David

“Olga had never had many friends, in part because she loved to spend time with Abuelita, their minds so much alike. Her mother was so black-and-white—rigid with her principles. Her father, a dreamer, lost in impossible ideals. But to Olga, her grandmother was a hustler who actually got things done. She understood the dance, which they did together, often. Both literally, as Abuelita, glamorous and towering in her heels, loved to dance with young Olga, and also figuratively. With her parents absent for such critical years of her life, Abuelita was never afraid to bend the truth, make someone dead of another person missing, in order to procure special tutoring, or a scholarship, or whatever her grandchildren needed. The truth, Abuelita would say, is so much harder to believe than our lie, no? And it's not like we have bad intentions, si? Yes! Olga would agree. She loved it all. The high heels, the prayer, the laissez-faire relationship with rules and regulations. Whether born that way or formed into shape from necessity, the two women mirrored each other.”
― Xóchitl González, Olga Dies Dreaming

“Yeah, my dad picked [ the name Olga]. Wanted to make me 'ambitious.' But my mother worried that I would take after the Olga from Puerto Rican Obituary. That Olga was ashamed of her identity and died dreaming of money and being anything other than herself.”
― Xóchitl González, Olga Dies Dreaming

“Yet the way he spoke sounded as natural and sure, so tender and brotherly, and even as I figured it was some sort of con, I understood at last that it was a con I needed. Now and from the beginning. For maybe your favorite teacher or coach or best friend conned you, too, into believing in a version of yourself you hadn't yet imagined, a person many factors more capable, a person who might not have otherwise bloomed.”
― Chang rae-Lee, My Year Abroad

“I suppose though," Matteo offered, "most of us in New York live double lives, with a secret of some sort living behind closed doors."
"Really? What's your secret?"
"I already told you. I'm a hoarder."
She giggled.
"So, what's your secret?" Matteo asked.
"I'm a terrible person.”
― Xóchitl González, Olga Dies Dreaming