Flash-Fiction

What We Could Have, Where We Could Go

"Cause, I'm in a field of dandelions, praying on every one, that you would be mine, mines."

"Maybe it's the way you say my name, maybe it's the way you play your game"

"But it's so good, I've never known anyone like you, I've never dreamed of nobody like you"

As Aven Chen walked into the unfamiliar classroom, his petite frame exuded a quiet confidence that belied his young age. The colorful graphic tee he wore, featuring a playful dragon, fluttered gently around his small shoulders, adding a touch of whimsy to his appearance. His jet-black hair, slightly tousled from the morning breeze, framed his round, cherubic face, accentuating the rosy blush on his cheeks.

Aven's large, almond-shaped eyes scanned the room, taking in the vibrant posters and eager faces of his new classmates. Despite the unfamiliarity of his surroundings, a wide smile spread across his face, revealing a small gap where his front tooth had just begun to grow in. His melodic voice rang out, greeting the class with a cheerful, "Buenos días, todos!"

As Aven made his way to an empty desk, his sneakers squeaked softly against the polished floor. He carried a small sketchbook tucked under one arm, its pages filled with imaginative drawings that showcased his creative talents. Aven placed the book carefully on his desk, glancing around to see if anyone wanted to share in his latest creations.

Brunaldo couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between Aven and himself. While Aven possessed an ethereal, almost otherworldly charm, he blended in seamlessly with his classmates, his curly brown hair and sun-kissed skin a common sight among the group."Well, Aven," the teacher began, her voice warm and welcoming. "Would you like to introduce yourself to the class?"Aven nodded solemnly, his dark eyes sweeping across the fifteen curious faces that turned toward him. With a deep breath, he stepped forward, his movements graceful and deliberate, as if he were a dancer on a stage.

"Hello," he began, his voice soft and melodic. The class fell silent, captivated by the presence of their new classmate. Brunaldo leaned forward, his chin resting on his hands, as he listened intently to Aven's introduction, eager to learn more about this intriguing boy who had so effortlessly captured his attention.

"Good morning, my name is Aven Chen," he said, a soft smile gracing his lips. Yet, as his gaze locked with Brunaldo's, a slight furrow appeared on his brow, hinting at his nervousness. "I'm from Harbin, China. I'm 7 years old, and I like math and soccer." He finished in one breath, signaling to Ms. Isabella that he was done. Ms. Isabella beamed warmly at him. "Thank you, Aven! You can go sit next to Brunaldo now."

And that was how a friendship began. As the years rolled on, Aven and Brunaldo found themselves side by side in nearly every class. Their bond flourished, a testament to the idea that opposites attract. Aven, the school's shining star, was the top student everyone aspired to be. Teachers adored him, showering him with awards and accolades. He was not only brilliant but also the captain of both the boys' soccer and basketball teams. In the eyes of his peers, he was perfect.Brunaldo, on the other hand, excelled in different arenas. His talents lay in sports, where he shone brightly. 

Some joked that his name was reminiscent of the famous soccer player Ronaldo, and for good reason; he was the star of the soccer team and the track and field team. He had broken the school record for the 800 meters three times in a row, setting new benchmarks with each race.

Together, they formed an unlikely duo: the brilliant scholar and the athletic star. Their friendship was a blend of academic excellence and athletic prowess, each complementing the other in ways that made their bond unique and enduring.

They contrasted each other even more, since Brunaldo wasn't particularly enthusiastic about doing his homework.

"Brunaldo, can you explain what a genre is?" Mr. Nicholas asked, leaning casually against the whiteboard, his arms crossed.Aven stifled a laugh at the simplicity of the question; after all, they were in the eighth grade. He couldn't help but notice the way Brunaldo's face flushed a deep shade of pink, a color that contrasted sharply with his sun-kissed skin. As he chuckled softly, he raised his hand, eager to answer the question himself.