The Puma Years: A Memoir by Laura Coleman

Author:Laura Coleman [Coleman, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little A
Published: 2021-05-31T22:00:00+00:00

The patio is a glaring yellow, flooded with midday light. Groups of volunteers are sitting around on the benches laughing hysterically as a very tall, gangly Danish volunteer in his forties, called Dolf, tries to race a very short, very sweaty, foul-mouthed Kiwi, called Ally, around the dorms and back. Both are pretty out of shape, although right now Ally has the edge. Various obstacles have been set up. A dip through a swamp containing last night’s compost, for example. A climb over an old fence while doing your best impression of a pìo, and a hare-brained rummage through the washing lines to retrieve the most brightly coloured piece of clothing you can find belonging to your competitor. The finish line has been marked out between the comedor and Faustino’s favourite tree. Faustino is on my lap, however, watching morosely as Teanji, who seems to have taken ownership of Faustino’s tree, watches the contestants avidly with his stripy tail in the air, like some kind of strange referee. The laughter increases as Ally, going for the win, lunges for Dolf’s legs. She topples him, leaving him squealing in the dust, brandishing a pair of bright-gold, compost-covered hot pants. Just as she races for the finish line, however, Morocha swoops out of the trees and rips the slippery hot pants out of her hands. The sound of cheering resounds as Morocha streaks across the finish line.

“And Morocha takes the win!” Harry and Sammie yell as one, the foul architects of this nightmare. Mila and López, from up on the roof of the comedor, both wolf whistle. I hear Dolf groan as Ally collapses on the ground next to him, swearing copiously.

“Not feeling tempted?”

I look up as Tom plonks down next to me. He is still slightly flushed and out of breath. He ran the race before this one. Osito beat him piteously, but he was a gracious loser. Much better than Harry, who, when beaten by Mila, threw a papaya at a tree. Faustino and I have stationed ourselves strategically out of the way, underneath a mango tree, where we hoped we could avoid detection.

I laugh. “Not likely!” And Faustino grunts in agreement, pursing his lips.

Tom wipes his face, his soft-blue eyes not quite meeting mine. His freckles are dark in the bright sunlight, and his beard looks particularly ginger today. I think it’s grown redder, somehow. Maybe from the sun. Or lack of it. I’m not sure. He gazes down at Faustino, who has rested his chin in the crook of my shoulder, then looks away, swallowing. I watch his throat bob.

“Sensible,” he says with a wry, shy smile. “Someone’s definitely going to get hurt soon, and my money’s on Harry.”

I laugh. “Oh yeah, he’ll get bitten. I’m just not sure if it will be by Teanji, or Ally.”

He grins. “It was a good idea though, right? We needed a laugh.”

I nod, although we both know the real reason for this. Last year, Agustino would have been the first to sign up for something this stupid.

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