Two Lances
The final bell had not yet rung, but Lance Ezekiel Zialceta was already thinking about leaving.
Not because he hated school.
He didn't.
In fact, Lance was one of those students who seemed to belong wherever he went. He knew the teachers who liked to joke with their students, the security guards who occasionally let him pass through the gate without checking his ID, the canteen staff who already knew what he would order during recess, and almost everyone in his year level.
He knew the people.
People knew him.
That was the way Lance liked it.
He leaned back against his chair and glanced at the clock hanging above the whiteboard.
3:42 p.m.
Eighteen more minutes.
The teacher was still discussing the instructions for their upcoming group presentation, but Lance's attention had already drifted toward the windows. Outside, the late afternoon sunlight had begun turning the school grounds gold.
Beyond the glass, students were already moving through the corridors.
Some were heading toward the gate.
Some were going to clubs.
Others were gathering around the covered court, where the basketball team usually practiced after classes.
A few students were rushing toward the library - to at least steal some review for their upcoming quizzes.
And, somewhere in the middle of all of that, Lance knew he would eventually be expected to appear - like some hero that would make everything okay.
He glanced at his phone beneath the desk.
Three unread messages.
One from his mother.
One from his best friend.
And one from a group chat he had muted because it had become nothing but memes and arguments about who was bringing food to their next gathering.
He smiled faintly.
Then his teacher cleared her throat.
"Lance."
He immediately looked up.
"Yes, Ma'am?"
The entire class laughed.
The teacher raised an eyebrow.
"You seem very interested in something happening outside that window. Care to share what caught your attention?"
"Nothing, Ma'am."
"Then perhaps you'd like to tell us what I was discussing to the class."
The smile disappeared from Lance's face.
For half a second, he considered pretending he knew.
Then he remembered who his teacher was.
She could tell when someone was bluffing.
"The presentation," he answered carefully.
"Which part of the presentation?"
"The... important part?" He half-guessed.
More laughter.
His teacher sighed.
"Sit properly."
Lance straightened.
"Yes, Ma'am."
The room slowly returned to its previous quietness. The turning of pages and the voice of the teacher could only be heard.
Lance looked down at his notebook.
His notes were neat enough - enough to make his classmates would hope that they'll be able to copy hos notes.
At least, most of them were.
He had written the title of the lesson, the date, and several important points.
But somewhere between the third and fourth bullet point, his handwriting had turned into a collection of random lines - he was never like this.
He had been drawing.
Again.
He quickly covered the page with his arm.
Not because the drawing was embarrassing.
It simply wasn't something he wanted anyone to see.
Especially not here.
Especially not with people who already had an opinion about him - an expectation that he needs to meet.
Lance was used to being seen as someone confident.
Athletic.
Sociable.
Funny.
Reliable.
The kind of person who could walk into a room and immediately find someone to talk to.
People rarely expected him to sit quietly and draw in the margins of his notebook.
And Lance had learned that sometimes it was easier to give people the version of him they expected. The version of him in which he never wished nor wanted, yet people around him craved for.
So he closed the notebook.
Then he looked at the clock again.
3:51.
Nine minutes.
He sighed.
Eight minutes.
Seven.
Six.
The second hand moved painfully slowly.
Then—
BEEEEEP.
The final bell rang.
The classroom erupted. Murmurs of the students echoes.
Chairs scraped against the floor.
Bags were lifted from underneath the desks.
Conversations exploded from every corner of the room.
Lance stood almost immediately.
"Finally."
His friend Lendrews appeared beside him.
Lance's P. O. V.
"You have somewhere to be?" As L (My nickname for Leandrews - Leandrews Louisse Lazatine)
"No." I answered - quickly, almost making it sound that i am defensive.
"Then why do you look like you're escaping prison?"
"Because I want to go home." L laughed - like I've said something funny.
"You said that yesterday."
"And the day before."
"And probably tomorrow."
"Exactly." I cut him off.
We walked toward the door together.
"Lance!"
Someone called me from behind.
As I turned around, a girl from the next row waved.
"Don't forget we're meeting tomorrow for the presentation." Flashing a smile towards me.
"I won't." I answered - lifelessly.
"You said that yesterday too." She bantered.
"I didn't forget." I countered.
"You forgot the time." She added.
"I remembered eventually." I attacked.
She rolled her eyes at me. Ughhhh, why do I have to deal with this?
"Five o'clock." She said.
"Got it."
"Don't be late." She added.
"I'll try." I answered honestly.
"You always say that." Can't she stop nagging?
"And yet, somehow, I survive."
She laughed.
I smiled and stepped into the hallway.
The corridor was crowded.
The school had transformed almost instantly after the final bell. The serious silence of class was gone, replaced by the noise of hundreds of students.
Laughter.
Footsteps.
Shouting.
Lockers closing.
Teachers calling after students.
Someone running down the stairs.
Someone else complaining about homework.
I moved easily through it.
I greeted people as I passed by them.
"Hey, Lance!" I turned to look at the person who called me, it was Julian - a friend.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Practice tomorrow?" He asked me back.
"Maybe." I answered.
"You're coming to the game, right?" He asked again.
"Of course." I replied.
I knew almost everyone.
Or at least, I knew their names.
There was a difference.
I had never thought much about it.
Until this afternoon.
I was halfway down the corridor when someone stepped directly into my path.
Someone's P. O. V.
"Lance."
He stopped.
"What?"
The student looked confused.
"You're Lance, right?"
Lance blinked.
"Yes."
The student looked over his shoulder.
Then back at him.
"Which Lance?"
Lance frowned.
"What do you mean, which Lance?"
The student pointed down the corridor.
"There's another one."
"What?"
"Another Lance."
Lance stared at him.
"You're joking."
"I'm not."
The student laughed.
"Apparently there's another Lance in your year."
Lance looked toward the other end of the hallway.
"Where?"
"Near the library, I think."
Lance shrugged.
"Okay."
"That's it?"
"What do you want me to do?"
"I don't know. Meet him?"
"Why?"
"Because there are two of you."
"That's not exactly a crisis."
The student laughed again and walked away.
Lance continued down the corridor.
He forgot about it almost immediately.
Until he reached the library.
And saw him.
The other Lance was standing beside one of the large bulletin boards near the library entrance.
At first, Lance Ezekiel only noticed him because everyone else seemed to be moving around him.
The boy wasn't doing anything particularly dramatic.
He wasn't talking loudly.
He wasn't surrounded by friends.
He wasn't checking his phone.
He was simply standing there with a sketchbook tucked beneath one arm.
His school bag hung from one shoulder.
His head was slightly lowered as he studied something pinned to the bulletin board.
There was something different about the way he occupied the hallway.
While everyone else seemed to be rushing somewhere, he looked like he wasn't in a hurry.
Lance Ezekiel slowed.
Then he remembered.
The other Lance.
He almost walked past.
Almost.
Then a loose sheet of paper slipped from the boy's sketchbook.
It fell to the floor.
Lance Ezekiel noticed it before the other boy did.
He bent down.
"Hey."
The boy turned.
"Your paper."
The boy looked at the floor.
Then at Lance.
"Oh."
He crouched to pick it up.
Their hands almost reached the paper at the same time.
The boy stopped.
Lance picked it up first.
"Here."
"Thanks."
The boy took it.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Lance Ezekiel looked at him properly for the first time.
He had seen him before.
Probably.
The school was too big for someone to be completely unfamiliar.
But there was a difference between seeing someone and actually noticing them.
The boy had dark hair that was slightly messy, as if he had run his fingers through it too many times. His uniform wasn't particularly untidy, but it wasn't as carefully arranged as Lance Ezekiel's either.
There was a faint pencil mark near the side of his hand.
His sketchbook was worn around the edges.
Not damaged.
Used.
Frequently.
Lance Ezekiel looked at the cover.
There were several small drawings on it.
He looked back at the boy.
"You draw?"
The boy glanced at the sketchbook.
"Sometimes."
"That's a lot of pages for sometimes."
The boy smiled faintly.
"Maybe I draw more than sometimes."
Lance laughed.
"Fair."
The boy adjusted his bag.
"Thanks again."
"No problem."
He began walking away.
Lance Ezekiel watched him for a second.
Then something occurred to him.
"Wait."
The boy turned.
"Yeah?"
"You're Lance, right?"
The boy looked confused.
"Yes."
Lance Ezekiel laughed.
"Okay."
"What?"
"Nothing."
The boy raised an eyebrow.
"You asked me if I'm Lance."
"I know."
"And I said yes."
"I know."
"Then why are you laughing?"
"Because apparently there are two of us."
The boy stared at him.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed too.
"So you're the other Lance."
"Apparently."
"Which Lance are you?"
Lance Ezekiel paused.
"That's a weird question."
"You asked it first."
"Fair."
He extended a hand.
"Lance Ezekiel."
The boy looked at his hand.
Then shook it.
"Lance Augustine."
They released hands.
And for some reason, the simplicity of the moment made Lance Ezekiel smile.
"Well," he said, "this is going to be confusing."
"Probably."
"People are going to call one of us by our last name."
"They already do."
"Which one?"
"Usually Verano."
Lance nodded.
"Then I'll be Zialceta."
"Works for me."
They stood there for another second.
Neither seemed sure what to say next.
Then Lance Augustine glanced toward the library doors.
"I should go."
"Sure."
Augustine started walking.
Lance Ezekiel turned the opposite direction.
Three steps later, he stopped.
He looked back.
Augustine was already disappearing into the library.
Lance Ezekiel smiled to himself.
Two Lances.
That was going to be interesting.
------------------------------------
The next morning, Lance Ezekiel discovered just how interesting it could be.
He arrived at school ten minutes earlier than usual.
Not because of Augustine.
At least, that's what he told himself.
He had a meeting with their presentation group before classes began.
He walked into the classroom carrying a drink and a sandwich.
Leandrews was already there.
"You?"
Lance dropped his bag beside his chair.
"What?"
"Early."
"I have a meeting."
"You hate meetings."
"I don't hate this one."
Leandrews stared at him.
"You're suspicious."
"I'm always suspicious."
"No. You're suspiciously cheerful."
"I'm always cheerful."
"No, you're not."
Lance laughed.
"Good morning to you too."
More students entered.
The classroom slowly filled.
Lance sat down and opened his notebook.
Then the teacher walked in.
"Good morning, everyone."
"Good morning, Ma'am."
She placed her things on the table.
Before beginning the lesson, she checked the attendance sheet.
"Lance Zialceta?"
"Present."
She marked the sheet.
"Lance Verano?"
Silence.
She looked up.
"Lance Verano?"
A student near the back called out.
"He's here, Ma'am."
"Where?"
The student pointed toward the doorway.
Everyone looked.
Augustine stood there holding a sketchbook.
He seemed slightly surprised by the attention.
"Sorry, Ma'am."
"You're late."
"I was at the library."
"Before class?"
"Yes."
The teacher sighed.
"Sit down."
Augustine nodded.
He walked toward an empty seat.
Then the teacher looked back at her attendance sheet.
She frowned.
"Lance Zialceta?"
"Present."
"Lance Verano?"
"Present."
She looked at the class.
"This is going to be a problem."
Several students laughed.
Lance Ezekiel smiled.
Augustine covered his face with one hand.
"Maybe we should call them by their surnames," the teacher said.
"That's what I was thinking," someone said.
"Zialceta."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Verano."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Good."
The lesson began.
Lance Ezekiel tried to concentrate.
He really did.
But every time someone said "Lance," his eyes instinctively moved.
The teacher eventually noticed.
"Zialceta."
"Yes, Ma'am?"
"Stop looking around."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"No, Ma'am."
She smiled.
"Then look at your notes."
He looked down.
Leandrews leaned toward him.
"You're going to get us all in trouble."
"I didn't do anything."
"You were looking at Verano."
"I was not."
"You were."
Lance ignored him.
But when he glanced across the room again, Augustine was already looking at him.
Their eyes met.
Augustine smiled.
Lance smiled back.
Then both looked away.
--------------------------------
By lunch, the story had already spread.
There were two Lances.
It seemed like everyone had suddenly discovered this fascinating piece of information.
At the canteen, someone shouted:
"Hey! Which Lance?"
Lance Ezekiel turned.
So did Augustine.
The entire table laughed.
"See?" Leandrews said. "This is going to be a problem."
Augustine sat at another table with two classmates.
He looked amused.
Lance Ezekiel pointed toward him.
"That's Verano."
Someone pointed at Lance Ezekiel.
"And you're Zialceta."
"Exactly."
"How are we supposed to remember?"
"Use our surnames."
"Too complicated."
"Then suffer."
Everyone laughed.
A few minutes later, a student accidentally handed Lance Ezekiel a drink meant for Augustine.
He stared at it.
"This isn't mine."
The student looked confused.
"Sorry. I thought you were Verano."
Lance looked across the room.
Augustine had apparently received the wrong food too.
They looked at each other.
Augustine raised his sandwich.
Lance raised the drink.
Both laughed.
It was ridiculous.
But somehow, it was funny.
After lunch, Lance Ezekiel found himself thinking about the incident.
Not the mistake.
Augustine.
There was something about him that Lance couldn't quite explain.
Maybe it was because they were opposites.
Lance Ezekiel was surrounded by people.
Augustine seemed comfortable being alone.
Lance Ezekiel talked easily.
Augustine listened more than he spoke.
Lance Ezekiel was always moving.
Augustine seemed to notice things.
The difference intrigued him.
--------------------------------------
After classes, Lance Ezekiel had another reason to stay on campus.
Basketball practice.
He changed into his practice clothes and headed toward the covered court.
The familiar sound of bouncing basketballs greeted him.
His teammates were already warming up.
"Lance!"
He tossed his bag onto the bench.
"What's up?"
"Coach is looking for you."
"Why?"
"You're late."
"I'm not late."
"You are."
Lance checked the time.
He was three minutes late.
"That's not late."
"It is to Coach."
"Great."
He jogged toward the court.
Practice lasted almost two hours.
By the time it ended, the sun was beginning to disappear.
Most students had already gone home.
Lance grabbed his bag and headed toward the locker room.
Then he remembered that he had left his notebook in the classroom.
He sighed.
"Seriously?"
He turned around.
The school was much quieter now.
The same corridors that had been packed earlier were almost empty.
The silence felt strange.
He walked toward his classroom.
When he reached the hallway, he noticed a light coming from the library.
He stopped.
The library was usually closed this late.
He walked closer.
The door was slightly open.
Inside, someone was sitting near the window.
Lance knew who it was before he even saw the sketchbook.
Augustine.
Lance stood at the doorway.
"You still here?"
Augustine looked up.
"Oh."
He smiled.
"You're still here too."
"Practice."
"I was drawing."
Lance glanced around.
"Here?"
Augustine nodded.
"It's quiet."
Lance stepped inside.
The library was almost empty.
A few books were scattered across a table.
Augustine had several sheets of paper beside him.
Lance approached.
"What are you drawing?"
Augustine hesitated.
"Nothing important."
"That usually means it's important."
Augustine smiled.
"Maybe."
Lance pulled out a chair.
"Can I see?"
Augustine looked at him.
For a moment, Lance thought he would say no.
Instead, Augustine turned the sketchbook around.
The page showed the school hallway.
But it wasn't the hallway Lance knew.
It was quieter.
The windows were filled with evening light.
The floor reflected long shadows.
The lockers looked almost golden.
It was beautiful.
Lance stared.
"You drew this?"
Augustine nodded.
"When?"
"Today."
Lance looked at the drawing again.
"You made the hallway look different."
Augustine shrugged.
"That's because it's different."
"What do you mean?"
"Most people only see it when it's crowded."
Lance looked at him.
Augustine continued.
"But after everyone leaves, you can actually see it."
Lance didn't immediately respond.
He looked toward the library window.
Outside, the school grounds were nearly empty.
For the first time, he noticed how different everything looked after the bell.
Without students rushing through the corridors, the school felt almost peaceful.
"So you like it after school?"
Augustine nodded.
"It's when I can think."
Lance leaned back.
"I usually just want to leave."
Augustine laughed.
"I noticed."
"You noticed?"
"You were practically running yesterday."
"I wasn't running."
"You looked like you were."
"I was walking quickly."
"Very quickly."
Lance laughed.
"Okay. Maybe I was."
Silence settled between them.
But it wasn't uncomfortable.
Lance noticed that.
Usually, silence made him feel like he needed to fill it.
With Augustine, he didn't.
He looked at the sketchbook again.
"Do you draw people?"
"Sometimes."
"Have you drawn anyone from school?"
"Maybe."
"Have you drawn me?"
Augustine looked at him.
"No."
Lance raised an eyebrow.
"Why not?"
"You'd probably complain."
"I wouldn't."
"You would."
"I'd be honored."
Augustine laughed.
"You'd make it weird."
"Maybe."
They both smiled.
Lance looked at the clock.
"Don't you need to go home?"
"In a while."
"Your parents aren't worried?"
"They know I'm here."
Lance nodded.
Then he stood.
"I should get my notebook."
"It's probably still in your classroom."
"That's where I left it."
He took a step toward the door.
Then stopped.
"You want to come?"
Augustine looked surprised.
"To our classroom? With you?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Lance shrugged.
"Maybe I don't want to walk through the empty hallway alone."
Augustine smiled.
"Is Lance Ezekiel Zialceta scared?"
"NO." Ezekiel responded so quickly and defensively.
"Then why?" Augustine asked yet he could not hid ehis giggles as he asked the question.
"Because I said so." Ezekiel simply replied.
Augustine closed his sketchbook. Giving up to the other person's request.
"Okay."
They walked together.
The hallway was almost completely empty.
Their footsteps echoed.
For a few moments, neither spoke.
Then Augustine asked:
"Do people always call you Lance?"
"Usually."
"Doesn't it get confusing?"
"Apparently."
Augustine laughed.
Lance glanced at him.
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Do people call you Lance Augustine?"
"Sometimes."
"That's a lot."
"I know."
"Do you like Augustine?"
He shrugged.
"It's okay."
"What would you rather be called?"
"Just Lance."
Lance smiled. A smiled that most people don't see.
"That's unfortunate."
"Why?"
"Because now there are two."
Augustine laughed.
"True."
They reached their classroom.
Lance pushed the door open.
His notebook was exactly where he had left it.
He picked it up.
"Found it."
Augustine waited near the doorway.
Lance looked at him.
"Do you want to see something?"
Augustine nodded unaware of what would Ezekiel would show him.
Lance opened his notebook.
There were several sketches in the margins.
Not people.
Buildings.
Shoes.
Basketballs.
Random objects.
He hadn't planned on showing anyone.
But somehow, he didn't mind showing Augustine.
Augustine looked closely.
"You draw too."
Lance immediately became defensive.
"No."
Augustine looked up.
"You literally have drawings."
"I doodle."
"That's drawing."
"It's different."
"How?"
"I don't know."
Augustine smiled.
"You don't want people to know."
Lance closed the notebook.
"Not really."
"Why?"
Lance shrugged.
"People already expect certain things from me."
"Like what?"
"Like being good at sports."
"You are."
"Being outgoing."
"You are."
"Being... whatever people think I am."
Augustine nodded slowly.
"And drawing doesn't fit?"
"Not in their version of me."
Augustine looked at him.
"Maybe their version isn't the whole you."
(Augustine's Mind: A secret between him and I.)
The words were simple.
But they stayed with Lance.
He looked away.
"Maybe."
Augustine didn't push.
That was something Lance appreciated.
They left the classroom together.
When they reached the stairs, Augustine stopped.
"Which way are you going?"
"Gate."
"Me too."
They continued walking.
Outside, the evening air was cooler.
Students were scattered around the gate.
Some were waiting for rides.
Others were walking home.
Lance and Augustine stopped near the entrance.
For a moment, neither seemed ready to leave.
Then Augustine said:
"See you tomorrow, Zialceta."
Lance smiled.
"See you tomorrow, Verano."
Augustine walked away.
Lance watched him go.
Then he shook his head.
Two Lances.
Two completely different people.
And somehow, he had a feeling this wouldn't be the last time their paths crossed after the bell.
------------------------
The following days developed a strange rhythm.
At first, Lance Ezekiel didn't think of it as a friendship.
They simply happened to be in the same places.
The library.
The hallway.
The canteen.
The classroom.
After school.
Sometimes they talked.
Sometimes they didn't.
Sometimes Lance Ezekiel would pass Augustine in the hallway and raise his hand in greeting.
Sometimes Augustine would simply smile.
It was nothing.
At least, that's what Lance told himself.
Then Thursday happened.
It started with a missing notebook.
Lance Ezekiel searched his entire classroom.
Nothing.
He checked his bag.
Nothing.
His locker.
Nothing.
The canteen.
Nothing.
He finally returned to the library.
Augustine was there.
"Looking for something?"
"My notebook."
"The black one?"
"Yes."
"With the basketball sticker?"
"Yes."
"I saw it."
Lance stopped.
"Where?"
Augustine pointed toward the table behind him.
"There."
Lance looked.
His notebook was sitting exactly where Augustine had indicated.
He picked it up.
"How did you know it was mine?"
Augustine looked at him.
"It has your name."
"Oh."
Lance laughed.
"Right."
Augustine smiled.
"You lose things often?"
"Only important things."
"That's concerning."
"I'm not concerned."
"You should be."
Lance sat down.
"What are you drawing?"
Augustine closed his sketchbook.
"Nothing."
"You always say that."
"Because you're always asking."
"Maybe because you always draw."
Augustine smiled.
"You really want to see?"
Lance nodded.
Augustine opened the sketchbook.
The page showed a basketball court.
But there was something unusual about it.
The court was empty.
The lights were on.
The stands were empty.
A basketball sat near the center.
"You drew this?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Yesterday."
Lance looked at it carefully.
"It looks lonely."
Augustine's expression changed slightly.
"Maybe it is."
Lance looked at him.
Then at the drawing.
He didn't know what to say.
So he asked:
"Do you ever draw happy things?"
Augustine smiled.
"Sometimes."
"Like what?"
Augustine turned the page.
There was a drawing of two cups sitting beside each other on a table.
Lance smiled.
"What's that?"
"Nothing."
"You're really bad at explaining your drawings."
"They don't need explanations."
"Maybe."
Lance leaned closer.
"Do the cups have names?"
Augustine laughed.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because they're cups."
"That's boring."
"You're boring."
Lance gasped dramatically.
"Excuse me?"
Augustine laughed.
Lance laughed too.
And that was the moment he realized something.
He liked being around Augustine.
Not because Augustine was interesting.
Not because he was mysterious.
Not because they were both named Lance.
He simply liked him.
As a friend.
At least, that's what he thought.
For now.
----------------------------------
Friday arrived faster than either expected.
The school was preparing for its upcoming foundation celebration.
Posters were being put up.
Classrooms were being decorated.
Clubs were preparing booths.
The student council had turned the main hallway into a chaotic construction zone.
Lance Ezekiel volunteered to help.
Mostly because his friends had volunteered him.
He carried boxes from one classroom to another.
He helped hang decorations.
He moved chairs.
He answered questions.
At one point, someone shouted:
"Lance!"
Both Lance Ezekiel and Lance Augustine turned.
Everyone laughed.
"Right," someone said. "We need surnames."
Lance Ezekiel pointed at Augustine.
"Verano."
Augustine pointed at him.
"Zialceta."
"Good," their classmate said. "Zialceta, take these boxes."
Lance took them.
"Verano, help with the posters."
Augustine nodded.
They went in opposite directions.
But twenty minutes later, they found themselves working on the same wall.
Augustine was carefully arranging a set of posters.
Lance held the tape.
"Here?"
"A little higher."
"Like this?"
"Too high."
Lance lowered it.
"Now?"
"Perfect."
He pressed the poster against the wall.
Augustine stepped back.
"It looks good."
Lance smiled.
"Obviously."
"You didn't even do anything."
"I provided moral support."
Augustine laughed.
"Very useful."
"I know."
They continued working.
At some point, Lance noticed Augustine had a small smudge of blue paint on his cheek.
He almost mentioned it.
Instead, he laughed.
Augustine looked at him.
"What?"
"You have paint on your face."
"Where?"
"Here."
Lance pointed toward his own cheek.
Augustine wiped the wrong side.
"No."
"The other side."
He wiped again.
"Still there."
"Where?"
"Your left."
Augustine tried again.
"Still."
Lance laughed.
"You are terrible at this."
"Then tell me where."
Lance pointed.
"Right there."
Augustine finally found it.
"Oh."
He wiped it away.
"Better?"
"Yes."
They went back to work.
But neither noticed that someone had been watching them from across the hallway.
It was nothing.
Just two friends talking.
Just two students working on decorations.
Nothing worth noticing.
Except, perhaps, to the people who knew them.
Because Lance Ezekiel Zialceta had changed.
Only slightly.
He was still loud.
Still confident.
Still surrounded by people.
But now, whenever the final bell rang, he didn't always rush home.
Sometimes he looked for Lance Augustine Verano.
And Augustine had begun doing the same.
------------------------------------
That afternoon, after the decorations were finished, most of the students left.
Lance Ezekiel stayed behind.
Again.
He told himself he needed to finish something.
He didn't.
He simply found himself walking toward the library.
Augustine was there.
Of course he was.
Lance stood in the doorway.
"You're here."
Augustine looked up.
"So are you."
"Apparently."
"Why?"
Lance thought about it.
"I don't know."
Augustine smiled.
"That's becoming a habit."
"What is?"
"Being here after the bell."
Lance leaned against the doorway.
"Maybe I like it."
"Maybe."
Lance entered.
He sat across from Augustine.
Neither spoke for a while.
Outside, the sun was beginning to set.
The light passed through the library windows and stretched across the floor.
Augustine opened his sketchbook.
Lance opened his notebook.
For several minutes, they simply worked.
Two boys.
Two sketchbooks.
Two completely different ways of seeing the same school.
Then Augustine spoke.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why do you draw?"
Lance looked at his notebook.
"I don't know."
"That's your answer to everything."
"Because it's true."
Augustine smiled.
Lance continued.
"I guess I just like it."
"Then why hide it?"
Lance didn't answer immediately.
He looked around the library.
Then at Augustine.
"Do you ever feel like people already decided who you are?"
Augustine nodded.
"Sometimes."
"What do you do?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"I just keep being me."
Lance smiled faintly.
"Must be nice."
"It isn't always."
They fell silent.
Then Augustine said:
"You don't have to be the same person everywhere."
Lance looked at him.
"Maybe."
"You can be Zialceta in the hallway."
He smiled.
"And Lance in here."
Lance laughed quietly.
"That sounds confusing."
"Probably."
The bell from the school office suddenly rang.
Not the final bell.
Just a reminder that the building would soon close.
Augustine closed his sketchbook.
"We should go."
Lance nodded.
They walked toward the exit together.
The hallway was empty again.
Just like the first day.
Lance remembered that moment.
The dropped paper.
The sketchbook.
The question.
You're Lance, right?
He smiled.
"What?"
Augustine looked at him.
"Nothing."
"You were smiling."
"Was I?"
"Yes."
"Maybe I'm just happy."
Augustine smiled.
"About what?"
Lance thought about giving him a joke.
Instead, he answered honestly.
"I don't know yet."
They continued walking.
The hallway grew darker as the evening settled outside.
The school was nearly empty.
No classmates.
No teachers.
No expectations.
No one watching.
Just two boys walking beside each other after the bell.
Two Lances.
Two different stories.
And, without realizing it, the beginning of one story they would eventually share.
Lance Ezekiel looked toward the doors.
"See you Monday."
"See you Monday."
They stopped at the gate.
Augustine turned toward one direction.
Lance toward another.
Neither moved immediately.
Then Augustine raised his hand.
"Bye, Zialceta."
Lance raised his own.
"Bye, Verano."
Augustine walked away.
Lance watched him for a moment.
Then he finally turned toward home.
He didn't know it yet, but he would remember that afternoon.
Not because anything extraordinary had happened.
There had been no dramatic confession.
No life-changing event.
No grand moment that would make a perfect story.
There had only been a hallway.
A library.
Two sketchbooks.
A few conversations.
And a friendship that had begun almost accidentally.
Sometimes, Lance would later realize, the most important moments in life didn't announce themselves.
They arrived quietly.
They looked ordinary.
They happened after everyone else had stopped paying attention.
And sometimes—
they began with something as simple as sharing a name.
Two Lances.
One school.
One friendship.
And a first note waiting to be heard.
