·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ mEeTiNg ThE nEiGhBoRs

The smell of vanilla and butter drifted through the house, curling under Tyler’s bedroom door and tickling his nose. It was Saturday morning—his favorite day to sleep in—but the scent made it impossible. His mom was baking again. He stretched under the blanket, blinking at the sunlight through the blinds. “Tyler! Up, sweetie! I need you dressed in ten minutes!” her voice called from downstairs, cheerful but commanding. Tyler groaned into his pillow. “Why?” No answer. Only the sound of cupboards opening and something clinking on the counter. Then, the smell got stronger—fresh cookies. Chocolate chip. His mom’s go-to when she wanted to make a good impression. Oh no. The new neighbors. She’d been talking about them all week—a family from Mexico moving into the house next door. She’d said, “You should be friendly, Tyler. Their son’s about your age!” And today, apparently, was the big welcome. He sighed, dragging himself out of bed. He wasn’t great with new people. His words came out weird when he got nervous, and his mom’s enthusiasm usually made it worse. Still, he got dressed—jeans, gray hoodie—and went downstairs. The kitchen was full of sunlight and cookie smell. His mom stood by the counter, sealing a tin. “There you are!” she said. “You look nice.” “It’s just a hoodie.” “It’s clean. That’s enough.” She handed him the tin. “You’ll give this to them.” He stared at it like it might explode. “What if I drop it?” “Then you’ll pick it up and smile.” He snorted. “You’re evil.” “Efficient,” she said, grabbing her purse. “Come on, before they start lunch.” They stepped outside. The neighborhood was calm, lawns trimmed, birds scattered along fences. The Montefalcos’ house looked different now—colorful curtains in the windows, potted plants on the porch, a small blue tricycle by the steps. Tyler’s mom was practically glowing. “Their son’s name is Andrei,” she said as they walked. “Isn’t that nice?” “Sure.” “You should show him around school. It’s hard being new.” Tyler knew that. He’d moved once before and spent his first week eating lunch alone. His mom must’ve seen his face because she smiled and ruffled his hair. “Hey, just be yourself.” “Mom.” “What? It’s true.” The house looked cozy—boxes on the porch, faint Spanish music drifting out, warm and lively. His mom climbed the steps confidently. Tyler hesitated, eyeing the doormat. “Bienvenidos,” it read. Welcome. Fitting. His mom looked back, motioning for him to follow. He sighed and stepped up, shifting the cookie tin nervously between his hands. His palms were sweaty. Why was he so tense? It wasn’t like meeting a teacher. Just another kid. His mom pressed the doorbell. A cheerful chime echoed. Voices inside, footsteps, laughter. Tyler’s heart picked up. “Mom, what if they don’t speak English?” “Kindness doesn’t need translation,” she whispered. The doorknob turned. Tyler straightened, clutching the cookie tin like a shield. His reflection stared back—wide-eyed, nervous. He took a breath as the door opened, light spilling across the porch.