The class finally ends and everyone runs out of the classroom as if it was hell. I, on the other hand, am always one of the last ones to leave the classroom. Most students are gone, even Casy's friends, except for her and the teacher, of course, who's still sitting on her desk. Casy is putting her belongings in her bag, but ridiculously slow. Is she waiting for me?

When I sling my bag over my shoulder, I hear steps behind me, and I realize that actually she was waiting for me —Casy was waiting for me. I turn around and we both crack a smile, without really knowing what to say. I'm not the best at starting a conversation, let alone with a person I barely know. It makes me nervous and I freeze up, so I can't think straight.

Her eyes are still fixed on mine, and mine on hers and we both feel the nervousness in each other. She plays with her hair over and over, like she's trying to pull out a lock of hair. I can tell that, between the both of us, she's more nervous than me. That exact same tic must be something she does when she's a nervous wreck.

I could use these minutes we're alone to ask her about her accent. I'm ninety-five percent sure this girl is not from here; and it's something that has been on my mind since the first moment I heard her speak. But the question would have to wait because a soft voice behind my back prevents me from saying it out loud:

"Miss Rivero, please don't leave yet. I need to talk to you."

I turn around and look at the teacher, nodding. Then I glance at Casy, who assures me I can take my time —she'll wait outside.

Casy walks out of the room and me and the teacher are left alone. I walk towards her desk and bring a chair near it. I sit and survey her carefully. She seems young; she must be in her thirties. She has beautiful brown eyes and gorgeous features. Surely she must've been one the most attractive girls in her class, unlike me, who was voted "the ugliest girl in the class" in elementary school.

"Yes, tell me,"

"I wanted to introduce myself formally. I am Daniela Salvatierra and, as you could see during the class, I am the law professor. I apologize for my short introduction to you but there will be more opportunities in the future for you to get to know your classmates and befriend them." She sounds , s as er .

I eye her and nod in agreement while taking in what she's saying. She seems like a serious woman, kind, gentle, well-educated and It's clear that she talks in a very formal way, at least with me, which is something that makes me doubt her actual age.

"Sure, don't worry."

"Good. Now, I want to talk about something more important," she pauses while opening one of the top drawers of her desk and pulling out a blue folder. Meanwhile, I wait for her eagerly to keep talking. "I can see you changed schools because of some problems you've had in the previous one, am I right?" she asks me while reading a piece of paper that she's pulled from the folder a few seconds before.

I think I know where this conversation is going. Probably she's read my personnel file and she found out about the letter my mom's written. A letter that I prefer not to remember and that we fought about a lot. According to the enrollment paperwork, someone in charge of the student had to write a letter to the school detailing why their child had decided to enroll. And, also, if the child came from a previous school, the parents must detail why they decided to change. Of course my mother chose to write the unvarnished truth and talk about my bullying problems. So, when she finished writing it, she gave it to me and waited for my approval that never came. After this, we had a big argument, as I didn't want to tell others about my fucking personal problems. I didn't need it. I didn't want others to feel sorry for me and I certainly didn't want the teachers to have an eye on me, seeing whether I'm making friends or not. I wanted to keep that past away from the present and this new beginning. I wanted to start completely from scratch, without a trace of the past. After several days of discussion about it, my mom said she wasn't going to send it but I've always suspected she was going to do it anyway, and this confirmed it.

The teacher is staring at me, waiting for an answer from me, which never comes. I know she'd want to know more about my situation and then she'd offer me her help, which I don't need. I'm fine —I'm already accustomed to taking care of myself. I don't need anyone to heal my wounds because I've been the only one who heals myself since I was five years old, when it all started. Of course, my desire for a best friend remains, though. Having a real friend, a person you can trust... someone to spend time with... has been my dream since I was a little girl. I always wanted to have a friend by my side with whom I could talk about serious and important things, but also to have fun and forget about my problems between laughs, sleepovers and ice cream. That seems so simple and normal, but it's a dream that so far hasn't come true.

"Hannah, is that right?" she insists.

I nod sulkily. I don't mean to be rude; I never am, but I don't want to talk about this anymore, so I hope she can just shut the fuck up.

She pulls out her tongue to wet her lips and then looks away; like she's thinking about something. Maybe she's regretting this conversation given my attitude, which is what I hopefully expect.

"Well, I can see you are not interested in talking about this. I get it, I just wanted to introduce myself and welcome you. I am going to be the person in charge of you, just to keep an eye on you. Not to observe you all the time, it's just to see how you cope around your classmates, teachers. I am going to make sure you are doing well, you are getting good grades and making friends. Anyway, in case you need anything, you can tell me," she says and then starts packing her stuff in her bag.

What? I've never had a teacher like her. It seems like the little girl who suffered bullying gets special treatment. It really fucking bothers me having someone looking after me all the time, not even my mother pays me that much attention.

"Yeah, sure, thanks, see you," I quickly say, wanting to get rid of her.

We say goodbye to each other with a fake smile —at least mine was— and we leave the classroom. Outside, Casy is leaning against the wall that is in front of the classroom door. She's using her cellphone while playing with her hair, which is a bit tousled, but she's still looking as pretty as the first time I saw her. On the contrary, I'm wearing a dirty shirt and I have a bruise on my forehead, not to mention the ones on my back. Super sexy.

"Ready?" Casy asks me, looking up to me.

"Yeah"

"What did she want?"

"Just introduce herself and wish me good luck on my first day" which is true, but not entirely true. However, I prefer not to tell her the whole thing. I don't need Casy to know I suffered bullying and I certainly don't want her to feel sorry for me.

"Okay, well, there's just a few hours left till lunch time, so... do you... wanna... have lunch with... me?" She asks shyly.

Without realizing, I grin at her. This is the first time someone that's neither my mom nor a family member has invited me to have lunch.

I nod, smiling.

"Okay, then, great. Give me your number so we can text, just in case something happens, but, don't worry, as soon as the last class finishes, we go. I was thinking of going to a bar that's near here."

I nod again and we exchange our phone numbers.

"Sounds great."

"Okay, do you mind if my friends come with us? You know, the girls you saw earlier; Dilara and Valentina. I want you to meet them."