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gorgeys · 1 year ago

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Do you still make fanfics? If you do please do Carla smut

PORNSTAR ★ carla roson

Carla Roson x fem!reader

Part 2 of So Naive

You still don't understand that you belong to Carla, she intends to prove it to you and Guzman...

Warnings: SMUT - top!Carla, bottom!reader, semi-public sex, dub-con, shoving, grabbing, hair-pulling, hickeys, biting, brat taming??, pet names, mentions of murder/mutilation, degradation/praise, choking, finger sucking, non-con pictures/filming, begging, fingering

Word Count: 4750

Note: i'm so sorry this took so long! i lost motivation for writing for a while but i'm temporarily back!

also i literally changed tenses in the middle of writing but i was too lazy to fix it and the ending is a little rushed bc i didn't want it to get any longer than it already was, hope you enjoy!!

Carla checks her phone as she enters Guzman’s house. She’s definitely late. Too late as she notices the last text from you was sent over an hour ago when you had arrived at the party. In one hour you could have been anywhere doing anything. She hates the thought of it.

The horiffic image of you and him had been replaying in her mind all day. His hands all over your body, his lips against your skin, the way you would sound for him. It was like a constant nightmare that she couldn’t put to bed. She was hoping you could help silence her thoughts.

She headed for the kitchen to pour herself a drink, craving a light buzz. She only downed half of it when she noticed Samuel approaching her.

She turned her back toward him, hoping he would get the hint, but he quickly tapped on her shoulder. Carla obnoxiously rolled her eyes before turning around to greet him.

It was more than obvious he had developed a hearty crush on her since Marina. He always ran his hands in his hair, trying to perfect it before he went to approach her. He’d be too smiley while talking to her, and he’d take a step too close which always resulted in Carla escaping the situation as quickly as possible. She couldn't understand how Samuel never noticed her grimaces or eyerolls or the hundreds of signs she sent him to give it up. Carla hated everything about it.

But you seemed to love it. You’d always tease her about him, calling Samuel her boyfriend and pushing her to go talk to him. She was pretty sure this whole thing had even started because of you, that you had mentioned to Samuel that Carla was interested in him in the first place. You always loved a little white lie.

For some reason you just loved to be a nuisance. You loved to watch Carla squirm when you flirted with the guys. You loved watching her become so irritated and red, grinding her teeth so hard she could start a fire. You loved flustering her in the middle of class by sending her some dirty pictures, watching her eyes go wide as she quickly hid her phone in her skirt. She’d always give you the craziest look, wondering if your antics would ever end. And you loved forcing her onto Samuel, watching her struggle to get away from him just to spend another moment with you. Of course, you never let her, always ditching her with the pretty boy and leaving her wanting more.

You were such a brat. Everyone knew it. Your parents were unbelievably rich, valued much higher than the regular Las Encinas family, so you always got want you want. Of course you used that to your advantage more times than not. It became your entire reputation.

Carla was your perfect match. Everyone was always willing to give her everything she wanted, from her father to her ex-boyfriend. Everyone but you. Carla hated it sometimes, but all those other times, she loved taking what she wanted from you.

“Hi, Carla,” Samuel said with a big, dorky smile.

“Hi, Samu,” she dryly said, placing her drink on the counter. “Have you seen Y/N?”

“Yeah, I just saw her out there,” Samuel said, pointing to the the door he had just entered through. “But-”

“Thanks,” she quickly said, giving him a grateful pat on the shoulder before walking past him in that direction. She paid no mind to how he called after her as she walked through the doorframe.

Her eyes scanned the large living room where most of the students had gathered to talk and drink. It was quite crowded and she almost didn’t see you. Almost.

But there you were sitting in one of those fancy leather chairs, a drink in one hand. But you weren’t alone, not even close. Carla could already feel her face burn up, her neutral expression turning completely sour.

You were sitting in Guzman’s lap so comfortably. You were perched on one of his legs, facing the side. Your own legs were over his and hanging over his lap. Your free arm was draped loosely over his shoulder, your nails digging into the soft skin of his neck. His hands were all over you, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other reaching to squeeze your thigh.

Maybe Carla wasn’t the murderer but in a few seconds she thought she’d become one.

She wanted to pull all of his teeth out just to wipe away his smug smile. You leaned in toward his face as you spoke, tightening your grip on his neck, and when he laughed, Carla felt he was already gloating his victory.

She wanted to slice all his fingers off when his hand began to travel downward from your waist to palm your ass. She nearly groaned when she noticed the skirt you were wearing. She knew that one very well. She knew it was the shortest one you owned from the amount of times her hand had wandered beneath it. You were basically sitting on him with your bare ass out.

And then, for the finale, she would make sure to cut his dick off. She saw the way he adjusted in the seat, slightly moving his hips up into your body. It would have been a miracle if he didn’t have the largest hard-on known to man. But the part that really made her swell with rage was that you could feel it and you weren’t doing anything about it. You were sitting on his dick like you were his girl. She hated to think about what could have happened if she hadn’t arrived at that exact time.

You raised your glass to your lips to take a long sip of expensive liquor. It was the perfect opportunity for Guzman to turn his head and find Carla standing stiffly in the doorway. He almost laughed out loud. The feeling of you sitting in his lap and her jealous glare was so triumphant. His smile doubled in size and doubled in arrogance.

Her eyes narrowed at him, a silent promise that he wouldn’t get the last laugh. If Carla’s blood was boiling before, it was on fire now.

But then, noticing Guzman’s attention had been stolen, you turned as well, instantly finding Carla’s eyes. You could feel her wrath even from across the room and you only fed off it. You were drunk off the feeling of power knowing you had La Marquesa tucked snuggly in your back pocket. It felt so good that you couldn’t help yourself.

Instead of being a simple tease like usual, you gave her a ladylike wave. And then you sent her a polite, friendly smile. It was innocent to the naked eye.

But friendly? She couldn’t bear you. You looked so fake and well-mannered. Two things you definitely weren’t. Especially when you were alone with her.

Carla couldn’t stand you acting like she was just one of your bitchy friends, like there was nothing more between you. No, she was everything for you. She owned you in every which way and she was determined for not only Guzman to see, but for you to accept it as well.

You and Guzman both directed your attention back onto one another although you were very aware of a seething Carla charging toward you. But only when she was at arms length did Guzman see her. He didn’t have enough time to react before she reached out and violently grabbed you by the arm.

“What the fuck, Carla?” Guzman shouted, outrage painting his face.

She was squeezing so tightly you could already feel the bruises forming, but you refused to go without a fight. You tugged your arm back and gave her a condescending glare.

She was done with your bullshit. She pulled your arm, twisting it in such a way that you spilled your drink all over the white rug.

“Carla!” You scolded. Her aggression surprised you a little. She always kept it classy in public, not a hair out of place. It seemed you had pushed her over the edge this time and you were enjoying it a little too much.

Carla didn’t speak but gave you the coldest look you had ever received from her hazel eyes. She looked ready to kill and you silently wondered if you would be Las Encinas’ next victim. You didn’t really mind as long as she fucked you first.

Deciding you had been difficult enough, you allowed her to take the glass from your hand and place it on the table. With another tug of your arm you were letting go of Guzman and sliding off his lap. He protested but you didn’t acknowledge him. He had finished his duty of keeping you warm until Carla rescued you.

In a blur you were weaving through the crowd, wobbling on your heels at the pace Carla was dragging you at, and then climbing the stairs. Carla opened the first door on your right and pushed you inside. You immediately recognized it as Guzman’s room.

You stumbled into the large room from the force of Carla’s shove, eventually losing your footing and falling onto the soft carpet. On all fours, you peeked over your shoulder to see Carla slam the door behind her.

But she didn’t move toward you. She just watched you, one hand still on the door knob and the other moving to sit on her hip. Now that you were alone, the look in her eyes was a bit less violent but still intense. She looked hungrier than ever.

“God, you look so much better on your knees,” she said, her eyes shamelessly devouring you. “Looking up at me.” Her lips twitched upward, reminiscent of a smile. These were the moments she enjoyed the most.

You pushed your hands off the ground and sat back on your knees. You gathered your hair on your far shoulder, giving Carla a better view of your long neck and devilish eyes.

“But I leave you for one second and you’re out there riding his dick in front of everyone like his little slut,” Carla hissed. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth a couple times and shook her head disapprovingly, scolding you like a child.

You mocked her attempts to chastise you with a condescending laugh.

“Don’t be jealous that his dick is bigger than yours,” you said, looking over your shoulder to show your shit-eating grin.

She didn’t seem to take your comment lightly as her jaw noticeably clenched and her grip on the door knob tightened.

“I would watch what you say, princesa,” she said, tilting her head. Even if she was the Marchioness’ daughter, she had always called you royalty. The title fit you too well. “Things will only get worse for you later.”

She took a confident stride toward you, enjoying the way your smile slowly diminished. Images flashed behind your eyes of what “later” could possibly be.

The feeling in your stomach was so strange. You hated being dominated by anyone, but for some reason, when it was Carla, you felt an uncontrollable pulse between your legs. You were practically begging her to shut you up.

“I don’t care how big his dick is. I know he can’t fuck you how you like it,” she said, taking another teasingly slow step.

“That’s not what I was saying last night,” you said, that aggravating smirk returning. “Actually, it was right here, on his bed. You should have seen it, Carla. I was just begging for him to go faster, deeper.”

You imitated yourself, letting your head fall back and rolling your eyes into the back of your skull. You balled your fists at your sides, gripping onto imaginary sheets.

Carla’s next two strides were quick and put her right behind you. She dug her nails into your scalp and fisted at your hair, violently pulling your head back even further so you were looking directly up at her looming figure. You released an involuntary moan at the sudden pain, stretching your hands out behind you to brace yourself.

“I fucking warned you,” she said, her other hand cupping your chin to angle your face even further back. Your mouth slightly hung open at the sight of her. “But that mouth of yours gets you into all kinds of trouble.”

“And this mouth,” you started, voice strained by the way your neck was bending backward, “took his whole fucking dick,” you said with a sadistic smile. "Every inch."

That was the final nail in the coffin, her expression morphing into one of red hot rage

Your hand instinctively flew to the back of your head and a shriek left your lips when she pulled you up by your hair. She dragged you once more, this time to the bed, and tossed you toward it face first.

You quickly turned onto your back, leaning back on your elbows while Carla stood over you. She placed her hand on your bare midriff, the skin between your top and waistband, before she climbed onto you, straddling you with her thighs.

Both of her hands quickly moved to wrap around your throat, instantly crushing your windpipe and causing you to drop flat on your back. Her slender fingers felt comfortable there as you wheezed pathetically for air, her nails digging into the skin for good measure.

“Not so tough now, are we?” She hunched over you, ass up, as she brought her face so close to yours. She grinned like a maniac. If someone had walked in right then, they would have thought Carla was trying to kill you.

“You know he showed me all those fucking pictures you sent him,” Carla said, steadying the pressure on your neck. “The pictures meant for me. And in that fucking red set.” She scoffed at you, shaking her head. “You wanna be his cam girl? His pornstar?”

You threw your head back as your eyes began to roll into your head for real this time. Pain never felt so good as you felt yourself pooling under your skirt.

“Fine. Then I’ll treat you like it,” she said, one of her hands leaving your throat to grope your tit through your shirt. She moved her face downward, leaving a trail of warm breath against your neck, eventually finding your collar bone. She looked up at your twisted expression as she roughly bit down on your skin, earning a strangled noise from your throat. She smiled into your flesh before sucking on the spot mercilessly.

It was like torture as she made it a routine, moving her lips downward each time she bit and sucked your skin raw. You felt the blood rushing to where her teeth gnawed your skin, forming pigmented bruises. She never tired of hearing the shaky breath you released each time.

When her lips had chased your skin all the way down to the neckline of your top, she was quick to grab the hem with both hands. She pulled the top over your head with your cooperation, leaving you braless and bare beneath her. She exhaled a long, satisfied sigh.

“All for me, huh?” Her eyes shifted from your face to your chest and back up again. Still trying to catch your breath, you couldn’t give her a response. She sinfully laughed, basking in the sound of muffled music and your relentless heaving, before her lips wrapped around your nipple.

You groaned low when her teeth grazed the sensitive skin, your hands molding into the back of her thighs. Her other hand mimicked her mouth on your unattended nipple. You knew she always loved twisting, yanking, and rubbing your tits until you squealed and squirmed.

Eventually her mouth moved onto the smooth skin of your breast, marking you up yet again. You rolled your eyes, wondering where this sudden obsession had come from. She always liked to keep you clean and free of noticeable hickeys. You didn’t mind the change but you were beginning to grow impatient with the foreplay. She had given so much attention to your top half you just wished she would give something to your bottom half.

“My god, Carla, could you be any slower? At least he fucked me in the end,” you said in a raspier voice, pulling on the skin of Carla’s thighs.

Carla rolled her eyes back at you, momentarily detaching her mouth from your chest.

“So fucking loud,” she mumbled, speaking more to herself than you.

She wasted no time stripping her hand from your tit and pushing two fingers past your lips and into your mouth. She was content when her fingers slid in with ease and pushed down your throat. You didn’t mind sucking on her like a popsicle as she pulled them out and then pushed them a little deeper. Her lips quirked upward as she absorbed the sight before her. Each time her fingers disappeared into your head she could feel the spot between her legs heating up.

“Good girl,” she said, gently holding your cheek with her other hand. She leaned down to give your chin an appreciative kiss. “Bet he couldn’t go that deep,” she said following a particularly rough thrust. She chuckled lowly, not breaking eye contact.

She returned to your tits only for a few more seconds before pulling her head back to view the entire, perfect sight of you. The hickeys were already beginning to darken on your skin leaving you perfectly bruised and battered. That plus you bobbing on her fingers was a beautiful scene. One that had to be shared.

She pulled her hand from your mouth tantalizingly slow, allowing the saliva to create sticky strings between your lips and her fingers. She eyed them curiously, slowing her movements to prolong the strings before they broke. Then she carelessly rubbed her fingers across your chest and down the valley of your breasts, leaving a visible trail of spit in her wake.

“What a pretty slut,” she said, her eyes devouring you like a piece of meat, enjoying the slightly tired look in your eyes. She made you feel unusually small. “I wonder what Guzman would think.”

Without missing a beat, Carla reaches for her back pocket and pulls out her phone.

“Carla,” you whined like a child, turning your head to the side, and burying your cheek into the sheets. You were never camera shy but this moment of vulnerability was different. If you had known this was her intention all along then maybe you wouldn’t have let her fuck you up so badly. No one was ever meant to see you like this. No one but her.

“Come on, you didn’t have a problem sending him those pictures. What’s a few more?” she said while petting your cheek. She held the phone above you, just out of reach, where she could capture the entirety of your bare top half.

She hums in satisfaction watching your sweaty body under the lens. Your hair is cinematically sprawled across the sheets while the saliva coating your lips, chin, and chest shines under the dim lighting. Your neck is slightly red from Carla’s ironclad grip and your chest is adorned with darker shades from the excellent work of Carla’s teeth and lips.

“He’s gonna cream his pants when he sees this,” she says, sucking her lips into her mouth. She was getting a little too anxious looking at you. “Smile, cariño,” she says, her own grin decorating her face. She grabs your chin and forces you to look up at her and the camera. Your eyes are barely open but it doesn’t matter.

She snaps the picture before you can even react.

“Gorgeous,” she says, letting her free hand trail gently down your neck. She intentionally presses her fingers into a particularly sensitive spot, eliciting a groan from your lips. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“Carla,” you whine once more, throwing your head back in frustration and further imprinting your nails into her thighs. You hated how much she was ruining your plans. Guzman was just meant to be a distraction while Carla was supposed to make you cum all over her fingers. Instead, Carla was slutting you out to Guzman and you were nowhere near cumming.

“Shut up. You did this to yourself,” she said, her hand gliding past your chest and scratching your stomach. “You should have never sent him those pictures.”

Both of her hands move to the waistband of your skirt while still clutching the phone. She’s harsh in the way she rips the skirt down your thighs, creating some friction between the clothing and your skin. She slightly adjusts herself and bends your knees to fully remove it, leaving you in just a pair of lace panties.

She presses her palm against your clothed pussy and only laughs in yet another mockery of your state.

“Good god, you’re just dying to be fucked dumb, huh?” she says, beginning to palm the wetness that seeped through your panties. She situates herself in between your legs, allowing you to push your knees further outward, helping to aid the aching feeling inside you. Her sly smile widens, glad to have broken your hard exterior. “Already spreading your legs? You’re too easy.”

Her fingers push your panties aside and dip into your soaking pussy. She refuses to give your clit any attention as she swipes her fingers against your slit. A throaty sigh pushes its way past your lips, your hands finding solace cupping your tits.

“D’you want me to take this off for you?” she says, tugging at the waistband of your panties.

You hum in agreement, looking up at her through your eyelashes.

“Then ask nicely,” she demands, her eyes straying from your pussy to stare at you expectantly.

You can’t help but groan irritatedly. She knows how much it hurts your ego to ask nicely for anything, let alone this. She thrives off making you feel the worst before making you feel your best. You push away your pride in hopes of feeling that sweet release.

“Please, Carla,” you plead rather dully, breaking eye contact in a forced attempt to get what you want.

“I think you can do better. Look at me and tell me what you want,” she says, leaning her face down toward yours, forcing you to meet her eyes. She brushes her thumb against your clit for some encouragement. It seems to work as you let go of any last bit of dignity and look straight into her.

“Please, Carla, just fuck me. Take it off and fuck me with your fingers.”

The hidden desperation in your voice clicks something into place. You swear you see her eyes light up as she instantly obeys, removing your panties in a flash, leaving you completely naked beneath her. She moans loudly at the sight of your bare pussy, pushing her hair back so she has the perfect view. You spread your legs a little further, enticing her to reach out and feel you.

She does, now pressing her thumb roughly into your clit, and reveling in the starved noise you make. She watches the muscles in your face tense as she rubs consistent circles against your clit, enjoying each element of your expression. All the sucking and biting and teasing had already made you a swollen, soaked mess. It only made toying with you even more fun.

Carla gradually sped up her slow movements, earning increasingly louder squelches from your pussy and increasingly louder moans from your wet lips. She could feel her own panties dampening from your distraught noises.

“You even sound like a pornstar. Fucking whore,” she says, as your hips slightly buck up in pleasure. “You want me inside of you?”

“Please, please, Carla,” you beg, every sign of the brat you once embodied having faded into oblivion the second she laid fingers on your pussy. “Fuck, I need you inside of me so bad,” you say in one breath, practically moaning your words.

“Fine,” she says, slowing the rotations on your clit. You watch her rub your pussy with one hand and hold the phone above you with the other. She points it directly at your entrance. “Be a good girl for the camera, okay?”

She doesn’t wait for your response as she slowly begins pushing her finger into your hole. You can only assume she’s recording as your back arches off the mattress, feeling her slender finger dig so deep inside of you. The pleasure is almost instant when your pussy consumes her entire finger and you release a guttural moan.

“You say he fucked you but you’re still so god damn tight,” she says, her eyes darting between your pussy and the phone screen, making sure she’s capturing the perfect angle. Her exaggerated laugh rubs salt in Guzman’s wound. “Hold your legs up, baby. I want to see all of you,” she says. You immediately obey, grabbing under both your thighs and pulling your knees up to your chest. “That’s better.”

Another moan leaves your lips, feeling the stretch more intensely with your legs spread even wider. She takes it as a sign to pull her finger halfway out and then push it back in, slightly deeper. She does it agonizingly slow, building a steady wave of pleasure. She repeats herself, once, twice, three times, pushing in and out of you at a deliberate pace, leaving you a whining mess. You lose count as you grow impatient, wishing she’d thrust into you like a mad man as she had done many times before.

“Please, Carla, faster,” you beg, opening your eyes to look down at her. She moves the camera up your body, capturing your raised legs, bouncy tits, and blissed out expression.

“Sorry, what was that?” she teases, smirking behind the phone, forcing you to be louder for the video. Her attempts to soothe you with her thumb on your clit are futile.

“Faster, fuck me faster, please,” you whine, throwing your head back, hopefully out of view of the camera.

She doesn’t necessarily oblige but she does add a second finger when she pushes into your pussy again. You moan louder at the slight stretch, your insides twisting into a tight knot. She curls her fingers delightfully at the end of the thrust, only making the feeling even stronger.

She puts the camera directly over your face.

“Open your eyes, cariño,” she says. You listen, looking up at the camera, hoping she’ll reward you for following her command. “Who’s fucking you so good?”

When you don’t respond immediately, she prompts you by driving into you a little harder.

“You,” you instantly moan out, your hips chasing her hand. You fight the urge to shut your eyes

“Who?”

“You, Carla,” you moan when she curls her fingers sharply, staring into the lens. When you notice her pick up speed with her thrusts, you begin repeating her name like a prayer, hoping it’s the key word.

“Who makes you feel good inside?”

“Who makes you squirt all over the sheets?”

“Who do you belong to?”

The answer is always “Carla.”

She’s still not fucking you nearly hard enough but it’s faster than how she started. You feel your pussy throb and her fingers hit the right spot each time. Your tits are slightly shaking as she increases speed while your spine forms a permanent arch. You allow yourself to be as loud as possible in hopes of pleasing her, in hopes that she’ll let you cum. All the while she captures each godly move of your body and her fingers.

But eventually, after what feels like a lifetime, she ends the video. She throws her phone across the room and smiles down at you.

“The only thing that will be as good as fucking you is seeing his face when he opens this video,” she says, her hands leaving your pussy to cup your face. She leans down and attacks your lips with a devastatingly smooth and wet kiss, her starved lips moving intensely against yours You can barely reciprocate with the delicate state that you're in.

You almost start to complain about the emptiness of your pussy, but she suddenly ducks down, hooking her arms under your thighs and burying her face between your legs.

“If I were you, I’d start praying. Pray to God that I’ll let you cum.”

why am i lowkey feeling guzman and carla threesome??

@hauntedfictionland @mjl877 @underratedax @androgynouscloudenemy @justyourwritter69 @blondetxxz @nessyishere

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dragonsoftheeast · 3 years ago

Text

not born, but raised chapter 2

read on AO3

Morbid curiosity leads him to thinking about the agency that his parents used to adopt him.

He is eternally grateful to his parents for adopting him. He should be grateful too, that his biological parents gave him up. Because he was raised to hold his head high, to have pride flowing through him, as vital as his blood. It has nothing, nothing to do with the scholarship students coming to their school, demanding their place at the table.

He deserves his life. He was picked as an infant for a reason. It was fate, really, that dropped him where he is. (He doesn't want to think of it as luck, because that would mean he doesn't really belong here, among his people, among his family.)

Despite the surety of his position, he wants to know. Because it'd fill a part of his story. He's thought about it plenty of times. Once, he'd even gone to his father's office and fetched his documents from the safe. But he always backs out at the last second.

He's going to do it this time, though. But with all the chaos going on in his family right now, the last thing they need is to think that he's about to discard them for his biological family.

That night, his father has a late night at work, not exactly a rare occurrence. Good. He needs to do this before he loses his nerve again. Any obstacle at this point will dissuade him. His documents are unmoved since he put them in the back of the safe a year ago. He tucks them under his arm and goes back to his room in silence.

He lays on his back, folder resting on his belly, and deliberates. Satisfying his curiosity is enough. If he can, he'll reach out to them, and meet them once. He'll tell them how happy he is with his family, and assure them that he has lived and will live a good life. Then he'll be done. He'll have closure.

He goes on the weekend, drives to the address listed on the letterheads of the documents. The address could have changed in the past sixteen years, and he'd take it as a sign. But the building still stands, clean and sterile and top-notch. He'd expect nothing less from his parents.

He sits in the waiting room after surrendering the folder. It takes way too long for his number to get called, considering he is one of two people waiting.

The lady behind the desk smiles sympathetically, and he has to decide between whether they're dead or they're criminals.

"I'm sorry," She says, reaching over to pat his hand. It's sweaty. "I can give their names, if you like."

"Um." He swallows, his face stony. "Can you just- can you just tell me what happened to them?"

"They both died ten years ago. Overdoses."

Long before he'd ever even thought of meeting them.

"Were they- were they together when it happened?"

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, but we don't have that kind of information."

He doesn't know why this is important to him, why it bothers him, the thought that these nameless people who birthed him might have been alone.

Should he mourn them? Is that something he owes them, to wonder what his life would be like as their son? How much of them lives within him?

"Thank you for your time." He nods politely, and walks back to his car in a daze.

---

That same week, Martin lectures in class about the relationship between one’s identity and outward presentation of said identity. It’s like a damn high school movie, isn’t it, that something he’s dealing with is thematically tied to what he's being taught in class?

He’s tried not to let the information about his biological family rock him. He is still his father's son. He is still his mother's son. He is still Marina's brother. Thus is the truth of his life, beyond any biological tie. He shouldn’t let the confirmation of something he’s long suspected change how he sees himself.

He’s so zoned out that he only notices that they’ve been assigned an assignment because Lu shifts in her seat, beginning to jot down her plan of action.

They’re overdue for a project, at this point, really. The new students have been here for almost three weeks now, and by schoolwork standards that means they’re supposed to be acclimatized enough to start throwing the book at them.

A social media project is just the sort of thing that Martin would come up with in an effort to be with the times. He's fairly certain he can sufficiently vomit out some semblance of a profile for himself that will meet all the requirements, but there's a twist. They're making a profile for another person.

Christian, that fucking try-hard influencer, raises his hand. “ What can I improve in my profile? Nothing. It’s perfect.”

At least he's improved his English.

Lu leans back, shooting him a glare. “It can be improved. When he was talking about privilege and intelligence, he didn’t mean you.”

Her fist is already up for him to bump.

The bell rings, and the whole room shoots to their feet, but Martin won’t have it.

“Nobody leaves until they have a partner. Choose one and come by my desk.”

“Here’s your chance,” Lu says. He doesn’t look up, but he could guess she’s smiling like she wants him to do something for her.

“For what?”

“What do you mean? Our plan for Miss Palestine.” Trying to suppress his possible identity crisis pushed the plan to the back of his mind, despite the resentment he'd felt the night of Marina's party. She gestures with her chin. “Go tell her you want to work with her.”

The classroom is abuzz as students swarm to find partners they won’t hate.

“Samuel,” Nadia calls, almost pleading, and their plan is almost dead in the water.

But the waiter walks past her to talk to Marina. He’ll have to keep an eye on that- it’s a pretty good excuse to spend time with each other and get closer- after all, he’s doing the same. It's almost sad, the way her eyes dart around the room.

He plops himself down on the desk behind her.

“Want to work together?”

Nadia, still clearly miffed by Samuel’s lack of acknowledgment, shakes her head. “But we have nothing in common.”

“Even better. We can learn more about each other.”

She scoffs, but she’s relieved enough to have a partner at all that she doesn’t argue any further. That’s progress.

---

One day after school, he basically forces Polo and Ander to hang out with him. They’ve hardly spent any time with each other outside of school since Marina’s party, and he’s missed their easy friendship.

He's feeling pretty proud of himself- Nadia wasn't as cold to him as he'd expected, had even accepted his offer to work with her, even if she hasn’t contacted him in the three days since the project was assigned. But not everyone is doing well in the interpersonal arena.

Polo's been fretting over Carla avoiding him since they’d gotten off school.

They’d gone for a joyride, but Polo had been glued to his phone the whole time.

So he’d dragged them off to eat. Maybe he wouldn’t be as anxious with some food in his belly.

“I don’t know where she is. She’s definitely avoiding me.”

“You must have done something,” he says, because Carla’s a good friend, and Polo has suggested so many of his possible mistakes that at this point he can see her point. He loves his friend, but he’s definitely the bumbler in that relationship. "You have to take care of her. You won’t find another one like her. I’ve told you before, haven’t I?”

Ander’s phone rings, and he immediately picks it up, which makes two out of the three of them glued to the screen.

“Put your phone down, come on guys. We’re here together!”

“It’s my dad. He wants me to train.”

Samuel brings their food, apology halfway out of his mouth before he even sets it down.

“Thanks, waiter,” he says, as Samuel piles on the next excuse. “I’ve had faster service here. If you were as good as your excuses...and this is overcooked.”

That is not fully a mockery. It really does look… sort of burnt on the ends.

“You know I can’t respond, that’s why you’re doing this,” the waiter says, leaning forward.

The guy’s trying to make eye contact, but he turns to Ander instead. “He’s talking to me.”

“Just eat it,” Ander says, exasperated. “It looks good.”

There’s a commotion in the kitchen, and Samuel has to run off to deal with that. He really has lost his appetite though, so he flicks through his food.

Polo doesn’t seem to have heard any of the conversation at all. He’s still wrapped in his phone, and Carla’s avoidance.

“She read my message. Look- it’s blue. Why won’t she answer?”

He continues to mutter under his breath, and there’s really no reaching him at this point, so Guzman starts eating his burger, biting around the burnt bits. It at least gives his mouth something to do.

But he’s already done with his burger, and picking at his fries, and Polo has been checking

“Give it time,” he says, because Polo doesn't need to worry as much as he does. Those two, they'll always end up gravitating to each other again. They were born for each other. "She'll come around and tell you what you did wrong."

"If I wait, she'll think I'm ignoring her."

For some reason, Guzman doubts that Carla has the same worries whenever Polo doesn't respond- as rare as that is. There's really no question on who wears the pants in that relationship.

"Message her, then," he says, slapping his shoulder. "What do you think, Ander?"

"Hm?" The boy in question looks up. He’s replaced his phone with a knot in the table.

“What do you think Polo should do?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Why are you asking me for advice? I’m the one who’s never been in a steady relationship.”

One really can’t compare Lu and Guzman’s relationship to Carla and Polo’s. They’ve been together for a year and a half, and they get along reasonably well with each other’s parents, but it’s a casual relationship. It’s a comfortable place to be, but at some point or another, he’ll break it off with her. Hell, she's trying to get him with someone else right now. For a complicated revenge plot, but still. They're not that committed to each other.

Carla and Polo have been together since they were twelve, they regularly eat with each other’s families, and basically have their wedding already planned out. Shit, they’ve even got an apartment together.

But Ander’s got a point.

“I’ve got to go,” he says, getting up.

“You’re leaving? How come?” He hasn’t said a word unprompted the whole time they’ve been hanging out.

“Gotta train, I told you.”

“At least finish your food.”

“If I do, I’ll be late,” he says, foot half out the door. “See you tomorrow.”

He waves half-heartedly. “See you tomorrow.”

Oblivious to Ander’s obviously distracted exit, Polo speaks up again.

“Should I write to her again, or send her an audio message?” He decides on his own. “I’ll send her an audio message. Yeah.”

“Do that,” he says, and there you go. The small bump in the road of Carla and Polo's perfect relationship is overcome. But Ander is still hiding something. He decides he’s going to get to the bottom of this. “I think I’m going to head out too.”

He doesn’t exactly have to follow Ander long to realize he’s not headed to the tennis court. Now that he knows he’s lied, he should follow through. Guzman protects his people, especially from their own bad decisions. He couldn’t cheer up Polo today, but if he can help at least one of his friends today, he’ll count it as a success.

He curses his luck, wearing a red shirt as he tries to sneak around and stay out of Ander’s sight.

At least his destination is obvious, and his route is short. There’s no mistaking that he’s heading for the dam.

So he takes a more roundabout route to a higher point, so that he can look down what’s going on without Ander being able to spot him. He gets a glimpse of him meeting up with someone, and then hurrying away with hunched shoulders. Something must have happened, because he was so distracted at dinner, and he looks freaked out now.

He spends the night wondering if he should confront Ander about what he’s seen.

Ander will probably not appreciate that he followed him. And the moment he finds out, that will ruin any chance of Ander listening to what he has to say. There’s really only one way he could have found out about it.

He’ll give him the chance to talk. They’ve been friends for years, and he wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’s just really misunderstood the situation.

“Hey, what’s up?” He slings an arm around his friend’s shoulders.

“Hey.” Ander sounds tired.

“How was training yesterday?”

“Good.” He shrugs, all the better to sell the lie. He’s gotten so good at it. “My dad’s been cracking the whip, but good.”

“Okay.” He looks around, makes sure no one is listening in. Ander’s secrets don’t need to be totally spilled, but he would hope that Ander trusts him at least. “Listen. You know you can tell me anything?”

Ander smiles, as if he hasn’t just lied to his face. “Sure, I know.”

“I mean,” he says, hoping to hint at it enough that he’ll spill. “We’ve been friends our entire lives.”

“Yes.” He shrugs. “Well, I’m off to train.”

And he walks away, oblivious to Guzman’s worry for him.

---

At the beginning of class, Nadia comes over to him and basically demands him to meet her in the library after school to work on their project.

Well, he has no choice but to follow her orders.

He finds her at a row of desks, flipping through her notebook. He sits across from her, affecting a little bit more carelessness and confidence, because that’s what benerally works for charming his peers. He doubts they’ll stay here long anyway.

“So, how do we go about this? My-”

“Shhhhhh.” The girl at the next table glares at him.

He blinks, but lowers his voice anyway. “My place or yours?”

She doesn’t look at him, only flips through her notebook.

“My parents wouldn’t like me to be seen with you.”

He’s not quite sure whether he should be offended by that, but he’s fairly certain he can turn this around. He’s got a pretty good track record with parents.

“They don’t know me. All my friends’ mothers say I’m the perfect son-in-law.” And he gives her his best meeting-the-parents smile.

It’s wasted on her. She scoffs, still not looking up at him. “For my parents, the perfect son-in-law prays five times a day, facing Mecca.”

Pure curiosity, not any attempt at charm on his part, leads him to ask whether she does it too.

“Yes,” she answers primly. “It helps me center myself.”

But he should get back to the topic at hand. “We’re not getting married. It’s a project.”

Finally, she looks up at him, annoyed.

“Can’t we work on it during breaks?” She rips a page from her notebook, and hands it over, practically demands he take it. “I’ve written some questions. Answer them by tomorrow.”

Even he’s surprised by how quickly she leaves after that.

He wasn’t wrong, when he saw Lu’s reflection in Nadia. Even the way she orders him to do something is frightfully familiar. He supposes this is why Lu has taken such offense at her presence. A rival that emerges from out of nowhere, and does the same things you do, but better.

Speaking of. Lu comes in after her, turning a book over in her hands.

“Whew.” She rolls her eyes. “I think Miss Palestine is not going to make it easy for you.”

She sits on the desk and leans over him, cupping his face. “If I were you, I’d put in a little more effort.”

The girl on the right shushes them with more vigor, but Lu won’t be having any of that,shutting her up with a snap. Then, she blows him a kiss and leaves.

Just to make up for the noise, he turns to the girl. It is his fault, she deserves an explanation.

“Sorry,” he says, gestures vaguely in the air, “we have this project, and-”

“Shhh!”

Okay. It’s hopeless then.

---

He walks home and looks over the questions on the torn out piece of notebook paper.

Despite Nadia’s studiousness and diligence in every aspect of her schoolwork, they’re sparse questions.

When were you born? Who are the members of your family? What are your hobbies? What do you do with your friends? What are some places you’ve travelled to? What is something you’re proud of?

At least she’s provided answers to her own questions on the back.

No photos, of course, or requests for any. But he doesn’t really see her as someone who would post a lot of pictures of herself online.

He looks her up on his phone to try and get a better idea of her online presence.

There’s nothing about herself on her profile, only a picture of her face, and one of her family’s grocery store. He’s not even going to be able to make a passable profile with this stuff, and never mind about actually getting to know her.

Well. Lu told him he should put in more effort. He’s about to take her advice.

He decides to take a more direct approach. When she’d objected to them studying together, she hadn’t said anything against him- she’d agreed to work with him in the first place. She’d pointed out that her parents wouldn’t want them to be seen together. But the objection doesn’t necessarily come from fear. He doesn’t get that sense from her. Instead, it’s something far more familiar: respect. He gets that, admires it even.

Her family is the clearest obstacle to them spending time together, that much is obvious. And, as he’s said, he’s got a pretty good track record with families. He’s confident he can win them over.

It takes him little time to find the Shanaa grocery store- Google is a wonderful tool. He parks across the street and smiles as soon as he sees Nadia through the window, helping out another Muslim lady.

As soon as he walks in, Nadia looks up at him with accusing eyes.

“Why are you here? What do you want?”

Undaunted, he shrugs and tucks his sunglasses in his pocket. “To introduce myself to your parents.”

He spots them in the back and holds out his hand.

“Hi, how are you? Guzman Nunier, pleased to meet you.” Her father nods as he shakes his hand; he’s off to a good start. “I’m your daughter’s classmate.”

“Hello.”

“I came to ask if I could study with her.”

Nadia comes up behind him and tugs at his arm. “You’d better leave.”

“Why? What’s the matter?” He looks between them. The smile has dropped from her father’s face. Crap. He hadn’t counted on her actively trying to make him look worse to her father. Somehow, it actually stings that she is so certain that her father will hate him. “Is it that I’m not Muslim? Is it who my father is? What’s the matter?”

She looks him directly in the eyes, and says firmly. “I said we’d work during breaks.”

“What’s the problem? Who’s his father?”

“Dad-” She turns to him instead. “Guzman, go.”

Any attempt at being pleasant vanishes. Sometimes, when charm fails, people can be convinced by someone telling the truth with enough conviction. He’s no stranger to throwing his weight around.

“He paid for her scholarship. I think it would be best if you let me stay and work with her.”

He knows immediately that he’s lost the dad. He can see it in his eyes and the sneer that comes across his lips.

“Why have you come here? To insult me?”

He’s going to have to sit through this now. Bite his tongue so he doesn’t ruin his chances any further.

“Do you know, because of your father, my son and others have to travel thirty kilometers to go to school? Do you know how many kids could have died?”

Time to backtrack. Be contrite. Because he was wrong, not to see why this guy might not like him, and to believe that he would know this man’s mind better than his daughter. He should return to his original purpose.

“Sir, I’ve come in good faith to ask if I can work with your daughter.”

No hesitation. “Leave.”

So he turns to his last resort, something that has never failed him. Money.

He grabs random shit from the aisles, plopping them down at the counter.

“Guzman, enough,” Nadia barks, because she sees where this is going before he does.

“What do I have to buy for you to let me stay here and explain myself?” He stares down the father, because he is sure he can match him, will to will, even as the rage builds up behind his eyes.

The tension is broken by the door opening, and someone walking in.

“What’s going on?”

He turns, and he recognizes that face. It takes him a moment to realize it, but it was the guy that Ander was meeting.

Speech fails him even as Nadia drags him out, pleading for him to go through gritted teeth.

He removes his arm from her grasp and walks out in defeat.

What a disaster.

There’s no one he can blame but himself. He’d been the one to escalate the situation by trying to use his name to convince her father.

Guess he wasn’t as immune to stupid decisions as he thought. Nadia had probably predicted that he would act exactly as he did and tried to keep him away from her dad for exactly that reason.

The fact that he is not the responsible one in this situation is kind of stunning. He’d hated her at the party for acting superior and threatening him. But he hasn’t really done anything to prove her wrong. He’s just squandered the one chance she’d allowed him to show him that he’s better. It’s a sobering thought.

He’s still moping a little when comes into the kitchen as Mom is walking out, already holding a glass of wine.

“Are you okay?” He asks, even though she’s clearly not, because it can’t hurt to ask.

She assures him she’s fine as she walks away, glass of wine swaying in her hand.

Marina rubs her face. He picks up an apple and she speaks up.

“You know Mom only talks about my pills when she mixes her anxiety meds with alcohol?”

He’d known about the latter, but not the former. It’s worrying of course, but he can hardly see how he can interfere. Still, he takes up the position of mediator, because that is what he does.

“It’s hard for her, Marina.”

“It’s not easy for me, either.” She’s going dangerously close to self-pitying, and he can’t let that happen.

“Hey, hey,” he says, hugging her. “What did we say? Hm?”

He kisses her on the cheek. “Through the good times, through the bad times, and?”

“Though the fucked-up times.”

He kisses her cheek again, rubs her shoulder, and goes to answer Nadia’s questions.

---

Despite the visit to the Shanaa grocery being entirely cringe-inducing, it did provide some valuable intel. The guy who Ander was meeting at the dam is Nadia’s brother.

She’ll probably not be able to provide any useful notes about what her brother was doing there. If she knew, she wouldn’t hold herself as superior as she does. Unlike what Lu says, she’s not a hypocrite. She’d be the first to condemn her brother if he was doing something against her code. So she’s no good for trying to find the truth about the guy. Samuel, the goody-two-shoes, won’t be much help either.

It kills him to go to Christian for help, but it’s for a friend. It’s for Ander.

“Do you know this Muslim guy? Nadia’s brother.”

“Yeah, why? Who talked to you about him?”

“Ander.”

Christian smiles, self-satisfied, and he resists the urge to say something biting.

“Buddy, you want to score? Wow, I didn’t think you smoked, but I guess we all have our vices.”

He bites the inside of his cheek. His anti-drug stance is infamous among his group of friends, strengthened now that he knows about his biological parents, but there’s no reason for this guy to know about that.

“Right. What exactly does he sell?” When he asks, his voice is so flat he wonders how Christian can’t tell that he’s plying him for information and has no real interest in drugs.

“He has grass, paki, pollen, acorns-”

The list is already absurd, but he has to interrupt at that one- “Acorns?”

“Some new kind of hash. Softer.” Whatever that means.

“Those are drugs, right?” Just to make sure. He’s revealing his ignorance here big time, but he’d like to be certain before he accuses his friend of anything.

“Joints.” He shushes him, and Christian shakes his head. “Whatever you want, he can get it. Give me a call, and I’ll send you his number.”

Never mind the fact that he doesn’t have this goddamned influencer’s number. What an idiot.

He dances past Nadia in the hall. “You still thinking about planting that bomb?”

“On your face.” Nadia replies, whip-quick, and Christian mimics her all the way down the rest of the hallway.

Great. She’s here. He can try to make things up to her.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says. He's getting very used to talking to her back, it seems. “It got out of hand.”

A bit of an understatement, but he hopes she understands he actually regrets it.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you. What were you thinking?”

She makes it sound like he went there with no plan. He'd had one, he just hadn't stuck to it very well. The need to explain himself bubbles up in him, and the words come out before he can think them through.

“I went with the best intentions to show your father I’m a good person.”

She sucks at her teeth, unimpressed. “Nailed it.”

She turns to him and looks him in the eye. She’s getting better at staring him down. He'd thought he already felt regret, but an oily burst of shame goes through him the moment she makes eye contact. "After all, arrogance runs through your blood.”

If only she knew.

“Nadia,” he calls, even as she walks into class. “Nadia. How can I make it up to you?”

It seems like his seduction has gone completely off the rails. Far from being charming, he's just humiliating himself and then trying to make up for it. One step forward, three steps back.

“Relax,” she says. “And nothing. I finished the project without you. The information I had was enough to finish your profile.”

How? He hadn't even answered her questions.

He holds out his hand for the tablet, and she hands it over. A little bit of warmth goes through him when he realizes she's had to comb through his own social media profiles to get access to this information. She's even put in some of his photos (he notices that none of them are of him shirtless, but that's beside the point).

It's a sparse profile, to match her own. No doubt she thinks that this is exactly what one should have of themselves on social media. Thus, they're done with the project.

He knows that’s not the case, and decides to turn the tables. Make her realize how much they actually need to work together.

“Martin,” he calls, bringing the tablet over to the teacher. “I have a question. It’s about the project. Nadia says she’s finished, but I really think it’s incomplete.”

She hands the meager profile over to Martin, glaring at him.

Martin flips through it, frowning. “Is this all you have? Four photos?”

Nadia shifts uncomfortably in her seat. It’s probably the first time she’s disappointed a teacher. “How much more does one need to introduce oneself on social media?”

He was right- this is her actual opinion, otherwise she wouldn’t do it like this. But what she fails to understand is the sheer amount of bullshit school projects require. Having been here for nearly three years, he at least knows from experience the kinds of fake effort one needs to show in order to get a good grade on a project.

Martin continues to lecture her, her head bowed the whole time. It's strange, seeing her so uncertain in the classroom. But he's actually proven himself right to her. For once he has the upper hand.

He’s made his point. Now he can get things going.

---

When it comes to the people he loves, Guzman is nothing if not proactive.

With the confirmation that Nadia's brother is indeed a drug dealer- and he's inclined to trust Christian on this, he's clearly knowledgeable about these sorts of things- he is certain that this is what has caused Ander to act so distracted and different lately. Through some scheme, Ander has fallen victim to some asshole trying to make a quick buck.

He needs to stop the problem before it derails Ander's life. He won't confide in a friend, never mind listen to him. So he needs to go over his head and get some allies.

He knocks on Azucena’s door.

She looks up from her paperwork, and smiles when she sees him.

"May I come in?"

"Of course."

He lets himself in and shuts the door behind him.

"What is it?" She asks,

“I think Ander might be doing drugs,” he tells her.

She puts her pen down.

"Are you sure?"

"He seems really distracted lately," he says, "And I saw him with someone."

She sighs heavily. Azucena has known him since he was a child. He wouldn't come to her unless he was sure, unless he thought this was really serious.

"I know you have a lot on your plate right now, but I'm really worried about him."

She chews at her lip and reaches up to fiddle with her glasses. "We'll talk to him."

"Thank you," he says, and gets up to leave.

"Guzman," She calls, just as he reaches the door. "Thank you for telling me about this."

He nods, and shuts the door behind him. He turns the corner to see Christian clearly flirting with Carla, and she's going along with it- giggling, tucking her hair back, running a hand over his arm.

He only hears the tail end of their conversation: “Your place or mine? Probably yours.”

Right when he starts plugging a hole in one of his friend's boats, another one starts flooding.

He needs to come to his friend's defense. Try to speak some sense into Carla too. Not that it was her fault anyway. She was under the same undue influence that Marina was under with the waiter.

“Are you going to meet up with this moron?” He demands. “What about Polo?”

“Guzman, mind your own business,” she cajoles, like he’s the stupid one here.

“My friend’s girlfriend is my business.”

“Not at all.”

“You heard her, man. Go away.”

“You can’t order me around in my school.”

“Too bad your school’s my school too. Besides, we’re both asking you. Go.”

“Let me explain this to you, idiot.” “Neither you, or anybody from your shitty town can say anything to me. Know why? Because to me, you don’t exist.”

“If I hit you, that might confirm my existence.”

Predictably, Carla tries to break them up, but he’s stunned when Polo comes out of nowhere, telling him to stop.

“This nobody is trying to steal your girlfriend,” he explains.

“Your girlfriend, my school, my rules, your concept of property is a bit much. If I get the girl, it’s because she wants it.”

“You calm down too,” Carla replies indignantly. Coming to her senses.

“Sorry, babe.”

Come on! It’s so blatant! How is Polo not angry about this?

“Did you hear that? He called her babe!”

Polo’s stutter comes in full force, which is at least a reaction. Better than nothing.

“S-s-stop. Don’t-” He licks his lips, nervously, and pulls at his arm. “Let’s go, Guzman. Please.”

Christian is laughing at their backs as they walk away, and his ears are burning. He runs his hand through his hair, exasperated.

“Why were you calm while I was defending your girlfriend?” Wasn’t he worried about her?

“Why are you getting involved?”

It’s like his best friends really don’t expect him to do anything for them. After all these years, they have to know he has their best interests at heart.

“Fuck! Don’t you see that he’s stealing her?”

“Don’t be old-fashioned. You sound like a Neanderthal.” Despite the admonishment, Polo can’t meet his eyes.

“Whatever you say, but I know what I saw.” “So put an end to this, Polo-”

“It’s arranged, Guzman.” Polo turns to him, smiling like he’s the stupid one here, which he thinks is entirely unfair, given the absurdity of the statement. “She’s hooking up with him because I want her to. It’s a game, okay?”

Has everyone he knows gone crazy? Lu with her seduction plan, Ander with his mysterious rendezvous and drug use, and now whatever the hell this is with Polo and Carla. Now he’s got to speak some sense to at least one of them, or he can’t in good conscience call himself their friend.

“Let’s see, Polo…” He grabs his friend’s face, squeezing his cheeks between his hands. “What the fuck do you win in this game?”

Uncertainty flashes in his eyes. Okay, he’s not completely far gone.

“But Guzman, we’re using him.” Guzman’s hands fall away from his face, and, emboldened, he continues to explain. “She hooks up with him, but I tell her what to do with him.”

Then the kicker.

“And while they do it...I watch them.” He half-smiles, a sheepish smile.

He cracks up, and Polo’s face falls.

“Shit. Okay okay okay.” He leans back onto the sinks, crossing his arms. It’s still crazy, but the bare traces of logic are there. Carla and Polo’s have been together for so long, they're beginning to get a little bored and want to add a little bit of excitement. The relationship is dragging, and they want to fix it somehow by duct-taping an explosive to it. “I didn’t know things were that bad.”

“But-”

“What if Carla falls for him?” It seems like such an obvious outcome. This can’t end well. “End this as soon as possible, Polito. Okay?”

And, quite assured that at least one of his friends is going to take his advice, he leaves the bathroom to go for a swim. After whatever that conversation was, he needs to clear his head.

He's not sure for how long he's been in the pool, but his arms and legs ache, and his chest is a little tight. But he's stopped thinking about his friend's momentary insanity.

It’s a pleasant surprise to see Nadia at the end of the lane, smiling at him.

“Hello,” she says, head cocked playfully, and something inside of him pumps his fist. He’s still in the game.

“Hello. What are you doing here?”

“Want to work on the project?” She has a bit of begrudging respect in her eyes, and it's only a little bit more satisfying than getting one up on her. Only a little.

“Sure.” He pushes himself out of the pool and goes to dry himself off. “Do you want to take pictures? Since we have good lighting, you know.”

First rule of social media.

“Don’t be shy,” he says, wiping hurriedly at his face, sweeping his hair to the side in a way he knows is photogenic (He’s done his fair share of pool selfies). “Tell me how to pose.”

She holds the phone awkwardly in her hands. “I think this is stupid.”

But she takes the picture, and hands the phone over to him.

“Alright, let’s see.”

He can’t believe it.

“Is this how you see me? Only my head?” She sighs, pursing her lips- to hide a smile, maybe?- and he hands the phone back to her. “Don’t be afraid to sexualize me. Come on, take a couple more.”

“Get dressed,” she snaps, shaking her head.

“Pbbt. You’re so boring, really.” He takes off his swimsuit.

“What are you doing?” She says, slight panic in her voice, and turns around so quickly her shoes squeak against the pool floor. And maybe, maybe he’ll just like to push her buttons a little bit more.

“Who cares? No one’s watching.” He wraps the towel around his waist. “Since we’re here, and you’re not looking at me, at least ask me some questions, eh?”

“Uh...I don’t know.” She shrugs, still not facing him. “Why were you hell-bent on doing this project with me? To make fun of me?”

He reaches over her shoulder to grab the phone and cuts her off, cause she’s getting a little close to home there.

“Since you’re not taking pictures, I’ll take one of you.” He points at the pool edge. Stand there. There’s good light.”

She follows his instructions reluctantly, and the light catches her face nicely. For a brief moment, it turns the brown of her eyes golden.

“Turn around,” he says, because that is the classic social media pose, and also it’s a little fun to actually have her do something he asked her to. She rolls her eyes, but does what he asks anyway, and that’s a little thrill all its own. “A little to your left.”

She turns to her right instead. He laughs. It’s a stupid laugh, uncomplicated and not at anything especially funny.

“Left, Nadia! Are you dyslexic?”

And the tiny mistake draws a breathy giggle from her, and it’s a normal laugh. He doesn’t know what he expected. That every laugh of hers would be filled with disdain and mockery, maybe.

He takes the picture and examines it.

“I should delete it,” he says absently. It’s her face, but it looks nothing like her. He’s certain of it, but he doesn’t know why.

“How come?” She asks, straining to see it.

He shrugs. “It doesn’t say anything about you. I have no fucking clue who you are.”

She laughs again, and he can’t help but join her, because this is technically a normal conversation and he’s supposed to be trying to make her fall for him, but he’s not, he’s not trying at all, he’s just talking. How is it that he’s had the most comfortable conversation of this week to what basically amounts to a total stranger? Someone he’s meant to deceive?

“I’ll wait for you outside,” she says, walking away, and his eyes can’t help but follow her until she closes the door behind her.

---

Ander confronts him on his way out of the school.

“What the fuck did you do?”

He hadn't realized that Azucena would get on this so quickly. He'd thought he'd have the night to think things through and cool off.

“Calm down,” he says, but the words have absolutely zero effect and Ander shoves him anyway.

“You got me in trouble!”

“I’m worried about you. You’re my friend.”

“Then talk to me, don’t snitch to my parents.”

He'd tried. But why should he have to explain himself right now? He's being the reasonable one, and he's made his feelings very clear.

“You know how I feel about drugs. After what happened to my sister.”

“Get over it already!” He should know better. “Get over what happened! And stop messing with the rest of us.”

It's over in a flash. Ander storms away from him, probably back to that dam to buy even more drugs out of spite.

He finds Nadia outside, sitting on the front steps. He holds up his keys. "You want to head over to my place?"

She shrugs. "If you don't mind."

He raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure your family won't miss you too much?"

"I got my brother to cover me at the store."

---

The moment they leave campus, she puts her scarf back on over her head. The moment she does, a part of the tension in her shoulders disappears. Not all of it. But a significant portion.

Nadia is quiet as he drives, but he doesn't mind the silence. He can feel her watching him, but for once, it's not in judgment. He doesn't need to explain anything about himself. Her brow furrows, and it's only once they reach his house that she asks him.

"Are you okay?"

He waves away her concern as they walk up the driveway.

"My friends are being stupid."

"Oh. Anything specific?"

He laughs. "You would think worse of us if you knew."

With Ander, he could see her understanding, though she'd be as disapproving as he is. But then he would be tempted to tell her about her brother too, and she doesn't need that right now. She doesn't need to know about Carla and Polo and Christian's whole situation. Even he can't entirely wrap his mind around it right now. It'll probably make her head explode.

"Well, I don't want to be nosy," She says, but there's curiosity creeping into her tone.

The moment they walk in, he stops short.

Marina and the waiter are talking to each other on the couch, barely an inch of space between them.

He affects the most annoying tone possible, a brother’s prerogative: “Hello, how are you?”

She ignores him, speaking to Nadia instead.

“Hey, what are you doing here? How did you let him talk you into this?”

It’s weird that he’s actually worried about how Marina might affect Nadia’s opinion of him. It’s rare that Marina can do that to a person, since he’s generally the more respectable sibling between the two of them. But he absolutely knows for certain that Nadia respects Marina’s judgment over his, considering that they’re at least friendly to each other.

“She’s here to work on the project.”

“So is Samu.”

Samu. They’re down to nicknames now.

Samu gives an awkward wave. “Hello.”

“Hello.” The four of them stare at each other awkwardly for a beat. He and Marina, squaring off. Samuel and Nadia, avoiding the intimacy of a family argument that they are on the outside of.

He breaks the silence. “Okay, we’re off. Don’t want to bother you.”

“Okay.” Marina says simply, and that’s that. Until she hisses at Nadia in a fake whisper: “Don’t let him tease you too much. Whistle if you need me, okay?”

He has to ignore her, because a reaction, any reaction at all, is exactly what she wants.

He goes by the kitchen to grab some fruit. Nadia trails after him awkwardly.

"Let's go outside," he says. "It's good weather."

They set up outside, putting two pool chairs across each other as makeshift desks.

“So,” he says, popping a grape into his mouth. “What’s up?”

“Why are you being so flattering?” She asks, and once again there’s accusation in her eyes. “Am I a challenge? Or a bet you made with your friends. Let’s see how long it takes the Muslim girl to fall for me.”

He smiles, because shame is starting to eat at him like bile, to have her say the truth so plainly. That she expects to be hurt and taken advantage of. But he started something and needs to follow through. He doesn’t want to outright lie, because it would lead him to straight-up vomit, so he answers the question with his own.

“Is your self-esteem so low that you think I’d only be with you because of a bet?”

She nods, and comes to her conclusion. “Then I’m a challenge. The impossible turns you on.”

It’s a weird parallel to Lu, that they both think they know what turns him on.

“I feel comfortable with you,” he says, it’s not a lie, so it doesn’t gall him as much. “We have a lot in common.”

He expects skepticism, and he’s not disappointed.

“Come on. I doubt it.”

But it’s true. He’s seen it. And though he saw a reflection of Lu’s ambition and intelligence when he first looked at her, now that he's seen her around her family, he sees some of his best traits in her too.

“Well, you believe in your God. You respect your parents. You’re responsible. Me too. Look.”

And because he can, and because he’s told the truth and wants her to be as uncomfortable with it as him, and because it’s almost charming the way she looks away from him, he reaches for his collar to pull his shirt over his head.

“Here we go again!”

He holds out his crucifix for her, ever around his neck, and she looks determinedly at his face.

“Only I wouldn’t strip to show you I follow Allah.” She smiles at him though. Progress. “Put your shirt on or you’ll catch a cold.”

He shrugs and scoops up his shirt.

“We’ve all got a thing, Nadia. And it’s true I often use my body and charm to get what I want.” He fiddles with the sleeves on his shirt, trying to get them the right way again. “Maybe I don’t quite believe someone could like me just for what I think or feel.”

Unbidden, he thinks of her only taking pictures of his face, and he flushes, hiding the awkwardness with a pasted-on smile.

He’d only meant to say something open to entice her to mirror him, to slash his palm so that she’d do the same, provide an opening for him. But he’d told the truth; he’s too comfortable around her. It’s all too easy to take the scalpel and cut along his sternum in her presence. It's the way she listens, like she's thinking about what you've said and not about what she's going to say.

She purses her lips and walks right up to him.

“Do you have your cell phone on you?”

“Want to take a picture?” He quirks his eyebrow, because flirting is easy, like shrugging a shirt back on. He hands it to her anyway, and she sticks it in her pocket.

“No,” she says lowly, and her hands shove out at him.

But he’s faster, and turns her, holding her over the edge of the pool as she lets out a playful scream.

“Well?” He cocks an eyebrow, daring her.

“Guzman,” she says, trying to warn him, but she’s hardly in a position to warn him about anything.

“Not so brave now, huh?”

“Please,” she says laughing, and once again, that laugh infects him. “Come on, stop it.”

“Laugh at me now. Come on. You were laughing at me.” He loosens his grip on her, and she grabs tighter to keep her balance, and it’s so stupid that he’s doing this with her of all people, but his head is clear and he wasn’t lying, he feels comfortable.

He teases her a bit more, switching arms and gesturing wildly, all while she pleads through heady laughter.

Finally, he shows mercy and pulls her back up. “I was winning.”

She is still laughing.

“Okay, okay.” He tries to stop from smiling. He isn’t sure how successful he is. There's a little twinge in his side. “Let’s continue, yeah?”

He holds out his hand.

“What?”

“My phone, please?”

“Oh, right!” She laughs again, a little bit of color on her cheeks, and fishes it out of her pocket. “Here you go.”

He takes it back and examines the screen. “You know, it was very sweet of you to make sure that my phone wouldn’t get wet.”

"Like you wouldn't make me pay for it if it broke. I'm not made from money."

"Alright, alright. Fair enough." He leans forward to squint at his computer screen. "Do you have any pictures I could use?"

They actually work together well. That surprises him. It doesn't take that long for her to tailor his fake profile to his suggestions, and she works efficiently and diligently. She's almost spurred by Martin's criticism. Let no one accuse her of doing anything half-assed.

It's obvious how she's shot up to the top of the class.

They don't actually take that long to finish. He's almost disappointed when they're done.

“You still need a couple more pictures at the end, but it’s ready,” he says buttoning up his shirt.

Her phone buzzes, and she picks it up reflexively.

“What’s up, babba?”

He chuckles mockingly at the immediate worry that fills her face, a dumb laugh at a friend who’s about to get in trouble. Her father’s voice warbles from the other end of the phone.

“No,” She says, “I’m with Samuel, doing homework.”

She’s not technically lying.

“Sure, with the waiter,” he says, and though he’s still mocking her, he wonders how being alone with Samuel is a better excuse. The waiter’s a non-Muslim boy too. How does Samuel warrant trust when he doesn’t? What has the waiter done that he hasn’t?

Well, he's probably never sat shirtless in front of Nadia for two hours. But still, it’s baffling.

She begins frantically waving.

“Uh...yeah, yeah! He’s in the bathroom. One second.” She puts the phone down. “Shit! I have to find Samuel.”

“Go go go,” he says, shooing her away.

She ends up running back, thanking him for having her over, and running away, dragging Samuel behind her.

"I'll see you in class," She says, breathless, and he gives a cheerful wave.

Nadia doesn't seek him out again once they’re done with the project. Disappointing, but not surprising. But she doesn't actively despise him.

That's improvement.

#guzman nunier #elite s1 #elite netflix #guzman x nadia #guznadia #marina nunier #samuel garcía domínguez

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