There are stories that deserve to be told, even if they aren't especially happy. Yes, there were moments of joy, but the vast majority of them didn't belong to him, as if the dice had conspired to always land on the lowest number. It was difficult to say exactly when it all began, but if he had to pick a season, it would have been autumn.
That day would have been like any other if it weren't for two reasons: it was the first day of his senior year of high school, and the teacher in charge for the previous two years had taken sick leave.
The inspector entered the classroom accompanied by a new teacher. After introducing her with his usual permanently busy expression, he left without another word. Tomás regretted Professor Krikett's absence; he was the only one who had taken the time to read his endless writings in literature class. Not only did he lend him interesting books, but he had also encouraged him to pursue his dream of becoming a writer, even though his critiques were often quite harsh. The news left him distracted throughout the day, and he decided that as soon as he had the chance, he would ask in the staff room what had happened to him.
"Good morning, class. I'll be in charge of you this year," the teacher said in a firm voice. "As the inspector mentioned, Professor Krikett is ill and will need to take a long leave to receive proper treatment. Now, back to our lesson..."
She turned to the blackboard and began to write her name in careful handwriting: Sofia. Then, without further ado, she continued with the class instructions.
However, Tomás couldn't get his mind off Professor Krikett. He clearly remembered the first time he had shown him one of his manuscripts. His criticism had been relentless, and the numerous strikethroughs on the pages caused him a spasm of anxiety. Krikett had laughed heartily at his reaction.
"This is a story from your life, right?" he had said on that occasion. "It's very well written, but novels aren't life. You need to lead the reader from one point to another, not by the hand, but along a winding path that only you can draw."
Tomás lowered his gaze, embarrassed but grateful.
"And don't worry about not having a girlfriend," the professor added with a smile. "Women come and go. The secret is not to reject those who arrive and not to cling to those who leave. Perhaps you'll end up alone like me, but there will always be something left of each of them in you, and you'll avoid the pain."
Then, with the arrogance of someone who believes they know everything about love without having truly experienced it, Tomás replied:
"If it doesn't hurt, maybe it's not real."
Professor Krikett looked at him with an inscrutable expression and, after a moment of silence, responded serenely:
"Perhaps you're right."
There was something in his voice, a veiled sadness, as if his words concealed a deeper story. Then, he rummaged in a desk drawer and pulled out a novel with a handcrafted binding.
"Here, it's a gift. Perhaps you'll find some inspiration for your next manuscript here."
Tomás read the title on the spine: Mist, by Miguel de Unamuno. He thanked him and said goodbye, his chest tight with a sensation he couldn't define.
He tried to return to the present and pay attention to the teacher, but between the echo of those words and the swaying of the yellowish leaves falling outside the room, his concentration was practically zero. So much so that the teacher's voice became a distant murmur. It was then that he felt a sharp poke in his back.
"What's wrong? Do you need something?" he whispered to Samantha, who sat behind him and was gesturing exaggeratedly.
"The teacher's talking to you, you moron," she snapped with a frown, without the slightest hint of compassion.
Tomás immediately turned around and noticed the rest of the class suppressing laughter. The teacher looked at him with obvious annoyance. Without really knowing why, he felt the impulse to stand up, as if it were a military command, as if he were acknowledging a superior.
"How many times do I have to ask you to introduce yourself, young man?"
That word—young—made him frown. The teacher couldn't be much older than him, perhaps less than ten years. He thought "young man" was unnecessary, as if age automatically granted superiority. He was convinced that adults made the gravest mistakes, so old age, by itself, was no virtue. But instead of saying it, he lowered his head, trying to hide his embarrassment.
"Tomás... Tomás. I wasn't paying attention. I'm sorry."
"Sit down. I hope you're not as distracted when we start covering the material."
"I'm sorry," he repeated, feeling like a slave bowing before his master.
The rest of the class passed without major incidents, although he couldn't avoid the teasing of some classmates, especially Sunny and Sam, who, despite being his only friends, didn't miss the opportunity to bother him.
During recess, he met with them in a corner of the patio.
Sunny hit his head with a notebook. "Are you going to stay in the clouds all day, or do you plan on annoying all the teachers?"
Sam handed him a box of apple juice.
"Thanks," Tomás said, taking it. "It's my favorite."
"You should go apologize later. The new teacher didn't get a good impression of you," Sam commented, adjusting his glasses with a serious gesture.
Tomás looked away toward the window. "It doesn't matter what she thinks of me. I've apologized enough."
Sunny hit him again with the notebook. "Gloomy mode again?"
Tomás put his hand to his head. "Hey... that hurts."
"That's the idea. If you keep this up this year too, you'll never have a girlfriend and you'll be alone in college."
"Better alone than in bad company," he laughed calmly. "Besides, I've already met my daily quota of company."
Sam raised a hand. "I'm not going to college. I think I'll travel with my brother for at least a year."
Sunny offered a smile, though with a certain bitterness. "With my grades, I doubt I can get into the same university as you guys, and I don't feel like trying either."
Tomás looked at her intently and took her hand. "You're not going to abandon me now. We almost came from the same womb. They'll bury us in the same coffin. We're twin siblings separated at birth."
Sunny pulled away abruptly. "That was creepy. You give me chills."
Tomás smiled. "If you want us to go to the same university, I'll have to help you study."
Sunny sighed with resignation. "You know how I ended up last year..."
"Deal," Tomás replied, though he knew very well that the task would be anything but easy. After all, the previous year Sunny had only passed thanks to his help. And, on more than one occasion, the idea of cheating had crept into his study plans for her.
When the lunch bell rang, he waited for the classroom to empty, but the class representative was still there, stacking everyone's notebooks. She looked at him with a pleading expression.
"Aren't you going to help me with this, Tomy?"
Tomás frowned. "My name is Tomás."
"And mine isn't 'representative,' but everyone calls me that."
When the lunch bell rang, Tomás waited for the room to empty before moving. However, the class representative was still there, next to the teacher's desk, stacking notebooks to take them, probably to the teacher. She was looking at him insistently, as if silently asking for help. Tomás, for his part, avoided offering any assistance unless it was strictly necessary or brought him some benefit.
"Aren't you going to help me with this, Tomy?" the representative asked in a serious tone, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Oh, sorry, but I was just leaving," he replied, moving towards the door.
"Me too. I'm going to the staff room, could you help me?"
Refusing a second time would leave a bad taste in his mouth. Assuming that doing his good deed for the year wouldn't be so bad, he approached the representative and sighed.
"I guess I have no choice."
"I see kindness isn't your forte."
"I think I'm starting to regret this," Tomás murmured, making a move to leave. However, he stopped when he saw the hurt expression in the representative's eyes. "And my name isn't Tomy, it's Tomás."
She handed him half the notebooks with an amused smile. "My name isn't 'representative' either, but everyone calls me that. On the other hand, Tomy is a cute diminutive of Tomás. Besides, we've been classmates since kindergarten... could I at least call you Tomy?"
They left the classroom together, heading for the staff room.
Tomás paused for a moment to think. In reality, he was being too demanding of her. It was true they had been in the same class for years, though they hardly ever spoke.
"You hardly ever talk to me, it's like we're complete strangers," he commented, not looking directly at her.
Suddenly, the representative stood in front of him in the middle of the hallway, attracting the attention of some passing students. She looked somewhat embarrassed, but continued anyway:
"You're the one who doesn't talk to anyone except Sunny and Sam. Every time I try to speak to you, you pretend to be deaf or put on your headphones. How could we be friends if you act like a savage?"
Tomás was stunned. It was the first time anyone had spoken to him like that, except for his neighbor, his mother, and his cousin. Not even Sam talked to him that way. He looked away. She was trying too hard, and simply ignoring her didn't seem like an option.
"I guess you'll be the first to call me Tomy... but only when we're alone, please. It's a bit embarrassing."
The satisfied smile on the representative's face was immediate. "Then you can call me whatever you want. This makes us friends, you know?"
If there was one thing Tomás hated, it was those kinds of interactions. Apparently, this first day of school was marked by a black cloud of bad luck, perhaps a bad omen of what his last school year would be like.
"I prefer to use your name. Nicknames are too... personal," he murmured, though he had almost said "ridiculous." He didn't want to offend her so soon.
They began to climb the stairs to the third floor.
"But if I call you Tomy and you call me by my name, it would feel strange, as if we weren't on the same wavelength," she commented, glancing at him as they ascended.
"Exactly. We're not on the same wavelength by a long shot. It's like trying to mix water and oil, we just don't get along."
"Do you really think so? I think you're wrong. Haven't we been talking without problems this whole time?"
Tomás looked at her sideways. Only then did he realize he had fallen completely into her web. It was a silent trap, like one a spider weaves, a strategy only popular people could use so naturally. As if repellent had been sprayed on him, he felt disgusted with himself.
"You're right," he admitted coldly. "That's why you should stop talking to me. I'm more comfortable in silence."
The representative gave a subtle giggle. "You're very funny. I don't know why you act like a loner. I'm sure you'd have many friends if you talked to more people."
"I trust my sense of humor, but not other people. I know how the world works: the more close people you have, the greater the chance they'll betray you, use you, or chew you up and then spit you out like old gum. I'll pass. I prefer to reduce my interactions to the necessary minimum."
The representative completely ignored him and continued as if she hadn't heard anything. "I know, you can call me what my mom calls me. She calls me Ani. If you call me that, we'll be closer. What do you think?"
"It's not good for me to be close to you. Let's just drop the notebooks and pretend this never happened."
They walked along the third-floor hallway.
"You're complicated, Tomy. You should relax and let things take their course. Maybe we'll end up being very good friends."
"We're here..." Tomás murmured with an empty gaze, as if the entire conversation had drained his energy.
"Let's leave the notebooks on the English teacher's desk. He probably came to drop off the semester's assignments, as always."
They entered the staff room together, asking permission before crossing the threshold. From the back of the room, a steely, penetrating gaze fixed on Tomás the moment he stepped inside. The new teacher didn't take her eyes off him, but he pretended not to notice. He had already told his friends he wouldn't apologize again, and his word was unshakeable.
They placed the notebooks on the English teacher's desk, and just as they were about to leave, Tomás felt a slender hand rest on his shoulder.
The representative turned around when she noticed he wasn't moving and met the dark, wide eyes of Professor Sofia. She could only nervously greet her before bidding Tomás a shaky farewell.
"See you later, Tomy... good luck," she said, her face pale, before almost running out of the room.
Tomás, at that precise moment, told himself: I knew you'd abandon me. That's why I don't trust anyone. At least it was before he gave her a shred of his trust.
"Professor Krikett warned me about you before I started teaching here," Professor Sofia suddenly said.
Tomás turned around, pale, but managed to compose himself. "Warned? Am I some kind of delinquent to be wary of?"
The teacher smiled with an uncomfortable nuance. "No... I don't think I chose my words well. Please, come with me to my desk."
He followed her in silence, feeling a mysterious and disturbing echo in her words, as if he were on the edge of a precipice.
He felt he was in danger. Not a danger of admonition or punishment, but something much deeper, more intimate. He feared exposing himself, baring himself before someone else. And yet, Professor Krikett had been the only one to receive a temporary pass to the room where his stories revealed fragments of his life, the most painful fragments. Those he would never allow anyone to see.
"Please sit down." The teacher indicated a chair at the next desk. "I'm sorry to take up your time."
"No problem, I was planning to come and ask anyway."
The woman smiled at him with some discomfort. "Well, in that case, I hope you don't mind if I take a little longer." She cleared her throat, her voice taking on a more professional tone. "The professor told me you write novels and that some guidance would do you good. I mean, if you want, you can show me your work..."
Tomás immediately stood up. "I don't want to. Thanks for asking." His voice was sharp, almost cutting. "Could you tell me which hospital Professor Krikett is in?"
The teacher's expression hardened. "And why would I tell you? If you don't trust me enough to show me your work, then I don't trust you to give you that information either."
Tomás felt the impact of the rejection like a granite wall rising between them. He wasn't going to let that woman meddle in his private life. His novels were too important, a refuge he wasn't willing to share.
"I guess I'll have to find the information elsewhere," he stated coldly. "Thanks anyway. I'm leaving."
"Wait," the teacher replied, her tone now annoyed. "You haven't formally apologized to me. Do you realize I'm the teacher in charge of the class?"
"I already apologized in the room," he replied, with little patience. "Is another apology necessary, or do you want me to humiliate myself for something so silly?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he had made a mistake. For a moment, he had forgotten that he wasn't talking to a classmate, but his teacher. Perhaps if she were like the other teachers, older, more distant, he wouldn't have slipped up like that. But this woman was, at most, ten years older than him, perhaps less.
"You're going too far, Tomás," she said with sharp calm. "I guess the professor was right about you having a venomous tongue."
Tomás scoffed, but in reality, he didn't care about humiliating himself if necessary. For him, honor was just an empty word, a concept that only made sense in his stories, not in real life. He was nobody. A number on the student list. An insignificant molecule in the vast world. If he needed to feign repentance, he would.
He bowed in an exaggerated reverence, deep as an abyss, and as he straightened up, his voice was solemn and theatrical. "Forgive me, professor. I am merely a foolish simpleton. I promise not to be distracted in your class again."
Sofia felt a pang of fierce anger. Her instinct was to raise her hand to slap him, but she managed to stop herself in time. There were other teachers in the room, and although her rage clouded her reason, she couldn't afford that luxury. Instead, she firmly poked his chest with her index finger.
"You... don't test me."
"I'm sorry, professor. I didn't mean to bother you. Tomorrow I'll bring my apology note... if that's acceptable."
"Do whatever you want. Now leave."
Tomás left the staff room with a question burning in his mind: how long can a liar live an eternal lie? Sometimes he thought that if a falsehood was constant and heavy enough, like an anvil, no truth could move it. But in the end, it was all just another deception. Liars, fakes, deceivers... always ended up getting caught.
If the teacher wouldn't give him the information he needed, he would have to resort to another method. His new friend, the class representative.
He entered the room. Some classmates had already finished their lunch and were chatting animatedly. She wasn't there.
Without wasting time, he headed to the cafeteria, his gaze scanning each table with surgical precision. When he found her, he advanced with determination and sat across from her, ignoring the surprised glances of the other girls.
He clasped his fingers on the table, adopting a thoughtful posture, before launching his request with the determination of someone leaping directly into flames.
"Ani, I need your help."
The air seemed to stop for an instant. Everyone at the table fell silent, expectant. But Tomás wasn't going to let that conceited teacher leave him without the information he needed.
Anais swallowed her bite, maintaining composure despite Tomás's obvious audacity. "Tomy, how can I help you?"
"I need to know which hospital Professor Krikett is in. Could you find out for me?" He leaned forward slightly, in a pleading gesture that didn't go unnoticed.
A murmur went around the table.
Anais twisted her mouth, hesitant. "I have no idea where he is, but I think I can find out before the end of the day."
Tomás quickly raised his head. "Don't ask the new teacher."
One of the classmates interrupted with annoyance. "Ani, tell this guy to leave. He's interrupting our meal."
Tomás barely glanced at her. "Excuse the interruption, but could you wait until Ani and I finish talking before being yourself again?"
The representative intervened before the situation escalated further. "Don't be rude to Clara. She's my friend and I don't like you talking like that."
Tomás looked away, suppressing a sigh. "Sorry..." He cleared his throat and, in an impulsive act, took Anais's hand. The entire cafeteria seemed to hold its breath.
He had no idea of the popularity of the girl he was talking to so casually.
"Help me with this," he asked, his voice firm. "I promise to compensate you. Ask me for anything you want."
Anais narrowed her eyes, thoughtful. Then, with a mischievous glint in her gaze, she squeezed his hand. "I will. But in return... you'll have to cut your hair."
Tomás blinked. "What?"
"The teachers always bother me about you cutting your hair. Could you do it for me?"
Tomás felt a chill run down his spine. He couldn't believe it. That was what she asked in return. His self-proclaimed new friend turned out to be a ruthless negotiator.
He frowned, evaluating the situation. He had no choice. "Alright," he said, his voice deeper. "I'll do it. But don't fail me."
Anais smiled and squeezed his hand tightly. "I won't."
"Don't fail me again..." he murmured before getting up to leave.
Tomás's words left a mark on Anais's conscience. She knew what he meant. She had imposed her friendship on him, and yet, at the first opportunity, she had left him alone.
Clara looked at her with an arched eyebrow. "Since when are you two so close?"
Anais stirred her salad. "Since today."
Clara sighed. "Be careful. He's weird."
Anais smiled ironically. "What's the worst he could do to me?"
When the bell rang, marking the end of the school day, Sunny practically flew between the desks to reach Tomás. Without ceremony, she grabbed his shoulder firmly.
"We saw you in the cafeteria with the representative. What on earth were you thinking? Do you want to ruin our lives? Look..."
She cut herself off, noticing Sam at the classroom door, waving goodbye with a strange expression, a mix of discomfort and fear. As soon as Tomás and Sunny returned the gesture, Sam almost ran off.
"What happened to Sam?" Tomás asked, puzzled by his friend's reaction.
Sunny glared at him. "They've been harassing him since lunch because his dear friend decided to act all charming with the class representative. You went to her table, you took her hand, and you used nicknames. What the hell is with 'Ani' and 'Tomy'? Can you explain it to me? Did your brain melt over vacation?"
Tomás calmly closed his notebook and put it in his backpack, as if the entire conversation was just a distant murmur. Then, with the same slowness, he put his hand on Sunny's shoulder.
"It's how popular people call their friends. It's not that I like the nickname, but it's better than nothing... at least for now."
He carefully zipped up his bag and added in a calm voice: "Go home without me today and don't pay attention to what they say. It's stupid. A woman like her would never be with me, and you know it. Besides... it's not like I like her either."
Sunny's face changed immediately. She felt sorry for him. Why did he always talk about himself like that? She knew the reason. That infamous contempt that sometimes surfaced, that echo of something deeper and more ingrained. But she had faith that he would change with the years. And indeed, he had changed. For the worse.
Tomás held her gaze firmly. "I don't care what they say about me. Tomorrow I'll talk to Sam. Now I have things to do and I can't be delayed."
Sunny sighed with dejection as she watched him leave the classroom.