Riley

30

1

Although they were great friends, Ferg and Luz would sit behind each other or vice versa. The times when they were next to each other, they exchanged notes or talked in whispers, completely ignoring the fact that they were in school and had to follow the lesson in the strictest silence. Standing with their mouths clamped shut and listening to the sometimes incomprehensible rants of their teachers was an impossible battle. They were going to lose it anyway, even if they fought. It was her idea; she explained that if they wanted to follow, even a little, the lessons they had to be separated. He agreed, albeit reluctantly.

"How did you spend this Christmas?" asked Ferg curiously, taking a seat in the front row in front of the desk. "I hope you didn't spend it with your boring grandparents."

Luz took a seat behind him, dropped his backpack near the leg of the desk, and gravity pulled him to the floor. A heavy sigh hissed in their ears that the bag had just made contact with the ground. An unsatisfied smile took shape on his face, he replied, "The whole family came. No one excluded. Also, Uncle Miguel has made me as angry as ever!"

Ferg chuckled. "Making you angry is easy, so easy that just doing this to you is enough to warm you up," he said, and a slight puff came from his lips joined in a "u."

A strand of hair went to cover her left eye as a result of her friend's flinch. Normally she would have been angry if someone else had done that to her, but Ferg belonged to a category of people who, no matter what he did to her, would not resent it. Even when he teased her as he did at that exact moment.

She stuck her tongue out at him, then brought the lock of black hair back behind her left pavilion. "Do you know any better?"

"You already know the answer," he replied and repeated the tease. "Now you look prettier!"

There it was, a lock on her right side covered her right eye. She did not feel angry, she was calm and let Ferg's playful spirit pull her to the positive side of that situation: no more time to spend with relatives, especially Uncle Miguel. With one hand he moved her away from his field of vision; she smiled contentedly.

"It takes me two seconds to paint your face," she taunted him. "It is your peril to upset me."

Ferg gave her a look of mock surprise. "Oh no, I don't want to become a clown like the one in front of me!"

Luz followed his game. She pulled a red marker out of her pencil case and with an instant and sudden movement made a dot on the round tip of his nose. "Welcome to the circus, Ferg!"

After wincing in amazement, Ferg burst out laughing. With one hand he made the gesture of pressing the red ball attached to his face. "I am an entertainer, kind lady. If you are unable to recognize my inimitable artistic qualities, then get out of here. I'm going to complain to the owner of this place. I don't work in such a place!"

At that moment, Mrs. Fletcher — the French teacher — entered the classroom and announced her arrival with the customary "bonjour". Only two or three responded to the greeting, except for the two friends busy provoking each other. The middle-aged woman cleared her throat more than once, unnecessarily increasing the gravity of her voice. She blurted out rebuking them, which had now become a practice for her.

The bell rang at eight o'clock sharp. All the kids ran to their places like marathon runners. The first school day after the Christmas break could begin. Luz and Ferg would have much preferred to enter the next hour, math class, that way they would not risk falling asleep during her readings in the most complex language they had ever heard.

At 8:40, Mrs. Fletcher was reading a text in which she introduced a new topic on grammar: possessive adjectives. Before turning to the simplest and calmest part of her sixty minutes, she had questioned two people — Dennis and Harriet — about whom she was pleased with their preparation.