My name is Dalí. It was my mother's idea. Not satisfied with being special herself (she's an art teacher, I don't blame her), she also wanted her child to be special. And boy, am I. Especially weird, according to Bruno.
It's not my fault I barely reach a mighty five-foot-four, have curly hair that won't behave even with prayers, wear thick glasses because I've been nearsighted since I was five, and have freckles on my face like splattered paint. Ugly? Nah. I prefer to call it alternative beauty. The world just isn't ready for my kind of handsomeness, that's all.
For as long as I can remember, I've been the smart kid in class. The one with neat notes, straight A's without studying, the one who teaches during recess. Everything was fine until fifth grade. That's when he arrived.
Bruno.
Tall, brown-haired, toothpaste-commercial smile, eyes the color of "shut up and look at me," and the cursed brain of a genius. I don't know what kind of karma I'm paying, but he ended up in my same middle school too, and it became the stage for countless humiliations I'd rather not recall.
I thought I'd left him behind in high school. When I found out he didn't enroll in the same school as me, I felt free—like a prisoner on vacation. But the universe, cruel and mocking, decided to bring back my torture in the form of a transfer: second semester, Bruno, in my school again.
Now we're in college. Same major: architecture. Different classes, but like that would stop him. He's in the football club, I'm in Visual Arts. Like the sun and the moon—but he insists on eclipsing me.
And today… he launched a ball at me with surgical precision. My coffee ruined. My work destroyed. My patience on the brink of collapse.
That's why I'm here, standing in front of Adrián, voice trembling and shirt stained, declaring war.
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—You're insane, Dalí —Adrián said, wiping tears of laughter with his sweatshirt sleeve—. But I admit… it sounds poetic.
—It's not poetry, it's divine justice. And you, my dear Adrián, will be my accomplice.
Adrián raised his hands like I was pointing a gun at him.
—Hey, hey. I just came to take Color Theory, not to be part of a college telenovela.
—Please. Who better than you to help me craft a high-end romantic trap? You're handsome, social, you've got great taste, and everybody likes you. You're basically Pinterest with legs. Plus, you owe me favors.
—What favors?
—Remember that time I pretended to be your boyfriend to scare off your psycho ex?
—Point for you —he muttered, crossing his arms—. But this is different. This is playing with fire. With Bruno. That dude's crazy, he can read minds and manipulate people at will. If anything goes wrong, he won't just kill you—he'll take me down with you.
—It's exactly the same —I replied, pointing my pencil like it was a magic wand—. I took the risk for your ex, and I'm still afraid of running into her.
Adrián looked at me like he was trying to read between the lines for something I wasn't saying out loud.
—And what if you fall in love?
—Please. The only thing I feel for that man is disgust and deep resentment. Love? Never. After this, I'll get myself a cute girlfriend, you'll see.
Silence.
My best friend looked at me with that soul-scanning gaze of his, like he could see my jumbled internal files.
—Fine —he sighed at last—. What's the plan?
—First, I need you to help me look… irresistible. Something that screams "Wow, I never noticed how hot he is." But without losing my artistic essence, of course. No polo shirts or military haircuts.
—What if you just, I don't know, shower more often?
—Ha. Ha. So funny. Noted: eliminate Adrián in phase two of the plan.
We laughed. And for a second, I forgot how sticky my shirt was and how ruined my day had been. Because something bigger was happening. Because, for the first time, I wasn't just going to sit back and wait for the storm to pass.
This time, I was going to dance in the rain with a devilish grin.
—So this is real? —Adrián asked, still looking skeptical.
—Yes. Operation "Make Him Fall and Watch Him Burn" has begun.
—Terrible name, by the way.
—I'm still working on it. I've got a few ideas... "Architect's Heart, Villain's Soul," "The Art of Breaking Egos," "How to Seduce Your little tease: A Manual."
—Wow… you're more damaged than I thought.
—But talented.
Adrián rolled his eyes, resigned.
—Fine. But if this goes south, I'm off to Guanajuato with my exchange scholarship and I'm not looking back.
—Fair deal.
We shook hands.
The pact was sealed.
And though I didn't know it yet, that was the first day of the rest of my chaotic emotions.
Because no one messes with an artist… without becoming inspiration.