The next day we stay inside during lunch break. We sit in front of a classroom,  it's just Indira, Sylvana and me. Jade went to the dentist and Daniëlle is retaking a test.

Indira and Sylvana sit beside me, they are reading their Dutch grammar and spelling rules, they have a test after the break. I just sit there and drink my water.

Five minutes before the bell rings a group of boys walks by us. They are Mihno, Kendall and a few other  from my class. When Minho sees me, he smiles briefly and I smile back.

I wait till they can't hear us before I nudge Indira and Sylvana.

"That's Kendall, that boy with black hair and that blue shirt." They follow my gaze and look at him too.

"Want to see his faceee," teases Indira and pushes her glasses up.

"I've never seen him before," Sylvana remarks as they finally stop walking and turn around. "Me neither—not until this year."

Sylvana leans in for a better look. "Oh, he's nice. Totally Jade's type. She always falls for boys who are the complete opposite of her." She pauses, then shrugs. "Opposites attract, right?"

Indira disagrees, ''I have seen him before, he is always playing video games on the computer." 

Many kids from my class walk by, smiling when they see me—except for Gina's group, who completely ignore me. Finally, Diaro and the rest of his friends come along. As they pass, Diaro looks up.

"Hey," he says with a smile.

"Hey," I reply.

Indira and Sylvana immediately perk up, glancing his way.

"Is he in your class?" Indira asks.

I nod, watching Diaro. I know why they're reacting like this.

"Is he new, too?" Sylvana asks, her eyes still on him.

"No, I don't think so," I say.

Sylvana grins. "Well, he's cute."

"Yeah, he is," Indira agrees, taking a bite of her cookie.

I've never looked at him like that before, but... I guess he kind of is.

When the bell rings, I head into the classroom. Just one more hour, and I'm done for the day. I take my usual seat all the way in the back corner, where Jade and I usually sit. Only now, I'm all alone. The other girls are clustered on the opposite side of the room.

The classroom gradually fills up. Diaro and his friends are the last to arrive, taking the remaining seats. When he sees me, he smiles and sits down beside me. We chat about our dreams for the future, about the businesses we'd each like to start someday. He tells me about his parents' restaurant, where he works on weekends, and his plan to take it over after college.

When the teacher enters, we stop talking and focus on the lesson. For most of the hour, we stay tuned in, but in the last ten minutes, Diaro starts receiving messages. He quickly glances at his phone, his face growing serious as he reads. It must be something important; he barely looks up. When class ends, he walks out without even a glance back at me.

Once I'm home, I dive into my homework. Later, I lie down on my bed and scroll through my messages.

To my surprise, there's one from Pablo. Since that last training, he and Daniëlle have been the only ones to reach out. I get it—they're all busy and probably a little annoyed with me.

Pablo:
Hey C, how are you feeling?

Relief washes over me as I open the chat. He isn't annoyed with me. Pablo and I always got along best; we were paired for the duos and spent so much time together.

Me:
Great... my ankle's feeling better.

Pablo:
I'm glad to hear that! Miss us already?

Me:
Yessss, I really do. Well, mostly I miss dancing. How's the duo with Tabora going?

Not being able to dance bothers me, but less than I expected. Maybe it's because I've been so distracted, obsessing over other things.

Pablo:
Uhmmm, let's not talk about that...

Tabora's a talented dancer—I'm sure they'll be fine. They have time to work it out.

Pablo:
Let's just say, I really miss you.

I smile. I can't imagine dancing a duo with anyone but Pablo, so I kind of get it.

Me:
Is it that bad?

Pablo:
Yesss. I'm waiting for her now. We were supposed to meet at 8.

I glance at the clock—it's already 8:25.

Me:
Ohwwww.

Pablo:
Yeah...

Pablo:
Well, she just walked in—with a Bershka bag. Gotta go; wish me luck (I really need it).

Me:
Good luck!!!

I toss my phone onto my pillow and stare up at the ceiling, my mind blank. The house is quiet—my brother's already asleep, and my mom and sister are in their rooms. Outside, the sky darkens, and I feel my eyelids grow heavy.

Suddenly, I'm in a small, stuffy living room. Rays of sunlight spill in through a dusty window. In the middle of the room is an old wooden table surrounded by eight chairs. My clothes cling to my skin, and my throat feels dry. Across from me, a woman in her forties with pitch-black curly hair and a floral dress smiles warmly. I smile back.

Two large men I've never seen enter, carrying piles of books. I glance to my side, where Jason sits looking exhausted, his hair messy. He smiles encouragingly and takes my hand. I smile back before looking at the others.

I clear my throat. "We need your help."

The woman nods and opens an enormous, thick book.

"There is much information here. You find answers in this," she says, pointing at the book. "We look in other books," she adds, gesturing to the two men. Her English is rough, her Italian accent strong.

We sit down, and I release Jason's hand to grab a bottle of water from one of the men. The bottle looks less than clean, but I'm too thirsty to care.

The woman turns the book toward us, its pages heavy and worn. Jason flips to the first page with text. There's a large photo of a woman, taking up so much space that only a single line of text fits beneath it.

"La donna che sa tutto" — The woman who knows everything. She must be the book's author. Jason stares at the photo, his hand frozen at the edge of the page, his eyes wide.

"That's my..." he begins, but he's interrupted by a voice behind me.

"Cira?" A shiver runs down my spine. I recognize that voice but haven't heard it in a long time. My palms grow sweaty, and my heart starts to race. Slowly, I turn around...

"Beep, beep, beep." My eyes snap open. I'm back in my room—it was a dream. I shut off my alarm and reach for the glass of water on my bedside table, gulping it down. My clothes stick to me, damp with sweat. For some reason, my eyes are filled with tears, and I fight hard not to cry.