The Fame and The Game ✔

I shake my head, looking at the invitation in my hand. Why did this have to be tomorrow? And why did I have to open my mouth about being a Drake fan? Thursday's the first game of the NBA finals, and I can't be caught dead in a picture with him before this is all over—or we'll definitely lose.

But it's a personal invite, and I can't just say, "Hey man I love your music, but I can't come to your party because I think you're cursed—hope we can still be friends, though." I'm sure he'd take that well—I need to figure something out. Now. While pacing the floor, my phone rings. So, I go over and pick it up off the bed.

"Sup, Kevin," I say.

"Sup, Raúl."

"Nothin' much—chillin' like a villain."

"Cool, cool—so you need a ride over to Drake's tomorrow night or are you driving?"

Crap! Make something up. "Um, I don't know if I'm going, bro."

"What do you mean you don't know if you're going?"

"I mean, I don't know—I'm not feeling a hundred per cent—I think I'm getting a cold."

"A cold, Aunt Jemima, for real?"

"Look, man, I don't wanna make anyone else sick. Plus, I need to rest up for the game—"

"Bro, bro, bro—" he cuts me off. "I'm gonna come over in five and hook you up with some Buckley's and some Vicks—that's what my granny always uses—works every time."

"I don't use Vicks—"

"And that's why you be sick—"

"Oh, see—thought my mom was back in the Dominican—didn't realize she moved to Toronto and borrowed your phone."

"Oh, you think you funny, huh?"

"I can be—"

"Raúl, you have to go to the party. Just hang for a bit, take a few pics with Drake then duck out—you don't have to stay for the whole thing."

"Kev, I told you; I don't feel—"

"I'll swing by in a few," he hangs up before I can finish.

Panic hits me like a crosstown bus. But then I get an idea. I whip out my laptop and google a recipe for fake vomit. And with the help of mustard, crackers and some water, I have something that looks like real puke. But putting that mixture in my mouth is a mistake. I barf.

Fortunately, that made selling my fake stomach flu to Kevin much easier. And telling him I had the runs, was enough to send him running. He did leave me the Buckley's and the Vicks, though. 

Well, tomorrow is now today, and I'm scrolling Instagram looking at pictures from the party. And I must admit, it does look lit. Next time when there's not a championship on the line, I'll definitely be attending.

For now, I'm in my PJs listening to Drake's Thank Me Later album while playing some NBA 2K. Hold up, my phone's buzzing. Kevin's in a picture with Drake—they poured out a drink for me: #ForRaul. Wait a minute. Does the curse include hashtags?