When Yamilet woke up, she saw a stranger in her bedroom looking through the window.
«What are you doing here? Who are you? How did you get in? » Yamilet searched her cell phone on the night table.
«We have no time. You need to run away. The police will arrest you tomorrow. The only way to avoid it is to get away with me right now»
«I got it. Take it easy. If you give me one of your relatives’ contact information, I can call them up and ask them to pick you up.»
«We are stuck in time. There’s no signal for the phone now. Look at the window.»
She observed the ordinary buildings, cars, and people, but they were frozen, like statues.
«Who am I supposed to kill?
«Me. You’ll hit my head so strong, that I will die immediately… Time’s getting back soon. Run! Yamilet woke up and saw a stranger in her bedroom, looking through the window. She took the lamp and hit him as strong as she could.
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful nine-year-old girl whose hair was curly and brown. Ivana lived with her family; her mother, that takes after her, her little brother, and her father.
The family lived happily in a small house with a lot of things her mother liked to put on the furniture, so the house looked as beautiful as possible. The girl knew she was loved by all of them, and she loved them too.
However, Ivana had a Little problem. She was too intelligent and inquisitive. She loved to know the reason for everything that would happen in the world. Sometimes she liked to be alone to think about everything she would see.
“Why aren’t you playing with the other kids, Ivana?” The teacher used to ask her at break time at school when the other children to have lunch and play.”
“I will, teacher. It’s just that I read an amazing book yesterday, and I am just thinking of some descriptions. There was a tree like this one that is giving me shadow in that story.”
“I consider it fantastic that you like to read, but it’s time to play with your friends. Go with them.”
Her teacher didn’t understand her, nor her classmates. She loved to talk about stories on paper. Sometimes she liked to play with them, but some other times she liked to remind what she has read.
“How was school, honey?” her mother used to ask her when getting home.
“I think it was OK.”
“Yes. My teacher doesn’t understand me.”
It’s just that you’re special. I love you so much. Come on. Go wash your hands to start eating.
Some days later a new boy got to school He was wearing his uniform like everybody else, but it looked different on him. One side of his shirt was out of his pants and a long chain with a guitar-shaped charm was getting out his back pocket.
“This is your new classmate, Marcos.” The teacher explained to the class. Everybody said hello. “Sit here”. She pointed to a chair next to Ivana´s.
During the morning, the little girl observed Marcos moving his finger on the chair; at other moments he moved them on the air in an unusual way until Mrs. Lee asked him to stop to pay attention in class.
“Why do you move your hands like this?” The girl asked him.
“I wish I could be at home practicing my piano or guitar lessons. Mom says I need to get better scores if I need to continue studying music.”
The kid turned to the front of the class where Mrs. Lee was explaining mathematical calculations. Marcos collocated his hands on his legs and continued his imaginary melody while he was listening to her explanation.
Ivana observed every one of her classmates. Fabian was throwing a ball of paper in the trash, dreaming on his next basketball tournament. Margarita was taking notes as drawing little eyes on the margins of her notebooks. Alondra was looking at the teacher while doing mental calculations, pronouncing the answer seconds before she would say them. Then Ivana smiled. She had been next to these kids since the kinder garden, but she has never observed them very well.
At home, at the time for eating, her mother asked the same question.
“¿How was school, kiddo?”
“It was so good. I have learned something new.
“What is it? Tell me.
I learned that all of us are special. It is not only me. It is just that we like different things. I guess it is just a question of doing our best to understand each other.
El estruendo de la explosión se escuchó en cada edificio. Ms. Martínez, la directora de la escuela, corrió tan rápido como lo permitió su edad. Los demás profesores hicieron lo mismo.
Los chicos salían tosiendo del laboratorio de química, la mayoría con alguna herida. Algunos se sentaron en los jardines laterales al lugar y otros parados, cada uno sorprendido.
—Sabía que tus ideas modernas sobre educación, nos traerían problemas, aunque no imaginé la rapidez con la que sucedería —clamó la mujer dirigiéndose a la llorosa joven maestra que fue la última en salir del laboratorio.
—Trabajábamos con ácidos y fue un descuido mío —indicó una jovencita que presentaba quemaduras en sus brazos y rostro.
—Llame a las ambulancias, la chica necesita atención inmediata —ordenó al profesor Rodríguez, subdirector de la escuela preparatoria—. Usted maestra, espero que no esté herida. Sería terrible estar en un hospital y sin trabajo.
Ms. Martínez terminó de dar indicaciones a cada maestro sobre lo que debía hacerse. Ella debía llamar a inspección escolar. Caminó hacia su oficina, a paso lento esta vez, sin dejar de sonreír.