The Ghost of You

Chapter 4 - Cai's POV

She hates me. 

She hates me because I'm Castillo.

She won't like me because I'm a Castillo.

 Well, I don't like her because she's a Dawson. There are many things my stepmother says that I don't believe. But, I believe her when she says the Dawsons aren't good people. With the amount of things they have done to ruin the Spanish environment, I knew they were bad people even before I met her.

But like she said, the Castillos were worse. I knew something was wrong when I was agreeing with a Dawson. For the longest time, the only Castillo I knew was myself. But, when I was forced to move to the UK, I was in a house with more of them. I didn't like being around them. After all, my last name meant nothing to me and the fact that they were blood meant nothing to me.

While most people heading home after school, I went straight to Rio's - my best friend. I had known Rio longer than the other people I shared a last name with. He knew me in Spain. He knew me when I didn't have to translate things in my head before speaking. When he moved to England with his parents when we were thirteen, we never cut contact - he was the only thing that calmed me about moving to England.

The day after Saahara had asked me to help her I was lying on Rio's bed throwing a tennis ball in the air. I was trying to think over my conversation with her. What was she asking me for? Why was she asking me of all people? Did she really hate me because of my last name?

"Tio" Rio called, in Spanish. We only ever spoke to each other in Spanish unless his parents were around - he still had a strong Spanish accent which his parents were desperate to get rid of. "What do you want to eat?".

"I'm not hungry" I sighed.

I looked over at him as he widened his bright blue eyes. He sat cross-legged on his desk chair, using his veiny hand to scratch his rough blond hair. Unlike me, Rio was home-schooled so while I had to wear an uncomfortable shirt and tie for school, he spent his whole day in t-shirts and plaid pyjama bottoms.

"What's wrong? You've been sitting on my bed for the last hour like a heartbroken girl".

"Nothing".

I mean nothing was wrong. I was just deep in my thoughts. I stopped throwing the tennis ball before sitting up on the bed decorated in black satin sheets. I looked over at my best friend who had a confused look on his face.

"Is this about the singer girl?" he questioned.

"I don't know if it's her" I answered, "I never saw her face, just heard her voice".

Being a Spanish transfer I had attracted a lot of attention from most of the female population in school. Because of that, my break time mainly involved me finding whatever classroom had no window in order to escape my admirers. 

The other day I opted to hide in the music room where I was attracted to the sound of a girl singing. Since I didn't want to make her uncomfortable, I left before she noticed I was there. Ever since then, I had been hoping to meet her again and hear her sing. But I didn't know who she was. When I saw Saahara on the balcony my first thought was maybe she was the singer, but she didn't seem like a girl who liked music.

Saahara was a good girl. That's what I thought of her. She cared too much about what people thought of her. Girls like her don't sing. A girl like her does what she's told, she's sensible, and she follows every rule, even the optional ones.

"So, you're thinking about a girl who could be the singer?" asked Rio.

"She can't be the singer".

"She can't, or you don't want her to be".