Anonymous

“Jess!” Mum called up the stairs, her voice barely audible over the playlist I was blasting from my computer speakers. “Come down for supper!”

I paused my music and closed my laptop, running a hand through my hair as I got to my feet.

The second I walked out of my room, I was overwhelmed with the smell of freshly-made marinara sauce. Which meant only one thing.

“Yes!” I cheered as I walked into the dining room and found Mum’s famous (or, at least, it should be famous) ravioli, made from scratch.

Daddy chuckled at me as I took my seat, shaking his head back and forth. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“Great minds think alike,” I quoted, reaching over to high-five him.

“Alright, guys,” Mum interrupted, shooting us both looks. “Come on. Not over supper, please.”

She turned her back to get the butter for the Italian bread, and Daddy and I exchanged exasperated looks.

“Where’s Maria?” I questioned, trying my hardest not to whine.

“I called her up,” Mum defended, putting up her hands and shrugging. “It’s not my fault.”

I grumbled and got to my feet, figuring that I had to go find my sister if I was ever going to eat.

I found her downstairs on the basement couch, playing Xbox, swerving into a turn as she tore around a corner in the game. A few seconds later, she passed the checkered finish line and jumped to her feet, cheering. “TAKE THAT, SUCKERS!” she yelled, pointing at the television with gusto.

“Congrats,” I snickered from the doorway. “Can we eat now?”

She brushed away the hair that had fallen into her face in her excitement and nodded. “Sure,” she agreed, bumping into me as she walked by, pulling up her baggy jeans.

I let out a sigh. I wanted to tell my twelve-year-old sister to dress and act less like a guy, since she was starting to reach an age where it would no longer be acceptable, but I could never get the nerve. I had a feeling the conversation would just lead to an argument. Plus, it wasn’t any my business how she dressed, anyway. It was all her problem.

“Ah, Maria,” Mum greeted with a large smile, gesturing to the table. “Nice of you to join us, huh?”

“Sorry, Mum,” she responded, smiling sheepishly. “I was just in the middle of this really intense race.”

Mum sighed and waved the air, dismissing the subject, all too familiar and sick of Maria’s videogame excuses. “Maria, you know very well that you can stop the game while we eat.”

Maria opened her mouth to respond, but shut it again, thinking (rightfully so) that Mum would just get angrier.

Throughout the meal, we talked about Maria’s school, my school, Daddy’s new client at work, and what Mum did for cleaning throughout the day. Although, to be entirely honest, I wasn’t listening much. I was completely fixated on the food in front of me, how melty the cheese was in my mouth, how perfectly the marinara sauce was made. Granted, my mum better know how to make great marinara sauce, since her parents were straight from Italy, and she lived there until she was eleven.

“Jess, what do you think?” Mum questioned, noticing that I wasn’t listening to her talk about a problem she was having with my aunt.

I swallowed the bite of food in my mouth and blushed a little, making eye contact with my father.

He shook his head subtly, saving me from a lecture.

“Oh, I think that’s ridiculous,” I answered without too long of a pause.

“That’s what I thought!” Mum agreed emphatically. “Yet, she thinks that she has this sort of right to invite herself to live here if she loses her job. I told her that I love her, but we simply don’t have the room for her and her seven kids. We only have one spare room that could be converted into a bedroom, and that’s Maria’s game room.”

“We’re not giving my game room to them,” Maria argued, her dark eyebrows drawing together over her brown eyes. “I’m not giving my game room to anyone.”

“Don’t get your pants in a twist,” I chuckled. “Mum just said that they’re not even going to stay here.”

“Good,” she muttered indignantly, stabbing the last piece of ravioli.

Mum shook her head. “Maria, you really should get some interests other than videogames.”

Maria shrugged, not willing to entertain the conversation any further.

Mum sighed loudly and threw her fork against her plate. “Alright, who’s ready for pie?”

I looked down at my plate and groaned. Mum’s pie was always the best, but I’d eaten way too much ravioli to have room for pie. “Uh…I can’t,” I trailed off.

Mum turned to give me a stink-eye, the plates all piled up in her hand. “A small slice,” she insisted before going into the kitchen.

I sighed as quietly as possible as I leaned my elbow on the table, resting my head on my hand. To Mum, a “small piece” was probably about the size of my head.

But whatever. I’d choke it down to make her happy. And if I died of a stomachache later, at least I’d have died making my mother content with her cooking.

When I was finally released from the table, I went back up to my room as quickly as possible, my mind revving with anticipation of seeing if I got back any comments or likes on my story yet.

I logged back onto my computer and restarted my playlist before bringing my internet up again.

“Three comments?” I gasped as I clicked. How was it possible that I got three comments in a little over a half hour?

Love it! God, this is a great start, Jess! I can’t wait to read more. :D

…HOLY SHIT vjaklfja;sjhfs;jadnf I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU STARTED A NEW STORY THIS IS PERFECTION JUST KEEP WRITING AND NEVER STOP. JUST QUIT SCHOOL AND KEEP WRITING FOREVER. I LOVE LOUIS IN THIS ALREADY. JUST…YES.

Whoa…you’re talented! :) I’ve bookmarked the page, and I hope that you update as soon as you can.

I swelled with pride and blushed as I re-read the comments. I figured that people would like it, but I had no idea they’d react so strongly.

Grinning from ear to ear, I clicked on their usernames and thanked them for voicing their thoughts on my story.

To keep myself from checking every ten seconds to see if I had any new comments, I logged out of the site and closed my internet browser, making it that much more work to keep tabs on the feedback.

I brought up one of my other stories and cracked my knuckles, prepared to enter myself into the mind of an entirely different character in an entirely different situation going after an entirely different guy.

And her journey began, dictated by the steady clicking of the keys unfolding her story across my computer screen.