The blaring sound of the alarm clock pierced through Chris's ears, jolting him out of bed. Sunlight sliced through the curtains, blinding him as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It was seven o'clock, and the thought of going to school made his stomach twist in knots. Everything that had happened the night before still rattled around in his head as a stray pinball, refusing to let him forget.

Summoning every ounce of willpower, Chris tugged on his school uniform tee and dragged himself out of his room. In the kitchen, Esther already waited for him, dressed immaculately, her olive skin shining against her silk rose-printed robe. Even at that dreadful hour, her haughtiness was unwavering. He sat at the table, grabbed a slice of toast, and noisily smeared it with butter.

"Want to talk about it?" Esther's words crashed into the room, falling like boulders.

Chris halted mid-bite, tucking his lips in so as not to snap back, and Esther positioned herself in front of him, two brown eyes piercing right through his soul.

"What?" Chris mumbled, refusing to meet her gaze.

"Are you really okay?"

"What do you think?"

"Don't worry so much about it, son. Just try to enjoy your first day at school."

Chris sneered, and a response he had been sharpening since the day before slipped to his tongue. But his cell phone vibrated, and a message from Theodoro lit up the screen:

"Dude! I'm waiting!"

Reading those simple words for the first time that morning, Chris smiled.

He took one last bite of the toast, pecked his mother's cheek, and slid through the kitchen door. But just as he reached halfway, Esther cornered him in the doorframe, one hand firmly clutching his right shoulder. "Don't forget what we agreed on."

Chris nodded with a faint whimper, but all he could think of was his mother's incredible ability to obliterate any trace of satisfaction displayed. Yet, as he cycled away from home, basking in the cool shade of the summer trees and inhaling the sultry air of the sun-soaked morning, a glimmer of hope flickered within him. And for a swift moment, he could almost set aside his worries—a volatile sensation that intensified when he spotted his best friend leaning against his bike at an empty bus stop.

Theo raised his cell phone with one hand and adjusted his round prescription glasses with the other, which stubbornly slipped down his thin, aquiline nose. "Finally!" He beamed.

They exchanged an intricate handshake, complete with clapping, high-fives, and pattycakes, and Theo hopped on his bike, his mouth inching timidly toward a grin. "Are you ready?"

"Actually, I don't think so."

"Well, you'd better be," he retorted, and they took off at breakneck speed.

Away from home, with Theo by his side, careening down the never-ending road, and with the wind singing loudly in his ears, Chris almost felt like the typical teenager he so eagerly yearned to be.

When they arrived at school, the air crackled with the chatter of new and returning students in a dazzling cacophony of voices. Theo and Chris maneuvered their bicycles, weaving through a sea of teenagers in a kaleidoscope of colors, styles, and sizes. At every turn, they were enveloped by the contagious energy of animated conversations and boisterous laughter.

Passing through the gates, the Immaculate Heart High School imposed itself in front of them, a relic of history and tradition. Built during the 1930s, the former three-story colonial-style monastery was adapted to support a large contingent of students. But despite modernization, it remained a typical Brazilian Catholic school. Ebony crucifixes adorned the ancient and musty classrooms. Monday prayers were mandatory, and a massive image of Our Lady of Perpetual Help graced the pediment of the main facade, watching every student with her unblinking stone eyes.

As they crossed the vast entrance lawn, a group of girls distributed pamphlets, clamoring for attention. Laura stood at the forefront of the trio; fair-skinned, and with blonde hair in a thick braid, she exuded confidence from every pore.

"Come join the Catholic youth ministry," she exclaimed, her perfectly aligned teeth flashing in a grin.

Her companions, Chiara and Clara, rolled their eyes as they made their own lackluster invitations. But when Laura turned to greet a new group that approached, her smile dissipated like steam. Among the crowd, a student darted towards her: leather platform boots, fishnets, black eyeliner, and hair streaked with a bold shade of green.

Samanta.

Chiara and Clara parted their lips to protest, but Samanta silenced them with a sharp look, harshly grabbed one of the pamphlets, and defiantly crushed it before sauntering away as if nothing had happened.

Laura gaped, briefly speechless, and Chris could almost see the gears turning in her head before she blurted out a resounding "Devil!" in a thoughtless way.

Theo and Chris suppressed their laughter, and as they strode past the group, Theo reached out to snag a pamphlet.

"Blessed be the fruit," he muttered sarcastically, quickly scanning the contents through his thick glasses. "Have you read this? What's next for these Jesus freaks? Flat earth?"

Chris nodded in agreement, but his mind rang with warning bells. Theo was not easily fooled by his shifting moods. And every time Chris made an uncharacteristic gesture or changed the inflection of his voice, a chill raced down his spine at the prospect of his friend uncovering the stark truth he had fought so hard to keep hidden.

"What's bothering you now?" Theo continued, relishing in Chris's stunned expression. "Are the flat earthers getting to you?"

"Chill out, nothing's wrong." Chris forced a smile, trying to compose himself. However, the creases on Theo's forehead indicated that he was far from convincing.

"You're acting weirder than usual. If that's even possible," he grumbled, squeezing his bike in the packed rack.

But as they locked up, Theo cautiously broached a subject he had been holding back throughout the entire morning. "Dude," he hesitated, biting his lips. "Don't you think that maybe we should try to branch out a little bit and make some new friends this year?"

"Oh no. This again." Chris folded his arms, bracing himself for the inevitable lecture on the allure of popularity—a strange obsession that had taken hold of his friend's mind recently and one that he had no intention of indulging. However, before he could voice his objection, a loud noise shattered the air, making them whip their heads towards the entrance, where a battered pickup truck struggled to park. And as they paused to observe, time slowed down into a cinematic glide. Julia stood out from the passenger seat, with her wavy hair cascading like satin, and even in the school's plain uniform tee, she effortlessly exuded an elaborate style that captured attention.

A walking daydream of curves and attitude.

From the driver's seat emerged a student they had never seen before—denim jacket, sunglasses, and dreadlocked hair. The kind of teenager who could make hearts skip a beat with just one glance. Two other girls, Erica and Renata, accompanied the entourage envied by all. Together, they marched with the confidence of those at the top of the school's food chain.

The new student ably removed his sunglasses, and met their eyes for a split second.

"Who the hell is he?" Theo breathed, spellbound by the scene unfolding before him.

"I have no idea."

Theo's attention flicked back to Chris. "Are you still going to say you don't want to be like them?"

"Do I really need to answer?"

"Ugh! It doesn't matter. This year, it's going to be different. I can feel it."

*

Surprisingly, Theo had been right all along, and Chris found himself forced to endure Laura's unbelievable speech about truancy to an entirely dispersed group of students. Some gazed out of the window, others were glued to their phones, and Chris idly scribbled in his notebook, only half-listening. But then, with a single word, Laura managed to rouse the whole class from their deep torpor: celibacy.

"As I was saying," she resumed, clearly pleased with the reaction she had provoked, "celibacy is the only one hundred percent effective way to avoid teenage pregnancy." Her face contorted as if the words were fighting to escape. "And also sexually transmitted diseases," she said, flashing her symmetrical smile. Yet, the room remained silent, save for the loud popping of the newcomer's bubble gum.

Laura glowered, puckering her lips before pointing her index finger up. "I'm confident that He supports this decision."

Her words elicited a collective "Ah," as if everyone knew what was coming, and Samanta responded with a dramatic eye roll. "That's it. After creating infinite universes, God, the most powerful entity in the world, spends the rest of his days monitoring people banging."

Chris chuckled, knowing she always had the nerve; but damn, that was much better than he expected.

Laura, however, remained unimpressed. "It's just my opinion, and you should respect it," she said, glaring at the girl for so long that Chris felt compelled to interject.

"I highly doubt Jesus didn't have sex," he muttered under his breath, a little too loudly, causing Samanta to stand up and menacingly run her tongue across her teeth.

"If he didn't, he was gay!" she exclaimed.

The statement hit the class like a bolt of lightning, triggering an eruption of loud hoots, whistles, and involuntary gasps. The new student attempted to laugh but ended up choking on his gum, arms flailing as his face turned a deep shade of purple.

Laura scanned the class with a sweeping predatory gaze while the teacher rose from her desk, palms up in a conciliatory gesture. And the newcomer, tears in his eyes, took out the slimy, crumpled mass from his mouth with an intense gasp.

After what felt like hours, the commotion finally died down, and Laura reclaimed her seat, making sure to give a lingering, malevolent stare at the new classmate.

The teacher then addressed the troublemakers, "Christiano and Samanta, report to the principal's office."

Chris gaped in disbelief, struggling to process what was unfolding before him; he grumbled an incoherent protest and cast a desperate glance at Samanta, but she was already storming out of the room, her head held high, emanating an air of righteous indignation.

"You as well, Vinicius," the teacher added, fixing her gaze on the newcomer.

"Me? Are you serious? Did you not see what happened? I could have died," he said, impatiently pushing his dreadlocks aside.

The professor remained silent, her jaw clenched tightly as the boy reluctantly rose from his desk and made his way to the door. But before he left, he paused and turned back, his eyes narrowing like slits in a cat's face. "Perhaps he was really gay," he spat, his voice booming through the classroom, leaving everyone stunned.

As Chris ambled down the empty hallway, the echoes of the students' uproar still reached his ears. He told himself he didn't care. He wanted not to care; to remain a mere bystander. Yet, a part of him couldn't help but relish the attention, basking in the unexpected spotlight of being able to speak his mind, even as things spiraled out of control.

The trio descended a flight of stairs and entered the principal's waiting room, which was practically empty, save for the secretary tapping away on a prehistoric computer. The blue plastic benches gleamed against the antiquated wooden walls, amplifying the anachronistic feel of the entire construction. Samanta donned her headphones and settled in the farthest seat, while Vinicius took the one next to Chris.

"You can call me Vinny," he said, extending a hand and flashing a charming smile.

The attraction that Vinny exuded was undeniable. The face of a black Disney prince with a punch of attitude—voluptuous mouth, feathery eyelashes, and big dark stones inside his eyes. He was sociable, a walking encyclopedia of pop culture, and practically a meme connoisseur. Still, Samanta seemed rather unfazed by his magnetic charm, remaining engrossed in her own world until the secretary directed them to the principal's office.

As they settled into the chairs arranged in front of the imposing desk, Chris couldn't help but notice the peculiar decorations adorning the walls. Frames of all sizes covered the dark panels, filled with idyllic beachscapes, fiery sunsets, and monstrous waves. "God's love is like the ocean. You can see its beginning but not its end," read one of them.

Director Jorge cleared his throat, blending effortlessly into the environment—his clerical collar peeked from his floral shirt, and his uniformly gray hair fell straight over his shoulder. And when he spoke, no sermon escaped his lips, but rather a jubilant discourse that few in the room were familiar with.

"These non-canonical gospels were lost for centuries, and tell a different tale of Jesus," he said, savoring each word. "Including one that portrays a supposed stable and intimate relationship with Mary Magdalene. Fascinating, isn't it?"

Chris and Vinny exchanged impressed looks, but Samanta remained with the same smirk of superiority.

"Well, I'm not here to change your beliefs. But I won't tolerate disrespect for the beliefs of others."

"Actually, it was pretty damn funny," Vinny replied, and the trio couldn't suppress a slight chuckle.

Jorge's gaze landed on the student, his lips forming a thin line. "But not for Laura, and regardless of whether or not you agree, your comments undoubtedly had a negative impact on her."

The director interlaced his fingers. "In any case, I will seize this opportunity for the greater good. You're new here, aren't you?" He glanced at Vinny, who nodded in confirmation. "Your parents will be notified, and you'll have detention after class. After that, you can give your new classmate a tour of the school."

The students rolled their eyes, and with a flick of the principal's wrist, they were dismissed and sent back to the safety of their classroom. However, it appeared that trouble was hot on Chris's heels that day, and it wouldn't be the first time he found himself unable to evade it unscathed.