The feeling of having forgotten about the dream, even when I know it goes on—as it happens with all my dreams—bugs me. Especially today. I close my eyes, trying to go back that world of us, to that second where the memory ends to keep on living in it, but the back of my eyelids only show me darkness.

“Maximilian! Come down and eat breakfast or you’re going to be late for school” My mother yells from the kitchen window. My window and the kitchen window share the same skylight, so whether I want to or not, everything people yell from the kitchen window can be clearly heard in my room, on the second floor. I reluctantly get ready and go downstairs.

My mother has toast with jam and butter ready, papaya juice, and some questions.

“Max, what happened yesterday that you didn’t come down for dinner? You weren’t feeling well?” She demands to know and arches her brows, a sign that she’s both worry and annoyed. Dinner time is important for her, it’s the only time she can see her family because there’s no time to talk in the mornings; my father goes to work when everyone else is still asleep—to avoid Javier Prado avenue’s traffic jam—so we never see him in the morning.

My mother is the last to leave the house for work.

“I’m sorry, mom. I had a terrible headache so I went to bed early. I’m sorry.” I lie, and something in my mother’s eyes tells me she isn’t buying it. I’ve always thought she has a psychic power because she can always tell when I’m lying.

“Well, you should’ve told me, so I could give you an aspirin.” She replies with wary eyes.

Then Lucy gets here; she woke up in time, but fell asleep again while getting ready. She eats her toasts as fast as she can, I think she doesn’t even chew, and then we’re on our way to school. We always bump into one of Lucy’s friends, and as they whisper and turn from time to time, to check if I’m listening, I end up walking almost a block away from them. In days like today, while I watch Lucy laugh with her friend, I think back nostalgically, to the time when Lucy wouldn’t let go of my hand when we walked to school. Everyone found that adorable, that she always wanted to be near her older brother; back then I found that annoying.

When I go inside the classroom, Santiago is surrounded by all the girls, as usual, but this time, when he sees me, he stands and starts walking towards me.

“Hi, Max!” He says, smiling. I see Maria, a few steps away, watching us. First she sees Santiago, then she shows her anger, frowning and staring directly at me. She comes close, taking loud steps. She yanks me by my arm and we leave a surprised Santiago behind.

“Maximilian, since when are you and Santiago so close? You two barely said hello to each other yesterday. Be a good friend and tell me everything.” Maria demands without letting go of my arm. I tell her about the house with a big yard, about the badminton workshop, and about that side of Santiago we don’t see at school, and that we probably will only see when he’s playing. I tell her about Sandy as well, the cute girl, full of contagious energy, and how I don’t know if she’s only Santiago’s friend, or his girlfriend. Maria doesn’t want to be left wondering, so we go back to where Santiago is.

“Santiago, do you have a girlfriend?” She asks, I notice a bit of fear in her voice, but her attitude is admirable. She didn't let the dread of the answer overcome her, unlike me.