Leonel had often heard the hackneyed phrase promising a complete transformation in as little time as a summer vacation. It was commonly said that teenagers his age underwent their most significant physical changes during this period, marking their final steps into adulthood. This notion was a well-worn trope in films and books, where the main character or one of their closest companions would undergo a sudden change after the summer break.

Of course, Leonel had never believed it to be possible—until he returned to school after the break. There were indeed boys who, after only three months, suddenly seemed... different. They had something new about them that managed to captivate the mind, inspiring a subtle attraction that compelled others to turn and look. That the person who had undergone the aforementioned change was none other than his high school rival... well, he'd rather not dwell on that detail.

It seemed unfair that Leonel still possessed a slender build and a boyish appearance, characterized by his brown curls that had remained unchanged since childhood, while his rival, Esteban, had undergone the changes typical of a seventeen-year-old's growth spurt: broader shoulders, muscular arms, an increase in height, and a more chiseled jawline. Moreover, Esteban sported a fashionable haircut, with short black hair on the sides and longer locks on top.

He looked nothing like the frightened and remorseful boy Leonel had last seen at the end of December. It was disturbing because the image of that expression still flashed before his eyes every time he closed them. That was summer, he supposed. The events leading up to that season had been almost dreamlike.

Unfortunately, subtlety was not one of Leonel's strong suits; he made little effort to conceal his impertinent gaze. So when he returned to school after the summer break and Esteban's green, piercing eyes met his in a hair-raising manner in the parking lot, he couldn't look away.

He waited for the usual reaction, become routine over the years: Esteban's cruel smile, his attempt to assert dominance as he approached Leonel, the stream of insults followed by shoves that would escalate into a petty scuffle on the floor as they wrestled each other. His muscle memory made his body quiver with anticipation, his hands instinctively opening and closing, preparing for the confrontation. Despite a splint holding his leg in place, a reminder of what had happened before the vacation, and the fact that his opponent now towered over him, he was confident that he could face him.

Instead, Esteban's eyes turned away with disinterest, as if Leonel's presence meant nothing to him. Where was the routine? The usual greeting, no matter how violent? The boy who looked away and acted with indifference was not the same boy Leonel remembered. This made one thing clear to him: it was undeniable proof that nothing would ever be the same again. The force of the revelation crushed him from within and left him devastated.

The brutality of what happened changed them. Moreover, they were growing up. Soon, they wouldn't be the kids who needed to channel their frustrations and problems through senseless fights.

Leonel wasn't prepared for that transition.

The initial impulse was to advance, approach them and provoke them as he had done for all those years, but two things held him back. First, Esteban's face, contorted in a grimace of desperate anguish, reappeared on the stage of his mind, a memory that seemed seared into his memory and that might never leave him. And, secondly, a phantom sensation. A piercing pain awakened in his leg, as if it intended to remind him of what had happened the last time he had been near them; his muscles tensed in response, preparing for a fight that, for the moment, existed only in his mind.

He scrutinized the faces of those who had complicated his life in more ways than one.

He noticed the motorcycle that Esteban was leaning on and the luxurious car that undoubtedly belonged to Ricardo, his best friend, as the dark-skinned young man sat on the bonnet and slapped the hand of anyone who tried to touch the shiny red paint of the brand new Audi. He also saw Fernando holding one of those modern electric scooters and showing it to Alberto, who had his own driver. Finally, he watched Bautista... who had his eyes fixed on Leonel.

Not only that, but he was wearing an expression of such great anger that Leonel stepped back as soon as he saw it. Confidence left him and in its place an old fear reappeared.

He turned around and started walking towards the first class of the day. A shout behind him, however, forced him to turn back.

It was Esteban's voice shouting:

"Hey, Bautista, what are you doing?"

Leonel glanced over his shoulder, only to discover that Bautista was approaching him with quick steps and the angry expression still on his face. Behind Bautista, the group followed. Without thinking, Leonel started to run.

It wasn't the first time they had chased him; in fact, he had dozens of memories like this, dating back to when their roles as rivals were established in the school dynamic. However, it wasn't the same anymore. Now, those chasing him were bigger and stronger, and the situation felt different.

After what had happened three months ago, there was an inexplicable danger in that pursuit that he had never experienced before in his life.

He understood this when Bautista caught up with him — nothing unexpected, considering that Leonel had the splint — grabbed him from behind, and dragged him into the nearest bathroom. He slammed him against the wall and held him by the collar of his shirt. The days he spent in the hospital and the subsequent holidays had overshadowed the memory of how terrifying it was to be at the mercy of Esteban Güemes and all his friends, especially Bautista; the boy was the shortest in the group, but also the most aggressive, and he had enough strength to lift Leonel just by pulling on his shirt if he wanted to.

"Having fun, Lescano? Want me to wipe that smile off your face?" He raised a fist and aimed it straight at Leonel's nose.

Leonel closed his eyes, ready for the blow. The punch never landed; there was the sound of the door, hurried footsteps and scuffling, and then Bautista abruptly released him. He wore a scowl of anger and frustration that flushed his entire face when Leonel peered through half-closed eyelids to see what had stopped the attack. It was Esteban, holding the other guy from behind, trying to keep him away from Leonel.

"What are you doing!? Do you want to get us expelled!?" he snapped.

"Let me go!"

The rest of his friends watched from the doorway. Esteban pushed Bautista aside and let him go when it seemed like the guy had calmed down enough. There was a pause where everyone caught their breath, agitated, and Leonel released his breath, convinced that he wouldn't suffer any more aggression. At least until Bautista landed a punch on his eyebrow in an unexpected, swift move, like a snake's attack. For a moment, everything went black, and he could only hear Esteban's voice shouting:

"What the fuck, Bautista!?"

"He deserves it!"

"Oh, shut up! I can't believe it..."

Leonel's vision cleared just enough to see them leave the bathroom. Ricardo was the only one who lingered for a moment, looking at him with remorse before walking out. As soon as the door closed behind him, Leonel groaned and put a hand to his face. His temple throbbed, and a sharp pain shot through his head.

He approached the mirror to examine the part of his face that had been attacked. A pinkish bruise was rapidly darkening in the area, accompanied by small crimson dots beneath his eyebrow.

He supposed he should feel bad to some degree, but somehow that wasn't the case. The anger he felt toward Bautista was more due to his interference than the attack itself, which was quite twisted, yet he couldn't help being annoyed that Bautista was the only one who had noticed Leonel.

He heard a creak, and through the reflection he saw one of the bathroom stalls open to reveal a boy from another class. Both pairs of brown eyes met in the mirror, but neither spoke. They both washed their hands in silence, and although Leonel caught a glimpse of the other boy's gaze, they remained quiet.

The boy paused at the door for a moment, as if considering his next move. Fortunately, he left without saying anything, and Leonel allowed himself to let go of the sigh he had been holding back. He focused on his reflection again, probing the spot where Bautista had struck him to assess how much it hurt. Touching it would probably make the damage worse, but he couldn't help himself.

He just hoped the teachers would ignore it. That was the usual scenario, although sometimes they had bursts of morality that led them to give lectures in class about the importance of being civilized and showing camaraderie. However, at that school, fights were fights were commonplace, and as long as they didn't happen in class, the administrators preferred to feign ignorance. He also trusted that the boy who heard the attack and saw Leonel get hit wouldn't say anything about what happened, just as Leonel himself would keep his mouth shut.

It was the rule of silence in high school, one you learned without needing to be told: you couldn't tell anyone because only cowards snitched on others. And in high school, you could be an outcast, a loner, a fool, or even disgusting. But, a coward? That was the lowest of the low.