Page 37 of Espíritu

“Rocky—”

Who paused fiddling with window clings to offer a curious glance.

“Flaca—”

She perched on the armrest of the old recliner, smiling.

“And Luca!” Julian gestured to Luca, whose easy charm and disarming smile seemed to flicker for just a moment when his gaze met Angel’s.

“Hey,” Angel said, the corners of their mouth lifting in a half smile.

“Sit down, make yourself comfy!” Julian nudged Angel toward the cushions. “Omar, scoot!”

Omar obliged, folding his legs as Angel settled beside him, their black clothing absorbing the room’s dim light. Julian caught Angel’s quick glance around, the subtle shift in their posture, a slight relaxing of shoulders as if shedding an invisible weight.

He hoped his friends would be nice, even if they were mad at him.

“Sorry to barge in on you guys,” Angel said.

Flaca waved her off with a warm smile. “Don’t worry about it! Thirsty?” She pulled out a box of Sprite cans and started passing them around.

“Julian brings home strays all the time,” Omar huffed, as if he thought it was annoying.

“That’s how the rest of you got here,” Rio said, tossing the dig from the kitchen.

Julian rolled his eyes. “Love you, too, bro!” he called back, grabbing a Sprite.

Angel took in the cramped living room as they navigated the sea of new faces. But when Luca shuffled forward, the light catching the marbled scar on his cheek, Angel’s composure shifted.

A spark of recognition—or was it excitement?—flared in their eyes.

“Hey, I’m Luca,” the smaller boy said, with that habitual nervous laughter. He extended a tentative hand. “Full-time anxious guy, part-time Christmas elf.”

“I know,” they replied, amused. The way she shook his hand—calm, steady—made Luca relax a little.

His laugh turned real this time, awkward, but sweet.

“I’m still Angel,” they said, grinning.

“So, what brings you to our side of LA?” Rocky asked, her tone casual but eyes sharp as obsidian.

“Just…” Angel began, glancing at Julian as if they were looking for an unspoken cue.

Julian gave a small, encouraging nod—the same one he’d used on skittish street dogs and lost freshmen alike.

Angel went with “Just passing through, really.”

“Passing through,” Omar echoed, fingers erratically tapping the side of his Sprite can.

“Where are you from?” Flaca asked. Always the social butterfly, she seemed eager to make a new friend.

“Texas,” Angel replied, eyes darting away, almost as if they were looking for an exit.

“How’d you end up in California?” Rocky asked.

“You got family around here or something?” Omar added.

Angel’s response was a careful sidestep. “No family, mostly acquaintances,” she said with a casual shrug.