The music lead me as I danced El baile flamenco. My opponent met me step for step as we danced Flamenco puro, each of us dancing solo, in tandem, and at counterpoint to each other. None would judge us but ourselves. Felipe was young, and did not feel the _ duende_ of flemenco as I did.

We pirouetted, clapping in time to the music being played by Andre on his guitar. He sang the soleá as he played.

“No se me daba cuidao
me hago cargo que ha sío un ensueño
y a lo pasaíto pasao.”

The taps on our shoes rang out as we danced, each showing the other our prowess in the dance. Sweat beaded our brows, as we danced our hearts out. Felipe’s youth gave him more stamina, but his moves were not graceful and he knew it. His worried looks told the whole story.

I took a step and pivoted and I felt my ankle crack.

The pain washed across me, but I only betrayed my distress with a sharp intake of breath. I finished my dance triumphant. Felipe acceded to me, our honor satisfied, my daughter safe from his advancements.