Disappointment might as well have been tattooed across my forehead. Of course Sergie had to cancel. At the last possible minute.
One second, I'm waiting in his car, mentally preparing myself for whatever "interview" he needed me for. The next, his phone buzzes, he mutters something about an "emergency," and I'm being dropped off at my apartment like I'm a DoorDash order.
Figures. Sergie Villarreal, human embodiment of false hope. A walking, talking reminder of why I don't trust charming smiles or guys with perfectly tousled hair.
I trudged up the apartment steps, still salty enough to season a family-sized order of fries. When I reached our door, I didn't even bother fishing for my keys. As usual, it was unlocked. Sely's trademark move—apparently, locking doors is "oppressive."
Except this time, when I stepped inside, I froze.
"Fauna?"
My sister—the elusive, lives-in-Seattle, only-shows-up-when-it's-a-holiday sister—was sitting cross-legged on our couch like she owned the place.
Fauna almost never visits. The last time she did, she stormed in with a bag of kale chips and "checked" if I was eating properly. (Translation: she lectured me for 30 minutes about processed food, boys, and how I should "start networking now if I want to retire before forty.")
She didn't even look up from her tablet. "I'm your older sister. Call me 'Ate.'"
I groaned. "We're not in the Philippines, Fauna. Nobody here says 'Ate.'"
She arched a brow, clearly unimpressed. I'm the youngest of three: Aine, our bossy eldest sister who could probably run for Congress and win, and Fauna, the quiet-but-suspicious middle child who has the social warmth of a tax auditor.
It's not that I dislike her. It's just… weird seeing her here, unannounced.
Without another word, I slipped into my room to change. I was melting in my jeans and hoodie, and if I had to endure Fauna's silent judgment, I'd at least do it in sweatpants.
When I came back out, Sely was in the kitchen cooking rice (again—yes, my influence), Marie was scrolling TikTok, and Fauna had somehow cornered Marie into polite small talk.
"So, Marie…" Fauna's voice was casual, but I know her well enough to catch the interrogation energy brewing. "Does Ash have a boyfriend?"
Excuse me? Am I under federal investigation? Should I call my lawyer?
Marie didn't even look up from her phone. "Don't think so."
And she's right. I don't. Not really. I mean, technically there's Sergie—except not really, because apparently he's too busy ditching me for emergencies. So, yeah. Single.
"Good," Fauna murmured with a little nod, like she'd just crossed a name off some mysterious hit list.
She finally noticed me lingering in the doorway and stood, smoothing out her blazer. "Dad sent your allowance for next week. That's why I came. Bye now."
She handed me a folded envelope, papers and a credit card inside, already making a beeline for the door.
"Wait, stay for dinner!" I called after her. Not that we had anything remotely impressive to serve, but still. It's the thought that counts
.
She waved me off. "Can't. I'll miss my ride. Be good."
And just like that, she was gone—our resident family spy, in and out like a covert agent. I texted her a quick thanks before realizing I'd forgotten to actually say it out loud. Ugh. I'm officially terrible at goodbyes.
By the next day, I'd mostly shaken off my irritation about Sergie. Mostly.
It was lunchtime, and I was weaving through the crowded campus cafeteria to meet my crew: Marie, Sely, and Alcy. Eve—our honorary fifth—wasn't around because she went to Princeton technically.
The three of them were already at our usual table, heads down, thumbs tapping furiously at their phones like they were hacking into the Pentagon.
I plopped my tray down—spaghetti and a Coke float, same as everyone else—and waited for someone to acknowledge my existence. No dice.
Fine. If they're going to ignore me for their boyfriends (or whoever they're texting), I'll just ignore them right back. I pulled out my phone and opened Wattpad. Might as well escape into fictional love while my real-life friends abandon me for heart emojis.
I was just settling into a chapter about a brooding vampire stepbrother (don't judge me) when—
"Ash!"
I glanced up. Sely was smirking, her phone tilted toward me.
And oh. My. God.
My virgin eyes.
The audacity of this girl to flash me a full-blown, uncensored scene—in public, in a cafeteria, surrounded by people who are literally trying to eat!
"Holy—" I choked, sputtering Coke float all over her pristine white nursing uniform.
"WHAT THE HELL, ASH?!" Sely shrieked, leaping to her feet, her shirt now a sticky, caramel-colored disaster.
"Oops," I said, biting back a laugh. "Reflex! Not my fault you're traumatizing me in broad daylight."
Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Oh, you're so dead."
The next thing I knew, my spaghetti was sailing through the air like a crime of passion, splattering across her chest in a spray of red sauce.
She gasped like I'd just stabbed her, then grabbed Alcy's untouched lasagna and smeared it down my face and—well, technically my chest, but calling it a "chest" feels generous. Flat as an airport runway. Thanks, Sely. Really boosts the confidence.
Within seconds, we were clawing at each other's hair like two feral raccoons, shrieking and laughing and completely oblivious to the horrified gasps around us.
Until—
"BOTH OF YOU. MY OFFICE. NOW!"
We froze mid–hair pull, turning slowly to see the Guidance Council standing there, arms crossed, heels tapping on the tile like a countdown to our funerals.
Across the table, Marie and Alcy? Laughing so hard they were wiping tears from their eyes. Traitors.
Ten minutes later, we were standing in the Guidance's office, smelling like the aftermath of a food fight at Olive Garden, with spaghetti in our hair and marinara stains on our clothes.
"Did I say you could sit?" she barked, glaring at us over her cat-eye glasses. We both stiffened like soldiers at attention.
This woman radiated "evil stepmother in a Disney movie" energy. She even referred to the cafeteria as "my cafeteria." (Ma'am, unless you're personally buying us those soggy fries, chill.)
"Why," she began, voice dripping with disdain, "were you two brawling in the middle of my cafeteria? Do you have any idea how unprofessional—how embarrassing—that is?"
Sely, unbothered queen that she is, tilted her head and smiled sweetly. "We weren't fighting, Miss. We're best friends. We do this all the time. Just… normal bonding."
I nodded along silently, praying she'd work her black magic and get us out of this.
"Best friends?" eyebrow arched so high I thought it might detach. "Since when do best friends pull each other's hair and hurl lasagna like toddlers? Are you not humiliated?"
"Nope," Sely said cheerfully, scrolling through her phone. "Look, here's us at prom in seventh grade. And at that one fair where Ash tripped into a dunk tank. See? Totally normal."
Somehow—by sheer sorcery, manipulation, or divine intervention—she convinced the Dean we weren't violent delinquents but simply… quirky.
"Fine," Miss said finally, though her glare could still cut through steel. "As punishment, you're cleaning the entire cafeteria. Every table, every tray, every dish. Spotless. If anything like this ever happens again, it'll be a month. Clear?"
"Yes, Miss," we chorused, bowing our heads like we were in some K-drama where the strict headmistress secretly runs a mafia.
"Witch. Absolute witch," I muttered, shaking my head.
Sely just smirked as we finally stepped out of the office, both of us holding back laughter. The minute we were far enough down the hallway, we completely lost it.
We stopped by a window and caught sight of our reflections.
Oh. My. God.
Our hair looked like a tornado passed through it. Our faces were a mess. And there—dangling like some sad trophy—a strand of spaghetti was still stuck in Sely's hair.
"I look hotter now, don't I?" Sely tilted her head, admiring herself in the glass like she was auditioning for America's Next Top Model: Cafeteria Fight Edition.
I snorted. "You're a mess, and you're washing this uniform, you demon."
"Yeah, yeah. Let's just go home." She tugged on my wrist, and we started walking.
Thankfully, our apartment's only a few blocks from campus. Even if we looked like we got jumped by a lasagna, at least we didn't have to deal with public transport.
People stared as we passed. Like, not even subtle side-eyes—full-on double takes. Can you blame them? We reeked of tomato sauce and regret. If we didn't shower soon, flies might start circling.
By the time we got to our building, Sely dropped her bag on the couch and declared, "We're showering together."
I choked on my water. "Excuse me? What now?"
She rolled her eyes. "Relax, Miss Straight-Laced. I mean, if you shower first and then me, we'll be late. If we both shower, we're out the door faster. Got it?"
Oh. Right. Of course.
"Fine," I muttered, glaring at her. "But no weird Wattpad fanfic ideas. You've been reading too much."
"Please," she said, smirking. "Like I'd ever write about you. My standards are higher."
"Rude."
By morning, I regretted everything.
All our uniforms were still drying on the clothesline, soaked from yesterday's soap opera. So there we were, both in plain white T-shirts and skinny jeans, speed-walking to class like a pair of Target mannequins.
Except—plot twist—when we finally got to school, we found out there were no classes.
Some random campus-wide event had canceled everything.
I froze. "You're telling me I ran here, freshly showered, sweating again, for nothing?!"
If I checked the school's Facebook page, like a normal human, I'd have known. But nooo, I live for chaos.
Defeated, I spun on my heel. "I'm going home. Forget this."
And that's when I saw him.
Leaning against his motorcycle, like he was posing for a commercial, was Sergie. Of course. His stupid leather jacket, his annoyingly perfect smile, and that casual head tilt like he wasn't actively driving me insane.
I waved—just casually, not thirsty or anything. His head snapped toward me, his lips curling into that grin that makes every girl within a ten-foot radius sigh. He waved back.
For a second, my heart stupidly skipped.
"Hey, what are you doing here?" I asked once I reached him.
"Have you seen Selena?"
My soul left my body.
Selena. He was looking for Selena. Not me. Not ever me.
I forced a smile. "Nope. Thought she didn't get in Yale."
"Got it. Thanks." He flashed another smile before pulling out his phone. I nodded, turned, and started walking out the gate. Straight to the bookstore. Anywhere but here.
I could practically hear my heart screaming You clown! You absolute clown! in my head.
"Ash! Where are you going?!" Sergie's voice followed me.
I spun, my patience hanging by a thread. "Why do you care?"
"Attitude today, huh?" He arched a brow.
I rolled my eyes so hard I swear I saw my brain.
"Maybe I'm just tired of being everyone's second choice. Crazy thought, huh?" I muttered under my breath and kept walking.
But apparently, the universe wasn't done humiliating me yet.
"Hey, Ash! Wanna taste the sewer?!"
I froze. Oh, no.
Sely.
Charging toward me like an unhinged raccoon, she yanked my hair before I could react. "You think you're skipping out on cleaning duty just to flirt? Dream on!"
People stopped to watch. Phones were coming out.
"Selene! Let go before I go full Saitama and shave my head!" I hissed, trying to pry her death grip off my scalp.
"Nope! We're scrubbing that cafeteria until it shines, babe!"
"Uh, should I… help?" Sergie asked weakly, watching us like we were wild zoo animals.
Sely shot him a glare. "If you're gonna flirt, do it later. Right now, she's mine."
And with that, she dragged me all the way back to campus by my hair while the entire student body got free entertainment.
Hours later, after wiping every table, washing what felt like five thousand dishes, and battling a mountain of greasy pots, we stumbled out of the cafeteria like war survivors. My arms were jelly. My soul? Gone.
We barely made it down the steps before Sergie reappeared, leaning on his bike again like some romance cliché.
"Rough day?" he asked, smirking.
"You have no idea," I groaned.
He tossed me a helmet. "Come on. I'll take you home."
Normally, I'd tease him, maybe throw in a sarcastic comment. But right now? I just climbed on and prayed I didn't pass out mid-ride.
By the time we pulled up to my apartment, I'd dozed off against his back.
He nudged me awake. "Hey. You alive?"
Barely. "Thanks… sorry I passed out."
He chuckled. "You were out cold. Sleep, Ash. I'll bug you about that interview tomorrow."
As he revved his bike and drove off, I couldn't help but smile despite everything.
"Goodnight," I whispered, dragging my aching body inside.