Rodolfo presses his fingers to his temples. I already know the decision is going my way. He can’t afford to alienate theprofessor who brought in additional funding, whose name alone was enough to convince a number of influential families to enroll their children here. I don’t make a habit of saying that about myself. But I know what my name carries.
“Gabriel Sierra it is. Silas is right, Camila. We can’t transfer a student who may well be an undiscovered genius.”
Something settles in my chest at that. Something that feels uncomfortably close to pride.
Because she is. She genuinely may be an undiscovered genius, and that is the only reason I went to bat for her today.
Sure, Silas. Keep telling yourself that.
Over the following weeks I settle into a routine between classes, the occasional tasks forseñorGustav, and home.
My programming project is slightly up in the air because I can’t find an optimal solution for a few edge cases, and that’s exactly how Lupe finds me, head buried between my laptop and a book on machine learning.
Without meaning to, I glance up at her, and she’s all smiles while texting someone.
“Who’s the lucky guy?” I ask, laughing.
“Alek,” she whispers, and I frown because I thought she’d moved past that guy.
He hasn’t done anything wrong, exactly, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off about him even though Lupe swears he’s wonderful to her.
“Is he still traveling?”
“Yeah,” she says, and I catch the disappointment in her voice.
From what he’s told her, he runs some businesses across Europe and is constantly on the road, but he spends at least one week a month here.
I look at my sister, who has a particular kind of glow about her. Even I can tell she likes Alek, and I’d go so far as to say maybe a little too much.
“You’re literally glowing,” I tease her when another message from him comes in.
“Shut up, you’ll get it one day. When someone completely takes over your brain and you don’t even mind. Honestly, I feel like I’m floating.”
I doubt I’ll ever be as consumed as she is; my brain simply wouldn’t allow it. I’d spend the first week calculating the probability of us breaking up and estimating how long it would take him to get bored of my conversations about the things I care about.
Because my interests aren’t exactly typical, and finding common ground with people my age has always been a challenge.
I check the time and see it’s past three. If I want to catch the registrar’s office before it closes, I need to leave now.
I forgot to submit my original high school diploma, and they called me this morning asking me to bring it in urgently.
Outside, a light wind has started to pick up, and I love this kind of weather. The kind where a hoodie over a T-shirt is exactly enough, where a few scattered leaves are skidding across the pavement, and the air carries that particular smell that promises rain before the sky has even committed to it.
Good thing I grabbed my rain jacket on the way out. It’s not exactly subtle. Between the teal and the burnt orange and whatever that yellow-green stripe is doing on the left sleeve, I look like I dove headfirst into a paint store and came out victorious. But honestly? I like it that way. At least I’m easy to find in a crowd.
I’m not entirely sure when I developed this thing for bright, clashing colors. Life is too short for beige, and my olive complexion and chestnut hair deserve a little celebration.
By the time I reach the main path through campus, the sky has gone that particular shade of gray that means the rain is done deliberating. Students are moving faster than usual, hoods going up, someone’s umbrella turning inside out in the wind ahead of me. I shift the folder under my arm and keep moving.
I don’t make it ten steps before Paulina appears directly in my line of sight, with absolutely no viable route of escape.
For the love of Gauss, what exactly did I do wrong in a past life?
The rain starts properly then, heavy drops darkening the pavement. An involuntary chill moves through me, and I pull my jacket a little tighter, trying to make myself smaller inside it.
Maybe she won’t look up. Maybe she’ll just walk past.
“Ame, I knew you couldn’t help yourself, even on a weekend. Go on, tell me — are you already on second-year material? Or are you getting a head start on your thesis?”
