During recess, when the courtyard buzzed with noise and movement, I would approach him with an audience already forming. My friends, or rather the people who stood near me, watched eagerly.
I would snatch the bag from his hands and raise it high.
“Let us see what gourmet meal you brought today,” I would announce, my voice loud and sharp. “Maybe another masterpiece from the discount aisle.”
Laughter would burst out, not always genuine, but loud enough to satisfy me. Mateo never resisted. He never shouted. He simply stood there, his face flushing, his eyes shining with unshed tears. I would open the bag, inspect its contents like a judge passing sentence, then toss whatever I found into the nearest trash can.
Sometimes it was a banana with dark spots. Sometimes it was rice wrapped in foil, already cold. Once it was just two slices of plain bread pressed together.
Afterwards, I would stroll to the cafeteria and buy whatever I wanted, pizza dripping with cheese, fries still hot, desserts I barely touched. I paid without checking the balance. I never thought twice.
I told myself it was harmless fun.
That illusion shattered on a gray Tuesday in early winter.
The sky hung low and heavy, and the wind cut through the courtyard with an edge that made everyone huddle into their coats. When I spotted Mateo, something looked different. The paper bag in his hands was smaller than usual, folded more tightly, as if there was less to protect inside.
I smirked and stepped closer.
“Looks like the menu is shrinking,” I said. “What happened, Mateo. Did the pantry finally give up.”
He surprised me by reaching for the bag as I grabbed it.
“Please, Ryan,” he said quietly, his voice trembling despite his effort to control it. “Just not today.”
That single sentence stirred something cruel in me. The plea felt like power sliding into my hands.
I laughed and lifted the bag higher, then shook it upside down.
Nothing fell out at first. Then a small piece of hard bread dropped onto the concrete, followed by a folded scrap of paper.
I laughed louder than before.
“Wow,” I said. “Just bread. Careful, you might need a hammer to eat that.”
A few laughs followed, but they faded quickly. The sound did not rise the way it usually did. Something about the moment felt wrong, though I did not yet understand why.
Curious, I bent down and picked up the paper.