"What a moron! She actually said we're beneath him!" one of the main Fashion clique members exclaimed.
"Calm down, she was just seeking attention," Karen waved dismissively. "See? He's practically perfect! There are even fanfics written about him."
"Oh, I can just picture it," Mort chuckled and dramatically collapsed into his sister's arms. She caught him with an unchanging expression, only to then slowly extend her hand toward his face. "Chapter One: Falling for Marcelo." Oh, my dear, why are you abandoning me? Am I not flawless enough for you!?!"
I was taken aback by the fact that the mafia girl allowed her brother to touch her so openly. His hand caressed her cheek.
"Darling Marcelo, allow me to etch you into my memory," Mort's voice echoed. His hands cupped her face, as if preparing for a kiss. Everyone held their breath... or was it just me?
"Grace!" I shouted. The brunette leaped and burst into laughter that resembled the revving of a motorcycle engine. The mafia girl gave a slight smile.
Once the mafia boss's son had settled down, he turned to me.
"Sorry, I couldn't quite hear you, did you want something?" he asked sincerely.
"Yeah, let's head to the cafeteria," I replied promptly, looking at both Mort siblings.
"I'm up for it! Deymi, are you coming?" she nodded, and we exited. I still couldn't shake off that scene.
Suddenly, girls from all grades started pouring out and rushing somewhere. They chattered, laughed, squealed, and clutched gifts. We stood by the wall to let them pass. Grace stared at the stream of girls with a mix of wonder and amusement, while Deymi let out a relieved breath. She pressed us against the wall, creating room for the stampede of girls charging like bulls in a bullring.
"They're insane," Mort sighed, then quickly shifted. "Crazy as they may be, I'm still famished."
We descended to the lower floor, where I witnessed quite the spectacle. All the girls and boys formed two lines, creating a corridor for a group of boys. From the descriptions, I recognized Marcelo; he was exactly as the girls had portrayed him. Three boys from his clique followed him. I think I recognized Marlon among them. He held his head high and winked at the girls. Four boys followed them, carrying gifts.
I surreptitiously glanced at the mafia girl and noticed that she was grinning maliciously, her eyes gleaming dangerously.
"Grace, an idea has struck me," she announced.
"Oh no," I thought.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" the mafia boss's son grinned mischievously.
"Hold on!" I stood in front of them. "Please, don't do anything when he passes by. Not through me. I'm begging you. We might get into trouble. You've already been through enough."
"I'm concerned for you, you morons!" an inner voice screamed. They exchanged glances and nodded. I let out a relieved breath as they each slightly bowed to him, as if he were a real king. I thought of doing the same, but Grace had a different plan. He grabbed me by the shoulders and declared:
"Pizza awaits!" We dashed down the stairs.
Everyone watched us with a mix of concern, anger, and excitement. We rushed past their group, chuckling. Some turned back to us, Marlon alternated his gaze between us and his boss.
"Hey, are you coming?" the mafia boss's son called out, halting at the stairs. "Crackers won't wait either."
"I hate crackers," the mafia girl muttered, displaying irritation. I read her lips. Everything seemed to slow down. The girl walked gracefully, her gaze locked on her brother. Everyone stared at us like we were lunatics. When she passed the group, making the boys turn, something went awry. Their leader abruptly turned around and strode toward her. He only halted when he was two steps ahead of his posse.
"Hey, you!" the girl continued as if she hadn't heard, taking a few more steps before turning back with a surprised expression.
"Excuse me, are you talking to me?" the brunette feigned astonishment. Her brother chuckled beside me. I knew this wasn't just a random occurrence.
"Of course, I'm talking to you!" the boy shouted. He walked up to her, scanning her from head to toe as if she were a piece of cake. "Who are you anyway?"
"You shouldn't be bothered by this," the brunette replied in her usual cold tone. At first, he fell silent, looking at her. This defiance was likely getting on his nerves.
"Oh, an untouched soul, aren't you precious," he flashed his impeccable teeth. "Is this the new strategy you girls have to catch attention?"
"Well, you're not quite handsome enough to catch mine," the brunette lowered her gaze.
"Wh-what did you just say?" Marchelo shouted. He seemed like a guy who wasn't used to being turned down. Everyone was watching them as if a movie was unfolding before their eyes.
"Repeat it? I don't mind," Deymi shrugged. Her face was expressionless, as if she hadn't done anything. Her shoulders were relaxed, hands hidden in her pockets, and only her large thumbs were visible.
"Do you know who I am? I'm the one always surrounded by admirers, and you won't be the first or the last. What are you even doing in this school? Do you understand who stands before you now? Do you get it?" I noticed his eyes darkening. "I'm Marchelo Vesper, a name you ought to know! Hasn't anyone told you the rules? You better remember your place, as I'm in charge here."
"Oh really? I had no idea. Do you think your looks compensate for your empty head?" Deymi began rubbing her neck with her middle finger, greatly irritating him. "Something else?"
"YOU!!!" the brunette hissed.
"Listen, I can't talk and engage in verbal conflicts right now, as you can see, I have things to attend to," the mafia girl spoke.
"My attention is a currency everyone else can only vie for from a distance. So be thankful, they can wait." Vesper hissed spitefully, but Deymi turned away, waved him off, and approached us. I could feel the mafia boss's son smiling with satisfaction.
But then, Marchelo grabbed the girl by the wrist and turned her to face him. His gaze was enigmatic, mixed with passion, and his narrow eyes emphasized his ominous demeanor. Marcelo didn't release her from his stare, as if he could read her thoughts from a distance. This behavior seemed to chafe her emotional subconscious, but her inner ice remained unshaken before him.
"You're not going anywhere! I'm not finished," he seethed. In that moment, it was as if I saw his brown eyes turn dark red, and a shadow emerged from Mrs. Mort and loomed over the school's kingpin. The world dimmed.
"Please," the brunette whispered just above a murmur, her words carrying an unwavering chill. "Don't meddle in unnecessary affairs. You shouldn't play games with me."
A restrained chuckle echoed.
"And you find this amusing. You're already in my school, yet you dare to think you can give me orders? Here, you're just a shadow!" his steps were deliberate, closing in on her, and his eyes were ablaze. "Maybe you should remember that here, you're just a speck of dust." He inched closer, his voice carrying a venomous curse. "So listen carefully: do everything I tell you, or it's better for you to disappear. That's how things usually work here."
Suddenly, like a curtain, something inexplicable occurred. In an instant, the air crackled as if from an electric discharge, and it noticeably grew colder. At that moment, everyone around seemed to lose the ability to breathe, and the atmosphere filled with mystique.