Work Text:
The entire junior class of Waverly High was gathered in the school library. Everyone’s favorite teacher, Mrs. Candace Edwards, had just given them their next assignment. Inspired by the song What Makes You Beautiful, she told them to write about what made them feel beautiful, unique, and happy inside.
There weren’t any rigid rules. Her only requirement?
“Write from the heart.”
It was ironic how the library—normally quiet and orderly—had turned into a soft storm of voices, movement, and energy. Chairs scraped. Pages turned. Some kids were already done and showing off their work to friends, while others stared at blank pages like they were about to cry. But no one was complaining. Mrs. Edwards had that kind of magic that made even the most reluctant students want to give their best. She’d won “Teacher of the Month” every single month that year, and no one questioned it anymore.
At a wooden table tucked in the far back corner—the only truly quiet spot in the room—two students worked in silence. One was a pretty auburn-haired girl with a soft bow tied at the end of her braid.
The other was a tall, stylish boy with bluish-black hair that matched his bold blue-and-purple outfit. No one understood how he was getting away with tinted shades indoors, but the students didn’t mind, so no one fussed.
They both tuned out the buzz of the library as they focused on their work. Everything seemed fine. Every so often, Ceci Masters glanced across the table at her Puerto Rican classmate, Diego Cazador, who was muttering to himself in Spanish while he scribbled out his thoughts. She didn’t speak Spanish, but judging by his tone, she had a good guess those words wouldn’t sound so polite in English.
Diego never met Ceci’s gaze. Well, not directly, at least. He let his long, dark blue bangs fall in front of his tinted glasses while he worked on his essay and fidgeted in his seat. He hunched a little, like he was trying to disappear—even though his height made that impossible. Then, unexpectedly, he spoke. “Um, Ceci? Do you think you could help me with my essay for a moment?” he squeaked in a voice so quiet it almost didn’t match him.
He slid the pages across the table, fingers still clinging to the edges like he might yank them back at any second.
Ceci blinked, surprised—but not in a bad way. She reached for the essay, careful not to rush it, her fingers brushing his by accident. He flinched—not a big movement, just a twitch, like he hadn’t meant to be that close.
“What’s it about?” she asked gently.
Diego flushed as red as a tomato, the color clashing with his bold outfit. It took all her self-control not to laugh—but she didn’t. “Puerto Rico,” he mumbled, still not quite looking at her. “And my abuela. And, like… stuff.”
The last word fell off his tongue like it didn’t belong there, but Ceci just nodded once and kept reading. She scanned the opening lines quietly. Then, without looking up, she asked, “Is your abuela still in Puerto Rico?”
Diego blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. Both my grandparents are,” he said. His voice was still small, but there was a flicker of something steadier underneath.
“That’s cool,” Ceci said, resting her elbow on the table and leaning in a little. “Do you get to visit often?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Not a ton. Plane tickets are expensive, and my parents both work a lot. Last time we went, I was like… ten. It was my birthday, actually.”
“That long ago?” she said, not judging—just surprised. “Do you talk to them at all? Like on video calls or stuff?”
“Sometimes. My abuela always asks when we’re coming back,” he said, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. “She still thinks I’m that chubby little kid who used to sneak extra rice out of the pot when nobody was looking.”
Ceci grinned. “Were you that kid?”
“Totally,” he said, and this time, the smile actually reached his eyes. “She used to pretend she didn’t see me. But she always made extra, just in case.”
“That’s really sweet.” She tilted her head, thoughtful. “What’s her name?”
“Lourdes,” he said, his accent softening the vowels. “She’s got this super warm voice, but she’s tough too. She used to work at a bakery and still wakes up at, like, 4 a.m. every day. Even now.”
Ceci’s eyes widened. “Seriously? What does she do that early?”
“Bakes. Just for fun now. Pan de mallorca, empanadillas, you name it. And then she gives most of it away to neighbors.”
“That’s kind of amazing,” Ceci said, completely absorbed. “Do you write about that in here?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t know if it was dumb.”
“It’s so not dumb,” she said, turning the paper so it faced him again. “That kind of stuff? That’s what makes it yours. Anyone can write about being unique, but not everyone has a grandma who makes bread at four in the morning and gives it away just because.”
Diego stared at her like he wasn’t sure what to say. “Thanks,” he said a little more confidently.
Ceci smiled. “Do you have any pictures of them? Or the island?”
Diego hesitated for half a second, then dug into his backpack and pulled out his phone. “Yeah. Hold on.” He tapped through his gallery, then turned the screen so she could see. “This is their house. It’s small, but it’s got this huge mango tree in the back. That’s my abuela with my abuelo last Christmas.”
Ceci leaned in closer, her eyes lighting up. “They look so cute! And your abuela’s dress is gorgeous. I love the colors.”
Diego smiled shyly. “Yeah, she made that herself. She still sews.” He swiped to the next photo. It showed a backyard full of people—tables covered in food, strings of lights, music in mid-motion. “This was Nochebuena,” he explained. “Christmas Eve. It’s a huge deal over there. We stay up all night eating, singing, dancing... everyone’s there. Even neighbors just walk in with food and no one cares.”
“That sounds amazing,” Ceci said, completely taken in. “What kind of stuff do you eat?”
Diego perked up a little, clearly enjoying sharing this now. “So much. Lechón, arroz con gandules, pasteles—my abuela makes the best ones. And coquito. That’s, like, coconut nog, basically.”
She blinked. “Wait—coquito? That sounds so good.”
“It is,” he said, grinning. “My tío always tries to sneak extra rum into it, and my abuela always smacks his hand.”
Ceci laughed, totally charmed. “She sounds like the boss.”
“Oh, she is,” Diego said proudly. “Everyone listens when she talks. Even the dogs.” He swiped to one last photo—him as a chubby little kid, face smeared with something sugary, sitting beside a tray of pastries with his abuela laughing beside him.
“Awwww,” Ceci said, covering her mouth. “You did sneak food!”
“Guilty,” he said, pretending to hide behind his hoodie.
“You should write all of this,” she said, tapping the side of his essay gently. “Seriously. Your family, your culture—it’s beautiful. And honestly? That’s what makes you beautiful too.”
Diego went still for a moment. He didn’t say anything right away. Then, softly, “Thanks, Ceci. I… kinda needed to hear that.”
She smiled at him, kind and steady. “Anytime.”
Diego stared at the last photo on his screen a moment longer, then quietly locked his phone and set it aside. He looked down at his half-finished essay, fingers tapping lightly on the page. “You think it’s okay if I… start over?” he asked, not quite meeting her eyes.
Ceci gave a small nod. “Yeah. I think that’d be really good, actually.”
He turned the paper over, finding a blank spot. His pen hovered for a second, then landed. Slow at first, like testing the water. Then faster, more confident.
He didn’t talk while he wrote, but Ceci didn’t mind. She just stayed there, chin in her hand, watching him work with a small, encouraging smile. After a minute, he glanced up. “Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime,” she said.
There was a quiet beat between them. Then Ceci added, “Hey, um… would you maybe help me with my Spanish homework sometime?”
Diego blinked. “Wait, seriously?”
“Yeah,” she said, laughing a little. “I’m awful at it. I can read some stuff, but speaking it? I sound like Google Translate.”
That actually made him snort. “You do not.”
“You haven’t heard me,” she teased. “It’s bad.”
He smiled, a little shy again—but less guarded now. “Yeah, I could help. If you want.”
Ceci nodded. “I do. I’d really like that.”
She glanced down at his writing. “And I’m looking forward to reading the rest of your essay. You’ve got something really special there. And in your family.”
Diego smiled, his pen still in motion.
And this time? He was writing from the heart.