My sister is a genius singer and me, a worthless person without talent

When that woman left the room, I noticed how her black dress twisted and swayed like the waves of the sea at night, between her legs, leaving a subtle trail in her wake as if she were kicking up dust.

Probably just my imagination, though.

As she crossed the doorway, she said, "Don't forget to check your phones. It must be very important."

I'll do it later.

Valdez was one of those cruel, arrogant people who didn't bother hiding their pride because their skill excused that unfaithful compartment of their personality.

I wouldn't say she was famous—at least, I hadn't known of her until today. But when I heard her solitary whistle reverberate through the wooden panels of the room, I even felt my chair tremble—no, my entire body. At that moment, I realized there were scholars out there, true masters of their craft, hiding in plain sight, unnoticed until the right moment.

Something told me she was slightly disappointed with today's youth.

I was returning from the bathroom after having a medical instrument shoved up my nose when I noticed for the first time that the hallways smelled like cleaning fluid and that birdsong was a common sound here—unlike in my district, where they raised chickens and pigs.

I think I got used to that pleasant noise too easily. It's one of the few things I've liked about my stay here. On the other hand, I've started despising the sounds of savagery and satire back home. But noise is one thing—silence is another.

This wasn't my kind of silence. Instead, it was that claustrophobic sensation of being trapped in a space so vast that, to the senses, it felt like being compressed into a box—which wasn't far from the truth.

The room was soundproofed. When I entered, I felt a slight shiver.

There was my sister, listening quietly to Emilia's endless chatter.

Leaning back on the acrylic chairs, my sister's reflection showed her slightly hunched back, her wild hair looking even more untamed from behind, as if she'd been swallowed by a clump of seaweed.

"You sure took your time in the bathroom, huh?"

I turned cautiously because that voice wasn't even remotely familiar.

Abantino had left a while ago with her entourage of admirers, but among the few people still in the room, the man who spoke to me was undeniably striking.

"If I took so long, it's your fault that woman robbed me of my nasal virginity."

He laughed—an annoying laugh, typical of people like him. "You're very eloquent, you know that?"

Alex Nowak, the mind behind Ana Abantino's early online music success.

"Shouldn't you be with your friend?"

"Whoa, calm down. Sounds like you hate her or something."

"I don't hate her. I just find you annoying."

"You're blunt, but I won't judge. Sorry about earlier—though it was pretty funny."

He was almost my height, maybe slightly shorter, tilting his gaze slightly to meet my eyes—not with mockery or malice, but with the curiosity of a small child.

"You're… Lucas Milca—"

"Lucas Vilcanoba."

"Ah, right. The Charles Dickens boy."

I wanted to die.

"Hey, who calls me that?"

"No one, really. I just made it up. No one actually cares about you, no offense."

"No, I'm relieved."

He seemed to enjoy bothering people, but I wouldn't call him a bully.

"So, why are you talking to me?" That was the real question. Did he want me to become his errand boy or something?

"No, I just found it curious that the teacher picked you for the demonstration. But now that I think about it, she was probably annoyed you weren't cooperating with the vocal exercises."

"I'm exempt from the special classes."

He gave me a slightly surprised look.

"I came for the teacher because I heard she was hot."

I realized I didn't owe this guy any explanations, but I corrected myself to divert his attention—though I guess I screwed up. He looked at me with even more curiosity.

He was handsome—even I, as a guy, could admit that. If I were a girl, I'd probably be head over heels just from his presence.

"Is that your sister?"

His question connected with my earlier thought, and something in me clicked.

"If you want me to introduce you, the answer is over my dead body."

"Relax, I'm not planning anything bad. I just noticed her posture. Also, I heard she's on a scholarship—is that true?"

"More or less. But what about her posture?"

I had to admit my sister didn't have the best lumbar habits.

"Oh, when she did the exercise, her singing posture was perfect, but the sound was a bit dull."

And she wasn't the most motivated person in the world, either.

"Still, I don't see anything special about her singing. She has good posture, I guess—some mastery there. That's enough to be admirable. Maybe if she wanted to stand out more, she should dress better, fix herself up a bit, put in more effort, and stop hiding in a corner."

I was about to say we weren't in this school to become Mr. and Ms. Popular, but he cut me off before I could open my mouth.

"Anyway, consider my advice—or she won't pass." He showed me his phone. "It's getting late. Nice meeting you. Oh, right—" He stared at me. "I'm Alex Nowak. Though I think you already knew that."

And then he left.

"What was that all about?" 

"No idea."

"You should've introduced me."

"You talk a lot about making connections, but in the end, you're all talk and no action."

"They're in a different league. I have to be more careful."

At that moment, as we walked down the parquet hallways with wide windows overlooking the school buildings, the color of the wood seemed to blend into the rhythmic "tap, tap, tap" of our footsteps. It distracted me from everything else, my brain latching onto the sound as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. My mind wandered between insignificance and the will to appreciate every fleeting moment—something the so-called experts claimed was the only way to truly enjoy life.

"WHAAAT?!"

Any thought I had shattered the moment Emilia screamed.

"LOOK, LOOK!"

She started shaking her phone like a madwoman in front of my face. I couldn't see anything—the brightness blinded me from that close, turning my vision into an undefined white void.

At the same time, I heard more shouts erupting around us. I turned toward the window to escape the blinding light and saw students gathering in small circles, their phones at the center.

An important announcement? Maybe the world was ending, and a nuclear apocalypse was coming. Would the story of our lives shift from school drama to survival?

"Special exam?" said María, confused as she read something, since she had taken the phone out of my pocket (we only had one and shared it).

Then I remembered what that man had told me—why Alex Nowak had waved his phone at me, as if trying to tell me something.