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Chapter One - The Beginning

(Alicia’s POV)

Sorry Babe. Can’t make it to dinner tonight.

I narrow my eyes at the text, willing it to change into something incredibly sweet, such as: “Can’t wait to see you :)” or “How was France?” or “I really, really miss you.” But no matter how hard I try, there’s no way to avoid the truth.

My boyfriend is a total asshole.

I drop my iPhone on the bed, choosing not to reply. What am I supposed to say? Sounds great?! No problem?! This is infuriating. I was in Paris last week, so I thought Josh would be excited to see me. Obviously not. I guess I better alert Maria to the change.

I tip toe past my snoring terrier Oscar towards the intercom, kicking a few schoolbooks out of the way. My room’s a bit of a mess right now. I just got back from Europe last night, and I haven’t gotten a chance to unpack or adjust to this time zone. Or at least that’s what I’m telling Mom, who keeps insisting I clean up. I press the green button and sigh. This is going to be so embarrassing.

“Maria?” I ask softly, hoping she won’t answer. I lean close the intercom, tilting my ear towards it.

“SI?!” she responds instantly, her loud voice shattering my eardrums.

“Ow!” I yelp, covering my ear. I glance towards Oscar, who’s now wide-awake, looking at me. He seems annoyed.

“Sorry,” I mouth to him. Wow. I just apologized to my dog.

“Aye, niña! What is it?!”

“Um, Josh isn’t coming to dinner anymore,” I mumble, feeling ashamed.

“Oh serious!? I already prepared his portion!” Her words are weighed down by her heavy Colombian accent.  

“Yeah, he’s busy,” I suddenly realize that he didn’t even say WHY he’s not coming! I march back to bed and grab my phone.

“Well fine,” she says, “His portion will be leftover! Just you, mama, and papi for dinner, okay?”

“Thanks, Maria!” I call, already across the room.

“You’re welcome mi linda niña,” she responds, calling me ‘Pretty Girl’ in Spanish. I hear the intercom hang up, and it’s silent. I can’t stand it when it’s like this. My room feels so big and ominous without noise. I speed walk to my laptop and blast some Beyoncé.

“FINALLY, YOU PUT MY LOVE ON TOP, BABY, CAUSE YOU’RE THE ONE THAT I LOVEEEEE,” I sing along, dancing around my room. Music makes me feel more alive than anything else. Oscar barks and follows me around, right on my heels. I pick him up and hop on the couch, jumping up and down a few times. It’s ironic. I’m singing about a guy who puts Beyoncé’s love on top, when my guy won’t even come over for dinner. Even though he agreed to. A week ago. I put Oscar down, open our conversation, and text him back. 

Why not.

I figure that’s a good response. It’s obvious that I’m angry, and it seems like I don’t care very much when I actually do. I absentmindedly braid my long hair, waiting for his reply. The music soon switches from Beyoncé to Can I Kick It, by Tribe Called Quest, and I grin in spite of myself, nodding along to the beat. I’ve been in love with this song since I was ten.

A few more songs go by, and he finally responds.

I can’t because my parents are making me write an essay I forgot about. Don’t be mad.

I sigh, combing my fingers through my hair anxiously. Here comes the ultimatum. To be mad or not to be mad? I mean, he can’t help it if his teacher assigned an essay, right?