The Foreigner

09

  My whole class circled my Physical Education, also known as PE, teacher. The man rounding his forties explained how to throw the ball into the basket, failing it. The class can't resist to the urge to chuckle.

  "You get the idea. Two groups on this court, one more group on half of that area," he points, "and you", directed to my  group, "outside! Let's go! No time to stop, it's freezing."

   It truly is, the temperature has gone low rapidly. The leaves' colors are getting more and more burnt, going from the spring's green to the yellow, auburn and, finally coffee-colored. It transmits a certain type of comfort, the type of regular temperature, no exceding.

  The teacher passes me the brick-shade basketball. I drible with it until we get to the gym's door, wanting to step aside and get in the area. The moment I do it, I see Lucas playing the same sport. Every student could use it, even in school-time hours.
  He shoots the ball, watching the object fall into the circle with no net, indicating the use of it. The celebration is simple: a smile oozing in confidence.

  He sees me. His smile hasn't moved, but the reason behind it did. As he walks to mine and the group's direction, his friends cross their arms, calling for his name. He dismisses them, silently asking for a couple of minutes with two fingers of his right hand.

  " 'Atão, Ana? You're up for a game? My team against yours,  what do you say?"

  I step into his personal space, daring him, "Sure. Let's see what you're worth of, bodybuilder."

  The nickname catches him off guard, leading to him scoffing. He nods approvingly, taking one more step and resting his lips on both of my cheeks.

  "We just have to check with our teacher, though." A guy speaks up. I can't identify who, my eyes are too focused on his foggy irises.

  They matched the sky today. However, only one of those shades could be considerated a world-beauty, his eyes.
  The tint you could find by just looking up, on certain days, could be considered depressing, in the strongest way to put it. It brings you a state of sadness, nostalgia or negative enery and thoughts.
  Actually, it's the opposite when it comes to Lucas Machado. The mystery I first found when I saw them for the first time, veiled the truth for rather little time. Wouldn't have it any other way. It could be the owner, and I might just be rambling non-sense about eyes, which have proporcionated  countless staring moments. You could get lost in them, trying to find out who this man is. Truth is, they show me such appreciation for his friends and what he has. He just wishes more, dreams about what people announce is impossible to find here. Those eyes could fly, but they're stuck for now.
  Those eyes hold hope for a better life.

  And while I was stuck in thought about him, everyone started to arrange teams. Me and Lucas, as the captais, stepped up. We threw the ball to see where it went first, which was him. He starts to dribble, taking long steps, passes to one of his teammates. The play went on, until he got to do a slam dunk.

  "You're just showing off, Machado."

  At my comment, he passes by me with a smirk. He stops behind me and ruffles my hair, then he runs backwards. "You got to step up your game, Aninha."

•••

  The game was over when the bell rang, signaling the end of a period and start of a break, this one was of 10 minutes. Our teacher over the past hour of playing, came by multiple times to check on us.

  "This was an incredible game, Anne. Do you want anything from the school bar?" Lucas sides by me.

  I put the cap of the bottle back in place as soon as I chugged the water. I swallow, and start speaking, "If it's not much to ask... I would love it. Bring me a tosta mista, please. Those are divine."