Say You Won't Let Go

Dinner Disaster

I push my door open, escaping the pounding rain. My clothes sags with water, dripping along the wooden floor.

Slipping my shoes off, I shut the door behind me. A coughing noise startles me, making me drop my phone on the ground.

"What happened to you? You're drenched and late." Alejandro stresses, standing up from where he was sitting on the stairs. I pick up my phone, tossing it on a stair.

"I followed a friend home. She wasn't feeling well." I mutter, stripping off my shirt and revealing my tank top. I'm not going to change and shower until I read the chapter for english class. That will make me do it faster.

I toss the shirt next to my phone so I can pick both of them up before showering. Alejandro wrings his hands.

"Is she okay now?" Alejandro asks, placing his hand on my forehead to make sure I'm not running a fever. His hand feels very warm.

"I don't think so." I sigh, running my fingers through my wet hair. I sling my backpack around my shoulder, walking into the kitchen where I sit down and pull out my book.

"Oh." Is all Alejandro says, looking down. I begin to read the assigned chapter, slouching against the back of my chair.

His phone begins to ring in his pocket. He leaves the kitchen to answer it.

I finish reading my chapter, shoving my book back into my backpack and trekking upstairs with my shirt and phone. My phone dings in my hand but I'm cold and numb enough that I barely feel it.

Throwing my phone onto my bed and my shirt into the hamper, I fully strip my clothes off and jump into the shower.

Feeling the warm water over my body is an absolutely amazing feeling. It relieves my stress and worry from today, allowing me to melt down the drain along with the water.

Reluctantly, I get out of the shower when I'm done, wrapping a towel around my body and hurrying back to my room. I put on some soft pajamas, taking a deep breath.

Finally, some warmth.

I leave my phone upstairs, walking down into the hallway and making my way into the kitchen. Alejandro is sitting on the couch, his phone still glued to his ear. When he sees me, he waves to get my attention.

"Can you make dinner? I'm busy." He asks, rubbing his temples with his free hand. I nod, smiling softly.

"Yeah." I answer, looking around the kitchen.

Now, I don't really know how to make any food. I could just order pizza but I don't think that's considered 'making food'.

If I had my phone I could look up a recipe or something but I'm too lazy to go back upstairs and get it. Plus, I'd probably burn the meal anyway. I'm not the best cooker.

Casting a gaze at my father who looks very concerned, I sigh and start to rummage through the cupboards.

I find some spices and herbs in the cupboard closest to the refrigerator, some bowls in the lower cabinets, different boxed food in the pantry, and sauces scattered either in the refrigerator or in some smaller drawers.

Going back to the pantry, I grab a box of macaroni and cheese. I could attempt this. But, then, I remember fourteen-year old Camila trying to boil water for the noodles.

That didn't go well.

My mom had told me to watch the pot of boiling water while she went up and cycled the laundry. So, Mom went up to do as she said and I watched the boiling water.

She hadn't told me to stir the noodles occasionally so the water wouldn't overflow and sizzle on the burner. Sooner rather than later, boiling hot water started to trickle over the edge of the pot.