Amalia Romano is sixteen years old now. Still a dancing prodigy, she lands herself a photoshoot for a magazine that'll help her get to where she wants to be.
It seems like everything's going perfectly fine. Her grades are booming, she has a nic...
I'm changing in my bedroom when my phone dings with a text. I grab it off the bed and click on the message from Frankie.
FRANKIE: You know what you did in the cafeteria today?
ME: Yeah?
FRANKIE: Don't do that again. I got loads of shit for it.
I look at the message for a moment. I was embarrassed when I noticed one or two people look over, but I was annoyed and upset. But now that I think of it, maybe it wasn't that deep.
ME: I'm sorry. Read.
I frown when he doesn't respond. Sighing, I throw my phone on the bed and collapse on top of it. I put my head in my hands and let out a heavy sigh.
"Amalia!" Mason shouts from the kitchen. I finish changing into a tracksuit before rushing out of my room, pocketing my phone, and following the sound of my brothers talking until I get to the kitchen.
"Hey." I say. They're all by the counter.
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I walk over to the stove and look at the white stuff inside it. I crinkle my nose. "That smells horrible."
"What does?" Mason asks idly as he scrolls through his phone.
"The stuff in the pan." I say. "What is it?"
Mason springs into action immediately. "Fuck!" He hisses. He jumps off his stool and moves the pan off the stove, turning it off immediately. He sets it back down tentatively and grabs a fork, using it to move the white stuff aside, revealing burnt black crust.
"I forgot about it." He whispers.
"What did you shout me for, then?" I ask.
"To see if you'd get me a drink." He replies.
I furrow my eyebrows. "You mean from the fridge that's two feet away from you?"
"Yeah. Can you grab me a Pepsi?"
I roll my eyes but walk over to the fridge and grab a Pepsi out. I'm about to shut it when Cole says: "can I have one too?"
"Same." Grayson mumbles.
I sigh and grab three out. I set one beside Mason, one next to Grayson and I'm about to put Cole's next to him when he pats me on the head and says: "thanks, little waitress."
Grayson snorts. I scowl and pull the Pepsi away. "You don't get one."
