Lucas is winning again.
He sits cross legged on the rug, controller gripped too tightly for someone his age, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. The screen flashes colors too bright, explosions too loud. I let him win anyway. He needs it more than I do.
"You suck," he announces proudly.
I lean back against the couch. "Careful. That confidence comes with consequences."
He grins without looking at me. "You say that every time."
"And yet," I say, watching his character take mine out effortlessly, "you never listen."
He laughs. A real laugh. The kind that makes the house feel less like a museum and more like something lived in.
For a moment, I forget about everything else.
Until my phone buzzes on the table.
I ignore it.
Lucas pauses the game and looks up at me. "Are you going to the gala thing."
"I might."
He narrows his eyes. "You always say that when you are lying."
I huff. "You are too observant."
"You should take someone," he says casually, already unbothered again. "Like that girl."
I freeze. "What girl."
"The one you smile at your phone about."
I do not smile at my phone.
I glance away. "Mind your game."
He shrugs. "I like her."
That should not mean anything but somehow it does.
Three weeks later, the gala night arrives whether I am ready or not. I am not a fan of the school events but what can I do. My ten year old brother convinced me to go when I did not have the plans to.
The venue glows with polished excess. Crystal lights. Dark suits. Dresses chosen with intention. Eduardo stands near the stage speaking to faculty members, already in his element. He will be awarding students tonight. He is just smiling, watching and calculating what I am not sure off. My mother Isabel is chatting with the female lecturers and laughing.
I did not invite Alma to be my date to the dance. I told myself it was because I would be busy but because my father would be here and that timing mattered.
The truth sits heavier.
If I took her, I would have to claim her. And I am still pretending I do not know how.
Diego adjusts his cuff beside me. Juan scrolls through his phone. "You look tense," Diego says. "Try blinking."
"I am fine."
He snorts. "Sure you are." Then the room shifts.
Not loudly, not dramatically but just enough.
I see burgundy before I see her.
The dress moves like it was made for her and not the other way around. Long. Clean lines. Her makeup is soft but deliberate, lips darker than usual, eyes steady. She walks like she belongs anywhere she stands.
Her hand is in someone else's.
The guy is taller than her. Beige suit. Shirt undone at the top like he wants to be noticed. A mask covers half his face. He checks his phone, slips it into his pocket, then squeezes her hand as if it is natural.
My jaw tightens before I tell it not to.
Diego follows my gaze. He elbows me. "Wow. Seems like you have matched."
I force a smile. "Do not start."
He laughs. "Too late."
Alma does not look at me. She laughs at something he says. Tilts her head toward him as they move toward the bar.
I do not move.
Instead, I spot Camilla across the room in black that looks expensive and intentional. Juan is beside her, smiling like he won something. I cross the floor before I change my mind.
"Camilla," I say. "Can I talk to you."
She raises a brow. "About the obvious."
I glance toward Alma. "Who is that."
She does not even look. "Gabriel."
The name lands wrong.
"Are they dating?"
Camilla finally turns to me. Studies my face like she is deciding how honest to be. Juan shifts closer to Diego and Eva, pretending not to listen.
"No," she says. "They are not."
I exhale without permission.
Then she adds, "But you are the one who keeps playing with her feelings. So she went with someone who asked."
That stings.
"Gabriel is nice," she continues lightly. "Cute too."
Something sharp twists in my chest. "Am I not nice?"
She actually laughs.
"You are," she says. "But you give possession vibes. Like Alma belongs to you without you ever saying it out loud. You do not show her your fun side. You just stand there like a mafia boss who assumes loyalty."
I open my mouth then close it.
She glances back toward Alma and Gabriel. Alma is laughing now, head tipped back, feet lifting slightly off the ground like they always do when she is happy.
"If you like her," Camilla says softly, "why do you not tell her. I wish you saw the way she giggles when you text. She likes you. That part is obvious. The question is do you?"
I look down.
"It is complicated."
She taps my chest once. Firm. "Save that explanation for her. Tell her before it is too late."
Then she walks away.
Juan and Diego watch me approach the bar alone. I grab a glass of wine and do not taste it. The room feels smaller.
I step into the hallway for air.
Lucy is there.
She leans against the wall, holding a cigar like she is daring someone to say something. She is short and has sharp eyes. She is actually the smartest sophomore I know. She is too amused.
"Well," she says. "If it is not the prince himself."
"Lucy," I reply flatly.
She smirks like she's enjoying herself. "You look miserable."
I glance at the cigar between her fingers, the smoke already clinging to the narrow hallway. "You're smoking inside."
She lifts it in a lazy salute. "What is this, high school?"
"No," I say flatly. "It's common sense."
She steps closer, invading space like she's testing boundaries. The scent of smoke and expensive perfume mixes, irritating and deliberate. "You should loosen up."
"Not happening."
She laughs, short and amused. "You never do."
That's when I notice the shift in the air.
Alma has stopped a few steps back. Her eyes flick over us without surprise, without interest. Just a quick assessment, like she's deciding whether a scene is worth her time.
It isn't.
She turns and walks toward the washroom, already done with whatever she thinks she saw.
And somehow, that hurts more than if she had stayed.
It should not matter.
A few moments later, she catches me scrolling through my phone. She slows, just enough to notice. Then pauses besides me.
"That's pretty," she says casually.
I look up. She's already smiling, the kind that says she knows exactly what she's seeing and exactly what it means.
"You're stalking me."
I lock the screen. "What are you doing here."
She folds her arms, leaning her weight onto one hip. Relaxed. Unbothered. "Enjoying my date."
Something in my tone sharpens before I can stop it. "You came with him."
Her smile fades, replaced by something steadier. Colder. "You pushed me there," she says evenly. "One day you're close. The next, you disappear. One day we kiss. The next, you act like I don't exist." She tilts her head slightly. "What did you expect me to do."
My jaw tightens. "Wait."
I did not believe I said that. I sounded like a desperate man.
Her eyes soften for half a second. Just long enough to remind me of what I am losing. Then she straightens, spine stiff, mask sliding back into place.
"Wait for what," she asks. "You're older than me. I waited for you to ask me to the dance."
The words land quietly. Precisely.
She turns to leave.
"You look pretty," I say, low, almost to myself.
She stops. Does not look back.
"Don't stare too much," she says lightly. "Your girls might get jealous." A pause. Then, softer, deliberate. "I'll post pictures. Makes it easier for you to stalk."
And then she's gone, swallowed by the noise and movement of the party, leaving the space she stood in colder than before.
I unlock my phone again. Her profile fills the screen. I notice a photo when she was in Florida. Her siblings together with Camilla. Smiles that look effortless. To my surprise she has followers I did not expect. She has too many followers.
I catch myself wondering how many people notice her when she walks into a room. It is not a jealous thought, just an intrusive one, the kind I do not bother to answer.
Applause pulls my attention forward. I step in and head towards a table that Juan and Diego were sitting.
"Camilla Rodriguez."
Camilla steps onto the stage first, shoulders back, smile easy, accepting her science award like she expected it all along. She earned it. No one questions that.
Then Alma's name is called. "Alma Cruz."
She walks up without hesitation. Then again. Two awards. One for academic excellence, another for her work in the mathematics club. The room responds louder this time, applause spreading faster, fuller. People lean forward. Heads turn.
Juan leans in. "That's your girl."
Diego whistles from our table. Juan claps like he is trying to outdo everyone else. I keep clapping long after it would be polite to stop, until the sting in my hands forces me to slow down.
Diego leans closer. "So," he says quietly, "how are things with Alma."
I lift my glass and take a slow sip of wine, buying myself a second. Then I shake my head once.
"Yeah," he mutters, understanding more than I said.
The lights overhead feel harsher than they did a moment ago. Too warm. Too exposing. Watching her up there, confident and composed, it finally sinks in that this is not something I can manage with distance or silence.
Sooner or later, she is going to move forward without me.
And I am not sure what I will do when she does.
When Alma steps down, Gabriel rises from their table and offers his arm. She takes it. They move toward their table next to ours, laughing about something small, comfortable in a way that looks earned. I tell myself to look away. I do not. Gabriel catches my eye as they stop near Juan. He hesitates, then nods, polite. He walks over holding Alma's hand. I don't know why I can't stop looking at their hands.
"Gael, am I right." he says. "Good event."
"Congratulations," I reply, glancing at Alma's awards on her hand. "You earned it."
"Thank you," she says, calm. Too calm.
Gabriel clears his throat. "I should get drinks." He steps aside as he greets Juan and Diego. Alma's eyes cannot get off mine, mine as well. We stare at each other for a while until she drifts her gaze and starts looking around.
Alma places her awards and asks Juan, "Where is Camilla?"
"Washroom." Juan says faintly. "Also congrats queen. I see some hard work you Latinas have." Juan adds as he smiles towards Alma.
"Gracias Juan." Alma responds.
A voice from behind, cheerful and bursting with energy, called out, "¿Lo hicimos o no?"
Alma turned, her smile lighting up the room, and without missing a beat, she laughed and hugged Camilla tightly. "Sí, lo hicimos," she said, her eyes sparkling. I watched the scene and couldn't stop the small, involuntary smile tugging at my lips. There was something about Alma's happiness that got under my skin, but not in a way that involved Gabriel.
Speaking of him, there he was, striding in with all the confidence in the world, a bottle of champagne in hand. With a smooth twist of his wrist, the cork popped into the air, sending a soft ping echoing through the room. He poured the golden liquid into everyone's glasses, raising his own with a grin. "To the Colombians!" he toasted, his voice carrying easily over the chatter.
I felt my stomach tighten at the sight. I don't know why it bothered me so much, but I couldn't stand the thought of Gabriel standing there, laughing, so close to her. My hands went into my pockets, and without thinking, I turned and walked toward the balcony. The cold evening air hit my face like a slap, and I inhaled sharply, letting the city lights blur beneath me.
From the edge of the balcony, I could still see them through the glass. Alma's laughter rang out, light and carefree, and Gabriel leaned just a little too close as he spoke to her. Every gesture, every shared glance, felt like a knife twisting in my chest. I shook my head and forced myself to focus on the night sky instead, letting the chaos of the party fade into the distance.
I sipped the cool air like it was wine, counting the stars above and ignoring the fire building inside me. I wanted to step back in, to grab her, to tell her what I couldn't yet say, but I stayed where I was. Some things had to wait. Some battles were fought in silence, and this one… this one I would win in my own way.
I stay on the balcony longer than I should, long enough for the cold to bite through my suit and sober me up. The laughter inside drifts out in waves. Alma's laugh cuts through all of it. I hate how easily I can pick it out.
When I finally go back in, the room feels louder. Brighter. The kind of loud that pretends everything is fine.
Gabriel spots me almost immediately. Of course he does. He makes his way over with a glass in his hand, posture relaxed, smile polite in that way that looks harmless if you do not know better.
"Gael," he says, nodding. "Good night, yeah?"
"Depends," I reply. "You enjoying it?"
He glances over my shoulder, toward Alma and Camilla. "I am. She deserves it."
The way he says she makes my jaw tighten.
"She earned those awards," I say. "No one handed them to her."
"I know," he replies easily. "That's what I like about her."
I look at him then. Really look. He is taller up close. Calm. Not trying too hard. That makes him worse.
"You and Alma," I say. "This a thing?"
He does not rush to answer. That alone irritates me.
"It is a night," he says finally. "Nothing more than that unless she wants it to be."
I take a slow sip of wine. "Careful."
He raises a brow. "With what?"
"With assuming she needs saving."
He smiles slightly. "I am not the one watching her from the balcony."
The words land clean, no aggression and no smile after.
I hold his gaze for a moment longer than necessary. "Enjoy the night," I say, and walk away before I do something that would ruin it.