Una historia - 11

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Oct 7, 2017 20:35
Una mano delgada con uñas verdes la cogió del brazo.
-¡Chica! Ya veo donde está tu atención.- Rebeca, bella, con pelo oscuro y ondulado hasta la cintura, inclinó la cabeza hacia el chico. -¡Estás mirando otra vez a Rodrigo!
-No estoy mirando a nadie, mintió la Chica.
-¡Si tú lo dices! Y a mi parecer, no estás equivocada…¡qué cuerpo éste!
-¿Por qué estás mirando su cuerpo?
-¿Por qué tú? rió Rebeca.
Ya estaban rumbo a la sede del Grupo, el lugar exclusivo que aún hoy en día, la Chica recuerda con nostalgia: el baño de chicas más próximo a la cafetería. Todas las chicas de la secundaria conocían bien que en la hora antes del comienzo de clases, este baño era terreno del Grupo. Si alguna novata se olvidó de los consejos de su hermana mayor, o se le escaparon los rumores difundidos por el colegio, nunca volvió a cometer el error, porque había sufrido el horror de “la mirada”. Yo nunca ví esa mirada, pero a las que sí las penetró me dijeron que era como confrontarse con Medusa. El resto del día, se quedaron como piedra, paralizadas, hasta que tomaron sus autobuses para la casa y se les empezaron a hormiguear las puntas de los dedos, y dieron un suspiro de alivio, porque habían temido que antes del atardecer ya se hubieran convertido en estatuas de cimiento.
A slender hand with green fingernails grabbed her arm.
“Girl! I see what your attention’s on.” Rebeca, beautiful Rebeca, with dark and wavy hair going down to her waist, nodded towards the boy. “You’re staring at Rodrigo again!”
“I’m not staring at anything,” the Girl lied.
“If you say so! And by the way, I don’t think you’re wrong...what a body!”
“Why are you looking at his body?”
“I don’t know, why are you?” Rebecca laughed.
They were already halfway to the Group’s headquarters, the exclusive niche that even today, the Girl remembers with nostalgia: the girls’ bathroom right next to the cafeteria. All the girls in the school were alert to the fact that the hour before the start of classes, this bathroom was property of the Group. If some first-year forgot her older sister’s advice, or had missed the rumors circulating through the middle school, she never committed the error twice, because she had been victim of “the look.” I never saw it myself, but I’ve heard from those that were pierced by it that it was like being confronted by Medusa. The rest of the day, these girls were like rock, paralyzed, until they got on their bus home and their fingertips began to tingle, and they would give a sigh of relief, because they had feared that they would have become cement statues by nightfall.