Chapter Three.

Your Face Tells Me Everything.

A Look Back To When We Were 18.

…

Fourth period was my least favorite class of the day. Why?

Because it was Spanish.

I'm Italian, so why don't I "take that class instead and test out of it?" —I hear all my peers asking. Everytime someone brought it up it was a stab in the gut, a reminder that I was still under someone's thumb and had to endure a stupid class. My grandfather considered it cheating. Testing out of a class defeated the point of being in a school, a learning environment, the way he saw it.

I took Spanish while Feliciano took French. The only other two languages offered at our school.

I had only signed up for Spanish over French since it seemed easier. It was so close to Italian, and my mother grew up in Sicily, where people often still spoke Spanish. I even knew a little bit already. So when I signed up I didn't think it would be a problem. It'd be an easy 'A' if anything. But long after our schedules were finalized for the next school year, a certain someone transferred to our school. A certain brunet who barely spoke English at the time, with green eyes and an annoyingly positive outlook on life.

And I was doomed.

.

The trio graduated a year before we did.

Antonio came to our school from Spain our second year. Francis and Gilbert hadn't met him yet, so it's assumed that at that point in his life he was the most innocent and tolerable person he could've possibly been. But I didn't meet him when he first came to school, I didn't even spare him a glance. I was merely trying to focus on simply passing my classes so I could make it to senior year and graduate. I had no energy to exert on anything extra. I didn't care for socializing outside of my brother and childhood friend, Elizabeta, who also went to our school. My routine was down and I droned through each and every day.

But then my little brother started to date Ludwig, the current star of the soccer team, and brother to former star of the soccer team (he quit since he had to retake classes in order to make it to graduation, or more importantly to him, he wouldn't be able to go to prom), Gilbert. I faintly knew who Gilbert was, not having any classes with him and hearing stories from someone who sat next to me in my math class. Francis. He considered me his math buddy, but I considered us strangers. I didn't bother responding to him when he talked, but he never took offense and simply interpreted it as me being a good listener. If I told him now that I actually never listened to a thing he said in that class, it would probably break his heart.

Francis told me about the wild pranks Gilbert would pull on his teachers and brother alike, and I was thankful everyday I didn't come into contact with him. Though my luck obviously started to fade out the day Feliciano brought home Ludwig to introduce him to our grandfather. I remember him busting Ludwig's balls on about everything, grilling him about his home life, hobbies, grades, past relationships, and taking great delight in it too. I coughed with laughter on my chicken at that dinner when Feliciano tried to defend him in a weak, stuttering voice, despite the fact that Ludwig was hardly phased. Or at least if he was, he didn't let it show, the stoic bastard.

Our upperclassmen trio quickly became talk of the school after Antonio joined their friend group, as if he was a missing piece that they've been waiting for all this time. He easily joined in on their pranks and jokes, always being the one to blush and smile as he apologized to the teachers in the end, always taking the fall for his new friends. But he never stopped getting into trouble, because I think he knew no matter how much disruption they caused, they weren't really hurting anyone. I recall faintly an idea Gilbert supposedly had, but Antonio quickly refused since it would end with a teacher possibly slipping and falling down a flight of stairs. I discovered then from Francis that story, and that I supposed this Antonio character I was yet to really meet did have a limit of sorts. At least an ounce of common sense.

He started to appear in my life more frequently as the group discovered who Ludwig was dating, and who that person was related to by extension. And suddenly, with most of their ideas wasted on staff and each other, they seemed rejuvenated to have two new targets to play with. Ludwig however managed to keep Feliciano out of harm's way (I'm thankful for that at least), so really, just one new target to play with. Lucky me. My daily routine was interrupted by the end of sophomore year and was completely gone by the time my junior year started. Now seniors and student leaders, the power went to their heads and they bothered me more than ever. I was giving them answers for homework, then I was driving them home after school since they didn't want to take the bus. Next I was swindled into helping pick up their messes they made in the school hallways, and picking them up at the ass crack of dawn from a McDonald's parking lot where they were high off their asses.

They dragged me along for some pranks, forced me to skip some classes with them, and constantly irritated me at lunch while I was enjoying some juicy gossip from Eliza. I became their toy, source of entertainment, no matter how I protested or how many times I ratted them out to a teacher. They simply wouldn't stay away.

One day, during fourth period Spanish, Antonio had finished his worksheet early (go figure. I guess he didn't have a parent to tell him it was cheating since he was already fluent). I was surprised he didn't ask to take the test to get the credit and get out of the class, moreso that he wasn't in a higher level class. It was Spanish level 3, he should've been in at least level 4, though he blamed it on enjoying the company of people in class, making friends wherever he went.

When he finished his assignment he asked and excused himself quietly to the bathroom. I hardly noticed, focusing on my own list of out-of-order sentences I needed to put back together again. Easy enough. The grammar was familiar.

I was the second to finish in the class, spending the rest of the time waiting on everyone else to catch up flipping through the textbook or getting lost in the window across the room. I sat in the middle, so I had to stare at the sides of my peers' heads to get a proper look, and people often mistook that for me glaring at them. I didn't bother to correct their thoughts, too lost in my own. I hadn't realized how much or how little time had gone by when I came to, needing to use the bathroom myself. When I asked the teacher she asked me to bring Antonio back with me, as he'd been gone a bit too long for her liking. I just nodded.

When I got there it looked empty, and I had the place to myself to do my business in peace. Some rowdy few would always be yelling in the echoey place, making a ringing in my ears and spurring on a headache. I was relieved, but then realized Antonio must've gone to skip again since it didn't seem he was there. But I had no problem turning him in, it made no difference to me. Washing my hands, I looked down at them instead of my reflection, and while pulling at a paper towel I heard a faint noise I originally mistaken for someone else coming in the room.

Flick… flick… flick…

(Almost) immediately I knew I wasn't alone, and immediately I knew for a fact Antonio was indeed skipping. Although the idiot didn't think to relocate. The flicking of a lighter was a dead give away to anyone on who it could be. One of three people in the school. I didn't have a thought in my head when I turned around and knocked on a stall door I previously neglected to notice had feet peeking from under the door.

"C'mon," I said. "Teacher wants you back in class."

I heard two more flicks and a crackle, then an inhale, then an exhale. "Ah, you found me," the boy laughed from the other side of the door.

"Of course I found you. You didn't find a very good hiding spot."

Another flick and a chuckle. One more breath and the smell of weed reached me. I stifled a cough, the door in front of me slowly clicking and pushing forward. A huff of smoke greeted me directly from Antonio's lips, his hand outstretched from where he sat on the toilet to push the door open. He just grinned, then tilted his hand, holding something I only started to recognize thanks to him, offering whatever drugs he had to share.

"No fuckin' way."

He didn't respond right away, and I could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what I said. It was easy to forget the guy wasn't entirely profishent in English yet, despite growing up in Europe where they tended to teach kids English pretty young. Though it did depend on where you were exactly. Perhaps he was too spacy to learn it properly; I wouldn't have been surprised at that moment if he told me he was failing all of his classes due to his dazed nature. He just clicked his tongue as he sorted through the vocabulary in his head before he finally managed a sentence he was happy with.

"Then come in and watch me."

"What?" my voice rose in pitch a bit due to some confusion. "Stop being stupid, we have to get back to class."

"It's boring waiting," he said back right away. I hated how much I agreed with him, how it seemed like he read my mind right before I left the quiet classroom.

"You really have the attention span of a gnat, don't you?"

He just cocked his head to the side in a perplexed smile, but showed no sign of moving from where he sat. Instead, when I said nothing more, he just lit up whatever he was holding and sucked in another deep breath.

"What is that?" I lazily pointed to what he had in hand.

"I'll say if you ditch with me."

"Tsk, I don't need to know that bad."

"But you want to, si?"

I just stood there like an idiot, and hesitated. He wasn't wrong. What he was holding was something I had never seen before. Maybe I'd heard of it, but I wouldn't know since I had no clue what it was called yet. I remembered it from all the times I picked up Antonio and his buddies from places when they were totally and absolutely baked. It looked like a little blown glass art piece, and if I never saw him using it with drugs I would assume it was just that, an art piece. Though with the soft dull blue swirled around with streaks of white leading down to a small compartment, cradling an all too familiar green plant, I knew it wasn't that simple. I was only so curious since it looked so pretty. Part of me wanted to hold it up to the sun to see how light would shine through it.

But in my brief relations with the Spainard thus far, I still knew he was too stubborn and too much of an ass to let me see it, or even know what it's called, unless I did what he asked me to. I was just standing there for a moment, an unsure and displeased look about my face, which he only continued to beam at. But then he stood up, and I thought maybe he was giving in.

But he wasn't, and I was wrong.

He stood up enough to reach forward and grab my arm, jerking me forward two or three steps before I could protest, and then his arm disappeared behind me to clutch the stall door and slam it shut. All too suddenly he was too close to me. Our school wasn't rich or anything, far from it actually, so it's not like our bathrooms or stalls were huge. They were tiny in fact. I found myself blinking open my eyes to his collarbone, coming several inches shorter than him. I hadn't noticed how drastic the difference was until we were almost chest to chest and the stench of weed was so much more potent. Right away I had to put distance between the two of us whenever I realized what had happened, whenever my brain caught up. I pressed my back up against the door and looked up at my peer with a frazzled and admittedly embarrassed look in my eye. I was soon irritated he didn't seem to notice or care, just absentmindedly giggling again.

"The hell is wrong with you?" I grumbled, trying to sound the least bit threatening.

He shrugged and once more offered me what he was smoking. I batted at it, trying to swat it out of his hand, but as if he was expecting it flew his arm into the air and out of my reach. With a groan I crossed my arms and watched another hit ensue and smoke hit my scrunched face.

"Your face," he said. He swirled his finger around his own expression as if that would help his lack of words. "It tells me everything."

My brow line settled deeply into my eyes. I swatted at his hand again as he reached out to poke my cheek and he laughed at me. Even with the elementary verbiage I knew exactly what he was trying to tell me. I was a little stunned at the observation he made, my family nor my friends ever really pointing out the fact I wore my heart on my sleeve. Or more like I wore my emotions plainly on my face. He was smirking at me with confidence that annoyed me, as if with just that look he was challenging me. He probably thought he could read my mind, and he likely could, but I didn't want to believe that. But every time he seemed to know what I was thinking, I was only ever filled with rage.

"I'll tell you what this is now," he spoke again before I responded, him taking my pointed silence as my words anyways. Antonio lifted his hand, revealing the blue and white swirls of color.

I almost reached out for it, seriously curious, before he bent his back behind him a little bit. He lowered his head towards the toilet bowl and put the art piece to his lips again. Cupping the part where the weed had just been, but was now completely caked in ash, he huffed a sharp breath through it, and all the ash fell into the water below. He flushed it away before turning back to me, and gently placing it in my hands.

It was lighter than I expected, but the first thing I did was hold it up to the fluorescent lights above us.

"It is called a bowl."

"A bowl?" I confirmed, looking back down to him. He nodded. "Well… I think it looks too pretty to be used for what I know it's used for…"

Antonio just laughed at me as he stole it back, turning it over in his hands between us for us to both ogle at. I noticed then his hands looked rough, almost calloused, but they handled the bowl deftly and gently. I figured good, it would be a shame if something like this broke. Especially by the hands of a complete idiot.

"You don't like when I smoke?"

He raised only his eyes to match mine, his head still tilted slightly down. He had a coy smile on his cheeks as I watched big, falsely innocent eyes peek at me behind a curtain of brown curls. The sudden endearing look caught me off guard, and I cleared my throat.

"I think Gilbert and Francis have been a bad influence on you," I said, then looked back down and snatched the bowl again to look at it closer.

"I did it in Spain too," he returned. "My mom hates it too."

A small breath of laughter came from my nose as I was holding the bowl up to my eye. Upon closer examination I saw small flecks of the white too, scattered about the sea of blue. I could have sworn I also saw some orange in there, but it was hard to tell.

"Really?" I asked, not looking up.

"Sí," he sighed. "But I smoked mostly for…" he paused as he sat back down on the toilet, using it as a chair as he thought and mumbled. "For my uh.. Nerves. For my nerves."

"Like… anxiety?"

"Sí! Yes! That is the word."

It was at that point the little art piece called a bowl lost my interest and I handed it back to Antonio. My back slid down the stall door until I was on the floor, wanting to sit as well, and drawing my knees up to my chest. He was pawing it over in his hands, smoothing over the glass, then started to pick at some of the ash that was stuck to the sides, grown harder over time. He muttered something in Spanish. I believed something about needing to clean it, but it was too soft and quick for me to really know. Gentle silence settled around us, and I relaxed a bit, satisfied watching Antonio play with the bowl.

Briefly I wondered if Antonio ever felt frustrated, or anxious, like he mentioned, around here. Was that why he skipped often to smoke, because he was nervous or anxious about something? Maybe it was just some kind of anxiety he couldn't place and had to just deal with. I wouldn't have guessed, the little time I've spent with him being full of his smiles and laughter. He seemed outgoing and fun, extroverted and happy. But I supposed then it was true that you should never judge a book by its cover. I wondered if Antonio ever wished he had a pal besides the teacher he could speak Spanish with. Our teacher was from Mexico, so she already didn't love Antonio's accent as seemingly he lisped and used vosotros too much for her liking. He never seemed to mind it though, an understanding fellow. He just smiled and tried his best to remember to use usted.

This was the first time I ever really had a real conversation with the boy, I realized, sitting there on the dirty bathroom floor. This was the first time I actually learned something about him, and I was almost glad. Almost glad to know this person more as an individual instead of a part of a matching set. Although that didn't mean I began to like him in the slightest.

I opened my mouth a few times and closed it again with a stuttering hesitance, something he didn't seem to notice thankfully. He was too absorbed in a nostalgic memory it looked, as he was turning the bowl more and more over in his grip.

"Uhm… es.. es bonito.."

My words understandably popped Antonio's bubble, and startled him. I saw in real time his brain short circuit as it switched from one language to the next with a sense of relief I could almost feel in the air. Slow understanding washed over his expression and a smile that seemed more genuine than any other I've seen in my whole life met my awe stricken eyes. His next words were a whispered breath, and I almost missed them in the echo of the walls around us.

"Sí," he said. "Ya lo dijiste antes."

.

/ "it's… it's pretty.." /

/ "Yes, you said that before." /

.

The next time I saw Antonio (besides fleeting moments in the classroom) was a decent amount of time later. In fact it was the near end of the school year. Our first semester wrapped up quickly after Antonio transferred and before we knew it their graduation was imminent. Nothing much changed from the past term except I had my last growth spurt and Feliciano failed a class for the first time in his life. And it was an art class. My grandfather and I didn't even think it was possible for anyone to fail an art class, much less Feliciano of all people. But nonetheless it happened and grandpa scolded him to tears. It was quickly followed up by both parties apologizing frantically at each other. But even so, he initiated a curfew for Feliciano (and me by extension since it wouldn't be fair otherwise…) so as to not keep him out late with Ludwig, which he deemed the distraction Feliciano was struggling with. He was right, and passed his next art class with flying colors, like he always did before.

When the new semester started and carried forth, I noticed there was a sufficient lack of our famous trio bugging me and Eliza at lunch (and Feli and Ludwig, but they often kept to themselves, only pitching in here and there). We saw them in passing through the sea of students during hall changes or when they were leaving the bathroom. Rumors started to swarm around, thinking the group may have finally matured out of their silly little habits. In fact, when conversing by the lockers together, they were hardly rowdy and loud, instead seeming rather serious. I took notice of this almost immediately, the group having been such a prevalent part of my school life for a while that it was strange to feel them suddenly disappear. I wondered if something happened over the winter break, something at home? Or maybe they reached the teachers' limit and finally decided to back off? No one knew for sure. And no one did ever find out. Not really.

It stayed this way for the first few months until more rumors filled the halls. Notes passed back and forth in classrooms and people talked behind their hands, as if in a high school movie. I seemed separated from it all– I had no idea what they were talking about. For a while I was paranoid everyone was talking about me in some way, but about what? It was quickly alleviated though with reassurance from Eliza and the fact that people didn't seem panicked or interested when I approached, still gossiping with each other without faltering or stopping, like they didn't care if I heard or not. Though, I always did just overhear the things that didn't matter, that had no substance to them, so my curiosity was never filled.

"I can't believe it…"

"What do you think they'll do?"

"His parents couldn't have been happy…"

At the very least, I knew the subject's gender. But no name.

When I saw Antonio again, for what felt like the first time in eons, it was almost like a breath of fresh air. Having not talked to or even interacted with any part of the trio for so long started to make me itch in an uncomfortable way, like it wasn't right. I used to beg for them to leave me alone, and sure, they could've stood to that more often, but not all the time. It threw me off at this point.

.

"Come in," a voice responded to my knocking on the door, and I slowly opened it.

The room in front of me was white and plain, two small cots covered in thick, cheap sheets to my left, and two small desks against the right wall. Computers sat atop those desks, where two nurses sat and continued their work. Though one was preoccupied, sifting through the cabinets that lined the back wall for something.

I had found myself in the nurse's office that day simply due to an upset stomach. Elizabeta had made a ridiculous bet with me that I wouldn't eat the lunch's mac n cheese off the cafeteria floor. Evil girl. She knew once I was challenged to do something, I was too stubborn to give up, and she just wanted to see me suffer anyways. I lasted until the last class of the day before I had to excuse myself twice to the bathroom to empty my stomach. The teacher didn't care for my constant interruptions and sent me on my way with a hall pass slip in my hand. When I entered the room, the nurse sitting at the desk looked up at me to ask what was wrong, and I answered him simply and plainly.

When he got up to join the other nurse by the many cabinets to look for something, it was then that I realized I wasn't the only student in pain today.

Antonio.

He was already looking at me when I noticed him. He smiled at me like he always did, with a wave, but instead of shining teeth, blood dripped over his lips. I cringed as my eyes widened at the sight. The boy was sitting on one of the cots, strips of bandages haphazardly laid across his forehead and arms, a few circling his fingers as well. One strip was held across his nose which also had tissue stuffed up one nostril, and a black eye completed the whole ensemble. I was horrified. When he grinned, I saw bruising around his lips and his teeth pushed inward slightly, as if getting his face sunk in. His nose was crooked now too.

"That must've been one hell of a fall down the stairs," I said, simply in disbelief. "What the fuck did you do?"

"Ah…" he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a wince. "Pissed off one too many football players."

"You dumbass. Are you drunk?"

The nurse didn't turn to scold me on my language, but shouted over their shoulder with little care anyways. The warning didn't reach me however as I was more focused on the twisted and beaten classmate of mine in front of me. Just a sheepish smile was his reply and that confirmed my accusation in my head, and I just shook my head with a disapproving groan. I was seriously starting to get concerned for the small group at this point.

With the rumors and their unusual quietness, a sudden beating seemed out of character. I had never seen any one of them hurt because of their idiocy (as surprising as that sounds, I know). The soft squeaking of my wet shoes on white tile filled the stale silence as I stalked over to Antonio, grimacing as I got closer and details became clearer. I sat on a cot across from him with a huff.

"What exactly did you say to those bozos? I know they're hot heads but I didn't think they'd go so far as to mutilate someone," I said, but Antonio's expression was unwavering.

"Oh, who knows," he sighed. I wrinkled my brow as he avoided my question. "But Lovi, what brings you here?"

"Don't call me that," I snapped, but he laughed at my irritated exposition.

"Did you come to visit me?"

I scoffed, informing him that his jokes were hardly funny and he shouldn't inflate his ego anymore than it already is. There was disagreement and amusement in his reddened eyes, which I was shocked to see was still so obvious and noticeable. How's that for God giving with both hands, huh? Even with his face beaten in, his gaze still sparkled and entangled you, as expressive and bright as ever.

"Just ate something bad is all," I mumbled.

He clicked his tongue and smiled. "Well," his voice seemed a little lower. "That's too bad."

I spared him a glance as one of the nurses returned to the two of us. She looked down at Antonio and handed him an ice pack for his eye before telling him his parents were nearby to take him to the hospital. I sputtered a bit upon hearing that, but tried to hide it as a cough. Antonio just nodded and smiled a toothy grin as he thanked her and let out a breath of relief as the cold compress eased the pain around his face. I leaned forward a bit.

"Hospital?" I whispered.

"Yeah," Antonio barely nodded. "They think I broke my nose."

He winced with a wet intake of air sucked in between his teeth. I just watched as he gently ran a hand over the bandage, pain signaling all over his face. He did in fact break his nose, I could simply tell right there in the moment. But confirmation came with him when he returned to school two days later with it cleaned and wrapped up, something most would be embarrassed by, but he managed to pretend like it wasn't even there. It ended up crookening his once perfectly straight nose. I was going to respond to him, what I was going to say escaped from me through time and a shitty memory, but the office door opened, and dragged my attention away.

There I saw a tall, boney, tan woman standing in the doorway. She was wearing a slinky dark dress, which I believe was a deep purple/maroon, that covered her arms and hugged her frame down to her knees with a wide neckline. She wore a single gold necklace and was wearing expensive sunglasses indoors. Hair pinned perfectly back into a bun and long manicured nails, she radiated a classy vibe. But what was missing from her expression was a concern any mother would normally have for their child upon seeing them in such a dilapidated state. Her painted lips just squared into a pointed frown before she carefully removed her eyewear.

"Antonio," she said his name so slowly, having a lower voice than I thought she would.

My head flinched back momentarily to see Antonio getting up silently, a tad slowly, no doubt sore, and my gaze followed him as he joined his mother across the room. He smiled and greeted her, but she didn't respond. They quietly exchanged a conversation before the nurse shifted over, and though never understanding, I have his mother's tone of voice burned into my brain.

"Pensé que habíamos terminado con esto…"

"Lo siento, mamá."

I was shocked to see that this woman was at all related to Antonio, a man who seemed to just radiate friendliness and sunshine, but the brief memory of months and months ago back in the boys' bathroom clicked then. He did mention she was rather strict about his smoking, perhaps she was just strict in general. She certainly seemed that way, her intimidating glare almost comparing to my grandfather's. I swallowed and tried to avoid her attention. I felt as if I was in trouble, and she wasn't even my mother.

"Mrs. Fernandez-Carriedo?" The nurse was braver than I, interrupting them to hand her a paper. "This is a report drawn up describing the incident. We've already identified the students responsible and contacted their parents to discuss what–"

"That will not be necessary," Antonio's mother unceremoniously cut her off, not moving in the slightest to take hold of the shaking paper offered to her. "We won't make a scene and we'll pay all his medical expenses on our own, so please, don't go and turn this into a bigger spectacle than it is."

Her words were stilted and unmoving, hardened and impatient, unamused, and her face was to match. Her nose was tilted up slightly, despite coming to be taller than everyone there in her dark heels, perhaps to just look down on everyone. I watched as the nervous nurse took the paper back to herself and squished it against her chest. Even her Spanish accent, which I thought was hard to make sound scary, was suddenly something I didn't want to hear again. But with one more remark to her son, she turned away and he followed.

"Ven, Antonio."

.

A little flashback chapter OWO

Translations:

"Pensé que habíamos terminado con esto…"

(I thought we were done with this…)

"Lo siento, mamá."

(I'm sorry, mom.)

"Ven, Antonio."

(Come, Antonio.)

Note: I DO NOT speak Spanish so if my spanish and/or translations are off, please let me know so I can fix them. Thanks! I also would really appreciate any kind of feedback! :)