Anything You Want Me To

Chapter 1

Someone's already knocking on the door. Each rap against the wood is hard and urgent.

Oh no, I think, but I don't budge an inch.

There's momentary silence. I hear some shuffling outside, then the thumping continues, this time from somebody larger and stronger and angrier than the first one.

I am suddenly filled with dread - disturbing, how-do-I-get-out-of-this-craptastic-situation kind of dread.

I'm inside the powder room in my best friend Inez's house, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet and staring blankly at my phone. I completely understand the fury accompanying someone desperately trying not to pee his pants, but I don't want to - no, I can't leave the safe confines of this room. I just can't.

Two perfectly valid reasons, see, and both have absolutely nothing to do with the stifling temperature outside or this carpeted, fully air-conditioned room. Valid reason #1: I desperately need to do something - anything! - about the incriminating photo saved in my phone and throbbing in my brain for the last 24 hours. Valid reason #2: Do I really need to share the utter humiliation of being dumped online - online! - with everyone in my class?

There are now several voices outside the door. The knocking has advanced to banging, nicely complemented by angry, incoherent words. "Yeah, I'm there!" I call out sweetly. I jam my phone in my rhinestone-studded clutch and turn to the mirror.

Side-swept bangs and softly tousled hair skimming my shoulders? Check. Usually unruly eyebrows groomed and tamed? Check. Dark color carefully lining light brown eyes? Check. Gold tank top, dark blue denims and red patent flats - totally appropriate for a house party? Check.

But most importantly, I prepare a placid, unperturbed façade for the expectedly long line in the hall.

"Finally!" It's Cliff, my friend Chloe's ex-boyfriend. He practically runs me over.

I grit my teeth. I never really liked him. "Whatever!" I mutter under my breath.

Maybe I'm paranoid or self-absorbed or just gifted with bionic hearing, but I swear they're all whispering as I breeze past the small crowd. I struggle to feign nonchalance, even when my breathing is deep and labored.

I catch the question someone blurts out. "So where's Via's boyfriend?"

My heart stops in my chest. So yeah, where exactly is Kyle Olvera? Where is this famed boyfriend of mine?

I'm supposed to debut him tonight. I'm supposed to introduce him to all my friends. I'm supposed to make them all drool in envy, because he's gorgeous and rich and totally hot for me. I'm supposed to drink and dance and drink some more with him by my side. I'm supposed to take a million make out selfies when we're good and properly smashed.

I've spent the past month talking nonstop about him - how he's already a freshman in college, and a varsity swimmer to boot, how he has his own car and how we ended my cousin Lisa's debut with an earth-shattering kiss.

I've practiced how smug I'd look when I parade him in front of the girls and see their jaws simultaneously drop. Kyle Olvera is real! He's not just an elaborate, made-up social media account that everyone's already friends with. He is as real as the hot Manila sun shining above our heads!

And the icing on the cake? He wouldn't be able to keep his hands off me, because I'm pretty and fascinating and he's completely loco about me.

I keep walking, imagining the looks of pity and sympathy they're throwing my back. But I know this crowd well - so that can only mean most of them must be smothering hyena-like laughter behind those simpering smiles.