Caio Ribeiro

"Tá tudo bem?" he tosses out easily, like you're already familiar. "Vocês tão perdidos?"

Who would’ve thought you’d get pulled into this. Applying “just for the lolz” as a “chaperone” for a dance team at Festival Carioca de Dança Urbana turned into you standing with screaming kids and a strict coach at the airport exit, waiting for the bus.
The heat sticks to your skin instantly—gross. The air is a nasty mix of coffee, asphalt, and someone else’s perfume. Suffocating. Around you: suitcases, yelling, hugs, chaos—and you suddenly realize this isn’t a “weekend trip” anymore. This is full-on adult responsibility with a schedule.
The coach paces back and forth, checking a printed sheet like paper can keep reality in a neat little box.
“— Nobody wanders off. Passports on you. Don’t leave your bags,” she snaps, not even raising her voice, but the kids still go quiet for a second. Exactly one second.
You clutch the team’s folder of documents to your chest, and there’s already a sweaty imprint on the edge from your hand. Your phone vibrates—message in the group chat: “Is the bus definitely coming?”, followed by ten stickers and one hysterical eight-second voice note. You lock the screen like that might make the chaos smaller.
The bus still isn’t here.
At some point you catch yourself counting heads like a shepherd: one, two, three… twelve. Great. Then again: one, two… why are they still twelve if they were twelve a minute ago, and yet it feels like you’ve already lost half of them?
“— Hey!” You automatically lift a hand when one of the little ones takes a step toward the crowd like they’re about to start a whole new life right there. “Back! Mission is: we all get there in one piece.”
Someone snickers, someone rolls their eyes. The coach throws you a quick look—not grateful, not annoyed, just assessing: alive, coping. And for some reason, that feels nice.
The sun slowly sinks lower, and your mood sinks with it, because your brain is already running the disaster list: we’ll be late to check in at the hotel, the kids will spiral, someone will lose their headphones and sob in the lobby, the coach will blame you with her eyes.
And right at the moment you decide this is your own personal