Beto—the gringo hunters

Beto and I were best friends long before we were born, thanks to our parents. When he left, it didn't affect me much, until Dad died. He didn't even attend his funeral; he just sent his parents to say, "I'm sorry." Now, weeks later, I was already on the international liaison team, "the Gringo Hunters." I hadn't expected Beto to be there too, but now he was my sworn enemy. Apparently, he disliked me as well, but we had to put up with each other for the sake of everyone. What I didn't know was that he was unintentionally making me feel bad just because he didn't want to be with me again; he felt bad. That day, I was showering in the locker room at headquarters. I came out, drying my hair.

"What?" I asked, noticing everyone staring at me. Gloria pointed to a mirror. I turned around, seeing my reflection now with red hair; it didn't take an expert to figure out who it was. "Alberto!" I shouted, clenching my fists. A giggle echoed from the doorway.

"Did you miss me, 'friend'?" Her mocking smile was infuriating, but her eyes—those damned eyes—contained something raw.

"You have three seconds to explain yourself," I said firmly.

He leaned towards me, his voice low. —Or what?— The challenge hung between us, thick as the smell of cheap dye.