come after all.  An icy-hot ache whips and slices around in my stomach like bold-colored, glow-in-the-dark streamers.

More students from our exchange cohort arrive as we loiter outside the club. 

"¡Daria!" Ignacio exclaims, as if he has just run into his very closest, long-lost friend. He emits a celebratory series of vowels, wrapping her into a tight side-hug.

"Felicidades." Daria cheers us with the drink she is indiscreetly carrying inside a brown paper bag, referring to our budding relationship.

Ignacio offers a sincere, bordering on emotional, expression of gratitude, reminding Daria that she is the reason the two of us met. 

"Salud." Daria offers a non-expressive smile and holds up her drink again, causing Ignacio to break into laughter as he returns an exuberant "¡Salud!" and clinks an imaginary drink against hers.

"¡Oye, necesitamos tragos!" he calls out generally to the group; the gringos from Aventuras Chile turn to him, nodding in amused agreement at his assertion that we all need an alcoholic beverage. I admire the way he so naturally commands the attention of a whole crowd of strangers. We gather ourselves and head toward the entrance. There's not much of a line, since it's only 9:45pm.

"¡Clarita!" I hear a familiar voice croon with a light teasing tone. 

"Noah! You made it." They share a hug that makes me suspect they have been spending time together without me. 

"¿Dónde está tu pololo?" Noah asks the same question Ignacio opened with a few minutes ago, and Clara makes a dismissive gesture with her hand. She could teach a master class in deceptive nonchalance. I have been watching her together with Emiliano in Recreación over the past couple weeks; he breaks down her walls in a way I've never seen someone do. It doesn't last, however, because as soon as she's out of his presence, Clara builds those barricades back up with heavy red brick and mortar. 

I like to believe Emiliano truly did have a family emergency tonight. 

The moments are ticking by, and it's apparent that Noah is taking zero initiative to acknowledge my presence, so I'm forced to do it. Catching his eye, I offer a small wave.

He smiles at me; I'm expecting it to hold bitterness or resentment, but instead it hangs on his mouth with simple sincerity, perhaps a resigned glimmer of sadness. 

"Hey, Madicita." The nickname clicks off his tongue, friendly rather than flirty. 

"Este es Ignacio." I realize I'm clutching my boyfriend's hand with aggressive fingers that are quickly growing brittle in the biting air of the night.

"Hola." Noah's demeanor is so much lighter than I expected. True to himself, he doesn't say anything he doesn't mean, such as mucho gusto, nor does he shake Ignacio's hand. But the gentle breeziness of his interactions with us catches me off guard. 

I should be relieved; instead, everything inside me is numb and off-kilter. I'll blame it on the Pisco-Sprite and the sheer awkwardness of the situation. Breathe. 

Ignacio lies that it's great to finally meet Noah. The latter merely widens his eyes, a very thin layer of skeptic amusement spreading across his otherwise neutral expression. 

"A friend of Madisen's is a friend of mine," Ignacio states in Spanish with a bit of bravado. His words cause a vague pinprick of irritation in my abdomen. 

Thankfully, we are ushered at that moment through security. Clara shoves all the crap from her pockets--lip gloss, her carnet (Chilean student ID) and a stack of folded pesos--into my purse with a saucy wink. Every time we go to the club, she obliges me carry around her stuff because she is too paranoid to navigate the city with a purse. 

A bunch of us head to the bar together to order drinks. As Ignacio shoves his way through the crowd to approach the counter, I find myself shoulder-to-shoulder in a little H2O molecule shape with Clara and Noah.

I snort when Noah and I accidentally make eye contact, covering my mouth to subdue the inexplicable giggles trying to bubble out.

"What?" Noah bellows over the crowd.

"Don't bother to pretend to be friendly!" I call through more inappropriate laughter, fueled by nerves and exacerbated by alcohol. I don't actually mean it; Noah's resistance to false pleasantries is one of the things I have always admired about him.

"Seriously, Madisen?" I can't tell if he's pissed or amused. Immediately, I regret what I've said. 

Clara rubs her temples in exaggerated intolerance. "This is so awkward."

"Why?" blurts Noah, clearly not being serious. I'm getting a strong feeling that he pre-gamed too. 

"Why?" Clara echoes, incredulous.

"Because we made out twice?" Noah quips back loudly.

Clara's face lights on fire with surprise as I feel my jaw drop to the filthy club floor.

"What?" I shout over the music. "You guys made out?"

"Noah!" Clara full-out slaps him across the arm.

"I meant with Madisen," Noah offers casually. He is being so weird; he's definitely under the influence right now.

"We didn't make out twice!" I have no right to care that he hooked up with Clara, but it hurts so badly that the oxygen freezes inside my lungs.

"We didn't?" Noah tilts his head, his eyes a jumble of jagged jade and aventurine piercing into me.

"Noah!" His name escapes in a desperate, choral shriek from both Clara and me.

"I'm just messing with you!" Noah exclaims, seemingly unbothered by the mess of confusion he has caused. "¡Vamos a bailar!" He tugs on both of our hands, letting mine slip away just before Ignacio turns around from the bar and approaches with Escudos for both of us. I watch Clara skip behind Noah as he pulls her through the crowd by the wrist. 

"¿Está bien tu amigüito?" He inquires after my "little friend" in his melodic, clipped Chilean Spanish. 

"La Clara?"

"No, tu ex."

I can't have heard him right. Did he say my ex?

"¿Qué?" The condescending diminutive amiguito has caused another pang of frustration in my chest.

It's so loud. Ignacio chuckles and takes me to the dance floor. I'm fuming from the conversation with Noah, but my senses are floating into numbness as I gulp down a bottle of bitter, watery beer. 

Did he and Clara really make out? Or was the whole conversation some random joke?

* * *

~Noah~

Though it wasn't pre-meditated, I appear to have come to the club tonight with the goal to burn a path of destruction wherever I go. 

My original plan was to scope out Madisen's boyfriend. Last night I even convinced myself that, if he truly appears to be her "soulmate," I would force myself to accept my fate and support her happiness. 

Then, about an hour before I was supposed to meet up at Terraza Bellavista with my Aventuras Chile buddies, a group of Chilean guys from Saturday pickup soccer texted me to come hang out. In a last minute decision, I detoured to stop in and have a few beers with them. At the first taste of alcohol, along with a few words of truth spilling out my mouth, all my previous bullshit plans went out the window.

Latinos don't seem to take anything as seriously as we do in the United States. When I told them I was on my way to meet the girl I've been in love with for the past year, and her new boyfriend, they offered up all kinds of obnoxious advice, as well as ensuring I was sufficiently filled with alcohol before leaving.

Now, I'm all up on Clara on the dance floor. I expect her to push me away; after all, she's supposed to be here with the boy she is in love with, who is not me.

"Is this too much?" I call into her ear. We're not grinding or anything, but I haven't made a move to dance with anyone besides her.

"What?" she shouts back.

"The dancing, when you're supposed to be here with Emiliano?"

"Emiliano isn't here. His loss!" 

A flitter of sadness washes through me at the fact that Clara cannot allow herself to emotionally succumb to her relationship with him. At the same time, given the cross-cultural, transnational nature of the relationship, her stubborn self-protection is likely going to serve her well in the end.

As I twirl Clara and tug her closer, a sudden outburst escapes her:

"What the hell were you thinking, Noah! Blurting that out to Madisen."

"I wasn't thinking. I had a bit of alcohol before arriving here."

Clara scoffs. "Duh. That much is obvious."

"I'm sorry." Clara specifically asked me not to tell Madisen about our hookups. I'm officially an asshole. 

Right now, I'm having a hard time caring as I catch sight of Ignacio spinning Madisen a few couples away from us. She is beaming ear-to-ear.

Fuck this shit.

As a hella sexy Reggaetón beat blasts overhead, I draw Clara to me and pull out my alter-ego who doesn't care about anything or anyone, including myself. This personality has long been buried under the responsibilities of protecting my mom and three little sisters, always trying to be good for everyone around me. It's a form of me that's selfish and reckless, and in this moment, all it wants to do is grind all over Clara as the music swallows up our feelings.

Because the real me still yearns to draw Madisen's angelic body in my arms, press myself against her and never let go, wake up every day to banter and tease and watch her blush.

"Seriously, Clara," I say directly into her eardrum as I sink my fingers into the bare skin exposed just above the hem of her skirt and press her against me. "If this is too much, you have to stop me. I'm not my best self right now."

"The cat's out of the bag, Noah! You already told her we made out!" she shrieks back at me, struggling to produce volume that can overpower the pounding background beat.

"I'm not talking about that! I mean Emiliano--you know, your boyfriend?" I let me fingers drip almost to her ass and gently squeeze to emphasize the point.

At that, she breaks from me, grabs my arms and roughly drags me off the dance floor. I stumble through the crowd, trailing her as she tugs me by the wrist all the way to the balcony exit, which overlooks the glittering city reflecting across the surface of the sea.

I'm scared. She's either going to yell at me or try to kiss me. 

"My God, Noah!" she begins, exasperated. "If you're going to have a guilt trip dancing with me, then don't dance with me!"

"Okay!" I retort, matching her exasperated tone. "Pardon me for checking in!"

"I've told you five million times, it's not serious with Emiliano, and I don't want it to be. I just want to blow off some steam. And it seems like you do, too. So just enjoy dancing with a cute girl."

She flicks her hair back and flashes me a coy grin. Indeed, she's super cute. 

Clara is so different from Madisen, who would never dare comment on her own beauty. 

There's a beat of silence before we both crack up.

"Fine!" I rub my temples. 

"No kissing still," she clarifies matter-of-factly. "I'm giving him one more chance."

"One more chance? What did the poor guy do to you?"

"'Family emergency?'" she mocks, making dramatic air quotes. "Who has a family emergency an hour before going out to meet their girlfriend's friends?"

"The cliché of a family emergency came from somewhere. People have family emergencies all the time. That's why it's a cliché."

"Logical, rational Noah," Clara jibes, rolling her eyes.

"You're cute, but you're a piece of work," I deadpan. She giggles, a wicked glint flashing in her eyes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Ignacio at the opposite corner of the balcony. He's texting with an extremely serious expression. To be honest, the look on his face gives me the creeps. It's like a steaming witch's brew of disgust, anger and resentment. If he uses that expression with Madisen, no wonder she spends half the time in her room crying since they met. 

I know I'm making crazy assumptions, but fuck him for ever causing her pain.

Clara follows my gaze, her demeanor softening with sympathy as she notices my body growing rigid.

Without discussing it, we both stay put to eavesdrop. Ignacio takes a call, speaking unintelligible Chilean punctuated by a barrage of slang and curse words. He is clearly upset and doesn't hold back from giving whoever is on the other line a piece of his mind. 

As he hangs up, Ignacio notices Clara and me staring at him. Very discreet on our part.

I guide Clara forward with a hand on her back, and we head back towards the club entrance, offering fake smiles towards Madisen's boyfriend. 

He straight-up glares at us. Full-on sulking. 

What the fuck with this guy?

When we're almost past him, an impulse turns me forty-five degrees.

"¿Todo bien?" I ask if everything is okay.

"Sí, claro." His response is so obviously insincere as his dark, scowling body re-inflates with gregarious energy. 

Unsure of what to say, I display a thumbs up. Clara snorts next to me.

"¿Ustedes?" He returns the question, surveying us with slightly squinted eyes. Something is pissing him off.

We nod before Clara shoves me inside, where I happily follow her back to the dance floor to continue avoiding reality. Everything about tonight is stupid.

Clara and I dance in a wildly inappropriate manner for the next hour until I feel her ass vibrating; I reach my hand into the weird side pocket thing on her skirt to retrieve her phone. Her face lights up, and she practically slams the device into my eyeballs in excitement. When my line of vision refocuses, I see Emiliano's name flashing across her screen. Clara pecks me on the cheek before swiping and jogging away. 

Chuckling, I re-adjust things in my pants and head to the restroom to wipe down my sweaty face after our vigorous dance session. On the way, I pass a visibly distressed Madisen standing alone and hunched up near a wall. She is taking deep breaths and, if I had to guess, attempting not to cry.

"¿Qué pasó?" I move in close, because it's the only way to be heard inside one of these discotecas.

"Nada." Her response is swift and urgent as she shakes her head side-to-side.

"¿Dónde está tu pololo?" I ask, wondering if he's still outside arguing with God-knows-who over the phone. 

"En el baño." She gestures to where I was headed. I actually need to go; otherwise I might change courses.

"¿Estás bien, entonces?" I confirm that she's okay, or rather, that she wants me to pretend to believe she's okay.

"Sí, sí." 

Double sí. Fine, then. I plow through the bathroom door, crossing paths with Ignacio.

"Oye," he addresses me, then asks if I'll be riding home with Madisen.

"Uh..." God, is he about to give me a jealous smackdown?

"I have to get home," he interrupts in Spanish. "I work early tomorrow. But I want to make sure she gets home safely. Are you going with her or not, since you live together?"

"Of course. I always make sure she gets home safely." 

Suddenly, I'm furious. This guy has been around for three weeks. I've been attentive, caring, protective and generous for two months, and Madisen tossed me aside like an abandoned puppy dog because I was hungover for one conversation and didn't reassure her that I enjoyed making out.

I know that's not the whole story, but it's the version that plays in my mind at least once a day and leaves me unbelievably pissed off.

Ignacio nods with a surly expression and heads out to the club. If my bladder wasn't about to burst, I would follow him out to spy on the subsequent interaction with Madisen.

"Can you take me home?" a fragile Madisen asks in Spanish when I exit the restroom. "I mean, can you ride with me? Otherwise, I can spend the night at Clara's house."

I can tell she is hoping for option A. My guess is, regardless of the fact that all of her romantic feelings towards me evaporated the moment she met Ignacio, she isn't thrilled to find out that Clara and I have been hanging out and kissing behind her back.

"Yes, let's go now."

Relieved, she falls into step beside me as we navigate through the crowds. I shoot Clara a text that I'm taking off and remind her to travel home with a friend. She lives in the same neighborhood as a couple of the girls who are here tonight, so I'm not too concerned about taking off.

"Did you guys have a fight?" I venture tentatively when we settle into the colectivo, her on the left and me on the right with a space between. No more sitting side-by-side with her head nestled against me.

"No..." The word escapes in two syllables, haltingly, as a single teardrop draws a straight line down her cheek.

"He seemed upset. You seem upset."

"I have absolutely no idea why he's mad, and he wouldn't tell me. He always takes me home, no matter how tired he is." Her chest hops like a toad's gullet with the sobs she's suppressing.

"You asked him?"

"Of course I did. I know he's angry at me, but he insisted he wasn't. He didn't even kiss me tonight, except like a little goodbye kiss."

The tears speckle her face now, leaving a confetti of silvery drops that reflect in the light of  headlights shining through the window as we speed through the city.

"God, you must think I'm such a mess," she laments, switching to English as she smears the saltwater of her confusion across her perfect skin.

"No, I don't," I sigh. 

"Did you really kiss Clara?"

Shit.

"Um, yeah. Twice. It was a reckless impulse. I was hurting. She has been a helpful friend to me since... you know, all this."

Madisen huffs, and she turns her head towards the window to hide the fact that her eyes are raining twice as hard now. 

"I'm sorry," I hum softly. "Or, frick! I don't even know--do I owe you an apology? God!" The volume of my voice rises without intention. I bury my head in my hands and rub vigorously. "I don't even know now who was in the wrong between us. I go back and forth between being furious with you and furious with myself."

"I don't know if anyone was in the wrong, Noah," she returns, the words slow and delicate like wilting rose petals. "Things went wrong, but... ugh, I don't know either."

There's a prolonged silence as we cross into Viña and ride the maze of left and right turns home. She shoves some pesos into my hand as we pull up to our stop. After paying the driver, I offer Madisen my hand to guide her out of the colectivo.

"Sucks that he made you feel sad tonight," I say, pausing to face her on the front porch. "For what it's worth, I can't stand seeing you upset."

Unexpectedly, she falls into my embrace, wrapping her arms around me like she's holding on for dear life, wetting my chest with her tear-soaked cheek.