The classroom door opened with a brief creak.
The boy who walked in didn't look nervous… he looked lost. Thin, a bit taller than average, with messy hair as if he had run his hand through it too many times. He carried a backpack that was too big for his body and wore an old T-shirt with a barely recognizable Formula 1 team logo.
Ferrari. From another decade.
"Introduce yourself," the teacher indicated.
The boy swallowed.
"Uh… I'm Lucas," he said. "Lucas Meyer. I moved here recently."
Silence.
"You can sit wherever you like."
Lucas scanned the classroom with his eyes, hesitating. When his gaze met Nicolás's, he stopped. He lingered half a second longer than normal, as if checking something in his head.
Then he walked straight toward him.
"Is it okay here?" he asked quietly, already standing beside the empty seat.
Nicolás nodded.
"Yeah."
Lucas dropped into the chair, awkwardly adjusting his backpack. It took him longer than necessary to take out a notebook; his pencil case fell, and he picked it up while muttering something unintelligible.
"Great way to start," he whispered. "First day and I already look like an idiot."
Nicolás smiled faintly.
The teacher began to speak, and the class continued. Nicolás took notes calmly. Lucas, on the other hand, wrote quickly, filling the margins with arrows, symbols, and small drawings of cars.
Ten minutes later, Lucas leaned slightly toward him.
"Hey," he whispered. "You're Nicolás, right?"
"Yes."
"I saw you race this weekend."
Nicolás glanced at him sideways.
"Really?"
"My dad took me to the circuit," Lucas said. "He says you 'have to get out and get to know the city,' you know, that kind of motivational garbage."
Nicolás had to hold back a laugh.
"Uh-huh."
"I only went because… well," he shrugged, "cars. But I saw you. Blue kart, number seven. Fourth place."
It didn't sound like criticism. It sounded like an observation.
"It wasn't bad," he added quickly. "That layout doesn't forgive mistakes and…" He stopped. "Sorry, I talk too much."
"It's fine," Nicolás replied. "I don't usually win."
Lucas blinked, a bit surprised.
"That's not what I meant," he said. "Actually…" He scratched the back of his neck. "You took turn three better than most. You braked earlier and opened the exit more. It was smart."
Nicolás looked at him more closely.
"I can tell you know about this."
Lucas smiled, uncomfortable.
"Too much. I've been watching races for as long as I can remember. Engines, regulations, telemetry… all of it. I've never raced. I'm terrible at anything that requires coordination," he lifted his hands, "but analysis… that I can do."
The class continued moving forward in the background.
"So you're just an F1 fan?" Nicolás asked.
Lucas let out a short laugh.
"It's my main motivation."
Nicolás leaned back in his chair.
"Then we're going to get along."
Lucas looked at him, surprised.
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
For the first time since entering the classroom, Lucas relaxed.
"Great," he said. "Because I have a lot of unsolicited opinions and zero self-control to keep them to myself."
Nicolás laughed, this time without holding back. It wasn't loud—just a small snort. But in a quiet classroom, it was enough.
"Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Hale?"
The teacher's voice cut through the air.
Nicolás looked up, still with a trace of a smile he hadn't quite managed to erase.
"No, sir."
"Then focus," the teacher said, staring at him for a few seconds longer than necessary. "This is not recess."
"Yes, sir."
Lucas sank into his seat, covering his mouth with one hand to avoid laughing.
"Sorry," he murmured when the teacher turned back to the board. "My fault."
"It's fine," Nicolás replied quietly. "I was warned."
The class continued without further incident. When the bell rang, the room filled with noise almost immediately. Chairs scraping, backpacks hitting the floor, overlapping conversations.
Lucas packed his things with the same methodical clumsiness as before.
"Hey," he said as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. "If you want, we could meet up sometime. To… you know. Talk about racing. Analyze things. No pressure."
Nicolás nodded.
"Sounds good."
"Great. I'll give you my number." He pulled out his phone, almost dropping it. "Though… well, I'm not very good at organizing things."
"I can adapt."
Lucas smiled, relieved.
They left the building together. The afternoon sun hit them straight on, forcing them to squint. In the parking lot, a black sedan with clean lines and tinted windows waited with the engine running.
A man in a gray suit stepped out of the driver's seat.
"Lucas," he said, raising a hand. "Let's go."
Lucas stopped short.
"Ah… yeah," he looked at Nicolás, uncomfortable. "That's… well. My dad's business partner."
The man observed them with a polite but distant smile.
"Your friend?" he asked.
"Classmate," Lucas replied quickly.
"Get in."
Lucas nodded, adjusting his backpack.
"See you tomorrow," he said to Nicolás. "Text me, okay?"
"Sure."
Lucas got into the car. The door closed with a solid, almost heavy sound. The sedan pulled away unhurriedly and disappeared at the end of the parking lot.
Nicolás stood still for a few seconds. Then he turned around. It wasn't unusual for some of his classmates to be rich; it was an affluent area. In fact, that was why his mother had decided to live there.
She wanted her children to have connections and a bright future. That was why she made sure to pick them up despite her tight schedule running the business and taking care of the house.
But today was different. She had told him she would take advantage of the time to jog home.
The training excuse helped convince her, and it was almost impossible for him to be in danger.
He left campus and took the long route, the one that bordered the park and then descended toward his neighborhood. The pace was comfortable, steady. He felt the weight of the backpack, the sun on his back, and the natural movement of his body.
Halfway there, a soft hum approached at his side.
"I see you're making an effort."
He turned his head.
An electric scooter moved slowly alongside him. Maya stood on it, one hand on the handlebars, the other raised in an awkward wave. Her helmet was poorly fastened, and she wore a curious smile.
"I almost didn't recognize you," she said. "I never imagined seeing you jogging home from school."
"I'm trying something new," Nicolás replied. "You?"
He had seen that scooter when they were kids—it was her mother's treasure, and she barely let them get near it. One of her college treasures, she used to say.
"I stole it before my mom asked me to do something else," she shrugged. "Heading home?"
"Yes."
Maya slowed down.
"Mind some company?"
Nicolás nodded.
"If you don't mind going slow."
"Perfect," she smiled. "That way I don't look so irresponsible."
Maya moved alongside him carefully, keeping the scooter at an almost ridiculous speed. The soft hum of the motor contrasted with Nicolás's rhythmic breathing and the sound of his sneakers against the pavement.
"So," she said after a few seconds, "is what I heard true?"
"Depends," he replied. "What did you hear?"
"That you started racing again," she smiled slightly. "Seriously, this time. Not like before, but… you're back."
Nicolás didn't answer right away. He adjusted his pace a little, more out of habit than fatigue.
"Yes," he said at last. "I guess so."
Maya glanced at him. Not with exaggerated curiosity, but with that calm attention she had always had for him—even as kids, when they could sit together in silence for hours.
"How did it go?"
"Fourth place."
"That's not bad."
Nicolás let out a small laugh.
"I've been told that already today."
Maya raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, yeah?"
"My mom."
"Of course," she nodded. "Sounds like her."
They went on for a few meters in silence. The park was on one side, with some younger students playing soccer and a couple of adults walking dogs. Everything seemed… normal. Too normal for what Nicolás felt inside.
"I saw you with someone new in class," Maya commented. "A tall, kind of clumsy guy."
"Lucas."
"Uh-huh. He looks like he knows too many things."
"He does," Nicolás confirmed. "About racing, especially."
Maya smiled.
"That explains why you got along."
They turned a corner. The road began to slope gently downward.
"Did something happen in the last few days?" she asked, not looking at him directly.
"I think so."
"'You think'?"
Nicolás sighed.
"I'm trying to do things differently."
Maya slowed down even more, almost forcing him to walk.
"Different how?"
He hesitated. Not because he didn't know the answer, but because saying it out loud made it more real.
"Without disappearing," he said. "Without putting everything else on hold."
"Everything else being…?"
"You guys. My family. School." He looked at her. "You."
Maya didn't smile immediately. She watched him carefully, evaluating whether he was serious. Then, finally, she let out a soft laugh.
"Wow. That really is new."
"I know."
They reached the intersection where they usually split up. Nicolás's street went straight; Maya's turned left.
She stopped the scooter completely and put one foot on the ground.
"I'm glad," she said. "Not because you decided to race again. But because…" She shrugged. "Because you've changed."
Nicolás nodded.
"Me too."
Maya adjusted her helmet.
"Hey," she added. "If you ever need a break from all that… or just want to talk, you know where to find me."
"I know."
She started the scooter and went a few meters, then turned her head.
"And Nicolás."
"Yes?"
"Fourth place doesn't define anything."
He smiled, this time without irony.
"I know."
Maya disappeared down the street. Nicolás resumed his jog, now more relaxed. When he reached home, the fatigue was barely noticeable. He had been pushing himself to the limit over the past few days, and his body was adapting—but the key was the pace at which he did it.
It was the kind of exhaustion that didn't bother