The Anatomy of An Aguamala

“Oui, Madame Lennard. Je mange beaucoup!” Lousia collapsed onto her bed, arms brimming with bundles of sweets. “Dish!” She ordered, mouth already full of crisp. She chewed vehemently, impatient with my reluctancy. 

“Ijustwanttoknow,” my words came as a blur, one continuous string of uncertainty. 

She began flinging m&ms at my forehead, free hand pantomiming you talk too much. “Fine, listen. We’re going to play twenty questions.”