The hours passed slower than usual as I waited for Raoul to come back. From time to time I tried to look at Fred again -- to see past the protection he'd created for himself -- but I always found myself repelled. If I tried too hard, I ended up gagging.

Thinking about Fred was a good distraction from thinking about Diego. I tried to pretend I didn't care where he was in the room. I didn't look at him but focused on the sound of his breathing -- his distinct rhythm -- to keep tabs. He sat on the other side of the room from me, listening to his CDs on a laptop. Or maybe pretending to listen, the way I was pretending to read the books from the damp backpack on my shoulders. I flipped pages at my usual rate, but I didn't take anything in. I was waiting for Raoul.

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