Mi Vida

CHAPTER 1: Late

The sun hit her window wrong.

It was too bright. Too hot. And her alarm was still screaming.

*BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.*

Isabella buried her face in the pillow. 6:47am.

Her first alarm was set for 6:30. The backup for 6:35.

Both failed her.

The door banged open.

"Isabella Mira Alvarez!"

Mrs. Alvarez. Coffee in one hand, keys in the other, and Isabella’s school uniform thrown over her shoulder like a weapon.

"Escuela! You’re late! Up!"

Isabella groaned from under the blanket. "Five more minutes, Mom."

"No five minutes." Her mom yanked the blanket clean off. Cold air hit instantly.

"You promised me two alarms. Where is the second one?"

Isabella sat up, hair a disaster, one sock on. "It... died?"

"It didn’t die. You snoozed it and went back to sleep."

Mrs. Alvarez sighed and softened. She tossed the her clothes on the bed. White button-up. Navy pleated skirt.

"Bathroom. Now. I made toast. You can eat it in the bus."

Isabella dragged herself up. Her room looked like it always did on a school morning:

Sketchbook open on the floor with half-finished stars.

Textbooks stacked but not really organized.

The hoodie she wore yesterday hanging on the chair.

And her phone, face-down, with 12 unread messages in the class group chat.

She could already guess the first one: *Tasha: ugh first period is gonna suck*

In the bathroom, Isabella brushed her teeth with her eyes closed. The mirror was foggy. She wiped it, stared at herself.

Hair in a messy braid from sleeping. Dark circles. The usual.

Nothing special.

Downstairs smelled like coffee and burnt toast.

"Backpack?" Her mom asked without looking up from the sink.

"Got it." Isabella lied. It was still by the door.

"Lunch?"

"In my bag." Another lie. It was a granola bar and hope.

"Homework for math?"

Mira paused. "…In my bag."

Mrs. Alvarez turned, drying her hands. She gave Isabella *the look*. The one that said *I raised you, I know you.*

Then she smiled and tucked a piece of hair behind Isabella's ear.

"You’re a mess, chica. But you’re my mess." She pressed the wrapped toast into Isabella’s hand. "Eat. You’ll faint in class again."

"I didn’t faint last time. I was dizzy."

"You fainted, Isa."

Isabella nodded, shouldering her backpack. "Love you, Mom."

"Love you too. Don’t be late again or I’m taking your phone."

Isabella was running.

The school bus was already a cloud of dust down the road and she was 10 minutes late, backpack bouncing, shoes slapping the wet dirt. It had rained last night and everything smelled like earth and hurry.

Then the motorbike came.

Fast. Too fast for a school road. Black bike, black jacket. It hit a puddle she didn’t see and suddenly Isabella was covered. Mud up her legs, speckles on her white shirt, one fat splash across her cheek.

The bike didn’t stop.

"Hey!" she yelled after it, wiping mud with her sleeve and just making it worse. "Nice. Thanks."

By the time she got to school she looked like she’d wrestled the ground. She burst into class, breathless, hair half up, mud on her knees.

Everyone stared. The teacher stopped mid-sentence.

"Miss. You’re late."

"Bus left me," Isabella said, trying to grin through it. "And then the road attacked me."

A few people laughed. From the back corner, one person didn’t.

New kid. That had to be him.

He was already sitting there like he’d been part of the furniture forever. Hoodie down even though it wasn’t cold.

Isabella noticed him because he was the only still thing in the room.

He was pale, but not soft. More like winter-light skin stretched over sharp cheekbones.

Black hair falling over his forehead.

And dark, dark eyes that didn’t blink much. The kind that made you feel like he saw right through you.

Not just brown. Dark like he wasn’t letting anything out. He wasn’t looking at anyone. Just at his desk.

The teacher cleared her throat. "And we have a new student. Would you like to introduce yourself?"

Silence.

He stood up, grabbed his bag from the floor, walked past the teacher, and going through the door. No name. No wave.

The teacher blinked. "Alright then. Take your seat, Kael."

He went back to his desk. He sat near the window at the back.

Kael.

*Great,* Isabella thought, sliding into the seat in front of him, still dripping. *Rude. And apparently allergic to words.*

But then she caught him in her peripheral. He wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t judging. He was just... blank. Like someone had turned the volume off inside him.

And weirdly, that’s what stuck with her. Not the mud. Not the bike.

It was the way he looked like he’d already decided the world wasn’t worth talking to.

*Okay, Kael,* she thought, pulling a wet wipe from her bag and attacking the mud on her shirt. *You can be cold. I’m good at warm.*

---

DAY 2: The Hallway.

Isabella was not a "hold a grudge about mud" person.

So when she saw Kael at his locker the next morning, she walked right up. Clean shirt this time. Victory.

"Hey. Mud Guy."

He didn’t look up. Just kept shoving books in. Black hoodie, same scar over his eyebrow.

"I'm Isabella. From yesterday. The one you baptized in a puddle." She held out her hand.

He glanced at her hand, then at her face. His eyes were still that dark, unreadable brown. No smile. No nod.

"...Kael," he said. One word. Like pulling teeth.

"Cool. Kael. See? We can do this." She grinned.

He shut his locker. "Don’t."

"Don’t what?"

"Talk to me." And he walked off.

Isabella watched him go. Shoulders up. Hands in pockets. Walking like if he moved fast enough, no one could touch him.

*Okay,* she thought. *Cold. Got it. Challenge accepted.*

---

"For your group project on renewable energy, I’m pairing you up," the teacher said on Friday. "Isabella and Kael." Then he called the other names.

Isabella’s head snapped up. Kael didn’t move.

After class: "Library. Monday. 4pm," the teacher added. "I’ll be checking."

Monday, 4:02pm. Isabella was already there with highlighters, snacks, and 3 library books stacked like a fort. Kael walked in at 4:10, hoodie up, earbuds in.

He sat across from her. Didn’t take the earbuds out.

"So," Isabella said, pushing one of the snacks toward him. "Renewable energy. What do you think, solar or wind?"

Nothing.

She tried again. "I’m thinking solar. My aunt has panels. She says they’re a pain in the rain but they save money."

He pulled out a notebook. Started drawing in the margin. Not even the assignment. Just lines. Sharp, angry lines.

Isabella watched his hand. Knuckles scabbed. Fresh bruise on his wrist under the hoodie sleeve.

*Right. So we’re doing the silent treatment in a library.*

She leaned back in the chair. "Look. We can sit here for an hour and not talk. Or we can get this done in 30 minutes and never see each other again. Your call."

Kael’s pen stopped. He finally looked up.

For a second she thought she saw something flicker. Tiredness. Maybe irritation.

"Wind," he said. Voice low, rough, like he didn’t use it much. "Cheaper to start."

Isabella blinked. "Oh. A full sentence. Progress."

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.

"Don’t," he said again, but softer this time.

"Don’t what? Talk? Too late." She slid a paper across. "Fine. Wind. You do the research, I’ll do the poster. Deal?"

He stared at the paper. Then at her. Then he picked up the pen and wrote under her title: *Kael: research. Isabella: talk too much.*

Isabella laughed. Loud. The librarian shushed her.

*His skin looks lighter under the library lights,* she noticed. *And his eyes aren’t empty. They’re just... careful. Like if he looks at you too long, something might break.*

He went back to drawing. But this time, he left one earbud out.