The morning was a strange world for both of us, especially since we had long abandoned the routine of going to school.
On the train, the hardest part was staying comfortable and adjusting your body into a position that didn't degrade your dignity, all while trying to stay upright without slipping or yielding to the force of other people.
Among men, I could smell the breath of those around me. Everyone chose to ignore each other—of course, it was an unspoken agreement among strangers to avoid the embarrassment of seeing each other's faces so close, indiscreetly, without thinking how odd it all was.
The initiative to separate train cars by gender was recent. When I finally broke free from the grip of the crowd, I turned my head to see Maria stepping out, fresh and renewed, oblivious to the struggle that had taken place just meters away from where she had been comfortably seated.
We were frozen in time. She and I hesitated, but the tide of people did not, and whether we wanted to or not, we were swept along. They were heading to work, to school, to university. Rush hour in the city center was a war to find transportation and reach their stations of operation, where they would move the world and maintain the illusion that we lived in a distinguished, orderly society—which was more or less true.
"Shall we go?"
"Let's go," she nodded.
We managed to catch a public bus and arrived at a much calmer area, less wild, where a comfortable silence reigned, punctuated by small noises in the background that reminded me life could exist without tipping into annoyance.
The houses had taken shape, following European trends or American modernity, in multifaceted, stylized, planned designs—unlike what I was used to where I lived. It was rare to see such beautiful houses, and I felt as if they would expel me at any moment, as if eyes were watching me through the windows. So I adjusted my walk, trying to appear more confident, less out of place.
Before me stood Ricardo Bregona, and no matter what words I used, I'd probably need a dictionary and a degree in architecture to describe the beauty of the building. Or rather, his buildings—modern and functional, rising with the sober elegance of concrete and glass, so characteristic of contemporary design.
There was a swimming pool, a gym, an amphitheater, an auditorium, a film set, a music studio, a tennis court, a soccer field… and I felt that if I kept going, I'd eventually run out of saliva to name everything.
It was the first day of classes, and everyone was heading to the auditorium for the orientation, as indicated in the email from that man. We simply went with the flow.
And it felt like I had stepped into a world beyond my reach. Everyone was so good-looking it was intimidating. As if there were some kind of whitelist.
That's why I felt like everyone was staring at me.
No, it was a fact.
They were all looking at me, a person dressed so monotonously it was boring, and at my sister, with her hair so long and unruly it looked like it had devoured half her body.
"Are they lost?"
"But they're wearing the uniforms. No way people like them got in."
"Maybe they're heading to the composition department. You know, those people are a bit… odd."
Yeah, I think I got it. I really wanted to believe it wasn't that we looked abnormal, but rather that everyone else seemed like models pulled from a magazine catalog. But the truth was undeniable. Maybe tomorrow I'd have to visit a salon or ask Lucia to help Maria with her appearance.
Speaking of my sister, she remained disconnected from the world. I knew people were watching us—she did too—but she deliberately ignored them. Maybe because she was with someone like me, a familiar face, she could act so confidently.
She kept humming, her favorite habit.
A little infected by her attitude, I decided to imitate her and just clear my mind.
As we were about to enter the underground auditorium, I couldn't help but admire the harmony of the green that permeated the campus—the shapes of the trees, the grass stretching like plateaus, the flowers, the birds.
The enthusiasm of so many young people interested in changing the world, and I was one of them. No, no, stop thinking such corny things.
"Don't smile, or everyone will think you're weird."
"Aren't I already?" I thought. "And I didn't think you cared."
"I don't care how they see me as long as I'm with you. But I worry so you can make friends."
"Alright, alright, I get it."
"Are you happy?"
"I'm happy you finally want to study again, especially in such a beautiful place."
"I see. I like this school too. I've heard such lovely sounds—it feels like I'm dreaming awake."
I didn't hear them, but surely they weren't sounds in the literal sense, but something deeper that only my sister could feel.
We descended the stairs and were guided to our seats, almost at the very back, where we had a full view of the scene.
Then the lights went out.
I expected a grand spectacle—lights, fire, explosions...
Oh, they would show me some kind of artwork that would reveal the meaning of life to me and make me want to commit suicide because I have realized that my destiny is to be a bum my whole life.
But from behind the curtain emerged a short, nearly bald man. With oratory worthy of admiration, he began welcoming all the new and returning students.
I had expected something more flamboyant, but his speech wasn't to be underestimated. He introduced himself as Jesús Alcáceres, the school's director.
For 15 minutes, he spoke about how fortunate we were, the school's grandeur, its achievements, and everything we could do there.
As usual, I hadn't slept well, and maybe because of the heating, I felt like I could doze off right there in my seat.
Don't fall asleep
Don't fall asleep
It was clear that my sister didn't care about social conventions, and she had already surrendered to the cherubs of sleepiness
Minutes passed, people spoke, speeches dragged on. And then, out of nowhere
As if I'd been slapped, all drowsiness vanished. The same happened to my sister, who jolted awake.
It was a song.
No—a melody… an angel's voice caressing my soul, making me feel warm, confused. I could hear my blood flowing, my lungs expanding, my heart pounding, my bones creaking… and then everything snapped back to reality.
"Did you like it? Though it's not my specialty, I've been told I'm a decent singer."
Her words carried false humility.
"Many of you already know me. I'm Sara Russo—rising star, active actress, 17 years old. Oh, how ungracious of me. My apologies."
Famous across America for playing Laila Strong in The Best Father
I heard murmurs—excited whispers. Some even pulled out their phones to record her.
"It's really her!"
"I saw her on TV this morning!"
"I can't believe she's only 17."
"They say she could be the youngest Oscar winner."
I wasn't immune to the surprise either. After all, The Best Father was one of my favorite films of the past year—a milestone, a blockbuster. An emotional story about a man with a chronic gambling addiction fighting social services to keep custody of his daughter. The one who played that girl was now standing center stage.
Needless to say, her mere presence warped reality. She was the embodiment of majesty. Everything about her seemed from a world above ours—her refined appearance, her long blonde hair, her foreign features, her tall posture, even the way her lips moved and her hands were positioned.
"I'd love to give you a taste of my new role in an upcoming film by a national producer, but… that's a secret. Still, I hope you all have a wonderful time here at our alma mater, and together, we leave a mark on the world. We were born with a gift to delight the world, and we must nurture it. We must meet people who help us grow. We must strive."
Every word was delivered with precision. Her tone shifted with each syllable, but I couldn't look away.
"I have high expectations for all of you. If you have questions, don't forget—I'm in the third year."
She ended with a light laugh, set the mic down, and vanished into the shadows.
The auditorium erupted in applause.
I was clapping too, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't stunned.
"That woman can really sing."
"Even though she's an actress, it surprised me too."
"She's also a great speaker. Every word felt so polished. I love her voice."
It was hard to shake off the impression she left. Even as we reached the classroom, I kept thinking about how I'd felt.
As for me, I was one thing—but Maria was on another planet. Even seated at her desk, she was lost among the stars, lethargic, in an undefined trance, her face frozen. I wasn't sure if it was because of that woman's impact or being in a place so different from her four walls. Maybe both.