Enzo

During the days when I was angry with Papa, I pushed away all my girlfriends, leaving me without any. Pam still hung out with us sometimes, but she preferred to be with her girlfriends, talking about girl stuff. I saw Pam hanging out with some guys. Finally, she had moved on from me, which I considered a positive development.

"So, how does it feel to be single?" Noah asked.

"Same," I said.

"How does it feel to have more than one girlfriend simultaneously?" Diego asked Noah.

"It's great because if one girl is busy, you have another. And they're not the same," Noah said.

"How does it feel to never have dated a girl yet?" Elijah asked Diego.

"I'm waiting for the right one. I don't just want to have fun. I'm going to find the right one and marry her as soon as I turn 18," Diego said.

"What?"

"What?"

"Dude, what's wrong with you?"

Diego laughed, but I guessed he was serious about what he had said.

"How does it feel to secretly date girls without telling your friends?" I asked, and everyone looked at Elijah.

"Really, bro?" Noah asked him.

"I'm not," he said, blushing.

"And why did you say that, Enzo?" Elijah asked. He was mad for being exposed.

"I saw you sending messages like, 'Hey baby, can we hang out today? Love you, baby. Mmmuah,'" I said.

The others laughed while Elijah frowned with anger. "You secretly read my messages? You jerk."

"I'm your best friend, and you didn't tell me about that?" Noah asked Elijah with a worried tone.

"It wasn't serious. Just for fun," Elijah said.

"Do you think I'm serious about all those girls? Yet, you know all of them," Noah said.

Then they started to argue.

Pam

I was happy to see Enzo was single now. I pretended to hang out with some guys to make him jealous, but he didn't care. I wanted to talk to him alone, but the four almost always stuck together. There was no way I could catch him alone. For all these years, I had never found any of them alone; it was always two or four of them together.

Finally, I decided to make the first move. "Enzo, can I talk to you?" I asked.

"Yeah, go ahead," he replied, still not looking at me. He was with his friends. Although I tried to talk nicely, he gave me a jerky attitude. I felt embarrassed and blamed myself for deciding to make the first move. Trying to speak to him now was a mistake. But now I had to continue.

"What's up, Pam?" Elijah inquired.

"I'd like to talk to him alone," I said.

"Whoa, hold on, you can't do that," Noah interjected jokingly. Enzo was shaking his head, indicating no. I felt helpless. He could have just come with me and talked to me privately, saying what he thought about me without embarrassing me in front of the others. But he even refused to listen to me.

"Come on, Enzo. Talk to her. She's our friend," Diego urged.

"Let's go, guys," he directed, leading the others away. Diego was the only guy in the group who had grown up with common sense.

"Pam, you can talk to me alone anytime," Noah added while leaving.

"What's up?" Enzo asked after the others left.

"I told you I like you," I said, looking at him intently. I didn't want to lose him to anyone else. I have had feelings for him since I was a kid. But in those days, I was young, and it was just an attraction. Year by year, the attraction converted to something serious. I knew he was a jerk. But I couldn't stop thinking about him. I thought I loved him. Maybe that's why I couldn't stop thinking about him, no matter how bad he was. I knew it was stupid. But I couldn't help it.

"Well, I like you too. But only as a friend," he replied. "But right now, you're making it hard to like you even as a friend." He said with a poker face. Sometimes, I wondered if he had any emotions. I didn't understand how he could act cruelly toward his childhood friend. We had shared so many memories since we were kids. It looked like he didn't give a fuck about any of those like I did.

"Why won't you give me a chance? I'm better than all those girls you're kissing," I pleaded. I hated myself for being so desperate, but I'd do anything to have him. He had to be mine, and mine alone.

"We're just friends, Pam. We've been friends since we were toddlers. I don't want to date you. I don't want to kiss..." Enzo didn't get to finish his sentence before I grabbed him by the collar and pressed my lips against his forcefully. I needed to feel them, to taste them. How could he kiss all those other girls in front of me but never let me experience it? His lips felt even better than I had imagined, and I understood why girls were so crazy about them. The warmth of his body, combined with the scent of his cologne, drove me wild. But it only lasted for a few seconds before he pushed me away.

"You're such a headache," he muttered as he walked away. On his way, he encountered Nixon, who was a few years older than him, and without hesitation, Enzo punched him in the face.

Enzo and Nixon had always had beef, and their encounters escalated into physical altercations. Enzo was often the instigator. This time was no different. The two began to brawl, with cheers and jeers from both sides as Nixon's friends and our friends joined the fray.

I knew why Enzo hit Nixon at this time. Enzo was mad at me for kissing him. Because he couldn't hit me, he hit Nixon. I felt hurt thinking he hated my kiss that much.

"Stop right now," Mr. Franco's voice boomed, bringing the chaotic scene to a halt. As the head of student discipline, his arrival meant trouble for everyone involved.

"It's you all again," he exclaimed, clearly exasperated. "Today, you'll all receive a fitting punishment. None of you are leaving until you've cleaned the filthy pond on the school grounds after classes."

Some tried to protest, but Mr. Franco silenced them with a stern warning. "Shut up. I will contact your parents about this incident," he added before departing. "And don't even think about skipping out on your punishment after school."

Enzo shot me a glare that seemed to blame me entirely for the situation. Really?

Enzo

It was all Pam's fault. She's the one who angered me, and then Nixon showed up like an idiot. When we first arrived at this school, Nixon, already an established student, acted like he owned the place. I quickly made it my mission to show him his reign wasn't as absolute as he thought. I can't stand arrogant people; I enjoy knocking them down a peg.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, we huddled together, frantically whispering plans to dodge Mr. Franco and escape our pond-cleaning punishment. But our schemes fell apart as soon as we stepped out of the classroom—there was Mr. Franco, arms crossed, blocking our exit.

"Four of you, let's go," Mr. Franco commanded, and we obediently followed him. Nixon and his friends were already at the pond.

"Now, start cleaning the pond," Mr. Franco ordered.

"But Mr. Franco, I need to go home earlier today. My sister is dying in the hospital," Noah pleaded.

"I called your mother and told her you'll be late because you're being punished for fighting. She never mentioned anything about a sister," Mr. Franco replied sternly. Noah didn't even have a sister.

"Diego, Elijah, and Enzo, I've already spoken to your parents and guardians. They're aware of the situation. Now, clean this mess," Mr. Franco directed firmly.

The pond was shallow, barely reaching our knees, but the water was murky green and reeked of decay. After we drained the stagnant water, we had to scrape away layers of thick, slimy moss that clung stubbornly to the concrete. Next came the water fountain, crusted with years of neglect. Our group and Nixon's crew kept to opposite sides of the area, the tension still thick enough to cut with a knife. As we worked, the shared misery was palpable – everyone's faces showed the same desperate desire to finish and go home.

The pond smelled terrible, and I hated anything dirty or smelly. Mr. Franco watched us from far away while we worked, and our clothes got dirtier as we cleaned. Wearing dirty clothes made me uncomfortable, and I didn't like it.

The putrid stench of the dirty pond water hit me like a wave, instantly triggering vivid memories of the decrepit house where my kidnappers imprisoned me. The sickeningly similar smell transported me back to those terrifying days, my stomach churning as flashes of dark rooms and muffled cries flooded my mind. I felt my hands shaking and sweat beading on my forehead. Desperately, I forced myself to focus on cleaning, trying to drown out the echoes of those haunting memories with each scrub of the moss-covered concrete.

I saw Pam staring at us from a distance.

"What did she say?" Diego asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"She's jealous," I muttered, focusing on scrubbing a particularly stubborn patch of moss.

"Don't you like her?" he pressed, pausing his work to look at me.

"Not in that way. She's rude," I replied with a shrug, avoiding his gaze.

"Aren't you rude too? Everyone says she's your female version," Diego said, smiling.

"No. I'm a nice person," I said because I am. Diego gave me a weird look, and I didn't know why.

"She kissed me," I said, glancing at Diego.

Diego's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Looks like she's really into you. She's not the type of girl to beg for anything from anyone," he said, a hint of admiration in his voice.

"I don't want her to be my girlfriend," I said.

"Okay," he said.

"Oh, shit," we heard Noah say, and when we turned to that side, we saw he had slipped into the pond, and his white shirt was wet with dirty green water.

We laughed hard at seeing that idiot lying inside the pond, covered in moss.

"Is it hilarious to you?" he barked. "This is all your fault, Enzo."

"Shut up, man," Elijah said to Noah.

"Yeah, you're right. It's their fault. Idiots," Noah said, pointing at Nixon and his friends.

"We didn't start the fight. That jerk started it," one of Nixon's friends said, pointing at me.

"Your face is the problem. When someone sees your face, others feel like punching it," Diego said to Nixon.

"Stop it," we heard Franco growl.

I wished I could punch Franco's face and go home. But Franco was the worst teacher to mess with. My head was hurting like hell from the stink of the pond, and memories kept coming back to my mind.

It took around an hour to clean it, and after finishing, I turned around and saw Papa looking at me, standing a few feet away from us. I think he was standing there the entire time, but I didn't see him because I wasn't looking that way.

A warm feeling crossed my heart as I saw him standing there, protectively looking at me. I smiled at him. My mind felt a little comfort seeing him. His presence alone seemed to ease the tension from the day's events.

"What was it about?" Papa asked, his warm green eyes meeting mine. I've always loved those eyes - they reminded me of sunlight through leaves, full of kindness and understanding. They made me feel safe like nothing wrong could happen when Papa looked at me. As he put his arm around my shoulders, that familiar gesture and his gentle gaze started to lift the heavy weight of my dark memories.

I moved closer to him as we walked to the car, needing the comfort only he could give. The lingering trauma from my past faded a little with each step closer to Papa. His presence was like an anchor, keeping me steady when my mind wanted to go back to those terrifying times. Even though my whole body stank of the dirty pond, Papa's comforting scent cut through it all. I breathed deeply, letting it chase away the last of my earlier distress. With Papa's arm around me and his reassuring green eyes watching over me, I felt like I could finally start to shake off the shadows clinging to me.

"It was just a little fight," I said.

"Did these marks happen because of the little fight?" he said, touching my face. I didn't know there were marks on my face. Then he kissed my forehead like he knew something was wrong.

I didn't say anything. I just moved closer and closer to Papa. I inhaled his perfume scent, desperate to mask the stench clinging to my body.

"Bad boy," he said. But he was not angry. He sounds upset. He looked worried when he said that. He doesn't like it when I fight. He didn't want me to get hurt.

The car was on its way, and all the doors and windows were closed as the inside of the car had air conditioning. But it was hard for me to breathe with my clothes stinking like a dirty pond. I removed my shirt, and as soon as I did, I vomited on it without warning.

"Hey, are you alright?" Papa asked, looking at me through the rearview mirror.

"Stop the car. Stop the car," I said while vomiting.

Papa stopped the car, and I got out immediately. The car smelled like puke and a dirty pond, and I didn't want to get back inside.

Papa wiped the vomit from a piece of fabric while I sat on a rock by the side of the road.

"Home isn't far. Can you tolerate it until we get there?" he asked, surprising me.

"Hell no, Papa. I'm never setting foot in this car again. Ask them to send another one," I said firmly. With more cars at home, having one sent over wouldn't be difficult.

Papa made a call, and after a few minutes, a bodyguard arrived with another car. I peeled off all my clothes except my boxers, socks, and shoes, stuffing the filthy garments into the vehicle. Papa and the other bodyguard looked at me in surprise.

"They smell like a dirty pond," I explained, getting into the new car.

Once home, I ran to my bathroom and took a shower.