Young Writers Society

The team and I were down on our luck that morning once we discovered that Mike's car had broken down. Taking the bus to school was our next alternative. It wasn't very long, and Derek kept us laughing with his jokes.

As for me, I wasn't too keen on seeing the girl I had been dating for almost three years. She was part of the "untouchable" power clique. They called themselves the Superiors, which consisted of cheerleaders, jocks, drama department clones and school council preps. They were not very smart, or nice.

I never considered her as my real girlfriend because of her selfish, devious ways. She was just like the rest: conceited, vindictive, judgmental. I wasn't like any of them. I just pretended to act that way. I was not really into snobby girls. When I transferred to the school during my freshman year, she literally threw herself onto me, and from then on I was unable to escape.

Coming to America almost 4 years ago, I didn't expect to meet someone who was so coldhearted towards those who seemed different. I wanted a 100 percent genuine girlfriend. A girl who was beautiful, affectionate, smart, ambitious; and most importantly, a girl with a heart of gold.

Although I may have been asking for too much, I was determined to find that girl. My two cousins would always tease me about being a hopeless romantic, and I never cared. I was going to find my Juliet… hopefully soon.

"Excited for the big game tonight? You'd better be ready to kick some serious ass," Mike snapped me out of my thoughts as he gave me a firm slap on the back.

I mentally put on my usual façade. This tough, boastful exterior helped to shield my true emotions.

"Hell yeah! Those Greenwich fags wouldn't know what hit 'em," I replied, slamming my fist against his.

I had to fight back the urge to cringe after saying the derogatory word. In truth, I rarely swore, and I hated it. But I had to swear in order to be accepted. I had to just about everything that was against my morals to stay the "popular" quarterback.

For anyone who did not know, being popular never guaranteed happiness. I'd had the experience, so I knew exactly what I was talking about.

The bus sped off from another green light, and roared around the corner to the street adjacent to the high school.

We'd had just about two more stops to go, when… There she was.

The girl who had been haunting my every thought and dream since the day I laid eyes on her: Raquél Richmond.

God was she gorgeous, just like an angel, I believed. I secretly referred to her as Ángelita—little angel. She was a very petite, very curvy Latina, and I had a terrible crush on her. Those bold emerald-green eyes always sent chills whistling up and down my spine whenever she happened to glance at me. I always froze.

She wore her hair up all the time, only because everyone assumed that her hair was fake. Once when I caught her at the library pulling out the loose bun, I was blown away. The thick mass of curls cascaded down her back and ended just above her bottom. Her smile was dazzling, innocent and seductive, even though she rarely smiled. But when she did smile, my heart accelerated. I had always wanted to go up to her and introduce myself to her.

Unfortunately, there was a slight problem…

"Your baby's daddy still working at Kmart? Don't worry, you'll get that car… if he stops spending money on drugs, that is," Mike snickered.

Raquél hated me just as much as she hated the others. My teammates constantly harassed her, which angered me immensely. They would often call her names like slut, whore, geek; and even accused her of being a prostitute. It did not even make sense at all.

The pair of babies she had with her were obviously her siblings, but more than half of the school's population believed that she had given birth to them. For the first time that morning, I discovered her affectionate side. She cradled her baby sister in her arms and whispered to her as she fed her a bottle of milk. I loved children, especially babies. The little girl reminded me of my baby cousin, who I went to visit almost every weekend.

Another harsh comment was tossed into the cocktail, this time about how "small" her breasts were. Now I wanted to punch Derek in the face.

It irritated me to think how stupid and gullible high-schoolers were to believe silly rumors. Other rumors that swirled around school consisted of made-up suppositions that Raquél slept with different members of the football, basketball and hockey teams, including with the younger male teachers. In my opinion, those rumors were just false garbage.

I knew that she was not that kind of person. To everyone else Raquél was just a promiscuous nobody, but to me, she was a beautiful, intelligent girl who deserved nothing but the best. If only I could be the best for her.

The cruel, taunting voices of my teammates grew muted after I plugged my ears with ear buds. I could never bear to listen to them ridicule her. I never made fun of her, nor would I ever, but I used my excuse of being a football player to my full advantage.

Usually, I'd explain to them that Coach or a teacher needed to talk to me. And whenever I was asked why I never said anything to Raquél, I'd simply say, "She's obviously not important, so why waste your breath on her?" It worked like a charm even though it hurt me to say it. They were so clueless to believe anything I said.

Technically I kept my distance because, one: I wanted to avoid being with my teammates around her, and two: her beauty certainly petrified me. Not in a way that completely drove me away, but because I literally had no control over my emotions around her.

The discovery of the exact magnitude of my "fear" just the other Friday, told me that I was as safe as a deer caught in headlights. That afternoon seemed to drag on during my last period English class. To my relief, the Peanut Gallery had decided to give themselves an early dismissal and skipped class. Boredom had begun to set in by the second half-hour, and I sat, dramatically reclined in my chair, looking up at the ceiling to emphasize my anguish. Meanwhile, I absently wove a pencil between my fingers as Mrs. Brown explained the misconception of the quote "Wherefore art thou Romeo?"

Being a school athlete sucked. It wasn't worth keeping up my grades to stay on the football team and possibly not gain a college scholarship out of it, but my teammates counted on me. They counted on me way too much.

Without warning, the pencil leapt free from my grip and landed on the floor beside Raquél. The light clatter caught her attention, but she didn't move. Just as I had begun to lean down to grab the pencil, she suddenly swiped it up and spun around to face me. I was totally caught off guard. Had her fingers brushed against mine, I think I would have withdrawn my hand as if I'd been burned.

Typically it would seem understandable to think that any other normal person would've taken back the pencil and thanked her. But not me. My flourish of unsteady hormones caused me to become paralyzed once I met her eyes; those doe emerald eyes. I found myself growing lost in them.

Her gaze put a spell on me. The ring of hazel around her pupil reminded me of the halo that should have been glowing above her head. Before, I'd never noticed the tiny dips that were etched in her cheeks and around her lips. Her skin was flawless and innocent, as if she was blessed with the skin of a newborn. The natural pout her lips held drew me in closer.

I wasn't going to kiss her, but I sure as hell wanted to.

After what seemed like an eternity, I tried a friendly smile in hopes of convincing her that I was actually a nice person. The attempted beam helped me to no avail. Her thick fan of lashes swooped down to touch her cheekbones, and once they came back up I found that the perfect emeralds had become darkened with hatred.

But she was still perfect. Her perfect eyebrows cut a sliding path down her perfect forehead as they furrowed. Perfect Raquél tossed the pencil at my feet and quickly turned her attention back to the front of the room, her silky, perfect ponytail nearly whipping me across the face.

I picked up the pencil, clearly hurt, and wrapped my palm around the implement so that I would feel the lingering heat of her touch. I was like an obsessive fan, a devotee who fawned over the simplest item in which my favorite celebrity had previously touched. Even though I tried my best to keep my mind off of this amazing girl, I just could not shake her from my thoughts. I was infatuated by her.

No one could deny that she was a modern day Aphrodite. If only I could have been her Hephaestus…

There was something peculiar about her that morning, like she was in physical pain—not the emotional pain that my teammates usually caused her.

As my friend Maya would sneer blatantly, "She's on her period so we know she's not pregnant."

I hated her with a passion; which I was sure would be presented as a shock to everyone else who thought we were "friends." Breaking off the friendship from the very beginning would have saved me the cerebral damage, but telling Maya that you didn't want to be around her anymore was just about as lethal as sticking a hand into the ravenous jaws of a crocodile. It was not going to be easy at all, I knew, so I cut my losses and quit trying to avoid her.

The reason pathetic Maya tormented Raquél wasn't entirely beyond me. It was quite obvious. She was a "jealous bitch" as my cousin called her. She was my real friend.

Out of the hundreds of jocks, cheerleaders, clones and preps in Philip Randolph high school; of all the people I refused to trust, my cousin and her best friend were my only two real friends. Unfortunately, the other attended another school. We spent as much time together as we could, even as the eyes of the Superiority cliques looked down in disapproval because of the nature of it.

In school, my first cousin was considered as a rude, loud-mouthed school council geek. Above the ferocious competition between preps and drama department clones, she stood behind the scenes, trying their best to shine in the spotlight, but falling short as always because of her place on the Food Chain. The differences separating us never changed my mind. I loved my friends because they were like sisters to me (although I did have my own sister).

It saddened me on the inside to see the hard work of my cousin going to waste when I would find her election posters stamped with dusty footprints or pressed into crumpled balls, rejected and lying around the garbage bins. She had always hoped to break down the social barriers of high school, to dig deeper and tap into each student and find their real potential, even if those students were too self-gratified to find that potential.

I wanted to know who the real Raquél was. I knew that on the inside there rest a vibrant, confident girl who never let anyone get in her way. If only there was a way to get that girl out to the students at Philip Randolph. I would have my cousin to thank for that miracle.

"C'mon, dude wake up!" a voice called to me, followed by a light punch to the shoulder.

"Huh?"

"Do you wanna stay on this bus all day? C'mon, we gotta get to homeroom. I gotta do my homework," Derek said hastily.

Back down the road, I spotted Raquél restraining her mass of curls in a hairband. It was clear to me that she was crying after having to endure harassment even before she entered the school.

Knowing that I was going to have to face the horde of superiority cliques, I was expected not to "screw up" as a Superior. This meant that I had to take part in the worst part of my day: by also harassing Raquél. Although my excuses often pulled me away from the negative camaraderie, I could not get my way all the time.

The only two places where avoiding Raquél was virtually impossible were in my English and Gym classes. Even when we weren't in gym class, baggy sweats seemed to swallow her up every day. I thought she looked cute wearing those oversized sweats, but I would give anything to see those perfect curves…

By a simple stroke of luck for me, which was unfortunate for her, I had actually gotten the chance to catch a glimpse of Raquél without her sweatshirt one afternoon.

My teammates and I were strolling through the halls, dominating as usual, when Mike and Carlos decided to purchase bottles of soda. Mike had finished off his soda almost immediately, but Carlos… he was saving his for a certain "special someone."

As we began to walk past Raquél, her eyes nervously cast to the floor.

Carlos took out his Coke, unscrewed the cap and whispered to me, "Watch this. I'm going to get this bitch good."

It took me plenty of willpower to keep myself from snapping his dribbling arm in half (Carlos was on the basketball team). But as usual I did nothing. And to be honest, I felt like a selfish jerk for not doing anything.

After shouting an extremely offensive word in Spanish to Raquél, he hurled the half-empty bottle at her back. She recoiled in pain as the beverage ruined her top. Her reaction tore my heart to pieces. She dashed off to the girl's bathroom in tears, being chased by the sounds of punishing laughter.

Nearly an hour and a half later she came into my English class wearing a fitted black tank top. Her arms looked delicate to the touch, which made me yearn to run my palms along them. Her desk was directly in front of mine, and as she took a seat I found myself growing distracted by the pair of dimples that sat on the back of her shoulders. I had never seen anything like them. They winked at me whenever she moved her arms to write or fold her arms. Cautious not to get caught checking out Raquél by my friends, I let my eyes wander over her beautiful curves, where they took in another very deep pair of dimples on her lower back.

My cover didn't stay concealed for long.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Mike hissed to me, which nearly caused me to blast off through the roof.

"W-what?" I asked dumbly.

"Were you checking out that geek?"

Say something about her… something bad, my head coached, though I knew that it would hurt to say it.

"Not even," I scoffed, hiding my nerves. "Look how fucking skinny she is. It's like she spent the last hour with her finger down her throat… or something else."

We shared a fist punch and a chuckle; only my laugh was painfully forced.

"I know that's right, but, damn! Look at her. The geek's got a slammin' body. Maybe you and I can get the team together and gang bang her," he laughed raucously, slapping me in the chest.

Now I definitely was not laughing. I took what he said very seriously. If I'd ever come to find that any of my teammates had hurt her, I would never be able to forgive myself. Since I kept these passionate feelings to myself, anger was what usually drove me to succeed. That probably explained why I was the best player on my team. I channeled my aggression on the field and used that uncontainable fury to destroy my enemies. This was all because of the girl I had an obsession with. It was just who I was.

Unfortunately, I hurt a lot of people because of who I was. I hurt people I never even intended to hurt. Not just on the football field but with my family. My parents hated the people I claimed to be my closest friends; the friends who had no respect for authority or anyone else for that matter, and who judged without knowing. They wished that I would have made friends who strived to be genuine, good people. Like my cousins. It was upsetting to know that they were disappointed in me.

"Why can't you be more like your cousins? They're such good girls," my mother would often compare their behavior to mine.

Truthfully, I was like them. I was ashamed to admit the fact that I was a shallow person for not taking charge of my own life. The goals I held for myself could not be accomplished because of the possible scorn I might receive for succeeding it. Being shunned from the Superiors caused me to hide the actual person I was.

The popular high school quarterback I often displayed at school was not a real person. The real person me was never judgmental, never had contempt against anyone. I had a heart. The real me also wanted to know Raquél Richmond. I knew something had to change, and fast. I sensed that my opportunity to meet her was approaching, and once I found that opportunity, I would grab it while I could. I was determined to have her.

By the time my English class had divided into groups of five for our discussion, Raquél still had not shown up for class. I was starting to get worried, only because I knew that she would have to work alone.

But that was until Maya said to Mrs. Brown, "Even though Raquél's not here yet, we would love it if she worked with us." She was such an actress, batting her false eyelashes at the teacher.

"Well, you only have a group of four… I guess it's okay."

"Come on, Enriqué. You're in my group," I heard Rosa say from the other side of the room.

The students who feared me—which, to me was outrageous—parted like the Red Sea the moment I was on my feet. They only "feared" me because they feared the Superiors. Rosa pulled out a chair for me, and patted her hand on the seat with a bright smile.

Just when I had taken my seat, Mrs. Brown suddenly glanced towards the door and smiled. A cute, but weary looking Raquél stepped over the threshold, her hands fumbling awkwardly as she kept her eyes on the teacher for comfort.

"Glad you can join us, Raquél. We were just in the middle of our Tell-Tale Heart discussion. Take a seat with Carlos's group, please."

Uh-oh, I thought once I found the shocked expression on her face.

Without a word, she made a hesitant beeline to Maya's group, and plopped down onto the seat. While the different members of my group began their discussion, my head was in a distant galaxy far, far away. I was in space, staring at the girl in awe like I usually did. Meanwhile, I found it amusing the way Maya kept sending me a flirty grin.

If anyone was a slut in that room, it was Maya. I knew that she slept around, almost everyone knew; and yet she was the one who claimed that Raquél slept around. Cleverly, I returned the equally fake smile.

The next class on my schedule was Biology, but before I could even make it into the hallway, my senses picked up the sound of harsh yells. Ángelita was being tormented, and I turned my back to the commotion, like I always did. I flinched at the sharp ring of a hand swiping across her delicate skin. Secretly, I hoped that Maya was responsible for hitting her, because if it had been Carlos, all bets would have been off. I'd have killed him with my bare hands.

She had disappeared for a while after the short clash, until she emerged from the locker rooms during last period Gym. Her attire had not changed much. Her jeans were only replaced by a pair of loose Capri shorts, and her hair was tied up with a different colored hair-band. That just proved how much time I spent devoting my attention to her.

Since she was late for class, the coach sent her to run around the track that circled around the gym. But I recognized the trouble before it began. As Mike approached us with the poor girl in his treacherous clutches, someone called me over to watch the "show" from far away. Meanwhile a basketball was being chased after, so the group had reduced by two. I couldn't watch, so I snatched up the basketball and decided to begin a game. If I was as dense as my friends, I'd never have the ability to create such ingenious excuses.

Mike deserved a blow to the jaw for forcing that basketball into Raquél's stomach. He let her go, to my relief, but then she doubled over. Not in pain, but because she had thrown up where we'd been playing. Upon hearing my friends' groans of disgust, Coach rushed over and escorted her out of the gym. I wished that I would have helped.

Some 20 minutes after the incident, the class had dispersed to the locker rooms, but a few of us remained upstairs. Football practice was right after. I could not get a break!

"Hey guys, me and Sanchez were talking about gang banging that whore Richmond the other week," Mike brought up the topic I had no part in mentioning last week.

"Her? Why the hell would you do that when you got Rodriguez? Now, she's hot. I'd hit that anytime!" Derek remarked.

"But dude, you haven't seen her without sweats. Baby's got a body under there, you know."

"Ugh, I think I'll pass…"

You'd better pass, dumbass, I smirked to myself.

"Seriously! Just imagine it: we can get some rope and tape, jump her, and we'll each get our turns with her in that abandoned supply room. What do you say, man? You know how handle a camera, right?" he guffawed to me, slapping me on the arm.

"Hmm," I responded halfheartedly. Hopefully, my next lie would work.

"Why do you sound so unimpressed? I saw the way you were checking her out. All you were lookin' at was her ass."

"I am unimpressed. She's probably full of herpes and gonorrhea and shit," I replied, twisting my face in disgust. "You oughta see Maya in bed. Last weekend she rode me like she belonged in the rodeo."

That was the biggest lie I had ever told so far.

I had never even touched Maya much less had sex with her. She often tried to seduce me, but she was not worth sharing such a special with.

"Say what you want, but I'm going after her as soon as I get the chance. Shit, I'm out... I need to talk to Carlos about this," Mike muttered to himself, and with that, he strolled away at the ring of the bell.

That combination of lust and danger in his eyes had me uneasy from the start. I never trusted him or Carlos. It troubled me to think what the two of them would do to Raquél, especially when no one was around.

Sadly, either way, I couldn't do anything to prevent that from happening because I was too much a jerk to change. Why was changing such a hard process? If I could change all the things about me at the snap of a finger—if I could change my fear of being judged, if I could overlook what people thought of me, if I could win Raquél's heart—then I would need nothing else but her.

I was disappointed once I found out that she had left minutes before the class ended. Whenever I'd catch her leaving, the urge to tug her back and kiss her was awful.

To kiss her would turn my legs to jelly. To lock her waist in my arms, get to know the contours of her perfect figure; to bury my nose into her hair and take in the sweet scent of her. If only I could gain the courage to prove my integrity to my friends, my family, myself and most importantly, to Raquél, then I could finally make my dreams into a reality…

There was no doubt in my mind that I would need nothing else in the world but Ángelita.



I hate… EVERYTHING.

I hate my school, and the jocks and the cheerleaders that come with it, I hate Maya and her friends (she's such a bitch!), I hate bullies, hypocrites, jerks, populars, idiots, cliques, rude and/or stuck-up girls, egotistical boys… teenagers in general. I hate my teachers, I hate the mediocre education I'm getting—Mami could have just home-schooled me—I hate the city, I hate the bus, I hate the train, I hate the cold and snow. I hate my father and the fact that he was a terrible one, at that…

Maybe I was overreacting. But I knew I wasn't. No one was going to read it anyway because I was not going to let them. I could say whatever I wanted, in the way that I wanted to.

Locked away in my bedroom as usual, I was on a writing frenzy, silently venting my frustrations into my diary. I often channeled my sadness through anger. My recordings consisted of my hatred for life and people in general. All 200 pages.

But it never took long for my hurt feelings to resurface, and I would then proceed to sulk about the things I hated about myself.

I hate how I'm so short for my age. People think I'm 11 years old when I am actually 14 and a full three years older. I hate feeling so vulnerable, crying all the time and seeming helpless. Gaining pity from others embarrasses me. I hate not having the courage to walk up to someone whom I've never met, and start a conversation… It seems as though everyone else but me has the ability to talk to pretty much anyone upon meeting them for the first time. Why can't I?

My handwriting became smudged as I tried to write over the fallen teardrop that stained the page.

I hate the fact that I have SAD and suffer panic attacks. I hate being scared, never having the courage to break out of my shell. I hate that I can't speak up for myself. I hate being so intelligent. Who cares if I have a college-level education? I didn't want to start college at 14! I hate having to take on so many responsibilities. Why should I be deprived of having the chance to go to the movies like any other teenager? I hate that the rug is always pulled out from under me... Just when I think that the outcome is going to be a positive one, I never get to bask in the glow of true gratification.

For example, the time I was eight years old and I had my first real best friend. Her name was Giselle Rodríguez, and I met her when my family and I still lived in New Mexico. She was the only kid in the class who accepted me for me. Part of the reason was because she had a lot in common with me. It was reassuring to know that I was not the only Puertorriqueña in New Mexico.

We were inseparable—sitting next to each other in class, handing around silly notes to each other, making plans to have double weddings in the future. We had sleepovers just about every weekend. Giselle stood up to my tormentors when no one else would, and she made cards for me when I was sick. She was like the sister I never had. At that time… We became sisters, and no one would ever change that. But that was until I found out that she was moving back to Puerto Rico. I was devastated, to say the least, and cried until I thought I'd run out of tears. That was not all. Then I found out that I was also moving; to New York City, that is! Only a week after Giselle moved away, Mami, my dad and I made the transfer to New York… and on top of that, she told me that she was having a baby. It was a well-known fact that I could never be happy.

Even though I felt that I did not deserve to have my own way, just once did I wish to have my way. That being said…

I hate that I can never have any real friends. The meaning of a true friend holds a blank caption in my book of experiences. So is having my first date. Would I ever have a boyfriend? And in the long run would I grow up to be alone and never marry? I also want him to love me no matter what, and someday let him take my virginity. I hate how I seem to repel any guy who is attractive… Maybe it's because of the way I look.

Then I switched gears and moved onto every single flaw about my appearance and my body that I hated.

I hate my so-called unique green eyes. Mami told me that they were an "exotic gift from God." Whatever, Mami! I just didn't like them because I thought they looked bizarre. I hate my nose and how it's not proportionate to my face. Mami won't let me get a nose job. My lips are too big and make me look like I'm pouting most of the time. I hate my figure and how I can't go in public without some creep complementing me on my curves.

My breasts are too small, my hips and my butt are too big—a happy medium is what I really want. I hate the dimples I have on the backs of my shoulders and my lower back. The upper pair are not normal, and I feel that only girls who wear tramp stamps have dimples on their lower back; not me. I hate the fact that my hands cannot grip anything larger than a basketball. They're so small you'd think that they belonged to a child. My feet are also freakishly tiny. Both Mami and I borrow the same size four shoes from each other. I hate my hair and the mass of curls I thatcan't control. I always want to straighten out the tight curls but I'm sure that the look would make me even uglier. That's it… I was simply ugly, not even plain.

And in conclusion, I hate everything!

"Done," I murmured to myself, once I slammed the diary shut.

"Raquél, baby! Es tiempo para la cena (it's time for dinner)." my mother called for me, just as I got up to walk into the living room.

"Okay, I'm coming."

My diary was put back in its usual spot: In a locked chest beneath my bed so that no one could find it. If my mother were to read half the things I wrote in my diary, she would be disappointed to find out that I didn't love myself. It was true that I loved my closest family members with all my heart, but I never found it in my heart to love myself.

"That took a while," she said once I emerged from my room. "What were you doing in there?"

My dad was not home, as usual, and left my mother to feed my siblings and me by herself. I wondered what he could have been doing in the evening that prevented him from being home for dinner.

"Just homework."

After I made sure that my baby brother and sister sat securely in their booster chairs, I began to pass around the plates of food before helping myself to dinner.

"Are you okay, baby?" my mother asked for the hundredth time that day.

Her features contorted with concern like they always did, and she resembled my grandmother whenever she nervously tucked her hair back.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

That was basically the lie I told my mother every day. She even knew that I was never okay, and when she asked, I wanted to lift at least one burden from her shoulders and insisted that I was indeed "okay." My mother was already up to her neck in stresses as it is.

She brought a forkful of noodles to her mouth and ate before giving me a short smile.

"Did you write in your diary?"

I contemplated my decision whether to tell her that I had already used the diary to its full capacity (I bought a second one without telling her), but then gave her the same answer that I had been giving her since the day she bought it.

"… No, not yet."

"Well, if you don't feel comfortable writing your feelings down, then maybe you should talk to me about it. If you ever need to talk anytime… I'm here," she offered, then flashed me a shy grin, which was more identical to mine than her own.

She was the parent who was responsible for passing on her naturally shy demeanor to me. I sensed that she was silently prying in an effort to find some common ground with her daughter; but I did not answer.

Letting out a sigh, she sat back in her chair, defeated, as I filled my mouth with food to avoid speaking. After a long and awkward silence, Mami broke the tension once she impatiently cleared her throat.

"I'm only 28, honey—not even 30 years old, and you're a teenager. I'm still learning; still trying to understand how life is for you. But if you do want me to understand, please… tell me what's wrong," my mother pleaded with me.

She always struck a nerve whenever she claimed that she was "trying to understand." It honestly upset me. As much as I loved my mother to death, she would never understand what life was for me. My mother only thought that she could easily relate to me because she was still very young herself. Although my mother should have been in her 30s by now, her efforts to understand me remained the same even in her 20s: completely futile.

My father suddenly emerged from the foyer after his second day at his new job. Mami, followed by Jazmyn, Chaya and Aquilína, all leapt from their chairs to treat him with hugs and kisses. After my reconciliation with him a few days ago, Papi (I didn't refer to him as Dre anymore) and I had slowly begun to patch up our relationship. I smiled up at him as he swept his fingers along the nape of my neck, and dropped a kiss at the top of my head.

"How's my babydoll?" he asked.

"I'm fine, Papi…"

My father now occupied the empty seat beside me and fixed himself a dinner plate.

"Are you sure? You Momma told me what happened earlier."

"Mami," I sighed irritably. "Why do you feel the need to tell everyone how bad my day was? I don't want to talk about it."

"Why are you so reluctant to talk about it, baby? We are your parents," he pointed out.

"Because you guys don't understand what I go through—no, what I have to go through every single day. You never do! It's obvious that I'm not going to be happy unless you send me to another school."

"Raquél, there's no need. And for the last time, we just can't afford it right now," my mother reminded me.

Like I actually needed to be reminded. She'd been telling me that for the past couple months.

"But what about Papi? He has a job again, so you two can save up the money to send me to the school closer to here."

Apparently, my argument was merely a waste of time to my parents. They were just selfish. I only knew that because they spent their money on unnecessary things like toys for my siblings when they could have used it to transfer me to another school.

Now was the cue for me to storm off to my bedroom in a huff and stay there sobbing for the rest of the night. Finally fed up with my parents' meaningless efforts to compromise with me, I pushed my chair back in an outrage.

"Oh my God, just forget it! There's no point in trying to get you guys to actually listen to what I'm trying to tell you, because I'll be stuck going to that stupid school either way. No one ever does anything for me; it's always the girls or the babies, or yourselves!"

Before my mother could answer with a heated retort, I stomped off to my bedroom.

"I hate my life!" I shrieked before slamming the door shut.

For the rest of the night, my face remained buried in my pillow, which quickly grew stained with tears. This was part of my everyday routine, and I feared that my life would never change unless it all ended with a tragic conclusion. Sadly, if nothing changed soon, that was going to become my only option. And I hoped that I would not to come to that decision anytime soon.

Would anything ever change for me?