Chapter 2: Sofía
Recess is my least favorite time of the day. Everyone gathers in little clusters, talking about things that don't interest me, taking filtered photos that they'll upload to look happier than they are. I prefer to hide.
There's a corner behind the gym where no one goes. Not even the smokers consider it worth the effort. It's a dead space between two brick walls, the floor covered in dry leaves and a rotten wooden bench. Perfect.
I sit down and take out my notebook. Not the school one—the other one, the black one, the one that holds things no one can read. I flip through the pages full of half-finished words, drawings that make no sense, and dates marked with red circles.
I find a blank page and write:
"Today, someone wrote me back. I don't know what it means, but I felt something. Like finding a coin in the pocket of a jacket you haven't worn in a long time."
"Can I?"
I almost drop the notebook from the shock. I look up and there he is: the boy from the drawing. Up close, I can see his eyes better—gray, or green, or something in between—and a small scar on his left eyebrow.
"How did you know I was here?" I say, sounding more aggressive than I intend.
"I didn't. I come here too."
We look at each other. There's something strange about the moment, as if we had both just discovered that the secret spot we thought was solely ours was actually shared.
"You can sit," I finally say.
He sits down, leaving space between us. He doesn't speak. He doesn't ask anything. He's just there, looking at the same sliver of sky I always look at.
Five minutes pass in silence. It should be awkward, but it isn't.
"I'm Alex," he finally says.
"Sofía."
"Your handwriting is nice."
I don't know how to respond to that. No one has ever commented on my handwriting.
"Your drawing is nice too," I say. "The door. I liked it."
He nods. He takes a folded piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to me.
"I finished it during Math class."
I open it. It's the same drawing, but more detailed. Light is now spilling out from the crack beneath the door. And on the frame, there's a phrase: "Sometimes the way out is where we least look for it."
Something breaks inside me. I don't know what, but I feel it.
"Why are you giving this to me?" I ask, my voice shakier than I'd like.
"Because I thought you needed it."
"You don't know me."
"No. But I recognize someone who is drowning. Because I'm drowning too."
The bell rings. Recess is over. But neither of us moves.
"Are you coming tomorrow?" Alex asks.
"To the corner, you mean."
"Yeah."
"Yes," I reply. "I'm coming."