Here the Whole Time - Vitor Martins Page 0,2

place!” she yells back.

Eleven? Whoa. Impressive.

I go back to the kitchen so I won’t have to scream. “What was that about the neighbors’ son?”

“I told you, didn’t I? He’s coming today. He’s staying with us for fifteen days. His parents are going to a conference on penguins. Or a second honeymoon. Who knows. Anyway, Sandra asked me to keep an eye on Caio while they’re away. I was a little surprised because he’s old enough to stay by himself, no? But it’s not a big deal, and he’s a good kid.”

The more my mom talks, the more shocked I become.

“You didn’t tell me! I can’t have a houseguest right now, not during winter break—and for fifteen days! I have plans!”

“Internet and bingeing Netflix?” She rolls her eyes. “Really big plans you have, Felipe.”

She knows me well.

“But … but … doesn’t he have any relatives? Can’t he stay by himself? You and his mom aren’t even friends! What kind of a person doesn’t trust her own teenage son to stay home alone but trusts a complete stranger?”

“Well, no, we’re not exactly friends-friends. We chat in the hallway sometimes. She always holds the elevator door for me. And we used to talk a lot when you and Caio played in the pool when you were younger. Good times, those. But that’s beside the point. Help me organize the kitchen and set the table. He’ll be here any minute!”

I just stand there in disbelief. My face is sweaty, terrified, immobile. Like a painting my mom would make on a bad day.

You’re probably thinking, Calm down, dude, it’s just the neighbor kid! Maybe it’s time I told you about Caio, the neighbor kid from apartment 57.

Our apartment complex has a large recreation area with a tennis court that no one ever uses (because, honestly, who plays tennis?), a little playground that’s falling apart, and a pool that’s neither big nor small but is always crowded on hot days.

When I was a kid, that pool was my very own private ocean. I spent hours swimming from one end to the other and re-creating scenes from The Little Mermaid. And it was in that pool that I met Caio. I can’t quite recall the day, or how we started talking. We were pool buddies, and I can’t remember what my childhood was like before that.

If you’re a fat eight-year-old boy, no one calls you Butterball. Everyone thinks you’re cute, pinches your cheeks, and always makes it very clear how much they want to eat you up. In a sweet way. Weird, but still sweet.

When I was eight, I didn’t feel embarrassed about running around wearing nothing but a Speedo, or jumping into the pool and splashing water everywhere. Because when you’re eight, it’s okay. And that’s how Caio and I became friends. We never went to the same school (Caio goes to a private school on the other side of town). But when we were younger and it was a hot day, I knew all I had to do was go downstairs to the pool, and Caio would be there, ready to swim with me. Rainy days were the worst.

We never talked. Kids don’t really talk when they’re at the pool. We would scream and dive and compete to see who could stay underwater the longest. We didn’t have time to talk because, at any moment, Caio’s mom could stick her head out the window, yelling his name, and the fun would be over just like that. His mom was always that type. The type who yells.

Somewhere in the middle of all the fun and no talking, I had a day I’ve never forgotten. I must have been around eleven, and after almost an entire afternoon playing sharks and pirates (I was the pirate, Caio the shark), I suggested without an ounce of fear, “Do you wanna play mermaids?”

None of the other kids in the building knew that I loved to play mermaids. It was something I did just for me. I was afraid of what the other boys might think of me if they found out that when I went underwater, in my head I was Ariel. And that deep at the bottom of the pool, I kept my imaginary collection of forks, mirrors, and thingamabobs.

Caio just smiled, crossed his legs to form a tail, and dove underwater. He didn’t care to know how to play. He didn’t say he’d play only if he could be a merman. He merely went along with my silly