It was hot that day. The June sun beat down hard on the concrete, and the smell of dry grass mingled with that of open backpacks and teenage sweat.

At recess, the schoolyard filled with shouting, balls bouncing off the wall, and groups forming and breaking apart with the ease of people carrying no burdens. Emma lingered by the entrance for a moment, watching the scene as though she were looking out over a jungle landscape. A landscape where predators stalked herbivores—or, worse, where carnivores sat digesting after devouring their prey.

The jungle: an ecosystem where two distinct kinds of animals coexist—the carnivores, aggressive and bloodthirsty, who devour their prey alive, and the herbivores, incapable of fighting because they have neither claws nor sharp teeth and know only how to flee. A hostile, cruel territory where there are only two choices: eat or be eaten.

The herbivore is an animal held captive by fear and, moreover, deeply selfish. As long as the carnivores do not attack it, it will be more than happy to watch them savage another herbivore, without lifting a finger to help. It does not realize that, by acting this way, it is harming itself, because its luck could change at any moment.

Even so, the herbivore is not stupid. It knows that the best defense is a good offense, but without nails, claws, or teeth, that is something it can never do. It has succumbed to a fatalism from which it is unable to escape.

In the jungle, of course, there are elephants too. They are herbivores, but no one messes with them. When they feel threatened, they trample the carnivores, and more than one predator has learned a harsh lesson after being charged by one of these animals and has never bothered them again.

Deep down, ordinary herbivores—the ones preyed upon—do not dream of becoming carnivores. They simply dream of becoming elephants.

Human groups of carnivores and herbivores were scattered throughout the schoolyard. As always, Madison and Savannah led one of the groups. Two queens ruling their territory with an iron fist and competing to see which of them could wield more power. The other girls constantly revolved around them, each trying to rise in a cruel world, in a clan ruled by two natural-born predators. All of them were trying to go from herbivores to carnivores so they could survive.

Soon, "Travolta" appeared—the apex predator, the most ruthless tormentor of all the meek, herbivorous boys, their relentless scourge. He earned the nickname because he always wore a black leather jacket and kept his hair slicked back with gel, just like the famous actor from the movie Grease. His name inspired a mix of hatred and terror in his victims and, naturally, admiration and attraction among the girls. He was the king of the jungle, the alpha male of the pack to whom all the females paid homage.

He was accompanied by a pair of henchmen—two lackeys who fed on the scraps falling from their master's table. They were two enforcers who obeyed his orders without question and, since they too engaged in violence, enjoyed the favor of the females—specifically, the females their master didn't want, who settled for these underlings when they couldn't aim for the boss himself.

These henchmen weren't always the same. If they showed weakness or—above all—if they bared their teeth or challenged him, they were cast out of his inner circle. They would lose out on the countless perks of being close to the king, especially regarding the girls. They were forced to wander the jungle, trying to recruit their own henchmen to reassert their power. For that is a characteristic of carnivores: they not only attack herbivores but also fight among themselves for territorial control. Their innate aggression compels them to be in a constant state of conflict, even if it means fighting one another.

Travolta didn't stay long. A few laughs, and then he left, flanked by his bodyguards. After a brief silence following his departure, they all began whispering about the jungle’s finest male specimen—right up until the end of the break and beyond.

For some strange reason, Emma gazed at the landscape as if she no longer belonged to it. As if she had gone from being an herbivore to simply sitting in a safari vehicle—a vehicle the animals ignored, and which no one paid any mind to, for better or worse, since it was not part of the natural ecosystem.

She no longer belonged to that world. She was neither herbivore nor carnivore anymore. Now, she had become a hunter... and she was going to hunt a male.

She brushed a hand across her forehead and scanned the area for Ethan. She found him where he always was: sitting on the curb, slightly apart from the others, phone in hand and shoulders hunched. He wore that characteristic, vacant expression. He was staring at his screen, but when Emma approached, he turned off the display and tried to hide the device.

"What were you looking at?" she asked, before even saying hello.

The question sounded accusatory. She was standing right in front of him with the sun beating down on her face; he had to squint.

"What business is it of yours?" He looked at her warily.

It was probably some adult site, she told herself. The poor kid was shunned by all the girls—and most of the boys, too. Another bullying victim, just like her, though in his case, people weren't quite as cruel. They simply ignored him.

Since Emma was one of his kind, Ethan had tried to hook up with her after she lost weight; she was one of the few options within his reach. But, like all the other girls, she had turned him down. Although she’d felt flattered at first and had almost said yes, that would have been the last straw: if people already laughed at her for everything, being seen with him would have been the ultimate humiliation. The laughter, the taunts, the mockery, the derision... it would have spread endlessly.

It was a shame for the guy, she thought, because he wasn't ugly. He was just "meek," and that wasn't attractive at all. No girl likes the "meek" ones—the kind who don't hit back.

But now things had changed. As the saying goes, Emma had moved past that stage. None of that mattered to her anymore, and she got straight to the point:

"I need you to do me a favor."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. He glanced around, as if checking to see if anyone was recording them. At that school, any gesture out of the ordinary was likely a threat—something that could turn into a spectacle.

"What kind of favor? By the way, what happened to your lip?"

"Nothing. Tell me one thing first: are you still alone on Wednesdays? Like, I mean... like... at your house?"

"Yeah, my parents go to therapy with my sister."

"That’s what I meant, like... I didn't know if they were done yet."

"No. they wish! Alicia is crazier than you—like... and that’s saying something."

"Okay. Well, I’d like to come to your place."

"My place? What for? Like..."

Emma lowered her voice slightly. Nearby, amidst the general indifference, two girls walked past, laughing.

For a moment, she wavered again; she thought she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life. Even though no one seemed to be paying attention, she felt as though every eye could turn on them at any moment.

She bit her lower lip and felt the sting from the slap her mother had dealt her hours earlier. The wound reopened slightly, and she tasted the metallic tang of blood.

Then, she didn't hesitate anymore. She was going to hit that hysterical old woman where it hurt the most.

"I need to come to your place... Because I want to sleep with you."

The boy gave a wry smile and glanced around. If it had been any of the other girls, one of them would surely be nearby, recording everything just to laugh at him later. But no. It was just Emma. Emma! The last person he expected to hear that from. Of course, she never meant it seriously—but she didn't joke about it, either.

He looked at her again; she wasn't smiling, and her expression was serious—almost cold. That threw him off. Could it be true? Was she crazy enough to actually want that? She’d always been a bit unhinged, sure, but...

"Are you recording this?" he asked cautiously. Things like this didn't usually happen—certainly not to him.

"Can't you see I don't have my phone?" She held up her hands and turned around to show her back pockets. The somewhat tight jeans she was wearing made it impossible to hide anything.

What was Emma up to? he wondered again. In any case, he had nothing to lose.

"If you want to come over, you know where I live."

"What time do your parents get back? Like..."

"Nine o'clock, at least."

"Good. That gives us plenty of time—you know? But listen, nobody can find out, okay?"

The boy nodded, though not entirely convinced, and just then the bell rang, signaling the end of the break. They both headed off to their respective classroom, though he couldn't stop wondering what lay behind it all.

That afternoon, when Emma got home from school, her mother was asleep. Her father wasn't there either; he’d had to go out and buy food because the fridge was empty.

She went into the bathroom, stared at herself in the mirror for a long while, and touched her belly. "How crazy…" she murmured.