๐ŸŒฅ F I V E ๐ŸŒฅ

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"So, because Thanksgiving is an American Holiday I really think I should visit you on Christmas." I push the door of the fridge closed, carrying the jug of milk to the table where my bowl of cereal is waiting.

"Hmm," Mom's voice fills the air, her cup of coffee the only thing that is focused on my phone screen while she prepares her breakfast, "but then who will your dad spend Christmas with?"

"Gรผelita."

"She lives a day away."

"Yeah and he should visit her more often." Mom walks into frame taking her cup of coffee and drinking from it. She's wearing a dark blue blazer over her coral button down shirt, her hair up in a ponytail.

"We'll see what happens, I don't want him to be alone." I shrug, taking a spoonful of my cereal. It's not like I want to leave dad alone on Christmas either, but I didn't get to visit mom last year.

"Aren't you running late?" I ask her, "Your students are going to get there before you."

She rolls her eyes.

"Ay si, they should use the time I'm not there to actually do their homework instead of asking for an extension" Mom teaches English classes at a private school in Monterrey, and while it does not have the best pay, it gives her enough money to pay for rent. "How are your classes?"

"Good," I respond, through a mouthful of food and by the look she gives me I know she doesn't like this.

"Have you joined any clubs this semester?'

Well...

"The History Club, yeah," I see her checking her phone which tells me she is running late.

"Do you like it?"

Well...

"Yeah, it's fun and Carlos is in it."

"Oh, that's great. Wellย corazรณnย  I gotta go, I'll message you later."

"Ok Mami, mucho cuidado." I send her a flying kiss and she returns it before hanging up, her image freezing up and then going black, allowing me to see the messaging app and the red notifications popping off its corner.

I sigh, we agreed to meet at a coffee shop near the school, that way I could work on my homework after he left. I have a bad feeling and it's not the fact that I probably won't be doing my homework and instead will just roam on tumblr for the majority of the afternoon.

The envelope Anna gave me glares at me from on top of the table, golden wax glinting with the sunlight.

I could lie and tell him the key was destroyed. But just as I'm thinking about this, Anna's voice creeps into my mind.

Who knows, maybe he's more interested in us than we are in him.

Right. I think, opening up my messages.

Ethan: I'll meet you inside then?

Yeah, I'll be there around ten.

Ethan: Ok.

Ethan: OMW

Concha jumps on the chair next to mine, purring when I pet her head. I reach for the envelope.

"Well, here goes nothing."

๐ŸŒฅ

Have you ever felt like the protagonist in a mafia movie? Because I sure as hell do. I mean think about it, I have a package to deliver to a complete stranger at a disclosed location both of us agreed to meet. The object being a slightly bulgy envelope that might or might not be a payment for a hitman to get rid of my husband's new girlfriend after I found them sleeping together in our expensive...well, you get the idea.

I push my hair away from my shoulder, looking around when I open the door of the cafe. There are a few college students typing away at their laptops and one or two elder people talking amongst themselves while drinking from their cups of coffee. The lighting is dimmed to allow the hipsters to grow and thrive healthily, and soft jazz music playing in the background for the study blogs aesthetics needed.

I recognize him right away, perhaps because the image of him has been engraved on my mind after he has scarred me for life with his random appearances.

He's wearing a denim jacket over his yellow shirt, the golden color nearly matching that of the rim of his round glasses as he looks up when he notices me approaching.

"About time. I thought I'd be late for class," Ethan says as I take a seat in front of him trying to resist looking at his cup of coffee. I need caffeine in my system and if it wasn't for the fact that I am here for business I would have already ran to either the counter to buy one or snatched his cup.

Somewhere in this town, Daiane is probably feeling disappointed in my lack of self-control towards coffee.

"What class do you have?" The question is already out of my lips before I can think any better of it. It's such a student thing to ask, we are conditioned to look for classmates or someone that might help us, even complete strangers.

"Bio," his eyebrows dip when I take out the envelope from my bag, taking it between his hands when I offer it.

"Oh, are you a pre-med?" Again, unnecessary questions, but that's just the natural flow of conversations when you're a student in any school.

"No, literature โ€” what is this?" I bite my lips from the inside, looking at the nearest possible exit in case this turns into a chase scene...again.

"Look, Ethan โ€” can I call you Ethan? This really wasn't my idea, none of it was, and if you're going to go fight someone, make sure it's not me."

"Why would I fight you?"

"I'm just saying that to get things clear here, buddy." Better safe than sorry. "I'm part of a club, an organization... if you can call it that. We are pretty normal aside from our induction ceremonies, and they would like me to, well, recruit you." I mean, what other way can you word this without sounding like you are trying to hire a hitman.

Ethan stares at me point blank for at least some good five seconds before he leans over, voice low, and asks:

"Are you part of a cult?"

Of course. I mean of course that would make a lot of sense. No, I'm kidding, I'm just restraining myself from bursting out laughing and assuring him that I am part of one and thus should stay the hell away from me before I kidnap him and take him to a remote part in the Montana wilderness to worship our Lord and Saviour Tom Hiddleston.

Actually that would not be a bad plan to get him away from me.

Instead, I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose because it's too early for this kind of bullshitery.

"Open the envelope and read the letter, Ethan."

Surprisingly he does, and carefully so, too. Breaking the wax seal first and taking out the hot-pressed paper in which the letter was printed on. I mean, they do say that the letters are written by hand, but if they are the person who wrote them has too much of a perfect cursive handwriting โ€” and I know for a fact that wasn't Carlos because his scribbles can just barely be described as a form of human communication. I'm just glad we both were born after the invention of computers or he would have been in a big problem.

I watch Ethan's eyes sweep over the page before looking at me, then back at the paper. At one point he looks up at me, then once again goes back to reading. His eyes slowly narrowing as he does.

I don't know what takes him so long. It's not a long letter, if anything I would have already expected him to put it down with what I could only describe as a "positively peeved" expression โ€” oh, nevermind, he is doing that.

"What does this mean?"

"Huh, I didn't think you couldn't read, you know, being in college and all."

"Don't try to joke around."

I sit back against my chair, resisting the urge to mess up my hair. I won't blame him. I'd be asking questions, too, but I have too much homework and too little time to be worrying about these kinds of things. Saint Ursula has failed me.

"Joking is my coping mechanism," I mumble, straightening up.

"What?"

"Irrelevant. Look, Ethan, have you tried changing the locks?"

"I did, the day after you first broke in." I blink just when someone laughs at a table nearby, taking his attention away from me and my possibly WTF expression.

"Then why do you want the key?"

"If you guys, this club, managed to get it once, what is stopping them from doing it again? I won't stop asking questions until I meet your president. There should be a stop to this nonsense." He has his reasons, I won't argue with that, the guy was probably shocked out of his mind when he found me in his house, but while you're arguing with someone you have to stick to your own side or else you're admitting defeat, and I, my dear reader, never admit defeat. Carlos calls me stubborn, I call it perseverance. And if sticking to my side means agreeing with Ana's crazy ideas, I will.

"Then become a part of the club, easy."

"Are you listening to yourself right now?" Ethan seems to be on the verge of either flipping the table over or slamming his face against it. I'm not quite sure which one is more likely to happen but I surreptitiously take out my phone to record whatever does come first.

"Want to see the president and ask her how we work? Great, then you already have the invitation โ€”"

"To join your illegal activities?"

"It's your choice, and it's not entirely illegal if I had a key," I can see his shoulders tensing up, face tight as he regards me with a look that says he is far more compelled to throw me the coffee cup that is resting by his hand than he is of joining the club. Sass won't get me anywhere with this one, not if I want to live."Ethan, I am sorry about what happened, I can tell you that much, but I'm not lying when I say that they won't let me hand over the key unless you either join or manage to convince my president."

"Aren't you scared, of what could have happened if I -- I owned a gun for example? You could be dead because of a club."

Well, damn when you put it like that.

"I can't make you another offer, you take it or you leave it."

"This is bullshit," Ethan mutters. He shakes his head, clearly aggravated with this whole situation, and then, quite unsurprisingly if I might add, he crumples the letter in his hand, standing up and letting it fall on the table before shouldering his backpack and strutting out of the coffee shop without a second glance to his forgotten drink.

Once I hear the little jangling of the bells hanging by the doorstop, I let my head fall on top of my arms as I rest them on the table, the fact that I only managed to sleep three hours last night does not help my mood at all. On one hand, I wonder if I managed things as I should have, on the other, I simply cannot gather enough fucks to give about what he does.

My mother was deported, living in a country different from where she's lived most of her life, and I cannot even try to bring her back until I am twenty one years old. My father kills himself at work every day to manage to give me the life he and mom have offered me ever since I was small, but unlike mom, he came to the US when he was older and hence does not have a degree like she did, so money comes in harder. I have to find a way to do more, to be more of use, and yet I'm useless.

And then I have homework.

And then I have the club.

And then I have my job.

Fuck this, I'll just become a stripper. I think before glancing at the counter and looking at the pastries the cafe has to offer. My mind already becoming filled with ideas of what I'll have for lunch. Ok, yeah, that ain't happening I guess.

I push my chair away from the table, putting on my backpack and glancing down at the crumpled piece of paper Ethan left behind. It's on him if he doesn't want to do anything about it, it's not like I like what the club does or that I half expected for some sort of thing to change just because someone was trying to defy us. Maybe if I had gotten in trouble things could have changed, but who wants to be the example set for others? I don't even think I was the worst assignment, stealing a fork is not as bad as stealing something else from a house you broke and entered after all.

I shake my head, trying to scatter the clumping of my thoughts. My lack of caffeine is becoming painfully obvious, and if I want to survive throughout the day that thing needs to be fixed first. Taking the balled up invitation, I throw it away in the nearest trash can as I approach the counter of the cafe.ย 

๐ŸŒฅ

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