Not Gio specifically.
Literally anyone. Anyone with functioning ears and nerves. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my family.
Okay… I’m not ashamed ofallof them.
It’s just…they don’t match my peace. Not even close. This is why I used to do homework in cafés. This is why I go silent mode for hours. I love them. I really do.
But God… sometimes I feel like I was swapped at birth with the wrong family, and the real me is somewhere out there taking deep breaths in a quiet room with plants and soft lighting.
They step on my peace. They punt my peace across the room like a football. If Gio shows up, he’s gonna take one look at this house and say, "Ravioli… blink twice if you need me to kidnap you."
I can’t think straight.
I slam my laptop shut and make a decision. I have to go next door. His place.
He’s probably heading this way anyway, and if I catch him before he leaves, we can just work there. Quiet. Neutral ground. Or… well, as neutral as his place could ever be.
I shove my laptop into my bag, brush my teeth, and wash my face.
I hesitate in front of the mirror. I should definitely fix my hair. I should probably iron my shirt. Yeah. Sure.
Why “should,” though?
Why am I panicking like I’m going on a date?
I’m literally going to Gio’s house.
You know what, I refuse to look like I tried. I refuse to give him that satisfaction. I grab my hair and mess it up on purpose.
Then I pull on the most basic white T-shirt I own. A little wrinkled. Exactly the energy he deserves.
"Where are you going?" my dad asks. Instant anxiety. Then I pause. Why am I even stressing? He threw me into this mess. He made the deal with Gio’s mom. He’s the reason I’m drowning in meetings and presentations.
I’m just the idiot who has to clean up the fallout. "I’m going to finish the presentation," I say.
His eyebrows go up. "Where?"
Oh my God. Why is this a whole interrogation?
"At Gio’s," I say flatly.
"At Gio’s?" His voice does that dramatic dad thing. "You know I don’t want you around that delinquent a lot."
This is actually crazy.
Rava, I want you to do a project with him, but I don’t want you to be around him.
Oh. Right. Of course.
Makes total sense.
Let me just spiritually teleport the presentation into his house. What does he want me to do? FaceTime from across the street? Send smoke signals? Work together but not together?
I swear, sometimes my dad talks like he’s the main character in a telenovela and I’m just the confused sidekick trying to keep up with the plot.
I shrug. "Well, maybe you shouldn’t have made me work with him then. I’m not getting punishedanddoing the punisher’s homework. That’s double suffering and I’m not built for that."
I grab my bag and swing it over my shoulder. "I just don’t want any trouble—"
