text: Hector contorted his face as he pulled his nose to the side, flattening out his nostril. He carefully studied the line that ran along the base of his nose, connecting it to the rest of his face. With surgical steady hands, he dragged a cotton swab, soaked in rubbing alcohol, along the smooth valley, gathering up even the most infinitesimal speak of dirt and oil. Exchanging the cotton swab into his right hand he pulled his nose once again, this time to the right, and repeated the methodic cleansing. Upon completion, the swab landed upon a pile of fifteen similar swabs, each one soaked in alcohol, each one assigned to a different area of his young face. Prior to the beginning of the ritual, he had never anticipated the growing pile of cotton swabs, but upon the conclusion of his first stroke, a swab that rode along the bottom of his jaw on the right side: the true filthiness of his face was revealed. A shade appeared on the soft white cotto, causing him to set down the single swab and retrieve the rest of the pack. He couldn’t risk cross-contamination, not tonight. Thew next swab’s lofty location was across the hairline. Hector held back his dark black hair, and instead of rubbing, decided to dab the cotton at the very conjunction of the face and scalp. Pulling back the smooth hair proved slightly more difficult than he could have expected. The hour-long shower, which consisted of a thirty-minute hair conditioning soak, proved effective, softening his hair to where it held little resistance to the light pull of his fingers. The momentary setback caused him not even the slightest bit of frustration, but rather a slight smile, indicating his realization of the success of his immaculate grooming. As he reached the left temple he paused. It was at this spot, on his older brothers face where the event occurred. An event that directly contributed to this evening’s ritual. Five years ago, as his older brother, Miguel, stepped into Karlew Middle School for the first time, beginning his sixth-grade year; a small red bump pushed through his coffee-colored skin. The newly formed pimple had beaten through the creams, exfoliators, and preparation. Unfortunately, the blemish went undetected, by Miguel. If it had, he surely could have hidden the blemish behind a sticker, as pre-teens often do, as in the least combed his hair forward, obstructing the view to others. But no, Miguel didn’t notice, and if anyone else had it went unmentioned until lunch time when an uninspiring fellow adolescent shouted out, “Hey Cano”, a lazy version of ‘volcano.’ Edven thought the pimple only lasted a single day, thanks to an old home remedy involving a paste containing, baking powder, honey, and garlic; the nickname followed him throughout his life. Through creativity, a little fortune, and the short goldfish like attention span of middle-schoolers, he was successful at convincing everyone that the name came from his explosive speed in P.E. Yet Hector knew the truth, and would on occasion, find his brother, alone, his head buried in his hands, melodically repeating over and over, “Cano can’t yo.... Cano can’t yo.” Hector had no idea what he meant by the depressing mantra and dismissed it as a hormonal imbalance. Yet he swore to himself that he would not allow puberty to cause him even the most similar of fates. His sister, Olivia had had a very different experience with middle-school puberty. Her skin was flawless, the envy of both friend and frenemy. Not one picture existed of her face being less than perfect. Even after posting an exhaustive catalogue of the week, she had the flue during her fifth-grade year, her face remained unchanged. On social media she was constantly being accused of using filters, and despite her most noble attempts at proving the naysayers wrong, the comment section continued to fill with scandalous accusations. From the safety of online separation and even visual distance she was both desired and despised, yet upon closer approach her pubescent initiation was made potently and pungently clear. She stunk. Her armpits exuded a smell that can only be described as undead. A putrid mix of damp decay with floral notes of relentless rot. No over-the-counter deodorant could mask the unforgiving odor. Eventually a secret concoction from Romania was discovered to contradict the stench. Hector had always assumed that the creator of the miracle potion had received the Nobel Prize for chemistry or for some other humanitarian centered category. Fortunately for Olivia, the moment of her ‘flowering’ occurred as she and some of her friends were hanging out behind the cafeteria next to the dumpster. The smell was easily explained and upon discovering that the fungal fragrance was exuding from her own body, she quickly made and excuse to leave. She then had to suddenly, “take care of her ailing aunt” for the next several months and only had contact with her friends through social media. To help sell the lie, Hector had to dress up on several occasion, impersonating different cousins and enduring the olfactory onslaught as he posed in several staged pictures. Despite the odds being stacked against him, he was determined that he would beat puberty, with both its subtle and blatant attacks. The hour shower not only prepared his hair, but his body as well. He had scrubbed places he had never scrubbed before, using both luffas and exfoliators. With the last dab of the cotton swab upon his hairline he was finished. Never had their existed, in the history of the world, a cleaner, unblemished young man. A proud grim slowly formed. “I don’t know how you did it?” he charmingly questioned his reflection, “but somehow... you did.” He ended the exchange with a finger point, wink, and an even larger grin. The rising confidence exposed his teeth in an overly positive smile. He immediately leaned forward. Pulling down his lower lip while jutting out his jaw, he inspected his lower teeth. Not one speck of plaque or discoloration. His gums were a deep rea, contrasting the whiteness of his teeth. Next, he raised his upper lip to inspect those teeth as well. Dental perfection. Raising his hand as a cup in front of his mouth, he let out a quick exhale. Breathing in he could only detect the subtle fragrance of mint. “Not going to happen.” he slowly stated, leaning unusually close to the mirror, “You did it.” Another over-confident smile exposed his teeth, which for a moment looked slightly yellow. “What the....” he quickly let out as he leaned even closer to himself. He smiled again. They were slightly yellow. To his shock as he closed his mouth to confront his own stare, his skin too began to take on a slight yellow hue. Quickly he closed his eyes. Titling his head down he turned on the faucet. Catching some water in his hands he splashed it onto his face. He looked up again. The yellow hue continued to grow. Another splash of water revealed that even his hands appeared to have a yellow hue, yet when he looked down upon them, his hands appeared perfectly normal. Once again, he held up his hand to the mirror. The reflected hand was turning yellow, yet the back of his hand continued to have the same complexion. Even his exposed chest was slowly becoming yellow. In a frenzy he continued looking back and forth from no mirror to reflection. Comparing the two there was a difference. The mirror was turning his whole-body yellow, and oddly enough a yellow that seemed familiar. In a fit of frustration, he turned away from the torturing glass, and then he saw it. The wall opposite the mirror was yellow, and not just any yellow, the exact shade his body was morphing into. In horror he turned back to face his jaundice counterpart, realizing instantly that he wasn’t turning yellow but instead his reflection was vanishing. “No... not today,” he screamed as he placed both hands upon the mirror, each holding their fading twin. “Please,” he quietly pleaded, placing his forehead upon the cool glass, “I was supposed to have a few more years.” He looked up once again and stared into his own eye; eyes he would never see in reflection again. As his phantom body slowly disappeared, he stepped back to take one last look. “I guess I’ll... see ya around,” he slowly let out. He smiled one last time, not an overly confident smile from moments before, but a large smile, big enough for him to be sure. And there amongst the fading yellow teeth, he saw them, two extending fangs.