Isabela

**Before**



Sometimes, I feel like my life is a tragic black-and-white movie. Everything is always dull, tasteless, emotionless… Or rather, without positive emotions, because bad things happen a lot. Especially now that I’m in the 11th grade.
Besides the asshole Caíque, who loves to torment me, I think I’ve got a new enemy, someone who hasn’t taken their eyes off me during the entire math class. I’m sitting in the last seat in this large classroom, painted in shades of blue and white. He’s sitting next to his sister, Bianca, who interrupts the class constantly, trying to show off how her IQ is above the rest of us mortals with her shrill voice and her pretty southern accent. I heard she got a warning for cutting her school shirt to show her midriff. No one told me. Actually, I overheard two boys whispering in the back of the room. I believe people find me strange because I don’t like being touched or having people too close to me, so they avoid me, pretend I don’t exist. The truth is, students can’t accept something different; they reject what goes against the norm.
My cheeks get no rest, heating up every time Nate, two seats ahead, turns his head over his shoulder to stare at me in a strange way. His expression doesn’t reveal much, but I can’t fully read him because I always look away from his deep gazes whenever I can. His messy hair gleams as he keeps turning his head to glance at me. I can’t focus on the class or the random notes I’m scribbling in my notebook.
When the bell rings loudly in the hallway, signaling recess, I rush to shove everything into my backpack, eager to get out before Caíque decides to bother me. But the heavy presence beside me is much more terrifying. I’m ready to stand up, but when Nate towers over me, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow, I sit back down, completely rigid.
My heart races as I fail to understand why the air in the room feels entirely taken up by Nate’s body, leaving none for me. My eyes are wide open, though I can’t see anything clearly.
“Hello, Isabela.”
His firm, confident voice makes me jump slightly in my chair. Damn! He startled me, and I don’t need to look at him to know he’s laughing. I can see his wide smile through my peripheral vision as he opens his backpack. God! I swallow hard several times. I expect him to pull something out to scare me, and that’s why I shrink into my seat. I’m scared and can’t call for the young teacher who’s leaving the room, along with the crowd of students eager to enjoy their break, leaving me completely alone with this delinquent.
I blink repeatedly at the sight of the purple package Nate drops on the desk in front of me. A large, sealed bag of soft grape candies. With trembling hands, I pick up the bag from the blue-topped desk, giving a small side smile. I feel my previously tense muscles slowly relaxing. I don’t know why, but my heart flutters as I muster the courage to look at him.
He’s devastatingly handsome, and his mouth is a work of art. There’s a piercing in his eyebrow that makes him even more attractive. I clutch the bag of candy to my chest, hugging it as if it were something precious, while staring at his perfectly aligned, white teeth that frame his smile.
“You dropped all the candies on the ground yesterday. I even picked them up, but I figured you didn’t want them anymore. It wasn’t easy finding this brand, though...” he confesses, resting his hands on his hips and exhaling as if he were releasing a weight from his shoulders.
The way his voice softens intrigues me. I can barely see the cruel boy who threatened me yesterday. His eyes are playful. He’s cheerful, and he examines the details of my face so thoroughly that I can’t help but blush. I know Nate can’t see how hot my cheeks are because I’m wearing light makeup that covers the scratches and the fading bruise from my stepfather’s slap.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He bought candy for me… He looked for the same brand and flavor I like. Why am I suddenly starting to see Nate not as a “problem” but as an intriguing and “hot” guy? This is so unexpected. I never would’ve thought he’d be kind to me after yesterday. In fact, I had a nightmare last night about Nate shaking me like a rag doll and accusing me of snitching on him.
“Oh, I also got this...” he says, placing a small black bag from Imaginarium in front of me.
I spend countless minutes staring at his eyes, blinking non-stop. My hands are cold and sweaty, with the scent of his cologne trying its hardest to never leave my nose. I inhale deeply, trying to pull myself together, knowing I must look silly staring at him like this. I tear my eyes away from his expectant smile and open the bag. Inside is a beautiful water bottle. It’s red, full of glitter, with the phrase “More water to stay more beautiful” written in white along its length.
This-is-simply-perfect.
I haven’t received a gift since my father died. I feel like crying, but I swallow hard and smile. I glance at him, and he looks nervous, anxious even...

" Thanks, Nate. It's beautiful!"
" The truth is, I was pissed off and ended up stepping on your bottle over and over after you ran out and left it in the bathroom," he says, pressing his lips together. "I'm sorry!"
" I'm not gonna say it's all good, but I’m happy I got a new bottle and my candy. I was probably going through sugar withdrawal," I joke as I open my backpack and put the gifts inside. "I can easily imagine you stepping on my little bottle," I say out loud, shaking my head. As soon as I stand up, Nate steps back a little and stares at me, looking startled. I furrow my brows, observing him. "— What?"
" You finally said a long sentence. I’m shocked. And your voice… it’s really beautiful. But I bet you’ve heard that a lot, right?" he says, locking eyes with mine with something I can only describe as "depth."
Did he just compliment me? It’s moments like these when I miss having a friend to ask if he’s flirting with me or just mocking me.
" And you're finally being less scary," I retort, then exhale and give him a shy smile without showing my teeth.
" I'm sorry for being such a jerk yesterday, Isa. Not the best way to meet a pretty girl." Wow! Did he just call me *Isa*? And, God, did Nate just say I’m *pretty*? Why do I feel this warmth in my stomach? What’s the reason for this wetness in my underwear? Could I have gotten my period? My eyes widen, and I quickly toss my backpack into his arms. I don’t pay attention to his startled expression as I rummage through it, looking for a pink cardigan. As soon as I grab the fabric, I don’t waste any time tying it around my waist.
" What’s wrong?"
I don’t respond, just dash toward the bathroom. Damn! I’m terrified of getting my period on my clothes. It happened once, and the idiot Caíque spent a week calling me dirty in the school hallways. Frustrated tears well up in my eyes as I throw myself into a bathroom stall and hurriedly check to see if I’m actually stained.