Chapter Text
Being the center of attention isn't always as cool as they say, or as you might think. At least not when you have something that isn't exactly positive. That's what I thought my whole life, and for most of my life, people made a point of reaffirming how bad it seemed. My condition was irreversible, which means that all that could be done was to take care of it. No medicine, just products that I usually use to protect myself.
It all started at a certain point in my childhood... six? Eight years old? Something in that time frame. One day, when my mother was drying me off with a towel and tried to dry my back, I noticed that she stopped for a moment, remained silent, and looked somewhat incredulous. When I turned my face, I saw her expression of doubt and, deep in her brown eyes, I saw a hint of fear. It was faint, but that's what it seemed to be. Obviously, it didn't take long for her to take me to a doctor.
The battery of tests was the most annoying part of it all. We were told to go to the doctor on several occasions, on different days, and we would spend some time at the clinic until we were actually seen. The main thing that caused me agony was the blessed TV, which was always too low to hear and always showed programs that were too bad to watch. The TV was out of the question, so whenever I arrived at the clinic, I would pore over some fashion magazines that changed occasionally. Looking at the clothes was an interesting part, but reading the tips that were written? It was priceless.
At that time, I was really distracted by the magazines at Dr. Jennifer's clinic. There were a few appointments over the course of several months, which I eventually got used to, until the diagnosis of what I really had came: vitiligo. The cause for this was something called “genetics” or something like that, and I remember that at the time I really wanted to punch this girl called genetics who made me spend several mornings stuck in this clinic.
Anyway, it's not like it's the end of the world. Even my mom sighed with relief, maybe thinking it was something else, but what I had didn't seem exactly deadly. Only as time went by could I see what everyone else saw and found strange in a way. My skin, which had always been somewhere between light and dark, which many called tan, began to develop spots that were lighter than normal.
I thought it might just be toothpaste stains, but they didn't come off with water, and it was only after questioning my mother that I was able to connect the dots. So that was why I needed to apply sunscreen and moisturizer almost religiously throughout the day? It all made sense when I saw what vitiligo had done to my skin. So, at that moment, at the age of ten, I saw the condition that would literally mark me for the rest of my life.
Of course, my curiosity got the better of me, and I wanted more explanations from my mother, who smiled at my innocence and the fact that I couldn't quite grasp what the doctor had said some time ago. It was then that she put her hands on my shoulders and let flow the words that I remember to this day as if they were spoken just now:
“Stephanie, what you have are ‘snow spots’. Genetics has chosen you to be a magical winter princess. In other words, winter lives a little bit in you all year round, and we have to protect your skin from the intense heat.”
Although I found it strange, especially since there was no snow where we lived, maybe this genetics thing wasn't so bad after all. Being a magical princess? It just filled my eyes with excitement and later made me ask genetics for forgiveness in my prayers. After all, I am special.
—
“Damn it! This wind is making my hair frizzy.” I hear complaints coming from a voice even higher pitched than mine, even a little nasal.
“Idiot, I told you not to style your hair at a time like this, we planned to do cardio on the beach!” - Giving her a slightly more energetic poke, I turn around to see her trying to organize the mess of her loose hair.
Camila, like me, has straightened roots, but her hair curls as it gets closer to the ends, forming dark curls that somehow match the tan on her face. Seeing her patting the frizzy parts, I almost feel physical pain, and in the agony of ending the torture of my friend's hair, I start to untangle my own hair.
“Here, see if you can tie this hair properly!” - Handing her a hair clip I was using, I quickly gather my own hair to align it with the gap in the back of my cap, making an improvised ponytail. At least it served to break a branch.
“Come on, Frozen, why are you calling me at this hour?! We have class at eight!” She again spat fire at having to inevitably tie up her beautiful curls, still slightly damp from her morning shower and the generous amount of cream she had spread throughout her hair. “I'm officially giving up on walking with you, I'm going to arrive at school with my hair all messed up.”
At this hour, yellowish sunbeams timidly appear in an almost clear sky, with little interference from the clouds, which play a supporting role to the predominant blue that indicates how well-defined summer is in our region. The presence of the yellowish light appears as a sequence of dashes that stand out on the horizon, painted with nature's beautiful brush, highlighting the sun kissing the sea and the water reflecting it against yet another blue immensity.
Looking at my watch, it was 6:00 a.m., and we were already heading back home after walking twice around a limited stretch of the shore. The winds on the boardwalk whistle to those who pass by and bring the salty smell of the sea with them, almost like a recurring invitation to enter the water. Waking up early, they are able to witness the setting up of what, in a few hours, will be the beach trade, with some kiosks opening, tents being set up, and across the street, buildings being entered by their first employees.
It's not a bad time at all. Sun exposure at this time of day is low, ideal for enjoying the ride without worrying about feeling the burn on the most sensitive parts of my body, the whitish spots that stand out on my arms, abdomen, neck, and extending to part of my left cheek. However, despite this, it's not as if I haven't taken any precautions. Under the thin fabric of my white leggings and matching sports top, I made sure to apply layers of sunscreen and moisturizer.
In the end, you can never be too careful.
“Lazy...” I whispered as I shook my head a little, quickly resuming the lead. “You know I don't like doing cardio in the afternoon. Have you seen how hot it is this summer? It's deadly!”
“That's why I go to the gym in the afternoon!” She shrugged and continued to follow in my footsteps, despite some difficulty due to her untrained body in aerobic activities. “And today there's no escaping it, you're coming with me!”
"Oh no! Today I have an important jiu-jitsu training session. It's one of those you can't miss, you know?" It was a lame excuse, which was as clear as the surface of the water to Camila, who pointed at me and yelled.
“NO EXCUSES! It's the third time this week you've had this training you can't miss!”
“I try not to miss it every day, right?!”
Between excuses and more attempts, we continue our argument, which certainly alarms some runners and shopkeepers who pass by occasionally. It's not as if either of us is known for speaking softly, nor do we care about the strange looks we are now receiving. This conversation went on and on, until at a certain point, Camila made me an offer that made me shut up and listen.
“Let's do this then. You come to the gym just once today, just to see if you like it or not. In return, I'll come and do these crazy walks with you for a whole month!”
Now she seemed to be speaking my language. Having more regular company for cardio isn't bad at all, and even though she's the most complaining of all my companions, Camila is indispensable.
“Okay...” It was settled, despite my slight discouragement at having to fulfill my part of the bet.
Weight training never appealed to me, and I never considered myself sedentary. Swimming, running, volleyball, and even soccer are some of the sports I've done, some of which I consider myself totally passionate about to the point of winning a few medals in high school tournaments. Sports in general are an indispensable art in my life and something I intend to carry on for the rest of it.
But weight training just seemed... too boring?
Lifting weights and repeating a bunch of specific exercises doesn't seem like an activity that exudes any excitement; it's more like torture for your muscles, without a shred of competitiveness. In my mind, there was nothing more uninteresting to practice, and I didn't understand how so many people came to like it. It's the kind of strange fad that has recently caught on. At least that's what I thought earlier that day.
In the hours that followed, I had to return to the tedious routine of going to school. Time seemed to drag on, and to make matters worse, I had to endure two hours of pure suffocation because some idiots were playing with balls and threw them at the air conditioner in the classroom until they hit it in the wrong spot and it stopped working. It certainly hadn't been a good day, and halfway through it, I wanted to melt away from my chair like the sweat that had accumulated on my back during that time.
Looking out the classroom window and contemplating the imposing sun, which left no room for the remnants of clouds in the sky, I came to the mental conclusion that I should go straight home. It was certainly the right conclusion to reach, I really should, but factors such as the weather or common sense did not cross Camila's mind. She wasted no time, and when the noon bell rang, announcing the end of the torture of calculations, which was the last math class, I hurried out, only to see her waiting for me at the classroom door.
She didn't even have to say a word for me to accompany her.
—
It's no surprise to Camila that I've never been the biggest fan of gyms. The sweat-laden air and the music echoing from one corner of the space to another seem less inviting to me than the quiet I enjoy during a morning walk. It seemed almost like a nightmare to be surrounded by judgmental stares through thin sportswear or to be judged by your performance under the excessive load of exercise.
Nothing I saw on the internet caught my attention.
Contrary to what I thought, it wasn't the visual aspect that surprised me, but the smell, which surprised me in a positive way. I was bombarded with a dense mixture of cleaning products that stirred up a certain nostalgia in me, a certain hospital or clinic aroma, which invaded my nostrils and made me inhale once, twice, three times, and with each inhalation I felt myself getting closer and closer to my childhood memories. I couldn't help but smile as I felt the cleanliness hanging in the air, which made me even more curious to explore that universe.
Despite the extravagance of the dark, rubbery architecture, contrasted by LED lights attached to the walls and ceiling, I confess that I felt a certain intimacy, something made me want to stay between mental affirmations of “okay, just a little more,” and soon I found myself neck-deep in the atmosphere that spreads between moans of effort and the mechanical creaking of the machines.
Under the mesh of my jeans and the thin fabric of my black and white school shirt, I could feel my skin breathing so well that it gave me goosebumps. The drop in temperature prevented any of the fine hairs on my arms from lying flat. It was almost as if the cold air was embracing me, and honestly, there was a certain comfort in experiencing the air-conditioned environment.
“So, where do we start?” I fired off my question, raising my eyebrows.
“Where? It's kind of obvious, silly!” Camila said with a light laugh that led her to approach me. “The locker room, of course!” With eyes that didn't hide her scanning me from head to toe, I heard her comment as she added, “You can't train in those jeans and your uniform shirt, right?”
I felt silly when I looked down and saw that I was still wearing my school uniform. I had forgotten that we didn't change after lunch.
Anyway, that wasn't a problem. Due to the time of day, there were so few people that we saw no more than two or three older women in a considerably large locker room, with rows of lockers and, further back, showers on one side and toilets on the other. Seeing it even brought back memories of gyms in movies.
As seemed to be standard in that place, there was no visible dirt or even traces of anything I could detect with my sense of smell, besides being very fresh as well. It's perfect, even too perfect.
“You've been looking at everything with those sparkling eyes since we got here!” Camila blurted out, with a smirk that revealed her conviction. “Didn't I tell you you'd enjoy it?”
“Give me a break, okay? I may have liked the structure A LITTLE, but that doesn't mean I liked the training itself!”
I could see that my words did nothing more than provoke her playful side, and she laughed briefly in mockery before turning and walking toward a mirror.
I put my clothes in my backpack and placed everything in a locker next to Camila's things. It didn't take much longer than that to hear the unmistakable click of the lock on the door at the back of the locker room. There was someone in there, which is nothing new and didn't catch my attention. However, everything changed when the door actually opened and the person in question left the bathroom area.
Their scent hit me like a punch, causing my brain to work hard to search for various buried memories from my childhood. I recognize it... I know what it is because I've used it before. The strong floral scent filled the locker room, asserting its dominance and taking over any other scent in my nostrils. In a flash, I remembered that this scent could only belong to a specific moisturizer, one I used a few years ago, but which was expensive enough to make my mother rethink her options.
I couldn't help but turn my eyes, satisfy my curiosity, and just as I couldn't control myself before, I was unable to control my breathing when I saw her. Before my eyes was a girl about our age, with eyes and height similar to ours. However, it wasn't these physical traits that mattered, but rather her marble-like skin, so smooth that it made me wonder if what my eyes were seeing was a mirage.
I could have delighted in her for hours, but I was only allowed a few seconds. As she walked, she was as calm as the oceans that resembled blue orbs, more like jewels strategically placed to further enhance the work of art. Her hair doesn't seem to go in a different direction, even though it's short in a style that boys usually cut. I can see it almost like strands of gold perfectly woven to fit the roots of her head, completing the work of inestimable wealth.
My mouth wanted to say her name, but it wasn't in my mind. I just froze when she came close, I even held my breath, I made room for her in the aisle between the lockers, and she thanked me with nothing more than a simple nod, which seemed to match the serenity on her face. Everything about her blackmailed each of my senses and made me lose myself in my own reality. My world was grabbed and shaken at a moment when I was caught off guard, and before I knew it, my eyes could no longer look away.
It was almost as if I was looking for flaws and couldn't find any. I scanned her with my eyes, reviewing her and wondering how someone like her could possibly exist.
The very light cyan color of her tracksuit is a detail that is there only to adorn her sky-blue beauty, creating a romantic pairing with the palest skin tone I have ever seen in my life. In the few seconds I saw her, I felt even more eager to know who she was, but I didn't understand why... why was my head spinning? Why was my heart beating irregularly? Why suddenly couldn't I turn my attention to anything else?
These were questions whose answers did not come immediately.
To my body's despair, I held my breath as soon as I saw her suddenly stop in front of the locker room exit door. Had she noticed how insistently I was watching her? I almost had a heart attack at the thought of looking somewhat inappropriate. All the tension was pulled away with the movement of her head, which turned to look sideways, said nothing, and in the next moment walked out the door.
“Damn, I didn't know she trained too... but judging by those thighs, it makes perfect sense. What does she eat to look like that?”
I was only awakened from my individual trance by Camila's voice behind me. How does she know that girl?
“Who is she?” I asked innocently.
"Girl… I know the school's huge, but that was kinda slow of you. Don’t you remember her? I think she’s in 3D this year."
As for that statement, I could only twist my face slightly, making an expression that made my friend sigh to calm herself down.
“There aren't that many albino people there. It's really noticeable, actually. What the hell do you do during break?!”
“You talk as if our classes hadn't started again three weeks ago!”
Between knowing and not knowing who the albino girl really was, we argued some more on the way back to the spacious gym. In the end, whether or not I had seen that girl before was irrelevant to me. I hadn't formalized the idea yet, but my subconscious was already clamoring to meet her.
This is how my new addiction began.