The 27th desk

Javi's room was a sanctuary of darkness. The windows stubbornly stayed shut, the thick gray curtains blocking out any ray of sunlight. He didn't like the bright morning light; he preferred the twilight, that protective veil that kept him safe from the outside world, especially the world beyond his door. He stretched out on the bed, muscles aching from sleep, a lingering tiredness clinging to him. A long, loud yawn escaped him, a sound lost in the dense silence of the room. He rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, trying to erase the last traces of a dream already fading—a nebulous blur of meaningless images that resisted being remembered.

The inertia of the bed called to him, but a part of him, that inner force pushing him toward routine, forced him to get up. Straight to the shower. He turned on the tap, and the cold water was a welcome shock, a freezing lash that woke him completely, sweeping away drowsiness and heaviness. The contrast with the warm air of the room was abrupt, but he liked that sharp feeling, almost like a sting. It reminded him he was alive, that each day was a new beginning—even if that beginning sometimes felt like a burden.

Coming out wrapped in a towel, he headed to his closet. He wasn't one to care much about clothes; his style was simple, practical. Comfortable pants, neutral-colored t-shirts. But today, for some reason, he hesitated. His eyes settled on a black shirt that fit a little tight around his broad shoulders, a garment he usually avoided because of the arguments it caused. However, today he decided on it. The fabric was soft to the touch, and the fit gave him a sense of confidence, a casual air that, he thought, made him feel good. It was a small act of silent rebellion.

He quietly descended the stairs, his feet barely touching the wooden steps. It was the instinct of every teenager, trying to avoid the morning confrontation, the inevitable list of "do's" and "don'ts" that came with breakfast. He tried to slip out the back door, a more discreet escape route, but a firm, deep, authoritative voice stopped him dead.

"Javier! Where do you think you're going?" His father stood in the kitchen doorway, scrutinizing him with a disapproving look Javi knew all too well. It was a look that said, "I know you, I know what you're thinking, and I don't like it." His eyes landed on the black shirt, and his father's brow furrowed. "That shirt is too tight. We've talked about this."

Javi shrank back slightly, a wave of frustration running through him. Always the same. The clothes, the hair, his friends, his grades… it was all a battleground. "But Dad, it's comfortable. And I like it," he replied, trying to keep his voice calm, though irritation bubbled inside him.

"I don't care if you like it," his father said, in a tone that brooked no argument, an impenetrable wall of authority. His voice hardened, each word a reproach. "I've told you a thousand times I don't like those ragged clothes you wear. Go change it right now. And then I'm throwing it out."

A knot formed in Javi's stomach, heavy and cold. The tension between them was constant, a gray cloud hanging over their home—sometimes light, sometimes dense and oppressive. That "and then I'm throwing it out" was the last straw. It was a reminder of his lack of control, of his father's constant surveillance over his life. On a sudden impulse, a spark of teenage rebellion he rarely dared to show, Javi decided to ignore him. He turned sharply, making the air vibrate, and ran out the front door, hopping on his bike waiting in the yard, his hands gripping the handlebars tightly.

"Javier! Don't you dare!" he heard his father shout from the door, his voice thick with anger, the echo of frustration bouncing off the house walls. But Javi was already pedaling hard, a gust of speed carrying him away from the conflict. The wind on his face was a small relief, a breath of freedom that let him ignore his father's fury and the pang of guilt that always followed a fight.

Elmwood Institute loomed imposingly at the end of the street, a red brick building that had always seemed too big, too serious, almost like a prison of knowledge to Javi. The hallways, now full of life, echoed with adolescent laughter, the dragging of backpacks across the floor, and the constant murmur of fragmented conversations. Upon arriving, Javi felt the usual stares, the silent scrutiny of some classmates. He paid them no mind. He'd been dealing with that for a long time—the feeling of being the "different one," the one who didn't quite fit. He just lowered his head and kept walking.

At the entrance, he found Vale, Sofi, and Dani. Seeing them was like breathing. The tension in his chest eased a little.

"Javi! What's up!" Dani greeted him with his usual enthusiasm, a wide, genuine smile. Dani always managed to dispel the darkness with his energy.

"Hey, guys," Javi replied, a genuine smile crossing his face. He always felt lighter with them; in their company, the pressures of home seemed to vanish.

"And that shirt? Cool," Vale said, her voice calm and measured, with a slight nod that Javi valued more than applause. Vale had that quality of seeing through façades.

Sofi nodded. "Yeah, you look good."

The compliment, especially after the morning's argument with his father, made him feel a small pang of satisfaction, a recognition that validated him. Just then, the shrill school bell announced the start of classes, a sharp sound that spread throughout the building, interrupting conversations and scattering students.

"Well, see you at recess," Dani said, waving goodbye, already thinking about the next chance to socialize.

Each went their separate way. Dani veered down a hallway, disappearing into the crowd. Vale and Sofi walked together, chatting in low, conspiratorial voices. And Javi, as usual, headed alone toward his classroom, the familiar feeling of solitude—now softened by the encounter with his friends—enveloping him again.

Javi entered his Math classroom, number 3B, a familiar space that normally didn't evoke any particular emotion. He went to his usual spot in the third row by the window, where he could see the trees swaying in the breeze. He dropped his backpack to the floor with a dull thud and sat down, ready for another hour of equations and numbers, a predictable, until-now unchanging routine. But something… something wasn't right.

His eyes settled on the desk to his left. It was empty. Not only that, the space it occupied, the way it was placed, felt strangely foreign. It was as if it didn't belong there, as if it had been dragged from somewhere else and forced into a spot where it didn't fit. A pang of unease, a feeling of inverted déjà vu, pierced him.

With growing discomfort, Javi began counting desks. One, two, three… his gaze moved row by row, pausing at each seat, his mind trying to hold onto familiarity. Twenty-six. Yes, there had always been twenty-six desks in his classroom. He knew it with the certainty of someone who had spent countless hours in the same place, memorizing every detail, aware of the exact number of his classmates. But when he finished counting, his brow furrowed deeply in confusion. There were twenty-seven.

He counted again, more slowly, more carefully. One by one, his fingers moving in the air, his eyes verifying every desk. Twenty-eight… no, twenty-seven. It was undeniable. Twenty-seven. How was that possible? There had always been twenty-six. Always. His mind refused to accept the change, to assimilate such a simple yet deeply disturbing anomaly. It was as if a fundamental law of his universe had been altered without explanation.

Miss Elena, the teacher, entered at that moment, her cheerful voice filling the room, breaking Javi's strange obsession.

"Good morning, everyone. I hope you had a good weekend."

They all answered in unison, a chorus of "Good morning, Miss Elena," routine dominating the atmosphere. Everyone except Javi, who kept his gaze fixed on the extra desk, as if expecting it to disappear or speak to him. The normalcy of the rest of the class only accentuated his own sense that something was terribly wrong.

Miss Elena began taking attendance, her monotonous voice calling one name after another. Twenty-six names. Exactly as he remembered. One, two, three… until the last. No one was absent. But there were still twenty-seven desks. The empty desk, the twenty-seventh, was a materialized ghost, an anomaly shouting its existence in a classroom where it shouldn't be. The inconsistency was overwhelming.

Unable to hold back, unable to ignore the voice screaming at him to point out what was wrong, Javi raised his hand.

"Miss Elena?"

The teacher looked surprised at the interruption.

"Yes, Javier?"

"Excuse me, but… why are there twenty-seven desks in the classroom if there are only twenty-six of us?" Javi asked, pointing at the unoccupied desk, his voice quieter than he expected, almost a whisper.

Miss Elena frowned, a slight expression of confusion crossing her face, then let out a small laugh—a condescending laugh that to Javi was more alarming than any anger.

"Oh, Javier, is this one of your jokes? We've always had twenty-six. Maybe someone moved a desk to the back of the room yesterday. Or they brought an extra one by mistake. Don't make a big deal out of it. Anyway, let's continue with the lesson."

She took it as a joke, an error, something unimportant. Her reaction was like that of any adult faced with a strange observation from a teenager. But to Javi, it wasn't. The feeling that something was wrong, that something had changed where it shouldn't have, clung to him like a tick—cold and persistent. Reality seemed to have warped, and only he noticed it. It was like he had discovered a glitch in the Matrix, and no one else saw it.

During recess, Javi met up with Dani, Sofi, and Vale in the noisy school cafeteria. The familiar atmosphere, the bustle of other students, the smell of cafeteria food… it was a welcome escape from his strange obsession with the desks. He tried to put aside the mystery of the extra desk, diving into the normalcy of his friends' conversation.

They talked about normal things: the boring history class, the surprise chemistry test, plans for the weekend. It was a breath of fresh air, an attempt to surface after being submerged in the inexplicable.

Dani, as usual, was radiant with enthusiasm, his energy almost tangible.

"Guys, I can't wait for the Ravens' game on Tuesday! It's going to be epic! I've been watching the highlights from the last game and…" He began describing plays with overflowing passion, gesturing with his hands while his eyes shone.

The others shared his excitement, though perhaps not with the same intensity. Neither Sofi, absorbed in her strange books and own mysteries, nor Vale, nor even Javi, were football fans. But Dani's energy was contagious. He was the glue of the group, the one who always brought joy and comic relief.

As Dani kept explaining plays, possible outcomes, and the importance of the game, Javi noticed Vale staring intently at something across the cafeteria, her expression a bit lost, her eyes fixed on an invisible point. There was a shadow on her face, a distance in her gaze.

"Vale? Are you okay?" Javi asked, frowning. She was unusually quiet, and that rarely happened.

She blinked, as if waking from a trance, and her gaze turned evasive, almost slippery.

"Yes, yes, of course. Just… nothing," she said, lowering her eyes to her tray, poking at her food with her fork. The answer didn't convince him.

Before Javi could insist, the shrill bell announcing the end of recess rang, rescuing Vale from the question. Everyone returned to their classes, Vale's strange look a small question mark added to Javi's growing list.

At dismissal, the four walked together down the sidewalk, the afternoon sun casting long, distorted shadows. Javi walked his bike beside him, his mind still turning over the extra desk. The image of that empty seat, the math that didn't add up, unsettled him in a way he couldn't shake. It was a thorn stuck in his conscience, an anomaly in his orderly world.

"Hey… do your classrooms have the exact number of desks?" Javi broke the silence, unable to hold back his doubt, the question spilling out like an impulse.

Dani shrugged with a carefree air.

"Yeah, sure. Always has been like that. Why?"

Vale and Sofi nodded.

"In mine too," Vale said softly, but her eyes briefly met Sofi's.

"Yeah, same," Sofi added, frowning, her mind already connecting with her own suspicions, the stories she had been gathering, the loose threads now starting to come together. Javi's casual comment was no coincidence.

"It's just… in my math class," Javi said, his voice a bit lower, as if sharing an unconfessable secret, "there are suddenly twenty-seven desks. But there are only twenty-six students."

Dani let out a genuine, loud laugh, oblivious to the gravity of the moment.

"Uh, Javi, it's probably a mistake. Who'd count the desks anyway? You're paranoid!"

But Sofi, who had been quietly listening until then, stopped, her face thoughtful, her eyes fixed on Javi. The coincidence was too big to ignore, too precise. Then, almost with an urgency barely contained, as if the phrase had slipped out before she could stop it, she completed the thought.

"As if someone's missing."

Javi stopped dead in his tracks, his heart flipping in his chest. He turned toward her, astonished, almost petrified. The exact phrase. The same idea that had been circling his mind, unsettling him all morning, was now spoken aloud by Sofi.

"How…? How did you know I was going to say that?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper of disbelief.

Sofi brought a hand to her chest, her breathing slightly quickened, her eyes shining with a mixture of fear and revelation.

"I don't know… but… it just came to me. I've been noticing things. Strange things."

They reached the corner where their paths split. The coincidence hung in the air like a dense fog, a strange and alarming connection between Javi's unease, Vale's silence, and Sofi's growing obsession. It was as if a veil were slowly lifting, revealing something disturbing underneath.

"Well, I'm off," Dani said, breaking the tension, still oblivious to the gravity of the moment, only thinking about his game.

Sofi, visibly agitated and worried, proposed, her voice unusually serious, an urgency that brooked no argument:

"We need to get together. At my place, tomorrow after school. We have to talk about something important."

Dani, with a grimace, answered with the undeniable priority of youth:

"Ugh, I can't tomorrow, it's the Ravens' game. It's sacred. I'm not missing it for anything."

"Sofi, this is serious," she insisted, her gaze fixed on him, trying to convey the gravity of the situation. But seeing his unwavering devotion to football, she sighed and gave in. "Alright. Wednesday then? It can't wait."

"That one, yes!" Dani exclaimed, already with football on his mind, relief clear on his face. "Wednesday afternoon, at Sofi's house," the plan was set.

They agreed to meet Wednesday. Javi, still looking at Sofi, felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold. The urgency in his friend's voice wasn't about a movie or gossip. Something big and dark was happening—something that involved them all.

Javi entered his house trying to be quiet, hoping to slip to his room undetected, like a teenage ninja.

But luck was not on his side. He stepped on a forgotten toy in the hallway, a plastic car that produced a sharp squeak echoing in the tense afternoon silence, betraying him.

"Javier!" His father's voice thundered from the living room, an echo of the morning's argument, a harbinger of the coming storm.

His father appeared in the hallway, the same reproachful look fixed on the tight shirt, as if it were a personal affront.

"I told you to change that shirt. Are you not listening? I'm serious."

The argument erupted again, with renewed fury. Words flew like daggers, the day's accumulated tension exploding in a whirlwind of reproaches. His father scolded him for disobedience, for the morning incident, for not being "what he expected," for the uncertain future, for everything Javi felt was out of his control. It was an echo of every little disagreement they'd had, magnified by exhaustion and frustration.

Javi, fed up with constant pressure, with feeling misunderstood and judged, found himself yelling back—a rare thing for him.

"Leave me alone! You don't understand anything!" His voice cracked, heavy with a mix of anger and desperation.

Heart pounding at a thousand beats per minute, a storm of internal emotions, he stormed upstairs, two or three steps at a time, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the house. He shut himself in his room and slammed the door hard, making the frame rattle against the wall. Immediately, he locked it—a symbolic act of isolation, a barrier against the outside world.

"Open that door right now, Javier!" his father demanded from the other side, pounding his fist on the wood, the sound of paternal rage.

But Javi didn't answer. He let himself fall on the bed, his body tense, hands clenched into fists. He closed his eyes tight, wishing the outside world would disappear, that the noise of pounding on the door and the echo of the argument would fade.

The argument, the empty desk, Sofi's phrase ("As if someone's missing"), her urgency… all mixed in a whirlwind in his head, a chaos threatening to overwhelm him.

The darkness of his room, which had once been a refuge, now felt like a prison, a place where disturbing thoughts could flourish without distraction.

Javi lay on his bed, the door closed, his outside world silenced for the moment, but the internal mystery growing—the fear of the inexplicable combined with the oppression of his own family life.

There was something beyond the ordinary, and what seemed like a simple confusion in the classroom now felt like the first hint of something much bigger, something terrifying.