Reservoir Bitches by Dahlia de la Cerda

Author:Dahlia de la Cerda
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Feminist Press at CUNY

REGINA

My most liked pic on Instagram is of me dressed like a Victoria’s Secret Angel. In it, my hair gives California and I’m just barely tan from spending all weekend at the beach. Plus I’m super thin. Everyone was talking about me. I looked amazing, and the girls at Sacred were foaming at the mouth with envy, even though they tried to hide behind their “fucking slut” or “fucking trash” and their “basic bitch.” Back then I was only semipopular on socials. I wasn’t the queen of Instagram, but I wasn’t a total nerd either. Like, five thousand followers. That’s not enough, obvi.

My story begins with me dancing to Aron-Chupa’s “I’m an Albatraoz.” I’m in floral shorts, a white tank top, and sandals. I never used to wear heels. I spin around and around and around in a crowd of euphoric teens.

That night was our graduation from junior high. It was also the last night of the old me. We were about to enter a new phase, and every cycle should end with a bang. We went from partying at the Butterfly Festival to an after at Alonso’s. He lived in a huge mansion in Las Lomas de Montecarlo and had hired a DJ who spun reggaeton like a Black Puerto Rican. Back then, Alonso was my galán. A galán is like an old-fashioned suitor but with kisses. We arrived in his BMW convertible. The party was in his garden. There was a swimming pool, snacks, a chocolate fountain with strawberries, and loads of martinis.

Alonso was the son of a friend of my father’s: he was tall and blond with an athletic build, captain of his school’s soccer team, and a star student. That Alonso was a super guy, just swell.

We danced to reggaeton all night. He’d sing lines from “Noche de Sexo,” and I’d respond with a good twerk. My head was spinning. Maybe it was from all the grinding, or maybe I was just totally wasted. Anyway, things got wilder as the night went on.

The party ended and I went home, posted some pics on Instagram, then closed my eyes for a bit. When I woke up, I was pretty disappointed by the number of likes I’d gotten. Not even close to what I’d hoped for. I scrolled sadly through pic after pic and found some of my former classmate, Yuliana.

Yuliana was something special, with long black hair and super pale skin (I only mention this because our classmates were blond but tan, and Yuliana’s pallor really stood out; it was actually a little much for my taste). She had pouty lips and her eyebrows were flawless. She never talked with anyone. Every morning some norteño-looking gentlemen would drop her off at school in a tricked-out pickup. People were always speculating about what her father did for a living, though she claimed he was a successful farmer and rancher.

In one of her Instagram pics, Yuliana has on a Chanel blouse and some really, really high heels, the kind with the red sole that look trashy but are actually from Paris and crazy expensive.

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