Returning through the city center, Tomás took an almost instinctive detour and, without thinking too much, entered the first barbershop he found. He had stopped when he saw a girl barely older than him, about twenty or twenty-two years old, who greeted him with a professional smile and offered to cut his hair.
He didn't hesitate. He owed it to Anaís, and he couldn't back down. Although he had chosen that high school precisely because it didn't require specific haircuts, the teachers always found something to complain about.
The barbershop was small, but clean and welcoming. A mixture of smells floated in the air: hair dyes, acetone, styling products... a strange and familiar essence at the same time. The only thing that made him hesitate was the electronic music playing in the background, an insistent rhythm foreign to his world. For a moment he thought about turning around and running out, but the hairdresser's attentive smile held him in place.
Tomás sat down, and she placed an apron and a towel around his neck.
"You have pretty long hair for a student," the young woman commented, in a lively tone. "Oh, I'm Soledad, nice to meet you."
Tomás caught a strand of his own hair, one that he hadn't managed to tie up that morning. In reality, he hadn't cut it in years. It wasn't that he took care of it carefully, or that he worried too much about his appearance; he simply gathered it in a ponytail so that it wouldn't bother his eyes.
"Do whatever you want, as long as it looks good and isn't too short," he said, observing himself in the mirror in front of him with a certain disdain.
He didn't consider himself handsome, nor ugly either. He was average, and being average was fine. Standing out too much for appearance could make people even more fake than they already were in everyday life, simply to please. And that sucked.
"I leave it in your hands," he added.
Soledad gave him a radiant smile.
"Then I'm going to make you very handsome," she announced enthusiastically.
She took out a scissors and a comb, then opened and closed the blades with a snap that made Tomás feel a shiver. Without warning, she removed the elastic from the ponytail and, with an expression of undisguised joy, cut off the long ponytail completely.
Tomás held his breath.
"I love cutting hair," she said, holding the ponytail up like a trophy. "After this, your girlfriend is going to be impressed."
"I don't have a girlfriend," he replied, unfazed. "And I don't think I'll have one in the near future."
Soledad blinked, surprised by the coldness of the response. It didn't sound annoyed or rude, but there was something in his tone, a kind of total detachment, that disconcerted her. Instinctively, she left the scissors on the shelf and poked him on the cheek.
"Cheer up, you're still very young," she insisted. "You'll find a girlfriend at any moment."
At another time, those words would have provoked a kind of relief in him. But not now.
Not after what had happened.
Not after having heard something similar from the lips of his co-worker, just before being rejected.
Rage rose in his throat, but he contained it.
"A couple of weeks ago I was rejected by someone older than me. Barely two years difference, but enough for her to tell me exactly the same thing as you. 'You're very young'," he repeated with a grimace. "Sorry to say it, but using age as an argument is quite mediocre. Now that I think about it, maybe it was for the best. If her intellect only allowed her to come up with such a bad excuse, that relationship was over before it started."
Soledad froze.
She wasn't expecting that answer.
"You're quite harsh with your words," she said after a brief silence. "Maybe that's why you haven't had good luck."
"It's not bad luck," he corrected. "Although technically my success rate with women is zero percent. But my sample is too small to draw conclusions. I've barely said something like that to two women. It's not statistically relevant yet."
Soledad laughed, amused by the boy's relentless logic.
"It may not have worked, but you're brave," she commented. "I've never confessed. I would die of embarrassment. I suppose most women expect the man to do that job."
She sighed heavily and began to outline the contours of the cut with precision.
"Now that I think about it, it seems a little unfair to me. It must be a really difficult moment."
Tomás blew away some hairs that had fallen on his lips.
"Now you understand? Imagine having to risk everything for an uncertainty. Only a madman would do something like that. Who would abandon a safe path to jump into the void? It's terrible to move, act and convince when the odds are against you. And that's how it is in life in general. Except for a few exceptions, we are all part of the average."
The hairdresser continued working with skillful movements.
"You're very serious, but funny in a strange way."
"Strange?"
"You don't talk like a student. It's like you're an older person."
"Sorry for the abuse, but can I ask you for advice? I wouldn't normally do something like this, but I don't know many women to ask something like that. At least, not women whose laughter could make me angry."
"Are you saying that if I laugh, you don't care? That hurt me a little," Soledad joked with a mischievous smile.
Tomás looked at his reflection in the mirror and, for the first time, noticed the young woman who was attending to him. She was pretty. Very pretty. Her hair was an orange-red that reminded him of the color of the sunset.
But he didn't feel anything beyond simple aesthetic admiration.
"That's not what I meant. Well, not entirely. If you laugh, it's going to hurt me, but not enough to make me angry. That's what I meant."
Soledad left the scissors and the comb on the shelf, took a soft brush and removed the small loose hairs from his neck and face.
"You're complicated," she murmured.
"I would like to make things simple, but I'm not like that," Tomás admitted. "What do you think I should do to make an older woman fall in love with me?"
The hairdresser was silent.
For a moment, she seemed about to laugh.
But she didn't.
"That's a difficult question," she replied. "Maybe if my mom were here we could ask her."
"Hey," Tomás gently pulled her sleeve, "you're an older woman. Not much, but at least about five years older than me."
Soledad stopped for a moment, meditating.
"Now that you say it, I don't think two or five years is a big deal. Rather, it seems to me that she lied to you."
Tomás put his hand to his face.
"I knew it. But I guess there are people who like to feel superior for going to college, as if that were a big difference."
"Some suffer a strange boost in ego when they enter college."
"It seems that you're not very interested in it."
"I'm going to study to be a stylist, but next year."
"You're already quite good," he commented, looking at himself in the mirror.
He looked nothing like himself.
The cut was modern, something he would never have chosen of his own free will.
"You're very skilled," he continued, "but I doubt I'll get used to fashion. I prefer my long hair. But promises are promises."
"A girl?"
Tomás sighed.
"Lately my life is getting too hectic. It gives me a headache."
Soledad removed the towel and the apron.
"You look incredible. Now you'll be able to conquer that girl."
"It's not worth it anymore."
He stood up, took out his wallet and paid.
"Thanks for the advice. It's the first time I've felt so comfortable talking to a stranger."
"Come back whenever you want," she said, with a light laugh. "I don't know why, but I feel like we got carried away talking."
When Tomás returned to the high school it was already lunchtime. As soon as he crossed the threshold of the classroom, a strange murmur arose. It wasn't something that surprised him; he was already used to the furtive glances and the comments in a low voice. But this time, the weight of the glances was different.
He didn't have much time to analyze it because, as soon as he arrived at his place, Sunny took him by the arm with a somber expression.
"What the hell did you do to yourself!"
Tomás looked at her with a slight gesture of surprise as he was dragged without contemplation.
"I just got my hair cut, nothing else. Why the scandal?"
Sunny approached his ear and whispered in an urgent tone:
"I don't know what you're trying to do, but you're standing out too much. Suddenly, the dark and bitter one became the fucking swan of the class. What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Hey, you're cursing too much. God is going to punish you."
"Don't give me lessons now. Answer. Why did you do it?"
"I promised it to Ani, in exchange for some information. Honestly, I think I sold myself very cheap, but at that moment I was desperate."
Sunny snorted in disbelief.
"Ani? You got a nickname from the delegate that fast? That's all I needed."
"Please, don't stir up trouble with this," said Tomás, with weariness drawn in his voice. "I'm already fed up with these school things. Two days of classes and I feel like I want to go home and not come back."
"You're also a schoolboy, idiot."
Tomás ignored her comment and changed the subject.
"Where's Sam?"
Sunny crossed her arms.
"He offered to help your new friend as a delegate. I don't know what he's up to, but he seems very enthusiastic about it."
Tomás looked away towards the front patio of the high school. From his seat he could see a good part of the city. The school was on a hill, and from there, the buildings and streets seemed distant, almost unreal. He sighed lengthily before turning his gaze back to Sunny, unintentionally shaking the newly cut strands of his dark hair.
She blushed slightly.
"Let him do whatever he wants. I suspect that what he's looking for he's never going to get. It's a shame."
Sunny lowered her head.
"You changed your appearance, but you're still the same."
"I don't think anything or anyone can change me at this point."
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and, inside, said to herself: Everyone can change, fool.
The afternoon passed quickly. At the end of the day, Tomás went without delay to his part-time job at the Santa Gracia cafeteria and restaurant. He worked there two or three times a week, in addition to Sunday afternoons. He had no idea who he would share a shift with that day, apart from the owner of the place and his co-worker, Amelia, to whom he had unsuccessfully confessed.
The manager, Don Henrick, personally took care of preparing the coffees and attending the cash register. He was a tough but fair man, although he had his own problems, such as the tense relationship with his son from his first marriage, Fabián, a second-year university student. The chef and manager's wife, Bella, was of a completely different nature. She had a big heart and a demonic intuition. Tomás suspected, or rather knew, that she was aware of his attempt to confess to Amelia.
From time to time, Celeste appeared in the store, the daughter of Henrick and Bella's second marriage. She was a year younger than Tomás and studied at a private school for young ladies, Santa Margarita. He also shared a shift with Jenn, another waitress, lively and too friendly for his taste. Over time, however, he had learned to tolerate her.
Tomás was practically a multipurpose worker. He waited tables, unloaded merchandise, or helped in the kitchen. Sometimes, the manager asked him to arrive earlier to help with deliveries, especially because the restaurant was very busy, especially at lunchtime.
Elías, the most veteran waiter, was a legend in Santa Gracia. Tomás only shared a shift with him on Sundays, but he admired him for his speed and efficiency. However, his carefree attitude in the sentimental sphere made them clash from time to time.
And then there was Amelia.
Amelia, the university student.
Amelia, the girl to whom Tomás had confessed in the hope of avoiding something worse.
Amelia, who had rejected him without hesitation.
It hadn't been an unfounded love. Not entirely. She had always been close to him. But, in retrospect, Tomás thought that perhaps he had made a mistake. Perhaps, in his eagerness to avoid the inevitable, he had only accelerated the process.
He entered through the back door of the restaurant and greeted Don Henrick with a slight gesture. Then he went to the lockers to put on his uniform as quickly as possible.
When he finished, he looked at the shift schedule while punching his time card.
He sighed bitterly.
All his shifts were with Amelia.
All of them.
Except for Sunday, where he would share with Elías and Jenn.
He would have liked to tear out an eye in rage. Instead, he swallowed his frustration and went to the kitchen, where a pile of dirty dishes awaited him.
He entered greeting Bella with the greatest courtesy he could muster. He rolled up his sleeves and began to wash the dishes without wasting time.
The chef, who was checking her work table, waited until there was no one nearby and, with gentle movements, approached Tomás from behind.
Suddenly, her warm hands surrounded the boy's cheeks.
"You look very handsome with your new look," said Bella in a low voice. "I hope you didn't cut your hair because of some silly girl."
Tomás closed his eyes for an instant, letting the warmth of her hands run over his skin. For a fleeting moment, he wanted to let himself fall on her chest, but he held back.
"I guess it's her way of cheering me up."
Bella caressed him delicately before moving away.
"I don't want them to hurt you."
She returned to her work table and began to chop vegetables at full speed, advancing the work for the next day.
Tomás didn't know if that had been a gesture of support or a way of telling him that she knew.
That she was aware of his confession.
That she was a witness to his failure.
But, for some reason, her presence comforted him.
"I was rejected," he finally admitted. "But the haircut was for another reason. I promised it to a friend."
He hesitated for an instant when calling her a friend, but decided that it wasn't the time to question it.
"It's not like I like to wear it short, but the hairdresser did a good job. I guess I can keep it for a while."
Bella made no comment about it.
"When you're done with the dishes, help me peel the potatoes," she said, without stopping. "It's a shame that they rejected you, but maybe that means she wasn't the right person for you."
An order arrived through the order system.
Bella read it and clicked her tongue.
"They ordered stir-fry again. Don't they know we have Italian food too?"
Tomás dried his hands with a cloth and turned up the heat on the wok.
"Maybe they should raise the price of the stir-fry so that they consume what they have in overstock. They could also ask the waiter to recommend it before other dishes."
Bella smiled.
"It's a reasonable suggestion. But it's not my job to make those kinds of changes."
"Whose is it, then?"
"The manager's," she said with a hint of mockery. "And I doubt he'll listen to you."
Tomás smiled sideways and returned to the dishes, letting the heat of the kitchen envelop him, momentarily pushing away everything that had happened during the day.
"I'm not interfering then," murmured Tomás, without stopping washing the dishes.
He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and a breath very close to his ear.
"Don't get angry, you know how things work here," Bella whispered, leaning subtly against his back.
He didn't stop washing, but he felt the pressure of her body behind him, light, almost ethereal, but real enough to make his skin crawl.
"Do you want to stay here with me? You know who's in the dining room."
Tomás let out a sigh.
"Thanks, chef, but I'll stay here as long as there's something to do. I still have to unload, and then I don't want Amelia to say that I didn't want to help her with the tables."
"Why would she argue with me? I own half the restaurant," replied Bella with her usual carefree tone. "And don't call me chef, just call me Bella. We're friends after all, aren't we?"
Tomás narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"I don't know if you're trying to provoke me or cause me a stroke. Maybe both."
Somehow, he was already used to Bella's off-color jokes. He had been working there for two years and knew that she was like that.
"I'm going with the potatoes now," he said, willing to ignore Bella's game.
He turned on his heels and, immediately, ran into her face to face. Her chest pressed against his in an involuntary brush, and for an instant, their gazes met.
Tomás frowned.
"Again?"
Bella moved away without losing her composure, took a bowl with pork and another with beef, lightly oiled the wok and threw in the ingredients with skill.
"Come on, don't get angry. We've been playing together for two years. Instead of getting like that, you should be happy," she winked at him mischievously.
Tomás snorted with resignation as he began to peel the potatoes.
"Yes, you've been playing with my heart for two years."
"Don't be like that. I'm the only one who has confessed here, you're the one who's playing with my heart of a mature woman," replied Bella between laughs, shaking the wok with precise movements.
"Will two sacks of potatoes be enough?"
"I don't know, maybe you should peel three."
"I'll go get another sack from the warehouse."
Without wasting any more time, he left the kitchen in a hurry, took the warehouse keys that were hanging next to the time clock and went outside the restaurant.
A twenty-five kilo sack of potatoes awaited him, covered in enough dirt to ruin his work uniform.
It was definitely not his day.
Upon returning, he began the marathon of peeling potatoes in silence until Bella, cleaning the wok, launched a question without warning.
"Tomás, can I ask you something more personal?"
"Go ahead. At this point, I don't think there's anything you don't know about my life."
Bella laughed with her usual force.
"You've been working here for more than two years, but I've never heard you say that you go on dates, that you go for walks or to parties. What do you do with the money you earn?"
Tomás didn't stop, but his answer was immediate and straightforward.
"It's no mystery. I'm saving money to move out on my own next year and pay for university tuition. That's all."
Bella raised an eyebrow, visibly surprised.
"Wow, it seems like you have it all well planned. It almost makes me want you to be my boyfriend."
Tomás let out a brief laugh.
"You're married, Bella."
"Eh, instead of saying that I'm too old for you, you only noticed that I'm married. Interesting. Do you like older women?"
Tomás rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smiling sideways.
"Don't mess with me. You know I confessed to Amelia."
Bella covered her mouth to contain a laugh.
"Come on, she's not an older woman. She's barely two years older than you. You know very well what I mean by older woman."
She slid naturally until she surrounded his waist with her hands.
But just at that moment, a head of brown hair appeared through the kitchen window.
Bella backed away immediately.
It was Amelia.
"Amelia, what brings you here?" asked Bella, recovering her composure.
"They ordered a cheese soufflé," said the young waitress with a nervous gesture.
Bella gritted her teeth.
"Damn it, me and my mouth. I complain about the fucking stir-fries and they send me a damn soufflé..." she muttered, throwing more curses into the air. "Tomás, preheat the oven."
The young man left the potatoes and turned on the oven immediately.
"Help me with the bechamel while I whip the egg whites."
Amelia barely realized at that moment who was helping in the kitchen.
When she saw Tomás, she let out a brief, mocking, sharp laugh.
"Good heavens. Don't tell me you cut your hair because I rejected you."
Bella heard the question without turning around, but felt a knot in her stomach.
Even she was hurt.
And what surprised her the most was that, for Tomás, those words didn't seem to mean absolutely anything.
As if he were a stone statue.
"You rejected me two weeks ago. Why would I cut it for that two weeks later? How absurd," he replied without looking at her, beating the mixture with the same energy as always. "Besides, I think at this point I regret what I said. I'm sorry. I withdraw my declaration."
Bella turned slightly and managed to see Amelia's dislocated jaw.
"Mix the yolks with the cheese and bring me everything together with the ceramic bowl," ordered Bella in a firm voice.
Tomás nodded.
"I guess there's no answer. Amelia, are you okay?"
"Yes, of course," replied the young waitress, her voice more subdued. "Let me know when the soufflé is ready."
"Yes, I'm already putting it in the oven. You'll have to wait, it's not like these things are done so quickly."
Bella turned to Tomás, who had resumed his task with the potatoes.
"She's not a bad girl," she murmured. "She's just in that time when girls think they're the queens of the square."
Tomás let out a small laugh.
"Don't worry about me. I think I already learned my lesson."
But a shadow crossed his gaze.
Because if his suspicions were correct, the pain in his chest would go from being a thorn to becoming an open wound.
Bella turned abruptly and took him by the arm, forcing him to look her in the eyes.
"Can you stop acting like a bitter adult? You're a teenager. Live like one."
Her grip was firm, but not oppressive. Just an anchor that held him back for an instant.
Tomás looked at her without hesitation.
"If she deceived me or I let myself be deceived, it doesn't matter anymore. That's buried. And don't grab me like that. Your husband is at the cash register. If he comes in now, I'll be in trouble."
Bella released him, confused.
"I'm sorry... Go unload. I'll continue with the potatoes."
Tomás gave her a kind smile.
"You're too good to me."
"I know," she whispered. "Don't say more."
He left the peeler on the counter and went to the warehouse.
He knew well that his encounter with Amelia was not going to be easy.
But what really worried him...
Was Bella.