The bell rang earlier that day.

Outside, the clouds turned gray as lead. The streetlights came on, and it wasn't even 11:30 in the morning yet.

Julio jumped out of his chair, shoving all his stuff into his backpack.

"Want a ride home?" he asked his friend, who looked worriedly out the classroom window. "My mom must be waiting in the car."

Micael turned with a mischievous grin. "How could I refuse a ride from your mom..."

"Oh, shut up!"

The two of them left with the flow of students, squeezing, jostling, bumping elbows through the hallway to the courtyard and from the courtyard to the gate.

Outside the school, they stopped for a moment as Julio looked for his mom's car.

"There," he pointed, indicating the red Passat parked near the bus stop.

Suddenly, rain started falling, and everyone rushed out in a big mess. Now it was every man for himself. There were no more rules. It was a wild world out there.

Julio dashed ahead, protecting his head with his backpack as he tried to zip up his jacket. He didn't look back to check on his friend. Still, he knew he was close behind. He always sensed when he was around. It was almost like magic. Almost.

As soon as he reached the car, he jumped in, saying to his mom, "Can we give Mica a ride?"

"Of course, dear," she replied as the second boy got in and greeted her with a "Hi, Mrs. Ana." She waited for him to settle in and asked, "Is your dad home yet?"

"I think so," Mica replied. "He usually gets home around noon."

Ana checked her wristwatch. It still wasn't even 11:30 in the morning.

"Anything, you wait at home with us..."

She started the old Passat, signaled left, and squeezed into traffic. She heard a honk of protest, but ignored it. It was a wild world out there, indeed.

By now, the rain hammered on the car's body like hail. The wipers struggled to keep the windshield clear. The wind howled. In the back seat, where the two boys sat, there was an awkward silence.

"And how's your dad?" Ana asked.

"Okay," Mica replied, as brief as any teenager.

"Is he still working at the gas station?"

"Yeah, he is."

"And your mom?"

"She's okay, I guess... I don't know, I haven't seen much of her."

Mica's parents were divorced and shared custody. During the week, he stayed with his dad, and on Saturdays and Sundays with his mom. Or he used to, at least, before she found a new boyfriend. They didn't get along well, always arguing, calling each other the worst things any language could conceive. One day his mom simply suggested he spend more time with his dad. A clear message. Mica got it all too well, and since then, he hadn't returned to her house. It had been about three or four weekends since that happened. They didn't talk on the phone, not even by message. It was as if they didn't know of each other's existence or didn't want to know.

Mica had told Julio all this at school, so he understood that it was a sensitive topic.

That's why when his mom insisted on knowing more, he cut her off, asking with a tone of warning:

"You're not going by the bus route, Mom?"

"...what? Oh no, not with this rain!"

Despite all the rain, all the wind, and the honking outside, silence fell again.

At one point, Julio glanced sideways at his friend. Their eyes met unexpectedly, and Julio's heart skipped a beat. He had never really noticed his friend's eyes before. They were as black as vinyl, shining like two LED bulbs in a dark room. Beautiful, actually...

This thought made him look away.

He turned to the opposite side, swallowing hard, and began to stare at other things that were also shining: the reflection of rain running down the window, the headlights of cars coming and going on the opposite lane, LED panels with clothing advertisements, the traffic light alternating between its colors, sometimes red, sometimes green, sometimes yellow... yet nothing seemed as bright as those eyes.

Julio adjusted himself in the seat, feeling like a stranger in his own skin. What a strange sensation that was. What an uncomfortable chill in the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly, he heard a cellphone ring.

It wasn't his. It wasn't Mica's either.

And his mother said from the driver's seat, "Answer that for me, dear."

"Where is it?"

"In the bag..."

"And where's the bag?"

"I don't know, Julio. Look around!"

He went to find it under the passenger seat, by Mica's feet.

Instead of asking for help, he stretched to reach it, but the seatbelt stopped him halfway, and his hand remained suspended in the midair, fingers just inches from the bag's strap.

"Let me get that for you," Mica said, leaning over and adjusting the belt so it wouldn't snag like his friend.

Maybe because of the bump the car hit when he did it, their hands accidentally touched for a brief moment. Julio quickly pulled away.

"What's wrong? Did you get a shock?" Mica blurted out, handing him the bag reluctantly, as if he had been offended.

"No. It's just that your hand is as cold as a dead body!"

"And you wanted a warmer part, huh?" Mica let out his typical sneaky chuckle.

Julio didn't respond in kind. He just gave him a shove on the arm and focused on answering the phone.

"Hi..." he had already seen it was his brother on the line. "She's driving, why? We're heading home... Hi. Hello?"

"What happened?" Ana wanted to know.

"He hung up."

"Who was it?"

"Teo."

"Send him a text. Tell him to call back in about 15 minutes. Better yet, tell him I'll call him when we get there."

"Let me do it," Mica intervened. "You always get sick when you text in the car."

"As if you cared..."

"I do care."

I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care. I do care.

It was as if that phrase became an echo in his head.

I do care. I do care. I do care.

Julio couldn't make it stop. It slipped through his fingers every time he tried to grab it, twist it, squeeze it until it vanished, until it never existed. It then ran cold under his skin, making his hair stand on end, and then rose hot to his cheeks.

What was happening?

What feeling was that?

That chill again in the pit of his stomach.

It was almost as if...

"Is that all, Mrs. Ana?"

"Yeah, dear. Thank you."

Mica turned to Julio.

"Here."

"What?"

"The phone, dummy."

Julio put the device back in the bag and the bag under the driver's seat, between his feet.

"What's with that face?" Mica demanded to know.

"What face?"

"That face..."

Julio didn't respond immediately. Suddenly, he was very aware of his mother's eyes watching him in the rearview mirror. He quickly searched for a lie.

"Nothing, just feeling a bit dizzy."

"I told you, you get sick looking at the phone in the car. You're even warm..."

He put his hand on Julio's forehead, then moved it to his cheeks, then to his neck. There, it lingered longer than necessary — at least, it seemed that way.

"Do you know what else is really warm too?" Julio managed to say, even though his voice was almost stuck in his throat.

Mica laughed. Not his usual sneaky chuckle. A genuine laugh that made his eyes shine even brighter than usual, shining as bright as car headlights.

Julio loved that laugh, the commitment he put into it, and he loved that sparkle in his eyes... No, no, no. He didn't like it at all. The truth was, the laugh annoyed him. Yes, it annoyed him way too much. It was like a horn in his ears. And his eyes, those eyes like buttons... he had never noticed them in his entire life! Never!

Or had he?

He felt the heat in his cheeks again. If he were as fair-skinned as Mica, he'd surely be all red with embarrassment.

"What's wrong with you, anyway?" Mica asked when the laughter died down.

"I already said I'm feeling a bit dizzy."

"If you want, I can stop."

"No."

"It's better than vomiting in the car..."

"No!"

Silence again, but this time it didn't last long, as Mica intervened.

"My dad taught me a technique to deal with dizziness. Turn towards me. Like this! Okay, now close your eyes..."

"I'm not goinna close my eyes..."

"Doesn't matter, just keep looking at me then..."

"I'll close them!"

"Okay, now imagine a dark sky."

"And..."

"And nothing. Just imagine a dark sky while I do this."

His hands returned to touch his face, massaging it. Contrary to what Julio had said before, they were warm, almost feverishly warm, and as soft as cartoon clouds. His first instinct was to pull away. He didn't want that touch. He didn't. But he did want it. And he ended up surrendering to it. He let himself be touched on the forehead, ears, cheeks, lips... Then he opened his eyes again.

"How does this help with dizziness...?"

There was no response, except for that mocking chuckle again.

"Jerk!"

He pushed his hands away with a shove and huddled close to the door, his face pressed against the window. He hated being made fun of.

Once again there was silence, deeper than all the previous ones. None of the three tried to confront it until they reached Mica's house.

His house was a narrow two-story building, one of those prefabricated ones that are identical to their neighbors, like dollhouses in a shop for rich kids. The graffitied facade had once been painted blue, but the sun and rain had faded the color until it turned some shade of gray. The awning that served as a garage extended out from the gate, covering the entrance like a porch.

That's where Mica went after he left the car. He thanked for the ride and began to clap for his dad to come open the gate. Ana sped off down the street. As the car moved away, it felt like a rope was pulling at Julio's insides, gripping him tightly to the seat. He looked back, regretting not having said goodbye. Mica was still under the porch, waiting for his dad who seemed never to arrive.

"Looks like there's nobody home..."

"What did you say, babe?"

"I think his dad hasn't arrived yet."

Ana glanced in the rearview mirror. He was still there. Huddled as he was, he looked like the most miserable person on the face of the Earth.

"Do you want me to go back and get him?"

"Yes," Julio said immediately. Despite their recent conflict, he would never leave his friend in that situation.

Ana drove further down the street until finding a space to turn around. As she drove back and Mica's figure became clearer, the pressure in Julio's gut lessened. On the other hand, his heart beat harder.

Ana parked the car on the other side of the street.

Julio rolled down the window and shouted to the small, huddled, miserable-looking boy staring at them, "Let's go home. We'll bring you back later."

Mica glanced one last time at his house, as if to make sure, then dashed to the car, head down, arms wrapped tightly around himself. Julio opened the door for him to get in and hopped into the seat beside him.

The two stared at each other for a while as the Passat, with a jolt, started off again.

"You'll just have to deal with me annoying you for a bit longer today," Mica grinned.

Julio shoved him playfully. Then he turned to the opposite side, avoiding his eyes.

He didn't want him to see his burning cheeks.

He didn't want him to see the smile he couldn't hide.

And he didn't want, in any possible way, for him to know that being bothered by him was what he truly wanted.

He didn't want to, but he did want it anyway...