Chapter Text
Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and your childhood asshole platonic soulmates tied on a “if you do this for me, I will definitely help you find out who your father is” leash.
Ludmila doesn’t even need to hear it before she knows that, big shock, Violetta won once again a competition hosted by the agency she works for. But ooh, she worked hard for it, and? Ludmila worked hard for it too - if it weren’t for the absolute waste of human particles everyone affectionately calls Maxi, she’d be the one celebrating right now. But somehow, for some sick and twisted reason, Diego wins. And this, she will not stand for.
She asks for a recount, she doesn’t get it. No one even entertains the thought, they hate her that much. “We didn’t win and that is it. Can’t you be happy for the others?” Maxi sighs when she tries to lure him into protesting with her. “When will you stop being so evil?” And Ludmila almost chews off her tongue with how hard she has to bite it - that douchebag up on stage, hugging his girlfriend and being all smiles, is just as evil as her. But he keeps it lowkey, so he can still take advantage of the few people he actually cares about. If by comparison, Ludmila could be deemed more transparent, then something was clearly wrong with the boy.
But she tells herself it’ll all be worth it in the end. Everything will make sense, once Violetta’s angel face falls apart as Diego shatters her heart into a million pieces, in front of everyone. He promised he would, and he will, because Ludmila has information about the identity of his father. The one thing Ludmila has to count on with no reservation is his loyalty, otherwise, this school year from hell will have amounted to nothing, and that is a fact so scary she can’t even take it into consideration.
So all in all, the situation can’t get much worse. She’s betting it all on someone she’s not even sure she particularly likes, and that someone is currently miserably failing at his job. He is falling in love, and everyone can see that. What about naive, baby-face Violetta Castillo makes her this much of a Venus flytrap to every man around her? Tomás, León and now Diego too - this was becoming ridiculous. And the worst part is that she either doesn’t know about her power, which, barf, or she just doesn’t care, which, eye roll. Poor little Vilu, always so nice and kind and deserving of every good thing in the world.
The world was mean to mean people. This, Ludmila could accept, if it was true. But it was not true, if Diego did nothing but use and manipulate the people around him, and then won the trip to Madrid anyway. Look at him, all giddy and smiling and boasting and bragging about how he can’t wait to show his hometown to his girlfriend, or some shit like that. It would be so easy to march up to Violetta and just tell her. Get on with it. She might not leave the Studio like the original plan was, but at least she will leave Diego, and maybe that’s a good enough solution for now. She hates her, she hates her, she hates her so much. And she hates him too. With all her heart.
So then, all of a sudden, she feels her feet move to where Violetta is standing, gripping Francesca’s hands so tight she can see the veins popping out - yes, exactly, Violetta is going on an all-paid trip to Madrid with her little fan-club. Her current boyfriend, her ex-boyfriend who everyone knows has never stopped loving her, and her best fucking friend. Oh, come on.
“Vilu!” Ludmila calls for her attention as her best-plastered grin appears automatically on her face, marching up to her enemy, mouth almost frothing from the anticipation of stopping the charade, of stopping the lies, of stopping something. Of gaining control of something again. Nothing was making sense anymore. She was not supposed to lose this badly. She was not supposed to lose this much. Her brain rattles with possibilities, how to go about this. How to wipe that smile off her face. She knows it, this is the end-all. Even if it means self-destruction. She has simply had enough of Violetta Castillo and everything around her and about her. And she still hasn’t turned, so Ludmila almost calls out to her again.
Diego puts himself between them instead. Ludmila narrows her eyes, capable of doing anything to anyone who even considers delaying one of her rampages. “Get out of my way, Dieguito.”
“Don’t you even think about it,” Diego’s hushed growl is reminiscent of a warning, which is the last thing Ludmila needs right now. “You’re too late for that. I thought of it, and I’m doing it, so very kindly get the fuck out of my way right now, or I will-”
“Or you will what? Not tell me anything about my dad? Wow, I haven’t heard that one before,” he says. Ludmila nearly applauds his ability to talk so clearly about their scheme without anyone hearing them. But keeping her voice down is not one of her best abilities. “Oh, so the plan is off. That’s what you’re saying?”
“I’m saying you are once again about to ruin everything we’ve worked for, and I am once again saving you from embarrassment,” he holds her wrist when she’s about to walk around him to get to Violetta. “This seems to be our dynamic lately. Aren’t you tired of making the worst choice possible every damn time?”
“I really, truly do not need your little speeches.” She pushes him away, but he won’t budge, so as much as she hates it, she’ll have to expose him some other time.
She spins around on her heels, and Naty is right there.
She has a big giddy grin on her face. The moment their eyes meet, it fades away immediately and her shoulders hunch. Seems like she’s ready for a scolding.
Then Ludmila’s eyes meet Federico’s too, a little further back in the room, and she stops. Two entirely different stares. Both prepared for battle, both ready for opposite outcomes. Naty knows she’s fighting a losing battle. Federico hasn’t stuck around for long enough to be as hopeless as her.
She looks at them longly, expectantly. Who will break first? They are a nice little couple, the two of them. They claim to care so much, and yet watch them pair up against her the first chance they get. And Ludmila is the hypocrite in this scenario? Please.
Naty, with her big curly hair and her big eyes and her big smiles and her big dreams that Ludmila has crushed under her heel one by one. Who does she think she is to still stick around and stand by her, so close to her, after all she’s done? What is there to it if not a long, long con to break her when the time is right? What other reason could possibly compel her to still be here? And then after a while, the grin that faded comes back, and Ludmila doesn’t even know that Maxi is standing right beside her, but she can feel it, that that grin is not directed at her.
And then Federico, Naty’s newest ally - oh, so, so fitting that they would find each other. Like every fairytale ever, who can take down the queen but her traitorous consort and her two-faced confidante? It’s starting to make a little too much sense, actually. How long had this been going on?
And how did the crystal star fit into all of this?
A beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful jewel Ludmila’s ever seen came into her hands already broken. She didn’t even have a chance to hold it before it was shattered. She found it like that, succumbed to its own frailness. It was still so beautiful though. Like a tear half swept away from her cheek, a love half blossomed. It reflected fragments of her face, and it was so bright, yet somehow her eyes in the reflection were the same black holes as always.
Who put it in her purse and why? So intricate and delicate and broken beyond repair already. The most thoughtful gift she’d ever received, taken away from her before she could even know. She holds it like water in her hands, like it could break even more. She examines it as if it could disappear at any moment, as if the mere concept of it was yet another cruel hallucination and she would lose this too if she even dared blink.
Tears start to prick her eyes. Obviously, obviously. Because God forbid she has one nice thing going on in her life. For all she knows, the star broke itself, because it knew who its possessor was going to be. Love is cruel like that.
Fede walks into the class. “You broke it.” Obviously. Obviously. “It’s broken, just like any chance of us being together.” Fucking obviously. He storms out. She’s about to perform. She’s going to kill him if he doesn’t run fast enough.
Because why on Earth would she break such a perfect gift? Such an expensive crystal? The shiniest, most beautiful thing she has ever laid eyes on? No, no, absolutely not. Federico broke it, and put it in her bag like that. No other possible explanation. Who could possibly be so cruel to purposefully go out of their way and destroy something so precious? Ludmila would only ever see herself doing that, and she didn’t. Unless she is starting to show signs of amnesia at twenty years old, she didn’t do it.
She stands up and her legs feel like jelly. She walks to the stage but she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to dance. She dances and her mother mustn’t even hear her think this, but she messes it all up. Yes, she’s the one to fuck it up - obviously, she is. Who else but Ludmila could be the thing to bring Ludmila down?
One wrong step - you broke it. One second too early - just like any chance of us being together. The gull of that man. Who told him she wanted him? Why was he so sure? She catches him in the audience staring at her with this sad sad look in his eyes and she is so furious she nearly breaks Maxi’s foot with how hard she steps on it. And then as he picks her up, she spots Naty looking at them too, right next to Fede, and she’s smiling. And how is Ludmila supposed not to combust when she sees that smile? They have been scheming the whole time. They are the ones who will bring her down in the end. They can’t wait. They think she doesn’t notice.
She doesn’t win the competition and she knew she wouldn’t, but fuck off, Diego? Not Diego. In a reality where she accepted she wasn’t going to win, she would have been fine with Camila getting to go to Madrid. She would be out of her hair for a while, and that’s always a good thing. But then she ruins it too and almost fights with her boyfriend (and don’t ask Ludmila about their relationship status because there may not be a thing in the world she cares less about) on stage.
And, begrudgingly, having Naty and Federico leave for a few blessed days wouldn’t have hurt either. They were already scheming against her anyway, so spending even more time together on their own wasn’t too much of a nuisance. Their dance was…ok. Terribly average. But she has to admit she wasn’t paying too much attention. The whole performance through, her eyes were glued on Maxi - why, she’ll reassure herself later, because she wanted to make sure he didn’t randomly disappear before their time to shine. But the glances he was exchanging with Naty Ludmila knew somewhere in her heart she had to be on the lookout for.
Violetta was going to win, no doubt about it. She could’ve gone up on the stage and just stared soullessly into the camera for five minutes, and she still would’ve gone home that day with an aeroplane ticket to her name. And having León as her partner was just another surely random lucky break, right? Just a random classmate of hers she has undeniable chemistry with.
But something about Diego winning she just could not get past. Because he was good. He and Francesca were good. And she saw that and she couldn’t deny it, and if she had to think this logically, she’d know it had to be them somehow, but still. Diego. Diego who just got here and cheated his way into people’s hearts, and yet Ludmila’s the evil witch and he’s the charming man of the hour.
As she stares down Naty and Federico, the former says with a small voice: “Well, at least we’ll be here together.” And her eyes don’t meet Ludmila and something doesn’t feel right, but before she can speak, the last thing I want right now is being here with you, something clicks.
She turns and she sees Maxi, with that weirdly earnest smile of his, nodding and holding himself like he’s about to start a race, like every bone in his body is aching to run to Naty right now. A grimace quickly spreads throughout her face. This better not be what she thinks it is. But there’s no time to think about it now.
Right now, she has to bring the news home.
As she drags her feet out the door of the Studio, she prays to the stars that somehow, when she comes back tomorrow, her luck will have magically changed.
The only star that listens is the broken one in her purse.
There are talks of who’s replacing who, when she gets to the Studio the next day.
León can’t travel. He has signed a binding contract with his motocross sponsor, that he has to be racing on the day of the show in Madrid.
Ludmila screams, inwardly and outwardly. Whatever rant she had to endure from her mother last night was already fading from her memory. Failure my ass. Disappointment my ass.
But wait. There’s more.
She gets there in the middle of a reunion of sorts and Marotti’s all hushed whispers trying to solve the problem. Antonio listens with a benevolent frown. Pablo, Gregorio and Beto all seem to be in their own worlds. She giddily skips all the way to the teachers’ lounge, where the conversation is being held, and sits at the table. No one even notices her until she clears her throat. “What’s up, boys,” she sings like a bird who’s just learned to fly.
Marotti looks at her for a long moment as his features succumb to despair. “Seriously?” he says, answering a question Ludmila didn’t hear. “So obviously, if Violetta can’t go, I should,” she rests her head upon her hand, caressing her blond locks with the other. Taking extra time with the straightener today seems to have proved fruitful in the end.
“You were not our first choice,” Marotti replies, receiving a glare from Antonio, who counters: “I don’t like how you’re treating her, hombre. She’s still one of my students and deserves respect-”
“Right, so, anyways,” Ludmila giggles with her hair twirled in her fingers, “I can do a whole presentation on why I am clearly the right replacement, but you already know why. Everyone here is aware of the fact that I am the most talented person in the Studio, the best performer, and the one with the most fans. Bringing me to Madrid would only maximise your views and-”
“Whenever you’re done, Ludmala,” Marotti claps his hands loudly. Ludmila is not nearly done, but figures to pause her ranting for now. “As I was saying,” he continues, turning to the teachers again, and resuming his explanations. Ludmila tries to listen to what he’s going on about, but her eyes fall to a sheet of paper on the desk, and the words she notices first are the only ones she cares for.
…to be replaced by: Ludmila Ferro and Maximiliano Ponte
She reads it. Reads it again. Holds the piece of paper, snatches it so violently from the desk her hand makes a thudding sound that results in everyone turning towards her. Her voice is so, so loud in her head, but it comes out as the smallest mutter she’s ever heard herself speak in: “I get to go?” spoken so carefully, as carefully as she would’ve handled the crystal star, hadn’t it already been broken upon finding. But this. This wasn’t broken. This was just freshly repaired.
A wrong done right. Something in Ludmila’s life going right.
“Ludmila…are you ok?” Pablo tentatively asks, and Ludmila realises a tear has fallen from her eye. Uncontrollable joy. It almost sizzles when she wipes it away. Earthquakes within stars caused the light to variate in emission as the surface wobbled, showcasing how the energy is transported from the core to the surface. Ludmila’s starquake begins with a pitch so high that no one in the room is able to hear it.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. The world is right again. The world is right again!
As she stands up from the chair, hands clutching the sheet of paper for dear life, she makes her way to Marotti, who takes one step back, not able to read what Ludmila’s next move could be. She’s vibrating as she points to the paper again and repeats, a little louder, “I get to go? To Madrid?”
“The winning couple can’t travel, and you were the very next choice, so, yes,” Antonio has somewhat of a fond smile when he says, “you’re going to Madrid.”
“To Madrid.” Ludmila’s brain can’t seem to grasp the concept. “For the contest.” And she would’ve died in battle for this yesterday, but today they’re the ones telling her, without her needing to scheme or speculate, and they seem so sure about it. Will it be yet another opportunity stolen from her at the very last second? Will it be yet another cruel trick of life? Can Ludmila allow herself to be happy for once in this disastrous year?
You will never amount to anything in life if you keep losing to those lowlives, Priscila had said mere hours ago. Perhaps you are a lowlife too. No, no she’s not. Her name is on the piece of paper. And Ludmila can’t wait to see her eat her words the moment she goes back home. Her breath comes out shaky, but her smile is so big her cheeks hurt. “Can I keep this?” she whispers as if the paper wouldn’t be impossible to take from her given how hard she’s still gripping it.
Marotti waits a few seconds as if she’s expecting her to combust on the spot, then he says: “We need one of your parents to sign the permission slip, and we’ll be waiting for you here at lunchtime.”
Ludmila is going to Madrid. Ludmila is going to Madrid. Violetta isn’t going to Madrid, but most importantly, Ludmila is going to Madrid.
Something takes hold of her and for some reason now her arms are wrapped around Marotti in the weirdest hug known to mankind (Ludmila can’t hug, as everyone is painfully aware). “Thank you,” she says. “I mean, I deserved this ages ago, but thank you for finally allowing yourself to see who the real star of this show is.” She lets him go, as he’s still completely stunned, and continues: “You know what I call this, Marotti? Self-care. For you, and for your entire company. I’m proud of you for opening your eyes. Better late than never, no?”
“Don’t make me regret this choice,” Marotti warns, but Ludmila only shrugs: “How could I? I’m the first good choice in your sorry life, I fear,” and she slams the door to the teachers’ lounge behind her.
On her way out, she crashes into Violetta and almost falls back, losing her hold on the piece of paper that’s now become her best friend. She looks her up and down, and for the first time in her life, she could genuinely hug her, too. She could thank her for somehow being in the grand scheme of things to allow Ludmila one shot at happiness after nearly two full years of blow, after blow, after blow. For once, Violetta’s letting her breathe.
But Ludmila is still Ludmila, and for the time being, that will never change. “Bet you feel really sorry now, huh?”
“For…what?” Violetta asks with furrowed brows. “Oh, please, don’t play goody-goody with me this time around. It must hurt to have this opportunity taken away from you last second, right? Well, now you know how I’ve felt ever since you stepped place into the Studio.” Ludmila puts a hand on her shoulder. “When you see me shine on stage in Madrid, promise me you won’t get too mad. Keep it for when I come back, I can’t miss that for anything in the world.”
“Slow down,” Vilu pushes her hand off her shoulder, “you’re going to Madrid?” Ludmila laughs one loud, hoarse hah! “As if you didn’t know that I was replacing you. That must sting!”
“But…but I thought…” Violetta turns around, and only now Ludmila notices Francesca who’s apparently been there the whole time - of course, that girl’s like her shadow. “Yeah, she’s also technically the next in line,” Francesca confirms. “So she goes too.”
“Speaking of which, I’ll be sending you the entirety of my sleep routine, so you can adequately comply with it. I won’t let you ruin my beauty sleep,” Ludmila’s words are directed to Fran now. “Ok…” the Italian girl replies, “I don’t see your point-”
“Ay, I’ve never seen yours either! See, we’re already synching up!” Ludmila grins. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a permission slip to sign. Ludmila is out…” She slowly puts her hand in front of Violetta, holding her stare until she suddenly snaps her fingers right into her face, “…to Madrid!”
She runs out the door, at the speed of sound, as if any wasted second could wake her up from this illusion. But it’s no illusion, because the piece of paper in her hands hasn’t dissolved into thin air, and it still has her name on it. Sure, it has Maxi’s too, but who has ever in the history of humanity cared about Maxi?
(Francesca and Violetta watch her leave cackling manically like a choking owl. “She doesn’t know?” Violetta asks. Francesca barely holds her laughter, “Then we have to make sure nobody tells her.”)
“Mother, look,” Ludmila rushes into Priscila’s office and holds her beloved sheet of paper to her face. Priscila’s busying herself with things on her desk and only distractedly glances at her daughter before saying, “I don’t have time to read all of that. Also, I thought I told you not to speak to me after yesterday’s embarrassment-”
“Yeah, yeah, sure, I remember that, but look! Look.” She presses her long nail to her own name, so hard she might pierce through it. “I fixed it. I’m going.”
Priscila raises her head and grabs the sheet from Ludmila’s hand. She skims through it as her face remains emotionless. “So you’re replacing-”
“Yes, exactly. That’s what makes it even better.”
“Hmm,” Priscila looks at it just a few seconds more, before she shoves it back into her daughter’s hands. “Read it back to me, please.”
“I’m…” Ludmila’s voice somehow shakes only a little as she repeats, “I’m going to Mad-”
“No, no, Ludmila, what is that word before your name.”
Ludmila looks at the sheet again, in her palms, and suddenly she feels like she’s holding poison ivy, like it’s burning through her skin. Like an uncontainable sickness. “I’m…replacing-”
Priscila finally turns to her daughter completely, “Yes, exactly, replacing. You are a replacement.” Her tone is so cold it’s like Ludmila’s walking through a blizzard, “Do you think that’s something to be proud of? Something to celebrate?”
In the joy of it all, Ludmila knew she was forgetting to factor in one thing. That thing was reality, and it is all at once hitting her over the head. “But mother, I-”
“You think anyone will be happy to see you on that stage? Because nobody wanted you.” Ludmila can’t feel her eyelids anymore and she can’t blink, not that she would’ve dared to. “So, are you seriously happy about this? You came all the way from the Studio to here expecting me to be happy about this? Interrupting my work?”
Ludmila’s breath is stuck in her ribcage, and when she tries to talk, she has to force it out. “I-I have to pack, I’m leaving in a couple of hours.”
“Good. At least you’ll be out of my way for a while.” Priscila turns back to her desk, “You know, I look at you lately, and I don’t even see my daughter anymore. I don’t understand what’s happened to you that you can’t even win easy competitions such as this. Maybe we should reconsider your position at the Studio- after all, it does cost a lot of money.”
“No!” Ludmila screams without thinking, her head now a dark, dark cloud of fear. And that’s how Priscila got her every single time: buildup, buildup, buildup, blow. “No, mother, you can’t do this to me! It’s- it’s my life!”
Priscila laughs, slamming one hand on the table, and Ludmila jumps back so impulsively she almost trips over the rug beneath her feet. “Your life?! Do you hear yourself?! I give everything for you, for you to have a career, to have a place in the world- and this is how you pay me back?! If you won’t take this seriously, someone will have to.”
Somehow those words are the scariest Ludmila’s heard her say. Because she has no idea what she means. “B-but I-”
“No, no, enough of this,” Priscila lowers her eyes, dismissing her daughter with a vague hand gesture. “Get out. Enjoy your trip, but don’t think for a second that you deserve it.”
Ludmila looks down, too, but her mouth compels her to speak one last time. “It’s better than nothing,” she whispers, as she turns to the door. For a second she hopes Priscila didn’t hear. “I have not raised you to accept better than nothing. If this is how you want to live your life, then do me the kindness of not sullying my last name,” she replies instead, and maybe Ludmila should’ve run out of her office faster.
As she puts her clothes and her other belongings in her suitcase, everything she holds in her hands for more than one moment feels like she’s carrying broken glass. She resolves to tell herself that’s the reason why, as she packs everything up, she cannot stop crying. She zips up all of it fast and loud so she can’t hear her own sobs, and then breathes in, and out, and in, and out, and she puts effort in it, because if she doesn’t stop crying, she won’t be able to put makeup on, and then it will all be a disaster.
She was happy not five minutes ago. She can be happy again in five minutes.
In all of it, despite all of it, and maybe in spite of it all, she takes the crystal star out of her purse and places it carefully in the bottom of the suitcase, between her softest sweaters. Why, she’s not sure. A painful reminder? Misguided hope? All she knows is she’s grown fond of it, and she’s not leaving the house without it.
For some godforsaken reason, Naty’s waiting for her at the Studio entrance with a suitcase of her own.
“What are you doing here, Natalia,” Ludmila groans, and she inwardly congratulates herself for having brought her voice tone to an unsuspecting, stable one again after that talk with her mother. “I’m so happy for you,” Naty beams, “I didn’t know you got to go too!” Ludmila eyes her suspiciously, which makes Naty hurriedly add: “I- I know we haven’t been getting along too well lately, but maybe this trip is exactly what we need to be…” Friends again? Ay, Nat, you know me better than that, the Ludmila inside Naty’s head replies automatically before she can finish that sentence. “…on good terms…?”
Surprisingly, Ludmila smiles back. “I absolutely agree, time apart from you is time well spent.”
“Um…I don’t think you meant-”
“And what are you doing with that suitcase? Did you seriously do my bag for me? You know that is way too small a case for all my things.”
“Yeah…this is my suitcase.” Naty’s look is so confused by now, Ludmila is confused by the look itself. “Yes, I know what your suitcase looks like. Nat- I do not have time for this, they’re waiting for me inside.”
“Right, we should go!” Naty’s demeanour changes to happy again, and she jumps instinctively to grab Ludmila’s suitcase, too. The way she slides it into the Studio with such ease, when Ludmila had to call a cab for how heavy it was for her to drag around, is good enough a reason, for now, to not reprimand her for using the word we.
Everyone is in the zoom room when she walks in - the teachers, Antonio with his bags, Maxi, whose existence she keeps forgetting, Diego (but no Francesca, for some reason), Federico, who’s talking to Marotti to one side, and now Naty, unceremoniously dropping all bags as soon as she sees Maxi and running to him. Another set of alarm bells rings all at the same time in Ludmila’s head, so loud it’s hard to ignore it, but she has to, she has to.
As she stands at the entrance, Diego notices her and walks up to where she is. In the time he takes to reach her, she quickly has to come to terms with the fact that they are travelling to Madrid together. Well. One thing would’ve been seeing him go without her, but going together? That she can vaguely be ok with. Besides, Madrid is where they met in the first place all those years ago. As much as it’s hard to stand him now, the memories are some of the sweetest Ludmila holds of her childhood - there were not many to choose from.
“Are you excited?” he smirks as he leans on the wall right next to her. And his eyes-
Oh no.
Those eyes.
The kind of judging eyes, the ones of people who know something nobody else knows.
The kind of eyes they usually give each other from across the room.
The bells ring louder. “What do you want now?” she snarls. “I don’t know, maybe a thank you?” he shrugs. She chuckles dryly, “And why on Earth would I thank you?” And he just keeps looking at her with that look. Like he’s having fun with something. “Diego, will you stop being an asshole for five seconds and tell me what is going on?”
“I’d rather you figure it out yourself,” and oh my God, he’s actively holding himself from laughing in her face now. She holds his amused gaze for a few moments, trying her hardest to understand what he meant, and then Marotti claps his hands to grab everyone’s attention and Ludmila won’t let him ruin this too, she won’t let anyone else ruin this.
“I see you’re all here. Here are your tickets- oh, which reminds me, Ludmila, I still need your permission slip.”
Ludmila freezes. In all the chaos she completely forgot to have her mother sign the slip - not that she would have, given the turn the conversation took. She takes a breath, trying not to think about her words again, before they all come crashing down at once, a replacement, nobody wanted you, I don’t see my daughter anymore, and what did she mean by that last sentence? Was she not allowed to use her last name? Would she have a mother to come back to after Madrid? How could she fix it? How could she show her that she was working hard? For her? To pay her back? She can’t lose the Studio. It’s the only thing she has. It is her only place in the world. Mother can’t take that from her.
But is she even allowed to call her mother now?
“Careful, you’ll tear it up like that,” Antonio snaps her awake when she puts his hand on one of hers. Slowly her grip on whatever she’s holding dissipates and Marotti takes her permission slip away from her - signed.
She turns around, puzzled, just to see Diego putting a pen back in his pocket. “I hope her signature’s still the same,” he whispers with a wink. A plethora of old memories opens itself up to her of all the times in their childhood he forged Priscila’s handwriting among others, and as Marotti walks away seemingly satisfied, she almost lets out the words thank you.
Luckily, she doesn’t. Because the next few minutes of that day might be the reason why she’ll hate him forever.
“Alright, now everyone, follow Antonio and me to the shuttle that’ll take us to the airport. Chop chop, no time to lose!” Marotti says in his usual annoyingly over-excited tone, and starts marching out the door. Ludmila glances distractedly at Maxi, “Maximiliano, be a man and carry my bags for me-”
Maxi is holding Naty’s hand.
For one second, Ludmila hears her heart in her ears. She swallows it back down. “Will you stop doing that? We need to go.”
“That’s what we’re doing. We’re going,” Maxi replies, already thoroughly annoyed by his dance partner’s antics. “Also, carry your own bags.”
“No, that-” She clasps and unclasps her own hands, as if only acknowledging what they’re doing is simply too much for her mind. “It’s unfair to her.”
“Sorry, Ludmila, why would that be unfair to me?” Naty enters the conversation. “Just- ugh! Can we go?!”
“We are going! You’re the one stopping us,” Maxi and Naty try to get through the door, still holding hands, but Ludmila blocks the entrance. “Ludmila, why do you want us to be late?!”
“Let go of her!” She shrieks. Diego snickers from where he’s watching and Ludmila shoots him an admonitory look. “What is funny here?!” And Diego comments, “I just want to see how long it takes for you to get it.”
“Get what-” Ludmila rolls her eyes, and focuses back on Maxi, “Look, if you want to bring her along, put her in a suitcase or something- actually, I wouldn’t mind an assistant when we get to Madrid.”
“That’s it,” Naty huffs, letting go of Maxi. The corners of Ludmila’s mouth immediately tug upward at the sight, but then Naty is coming towards her, and before Ludmila knows it, she’s being picked up from her waist and carried like a sack of potatoes out of the Studio.
“Nat- put me down!” she hits Naty’s back like a toddler throwing a tantrum, but obviously, she’s not able to even remotely faze her. Maxi follows close behind, saying in an overtly saccharine tone, “I have the best girlfriend ever.”
And the bells that were ringing before have now officially blown up Ludmila’s eardrums. All she can hear is a loud ringing as she puts the pieces together. No, no, no, no. She had separated them. Successfully. What were they doing back together now?!
In front of the bus, Naty eases her back down. “Please don’t be like that the whole trip,” she begs. But Ludmila doesn’t even register her words.
Does this mean she’ll have to endure lovesick Maxi for the entirety of her trip? Listen to his calls to Naty every night? Hear him calling her disgusting pet names and buying her stupid gifts when they’re going out in the town and oh, oh no, why is Naty getting inside the bus?
“Marotti,” she sinks her claws into his arm, and he immediately shoos her away, “we- we can’t bring plus-ones, can we?!”
“What are you going on about now?” Marotti sighs from the depths of his soul, “Will you please just get on the bus so we can leave?!”
“It’s just- it’s just us four. You never said anything about bringing others along!”
“Yeah, I didn’t. So why is he still here?” He points behind her and she turns to see Diego, who has very kindly brought her suitcase along for her.
With no suitcase of his own.
“Diego?” Ludmila laughs, and it comes out frantic and crazed, “Diego is coming with us.” The assholish smirk on that boy’s face warrants bad news, but Ludmila will hold onto hope with her very last breath. “I don’t care if he’s your bestest friend, he can’t come with us,” Marotti somehow has some patience left in him, but with that, he gets on the bus, too.
“But- but-”
Diego's smirk transforms into a genuine smile that quickly turns into loud laughter, “You should see your face right now.”
“You- you won, Diego. I saw you win.”
“Yeah, but then León wasn’t coming and Violetta decided not to go without him, and I couldn’t leave those two alone without my supervision. It’s a shame for Francesca though, she just got tangled in other people’s games.”
All the colour has drained from Ludmila’s face. Diego laughs again, “What, they didn’t tell you who you were replacing?” She desperately fishes in her pocket for the now infamous sheet of paper and finally reads it in full. It’s already all torn up, and Ludmila feels herself blushing to the tips of her ears, because she brought that paper everywhere, held onto it like a middle schooler with a love letter to her crush, hell, she showed it to her mother.
And she didn’t even read it in full.
In case of mishaps or unavailability from any of the winning couples, substitution shall go as follows:
Violetta Castillo and León Vargas (1st place) to be replaced by Natalia Vidal and Federico Paccini (3rd place)
Francesca Caviglia and Diego Hernández (2nd place) to be replaced by Ludmila Ferro and Maximiliano Ponte (4th place)
She got in fourth place. Fourth place.
She is the replacement of a replacement.
No wonder Priscila was not amused.
Ludmila never even read who she was replacing. She automatically went with the notion that she’d be replacing Violetta - who else?
And yet-
Oh.
Oh, wait.
Other people’s games.
She opens her mouth, and right then Federico passes her by. “Just stop complaining, Ludmila. Everyone already can’t stand you, at least try to act nice for this trip,” he says loading his suitcase into the bus and walking in.
And right there, Diego’s eyes fill her in on his real motives. If she needed it, she got it in the form of a slap in the face: empiric proof that Diego Hernández is better than her at her own damn game.
“You.”
“Took you long enough,” Diego shrugs. “So, I’m going to ask you again.” And his self-assurance bursts at his every seam as he repeats, “Are you excited?”
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even make a sound. She won’t give him the satisfaction. But he’s not done yet.
He gets something from his pocket - and if Ludmila thought her heart couldn’t take another blow, she has to once again rethink everything. “Why do you have that?” her voice matches the frailty of the crystal star in his hands. “It was…you, wasn’t it?” Because of course, if Ludmila could only ever see herself breaking that star, it had to be Diego’s doing. Platonic soulmates. Match made in hell.
But Diego lingers for just a moment, looks at her for just one moment more, as if he was deciding upon something, before softly shaking his head. “As much as I would like to take credit for it, this time it wasn’t me.”
“And why should I believe you now?” Ludmila replies without skipping a beat, as if any of his words could mean anything to her at this moment. “I think you can tell when I lie and when I don’t.” His eyes then go from the jewel in his hand, to the bus. She follows his gaze.
From one of the windows, Naty stares at them intensively. The second she gets noticed she turns around briskly as if she could disappear from view.
“Federico gave it to her to put in your bag. I saw it all, the moment he walked away she just…took the star and crushed it,” he clenches his fist. “I’ve never seen her that angry. I like to think I have my ways with girls, but you…you must’ve really done a number on her, Ludmila.”
Ludmila is beyond overstimulation. He studies Diego, eyes wild, and if she were lucid, she’d know he’s lying through his teeth, but today has been a lot for her. And she can’t tell.
And the darkest pits of her soul, which have been chanting for her for ages to give into the theory that Naty was somehow plotting against her, or that there was something behind it, accept Diego’s bullshit as truth in less than an instant, hold onto it like a lifeboat to an absurd theory.
Yes, yes, it was Naty. It makes perfect sense. Nothing else has ever made more sense.
Diego almost wants to feel guilty as he puts the star back into Ludmila’s hands and watches her, eyes wide and unblinking, face as still and white and void of emotion as a china doll, slowly making her way up the stairs of the bus.
But he won’t, because Ludmila has pushed his every button thinking he wouldn’t retaliate, thinking he wouldn’t dare. And yet he dared. He took her heart, her weakness, her Naty, and tore it apart.
And just as he crushed that crystal star, he crushed Ludmila Ferro in the palm of his hand.