Page 67 of Catching Camila

“Your mother said she'd cut off my balls if I ever set foot near you. And Bea,” he took a swig of something, gulped, and continued. “She wasn't too keen on me seeing Luisa either.”

“But you didn't even try? Not once?” Anger flooded her voice. Fifteen years of having a blank spot where her father should be and this man, this drunk idiot was it?

“Listen, girly—”

“My name is Camila.” She gripped the phone with white knuckles.

“Camila, this is a lot, and it's past midnight, sweetheart. Maybe we could talk later on. Next week or whatever?”

He was just trying to get her off the phone.

“I don't want to talk to you next week. I have nothing to say to you.”

She waited for him to respond. All that followed was silence.

“I want to know is if you know the number for my grandfather, Cruz Acha. Then I’ll leave you alone. Forever.”

He coughed again, the phone shifting. “Nope. No idea. That guy hated me.”

“Well, good,” she said. “At least you're thoroughly useless then. Have a good life.”

She hung up.

She didn’t cry. Instead, she lay on the couch and pulled the blanket over her legs. She thought of the rocks she'd s

* * *

Friday 6:46 a.m.

Camila woketo someone pounding on the front door.

Her eyes flew open, panic stretching over her body. Morning light filtered in from Travis's smoke-glazed kitchen window. Her eyes locked on the front door. The knuckles sounded again. Harder.

Travis skidded out of his bedroom, tugging on a pair of jeans. He shot a terrified glance at Camila, waved at her to stay out of sight, and peered out the peephole.

“Oh shit,” he said. “Get in my room.” He reached down and unlocked the door.

Camila stood upright, dragging the blanket with her. She was in a tank top and jean shorts. She had no idea where her shoes were. If it was the cops, she was done for. She scrambled toward Travis's bedroom as the door flew open.

A girl Camila had never seen burst in. “I wanted to talk to you before work. I need to know…”

She stopped, eyes locked on Camila halfway in the bedroom, a blanket around her waist. Shock flashed on this girl’s face as if someone had just tossed a bucket of water at her. Her fists balled up. Her cheeks reddened.

“You slept with her?” she screamed. She whirled on Travis. “You took me out to a movie and then you came back and had sex with her?”

Travis shook his head, holding his palms up in defense. “No, no, no, Michelle. Camila just crashed here.”

The girl folded her arms across her chest and flashed a set of white teeth. “Spare me.” She shot a venomous glance at Camila. “I knew you liked trash,” she said, “but I didn't know you were into whores, too.”

Camila took a step forward. “You can't call me that!”

“Wait, I know who you are.” The girl narrowed her eyes. “Yes, it is you. You know, my daddy is a county prosecutor and really hates shoplifting.” The girl paused, studying Camila's face. “And he prosecutes criminals to the full extent of the law.”

Camila dropped her jaw. This girl knew who she was. She knew about Mama. She had to get away.

The girl pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and began punching numbers. “Let's see what the police have to say about this.”

“Michelle, stop!” Travis scrambled for the phone in Michelle's hands. Camila grabbed her shoes, shouldered past them and sprinted out the door.

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