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The pick-up routine was always the same.
Alora’s class ended five minutes before Infantil. She’d pack her backpack, tug her ponytail tighter, and make her way down the hallway with the slow, confident stride of an eight-year-old who knew she was the big sister of someone important.
Mateo.
Four years old. Still a little short, still all round cheeks and soft words. He went to Infantil three doors down from her classroom, and every afternoon, Alora would scoop him up, kiss the top of his curly head, and they’d sit on the front steps together until either Ferran or Pedri arrived.
Today was supposed to be the same.
Except it wasn’t.
As Alora turned the corner, she heard the noise before she saw it. A cluster of little voices. Loud ones. Giggling.
“No, that’s not what knights do!”
“He plays dress-up with princesses, not dragons!”
“Boys don’t dance like that!”
Alora stopped.
The words weren’t cruel, exactly - but they were sharp. Sharp like they’d practiced it. Sharp like they knew it would sting.
She stepped closer and saw him.
Mateo, standing by the cubbies, holding his lunchbox to his chest. His face was tight. Red in the cheeks. His eyes shiny like maybe he’d been blinking a lot to hold something in.
Three other kids were gathered near him, still pointing, still laughing.
“Mateo says he wants to make a ballerina cake for his birthday.”
“Maybe he’ll wear a tutu too!”
“I bet he thinks unicorns are real!”
They laughed again.
Alora didn’t stop walking.
She stepped into the doorway, dropped her backpack to the floor with a heavy thud, and said, loudly and clearly:
“Hey.”
The other kids froze.
Mateo looked up, startled.
She pointed at them. “Leave. Him. Alone.”
One of the boys opened his mouth. “We were just-”
“I don’t care,” she snapped. “You don’t talk to him like that.”
Another kid stepped back. “It was just a joke-”
“It’s not funny. It’s mean. And you sound dumb.”
Mateo let out the tiniest laugh through his nose.
Alora turned to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”
He nodded slowly. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t like when they laugh at me.”
Alora’s stomach turned. She bent down so they were eye level.
“You don’t need to change one thing about yourself, okay? Not one.”
“But they said-”
“They’re wrong.”
Mateo sniffed. “I like unicorns.”
“Unicorns are awesome,” she said. “I’m literally going to ask for a unicorn pencil case next week.”
He cracked a small smile.
Behind them, the kids had scattered. Probably back to their own cubbies, probably already pretending it never happened.
Alora didn’t forget though.
She never would.
Ten minutes later, Pedri pulled up outside the school.
He saw them sitting on the front steps.
Alora had her arm around Mateo’s shoulder. Mateo was eating half a granola bar and leaning into her like he needed to know someone was still solid.
Pedri got out and waved. “Hola, hijos.”
Mateo stood up, all smiles again. “Mamí!”
Pedri lifted him easily into his arms, kissing his temple. “Good day?”
Mateo nodded. “Better now.”
Alora stayed quiet as she climbed into the back seat.
Pedri looked at her through the mirror as they pulled away. “Everything alright?”
She hesitated.
Then she nodded. “It is now.”
Mateo held her hand the whole ride home.
That night, the house was quiet by nine.
Mateo had fallen asleep during his second bedtime story, curled up with his favorite stuffed flamingo and breathing slow and steady. Pedri tucked the blankets up to his chin and kissed his forehead before slipping out of the room.
In the hallway, Alora was waiting.
Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, her face flushed - not like she’d been crying, but like she was angry. Still.
“Hey,” Pedri whispered. “You okay?”
She nodded, but it was shaky.
Ferran poked his head out of their bedroom. “What’s going on?”
“I need to tell you something,” she said. “Now.”
They exchanged a quick glance, then led her into the living room.
Pedri sat on the couch. Ferran joined him. Alora stood in front of them, arms locked tight around herself like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or shout.
“It was those kids,” she said. “At pick-up.”
Pedri leaned forward a little. “With Mateo?”
Alora nodded. “They were saying things to him. Making fun of him. For dancing. For liking pink. For saying he wants a ballerina cake. For unicorns. Like… stupid things. But they kept laughing. And he just stood there.”
Ferran’s expression shifted. Not explosive, but sharp. Quietly serious.
Alora kept going. “I told them off. I made them stop. But-” she paused, voice hitching “-but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Because he’s four. And if they’re already doing that to him now, what’s going to happen when he’s older? What if people don’t stop? What if he starts thinking he should be different?”
Pedri stood up slowly and crouched in front of her, hands gentle on her arms.
“Alora,” he said softly. “You did the right thing.”
“I just… I don’t want him to feel like there’s something wrong with him.”
“There’s not,” Ferran said immediately.
“Never will be,” Pedri added. “He’s exactly who he’s meant to be. And because of you? He knows someone’s always in his corner.”
Alora blinked fast. “He didn’t even cry. Not really. He just looked… small.”
Pedri hugged her then. Full, warm, protective. The kind of hug that steadies every storm.
Ferran moved behind them and wrapped his arms around both.
“You’re a good sister,” he said into her hair.
“I wanted to fight them,” she mumbled.
“We’ll teach you better ways,” Pedri whispered.
“But also,” Ferran added, “we totally get it.”
They stayed there a while.
Three hearts beating in the same rhythm, in a quiet house full of softness and light.
And down the hall, Mateo slept soundly, unaware that his sister had already become the shield he’d carry for the rest of his life.
- sofía ✎ᝰ.