Unseen Strings

Chapter 1

Angelina

"Angie?" My mother called.

"What?!" I shouted down the stairs.

"There's something here for you!" She shouted back, her voice filled with annoyance.

"Can't be! I didn't order anything!" I started to move down the stairs.

"It's a letter you dumbass." My older brother, Ramon, passed by me , giving me the envelope.

"Ramon!" My mother yelled after him, "¡Cuida tu lenguaje! (Watch your language)"

"¿Por qué debería hacerlo? ¡Ella es estúpida! (Why should I? She is stupid!)" Ramon chuckled as he shouted back down at her.

"¡Ven aquí! ¡Te lo mostraré estúpido! (Come here! I will show you stupid!)" She shouted, starting up the stairs with a wooden spoon in her hand. "¡Ven aquí!(Come here!)" She started to reach out toward Ramon.

"Mama!" he shouted as she got near, "Don't hit me!" He shoved past me, nearly knocking him over. I grabbed onto the railing as he raced into his room.

"¡Ven aquí Ramón Diego! (Come here Ramon Diego!)" She cried as she waddled after him.

I just rolled my eyes as I regained my footing, it was not rare for Ramon to be chased by our mother for some grievance or another. I felt my brows furrow as I looked down at the letter; it had no return address, and the only word on the envelope was "Angel," written in beautiful scrawled calligraphy. No one called me Angel, this I knew, but curiosity got the better of me. I dragged my feet back to the room I shared with my older sister, Carmen. She was nowhere to be seen, so I slumped on my bed and yanked open the envelope. It contained a simple sheet of paper, neatly folded. I peered at the paper listlessly.

"Hello Angel," it read. "It's lovely to meet you. I hope we can be best friends."

I raised an eyebrow as I looked for a signature or a symbol of who it had been from. I turned the paper over, and even held it over a light, just in case the signature had worn off. I found nothing on the paper, and shrugged as I laid it on my bedside table. I crashed backward on my bed and stared up at the crack in my bedroom ceiling. At the time, I thought nothing of the letter, or its contents..

I am called Angelina Rosalina Morales Ruiz, and I am twenty years old. I was born into a loving, large Latino family in California. My dark hair and eyes were the objects of desire for many, but as I matured, my life swung in many ways. At home I was always Angie; at school I was Rosa; and to my best friend, Laci, I was Rosie. To him, I was always Angel, and I grew to detest the name.

Laci Walker had been my best friend since we were 16. I relied heavily on her support, especially since she knew about what I had come to call my little problem. Laci Hae-Won Walker, a striking blend of Korean and American heritage, arrived at our private school with her family on her very first day. Laci was thrilled when we both got into the same college. The idea of starting a new chapter together, side by side, filled her with excitement. We planned to live together, sharing adventures and late-night study sessions. Her parents, however, had other ideas. As if relics of a different age, they worried endlessly about us being on our own in a new place. They insisted that we live in the same apartment building as Laci's older brother. Her brother, a perpetual source of teasing and annoyance, was anything but ideal company. While I was indifferent to him, Laci's disdain for him was palpable.

I only knew him as JJ. Laci complained about him endlessly, but she also seemed to worship his appearance. Towering at nearly six feet, JJ was lean and striking with jet-black hair and dark eyes. His sharp features were complemented by a closely cropped haircut. As a full-blooded Korean, he exuded an exotic allure that Laci often lamented over. Laci herself was petite, standing at five foot two. Her dark brown hair and eyes framed a circular face, and her slender figure often led to being labeled "plain" by potential suitors. While her older brother was universally liked, Laci seemed to struggle with social acceptance. No matter what I tried, she was never satisfied.