Too High for Me

One Bite, One Lecture

"Xavier?" Mom repeats, a knowing look forming in her eyes. "Who's that?"

"Just—" I wave my spoon, desperate to cover my tracks. "He’s just some guy. He’s really smart! Like, crazy smart. He was solving all these math equations like they were nothing. It was kinda insane, actually."

Mom’s lips twitch, amused. "Uh-huh. And what made you mention him first?"

Crap.

I laugh awkwardly, stabbing my food like it personally offended me. "No reason. Just, you know, an academic weapon. That’s all."

Dad smirks. "And?"

"And nothing," I blurt out. "He’s just good at math!"

Mom hums thoughtfully. "So, you’re saying you noticed him."

"I—no! I mean, yes! But not like that!" I groan, stuffing a dumpling in my mouth to shut myself up.

Dad chuckles, clearly entertained. "Sounds like you’re paying attention to this Xavier boy."

I nearly choke. "Dad!"

Mom laughs, shaking her head. "Alright, alright, we won’t push. But just so you know, you’re not very subtle."

I scowl, face burning. "Can we just eat?"

They both laugh, and I slouch in my seat, internally screaming.

Mental note: Never. Mention. Xavier. Again.

Then Dad teases one last time, "Maybe this Xavier boy will make you wanna go slim, huh?"

Oh, right. Should've seen that coming.

I just grumbled and soon finished my food.

---

I’m halfway through washing the dishes when the front door swings open, and in walks my older brother, Steve: aka the family’s golden boy, gym enthusiast, and human vacuum cleaner.

“Yo, I’m home,” he calls out, dropping his bag on the couch.

Mom barely glances up from the kitchen. “Wash your hands. Dinner’s ready.”

I watch, still scrubbing plates, as Steve rolls up his sleeves and heads straight for the table. And then, as if it’s a sacred ritual, Mom begins piling food onto his plate.

And by "piling," I mean stacking it like some sort of architectural masterpiece.

A mountain of rice. A bowl overflowing with the dish she made. A side of soup. Another plate of dumplings.

Meanwhile, I got a strictly portioned meal, and Mom counted my dumplings like they were gold coins in a treasury.

I pause, dish in hand, and narrow my eyes at the injustice.

“Okay, hold on,” I say, turning to Mom. “Where was this energy when I was eating?”

Mom gives me a dismissive wave. “Your brother needs it. He works out.”

I glance at Steve. He’s already three bites in, eating like it’s his last meal before a long military training. His metabolism? A blessed miracle.

“Yeah, I also need food, you know,” I grumble. “For survival.”

Steve swallows and grins. “Should’ve been born with a high metabolism, sis.”

I flick a bit of soap foam at him. “Oh, shut up, muscle boy.”

He just laughs, shoveling more food into his mouth while I resume washing the dishes, suffering in silence at the obvious favoritism happening right before my eyes.

---

I’m on the last plate, just about to rinse off the soap, when BAM. Another set of plates clatter into the sink.

I freeze. My eye twitches. I know exactly who did that.

I turn my head slowly, dramatically, and there stands Steve, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Steve leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me with that annoying older-brother smirk. “What? You were already washing dishes. Thought I’d help you feel useful.”

“Oh, gee, thanks. That’s so generous of you.” I give him a sarcastic thumbs-up.

“Anytime, little sis.”

I huff, grabbing his plate. “You devoured all that food in, what? Five minutes?!”

He shrugs. “What can I say? Gains don’t wait.”

I point the soapy sponge at him. “You know what else won’t wait? My wrath. Wash your own stupid dishes!”

Steve gasps—actual, dramatic, Oscar-worthy shock. “You’d deny your beloved brother this simple request?”

“Yes.”

He grins. “Mom! Alessia’s being mean to me!”

“Oh, shut up!” I slap his arm with a wet sponge, leaving a foamy soap mark on his shirt.

“Hey!” He looks down at the stain. “This is my favorite shirt!”

“And yet, you couldn’t lift a finger to wash a single plate,” I deadpan.

Steve sighs dramatically, grabbing a towel. “Fine. I’ll dry them.”

I narrow my eyes. “You better.”

And so, the dishwashing war ends. For now.

---

Freshly showered, wrapped up in my blanket, and mentally done with the day, I grab my phone for some harmless bedtime scrolling.

Big mistake.

The first thing I see? Alina’s story.

It’s a picture of her with Brielle and Celeste, all smiles, holding up their drinks at some café. The caption: “First day well spent! ♡”

I blink. Wait. When did this happen? Oh, right. After class.

I swipe to the next story. Another angle. More smiling. More laughing. And still, no sign of me.

A weird, sinking feeling settles in my stomach.

Did they even invite me?

They did not.

I shake my head. It’s fine. It’s whatever. It’s just a café hangout. No big deal.

Determined to move on, I keep scrolling, until I land on Brielle’s story.

And ugh.

The first picture? Her and Xavier.

The second? Her and Xavier again, but this time, Xavier isn’t even looking. He’s just… standing there, probably mid-conversation with someone else, while Brielle is fully posing like they’re some dynamic duo.

The third? A boomerang of her playfully nudging Xavier’s arm while he stares ahead, completely unaware of what’s happening.

The caption? “My favorite person ♡”

I scoff. Your favorite person isn’t even paying attention to you.

Still, for some reason, I can’t stop staring at the photos.

I don’t know why. I don’t know what I was expecting. But suddenly, sleep feels a lot harder to find.