Camaleona. How did you get that name?

She smiled. It is pretty. I think it’s good.

I hate that. She is always light and easy, as if dodging the ball that will hit her in the face one day. I can’t stop hating that, while wondering if she knows she will get a hard hit one day.

Have you even been to Spain? To Barcelona, to see the skyline. To Madrid, to see the palace, the streets, and the people around the corners. To smell the sweetened scent of flour of pastry.

I don’t think that matters. She smiled softly. Boy, they are just soccer frantic. I don’t care about Spain. I care about you. She said seductively, tone seasoned with sugar as if anticipating me to unbutton her shirts

You care about being famous. I sniffed at the seduction, but did as she anticipated nevertheless. Never get such an opportunity back in Japan, huh?

She stilled for a moment. Amazingly, something drained all the gendered characteristics from her, which is left to look like a living muppet.

I am not from Japan. She said quietly.

Okay. Where are you from then? I ask casually.

Wherever you think it is. She smiled sensually as if the moment never existed. I feel the annoyance making a dramatic comeback to me.