RED: A Love Story [Featured List]

Part 1: White 5 - Signs, bonbons and siderodromophilia

Later, during gym class, Marisa and Valentina exiled themselves in the restroom to escape the torments of a volleyball competition. Marisa finally had a chance to talk to the friend and show the print that Marco had given to her. It was an essay including the phrase attributed to Sartre that Marisa had used in the message to the teacher. While she handled the text with reverence, as if it were a sacred talisman, Valentina simply snatched it and began to read.

If Valentina possessed an undeniable quality, it was objectivity. Her parent's divorce, when she was still a girl, embedded in her a visceral skepticism, only surpassed by her sympathy toward all minorities. At the time of the separation, it came to light that her father had another woman. More than that: he had another family. Valentina never forgave him. She often said you couldn't count on anyone and uncertainty was the only certain thing in life.

To illustrate her point of view, the friend mentioned the case of English suffragette Emily Davison, who, at the 1913 Derby, in defense of women's right to vote, leaped onto the middle of the racetrack and was trampled by King George V's horse. The next day, the big sensation reported by the press was not the accident that claimed her life, but the outsider horse winner of the race.

From her father who she so passionately rejected, Valentina had inherited the prominent nose with a Catalan profile, the exuberant mouth and intense eyes, brown like the hair that hung down to her waist. From him, she had also inherited assertiveness and obstinacy. Being one of the few students immune to the literature master's allure, Valentina could deliver an unbiased analysis of the case at hand. Or so Marisa hoped.

In the deserted lavatory, the only witnesses were the white ceramic sinks aligned on a gray granite top, along with the mirror where some girl had drawn with pink lipstick a mysterious letter D framed by a heart. The air carried a light pine smell, and from time to time the cries of students in the patio broke like a wave, rising, falling and curveting through the window. Under it, as they sat on the white-ceramic floor, Marisa and Valentina confabulated:

"He's sending me a message in between the lines, Val..."

"There you go again," Valentina reproached her. "Marco advised you the same way he would advise any other student. You can't keep imagining hidden motives in everything people do. You need facts, concrete evidence." Seeing that Marisa was going to protest, the friend silenced her by raising an index finger: "A print about existentialism does not qualify."

At each of Valentina's words, Marisa would grow impatient and disagree by shaking her head.

"You don't understand, Val. The text includes the quote I sent to him, now complete. And what does it say following the phrase I used? Desire is expressed by the caress as thought is by language. Can't you see? First it was the smile, now it's the caress..."

The friend scratched her head, sighed and raised both hands flat, as if to physically prevent Marisa from committing a terrible, terrible mistake. Valentina stared at her and, to reinforce her words, held Marisa's shoulders:

"You're gonna drive yourself crazy if you keep trying to find encrypted messages in this text. You're gonna drive me crazy. Please, don't do that to me. I almost miss Palamedes and the war..."

"What about when he asked me to have a cup of coffee with him, huh?" insisted Marisa. "The way we clicked was... amazing. You weren't there to see how he looked at me. He repeated my name several times and leaned towards me while we talked..."

"So what?"

"Those are signs, Val."

"Says who?"

"Why, behavior experts. Did you know 93% of communication is nonverbal? There's the body language, tone of voice and other clues to suggest interest, like for instance touching..."