Social Capital, Alejandra Ceja '12

Del Maguey Digital Photography

you hungry?" He nods and suddenly thinks: this can be my test—I'll get an empanada, buy one for her too, and if the micro doesn't come while we're eating, I'll go up to her room for a little bit. Then it's just chance, and chance is fair. Besides, I'll make it fast with her, and then I'll be better, slower, for Maqueta tonight. "Let's go get empanadas," he says, standing up. "My treat."

There's only one person working this late at the empanaderfa, an old woman who speaks with a southern Chilean accent and collapses her face into a pouchy scowl when they come in, but she brings them empanadas—de queso for Yesica, de pino for Gonzalo—still hot from the oven and tells them without inflection to have a nice night. "Sad old bag," Yesica comments as they step back outside, crunching into her empanada hungrily. Ropes of white cheese stretch between the