Nilem stretched and turned off his alarm. A dreamless night. That surprised him. It had been a while. He was almost sad he couldn't remember anything. Maybe it was because he had a good day yesterday. Today was Friday, his favorite day of the week because the weekend was near. That meant he could stay in his room all day. That was good. His mom worked weekends, and he couldn't have handled being home with her otherwise. He had suffered enough during the summer when he had to spend two full days with her every week.

  As usual, he had breakfast : a glass of fruit juice, and two discount-brand sandwiches for lunch, got dressed, and left for school. He didn't like taking showers; he was too lazy. His mom used to nag him about it, but now she didn't care. He even wondered if it was convenient for her to save on water. Throwing on his shoes, he set off. Right, left, straight, left.

  He arrived, as always, ten minutes before anyone else. He hated being late, hated drawing attention to himself. He preferred to observe. Caroline always arrived soon after him, then Jean, then Jawad, and the others. Finally, the teacher would open the small gate to the courtyard, letting the kids head straight to the classroom. They'd sit down, take out their supplies, Hugo would arrive last, and the morning would begin.

  Math was first, followed by art. Perfect. Nilem liked both and was good at them, too. The teacher corrected their work from the previous day. The first exercise was entirely correct. For the second one, she asked him to solve it at the board, but he shook his head no. She didn't push it. Caroline handled it instead. He had it right. The third exercise? Correct again.

  Bingo.

  A perfect score.

  Fixated on his notebook, he let a small smile slip. Hugo, sitting in front of him, turned and noticed. With a sneer, Hugo faced forward again. Damn it. He saw me smile. Fuck it.

  After a few additional exercises, the math lesson ended. As usual, Nilem lingered, taking as much time as he could to leave. He expected it—Hugo was waiting in the courtyard, barely a few steps from the classroom door.

  - Since when are you happy?

  Hugo asked. Nilem didn't dare respond and simply shrugged.

  - Been a while since I've seen you smile.

  Hugo stared into Nilem's dark eyes with his pale ones and grinned.

  - That's cool.

  - Yeah

  Nilem replied softly.

  - It's 'cause you got everything right in math, huh?

  - Yeah.

  - That's cool.

  Nilem shrugged again. In truth, the smile came more from accomplishing something than math specifically. Math didn't matter much to him. He kept that to himself, staying silent.

  - I don't know how you figured out the last part of the second problem. That was so hard, I didn't get a thing the teacher said.

  - You just had to subtract the man's volume in the end.

  - Yeah, I got that part, but the percentages? I don't get those at all.

  - They're just a part of something out of 100.

  Nilem explained instinctively.

  - Well, that's dumb. What's the point of dividing something by 100? Math people are weird.

  - Yeah, true.

  - See? You're weird, too. You don't talk, you're always on your own. A total math nerd. I'm the only one who talks to you because I like it when you give me your food. You're the only one who gets that I don't have any and doesn't rat me out to the teacher.

  Nilem lowered his gaze. That was true, and it bothered him, but it was the truth. He felt like he had to share his food. It was his way of showing he understood Hugo, in some way.

  - By the way, I don't have anything for lunch today. You don't mind if I take yours, right?

  Nilem didn't dare oppose him. He nodded submissively. Pleased, Hugo added,

  - Good.

  Nilem murmured,

  - Yeah, good.

  The next session began. Not much happened during art class, despite Nilem enjoying it. He liked it mostly for the calm atmosphere. During lunch, as expected, he handed over his food to Hugo. The school didn't have a cafeteria, the town couldn't afford one.

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  The afternoon passed uneventfully with a long, dull history class. When school ended, the teacher wished him a happy weekend. He packed his things and left. At the gate, Hugo came up behind him and smacked him hard on the back of the head.

  - Have a good weekend, math nerd!

  Hugo laughed and sped off, probably heading to his mom's car parked nearby.

  Nilem rubbed the back of his head. The cold air had made the slap sting more than usual, but he didn't dwell on it. He was hungry. His stomach twisted, but he was used to the feeling. It was for Hugo. Hugo didn't have food.

  Walking home, he took his time—it was Friday, and he didn't have homework to do right away. Once home, he grabbed a slice of bread from the drawer and ate it before retreating to his room.

  He stared at his walls. Posters of cartoons he used to watch before his mom sold the TV were still there. He missed that TV. Now, he played out his favorite cartoons in his head, using the toys he had left. But even that had lost its appeal. Over the summer, little by little, he'd stopped.

  It was strange how time could move so fast when you did nothing, like some kind of lethargy. When days all felt the same, they blurred together. Yesterday was like the day before, so last month felt like this month. Everything seemed closer. That was his summer, and it would make his weekend feel just as short.

  Lost in thought, he found himself in front of a poster of Boowal-man. His dad had brought it back from a trip. Nilem had no idea what the name meant or where it was from. The hero stood tall, a victorious smile on his lips—the stereotypical superhero. Nilem traced the poster with his fingers, lost in thought. His dad...

  Suddenly, he spun around and dove under his blanket, shivering. It was odd—every time he got into bed, even if it was warm, he'd shiver.

  Lying there, staring at the ceiling, he saw the cracks again. They seemed to draw him in. Through them, he saw worlds, stories.

  He dove into one of them, soaring like an eagle over arid lands. Below him lay sand and dried earth as far as the eye could see. Bodies were strewn everywhere—soldiers in traditional attire, slain, some with spears or swords still lodged in their bodies.

  The eagle soared over the carnage. Through its eyes, Nilem saw a woman kneeling beside a wounded man, tending to his injuries, surrounded by other women who seemed to assist her. The eagle flew too fast for him to take in the details.

  Further ahead, he saw more people, alive and well. Lifting his gaze as high as the eagle's sight allowed, he gasped—a city rose before him.

  Ocher-colored, its sculpted walls suggested grandeur, wealth, and splendor hidden within.

  Before he could see more, the cracks in his ceiling pushed him back. He was in bed again, under his blanket, smiling. If he hadn't dreamed last night, it was to dream now. This was the first time it felt so real, as if he were truly in his dream.

  The front door slammed shut. Already? Nilem jumped up—what time was it? He had no idea. Walking into the kitchen in a daze, he saw his mom. A glance at the clock confirmed it: 7:30 PM.

  As she took off her shoes, she asked,

  - What's up with you?

  - Nothing, nothing.

  - Good. Did you cook?

  - No, I didn't have time.

  Scoffing, she said,

  - Of course. Like you've got so much going on.

  Lowering his head, Nilem muttered,

  - Sorry.

  - Never mind.

  She ruffled his hair as she passed. Despite the smell of cigarettes, the gesture warmed him.

  She set a pot of water to boil and pulled out some tomato sauce from her old jacket. Smiling, she said,

  - Ta-da!

  Nilem smiled back and returned to his room. She lit a cigarette and called after him,

  - I'll let you know when dinner's ready.

  Once called, dinner went as it always did—one cigarette before and another after, no words exchanged except for the sound of her exhaling smoke.

  Nilem did the dishes, then returned to his room. Fully dressed, he curled up under his blanket, waiting.

  His mom's nightly routine began. The sound of a bottle opening was followed by her sobs. The smell of her cigarette smoke reached his nose. It was getting worse, more intense. He wanted to say something, to change things, but he couldn't bring himself to leave his bed.

  He thought of how she used to be. Tears welled up in his eyes, his lower lip trembling. He buried his head in his hands and let it all out silently, as quietly as possible.

  Once the wave passed, he stood up, determined. He wanted to end this—to confront her and tell her it hurt him. That she was hurting herself.

  But he didn't get the chance.

  As he lowered the handle and opened the door, he found her standing there.

  Disfigured by alcohol and cigarettes, her face was twisted in rage. Her features were drawn, worn from her emotions, her tears, her long days. Her hair stuck out wildly, and her mouth formed a horrible grimace. In that instant, Nilem knew he shouldn't have opened the door.

  Before he could do anything, she lunged and slammed the door shut behind her.

  - WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? CAN'T YOU SEE I HAVE ENOUGH ON MY PLATE? CAN'T YOU SEE YOU'RE DISTURBING ME?

  Nilem tried to respond. Tried. But her slap sent him stumbling back into his room. She followed, closing the door behind her, still shouting,

  IT'S YOUR FAULT, YOUR FAULT! LIKE I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH TO DEAL WITH, AND NOW YOU'RE GETTING ON MY NERVES TOO! YOU HEAR ME? YOU'RE DRIVING ME CRAZY!

  The second blow came before he could process it. He raised his arms to shield his face but didn't expect the kick.

  Winded, he collapsed to the floor.

  Suddenly, his mom went still. She seemed to realize she had gone too far. Before leaving, she spat,

  I don't want to see you anymore.

  The door slammed shut.

  Shaking, Nilem got to his feet, wiped his tears, changed into his pajamas, and crawled deep under his blanket.

  That night, he dreamed.