The Invitation

I missed Friedan in the dining room, and I suspected he'd taken an early plunge into the office abyss. This meant I was left to fend for myself in the breakfast battleground. The whole "solitary breakfast" situation was like my daily survival challenge, minus the cool adventure soundtrack.

As I chewed my cereal and contemplated the mysteries of life, like why orange juice tastes so weird after brushing your teeth, it occurred to me that I was ready to embark on my odyssey to the university even before Frodo set out for Mordor. It was only a matter of time before I started seeing mythical creatures like talking squirrels or caffeine-deprived students.

Today was "Wacky Wednesday," or "Let's All Pretend It's Still Monday." While other people might be enjoying a sleep-in, I was awake before the roosters started questioning their existence. To make matters worse, I had a rendezvous with the one and only Phelan Vargas. Yes, that guy who had all the charm of a grumpy troll guarding a bridge.

I arrived at the gymnasium, and instead of the usual bustling crowd, I was greeted by the sweet sound of crickets playing cricket in an empty auditorium. It was like an apocalypse for early risers. The gym was deserted, and I half-expected tumbleweeds to roll by as a lone cricket hummed the tune of "Eye of the Tiger."

Wandering around like a confused penguin in a desert, I reached the end of the gym, and lo and behold, a stage! It was like stumbling upon a secret treasure chest in a video game. My heart raced as I spotted a grand piano on the stage, looking all fancy and musical. I couldn't help but have a moment of silent awe. The piano looked at me like it held the secret to my life, and I was the only one who didn't get the memo.

Summoning the courage of a hobbit facing a dragon, I sauntered over to the piano. I cautiously ran my fingers over the keys, as if I were patting a sleepy dragon on its scaly back. After what felt like a secret handshake, I gingerly placed my feet on the pedals and opened the music book on the stand. It was like discovering the lost chapters of an ancient manuscript.

Skipping through pages like a seasoned explorer flipping through a treasure map, I stumbled upon a song that spoke to me—well, not in an actual, audible way, but you get the idea. The title read "Out Here on My Own" by Irene Cara. It was like the music gods had orchestrated this moment just for me.

With newfound determination and the grace of a dancing penguin, I pressed the keys, letting the notes flow like a river of emotions. I tried to hold a note, and it felt like I was riding the rapids, desperately clinging to my makeshift raft. Suddenly, I realized I was singing along, and the auditorium transformed into my own little private concert. I closed my eyes and belted out the chorus, channeling my inner rock star with all the passion of a squirrel hoarding acorns.

And then, in a climactic moment that could only be rivaled by a superhero's grand entrance, I stopped. The imaginary applause faded as reality hit me—I was alone in a deserted gym, serenading an audience of dust particles. In a swift motion, I whipped off my glasses, pretending they were the audience giving a standing ovation. There was just one problem—my cheeks were as flushed as a tomato after a salsa dance-off.

As I turned to exit the stage, ready to vanish into the shadows like a ninja with stage fright, my phone vibrated. It was Phelan, the orchestrator of my grand musical interlude.

'Work out room. ASAP!' - Phel

Well, this was just peachy. He stood me up, didn't show his face, and now he expected me to rush like I was auditioning for the Olympic sprinting team.

With the enthusiasm of a reluctant snail being chased by a motivated turtle, I made my way to the workout room. The smell of sweat and ambition greeted me as I entered. I was greeted by a half-naked Phelan, sweating like a one-man monsoon. His muscles gleamed like they had been oiled for a bodybuilding competition, which was ironic, considering the only competition he had was with the fitness equipment.

Now, I've seen my fair share of gym enthusiasts, but Phelan took it to a whole new level. He was the Picasso of perspiration, the Da Vinci of dumbbells, and the Shakespeare of... sweat? I mean, seriously, I didn't know whether to be impressed or concerned for his wellbeing.

As he grunted and groaned, I tried to look as casual as a cat who just knocked over a vase. Phelan paused, mid-lift, his gaze locking onto me. His lips curled into a grin, and it was as if he had a secret that was just too juicy to keep to himself.

Oh, wonderful. The guy stood me up, turned me into an invisible audience member, and now he was about to reveal the punchline to a joke I didn't even know I was part of. And there I was, standing there like a deer caught in the headlights, wondering if the gym's dumbbells were also dumb enough to miss this comedy act.

"Enjoying the view so far, nerdy?" he quipped with that signature too-full-of-himself attitude. Seriously, this guy was a walking invitation for a fist sandwich. Just a little more self-love, and he'd be the king of his own kingdom of arrogance. I was reaching my limit. Just a tad more, and I might just snap!

I averted my gaze and attempted to adjust my glasses. "Where's my music book? The one with a cover of a whole note and a heart in the middle?" I asked, extending my hand to reach for what I needed from him.

"Not now. Wait here. I'm working out alone," he replied, turning away to return to the lat pulldown machine.

I took a deep breath to calm myself before stepping closer to him. Once again, I extended my hand to retrieve the music book. "Hey! I have a class, and I don't have time for your nonsense," I complained.

He paused midway while handling the cables of the equipment. His lips parted as though I had said something incredibly amusing. "Just wait, okay? Not now!"

"Wait? Or should I report you to the dean's office?"

"Seriously? The dean won't do anything. I might even get him suspended!" he retorted, followed by a hearty chuckle that filled the room.

His words irritated me. I could feel the veins in my arms tensing as I restrained myself from hitting him. Instead, I took a deep breath and let out a sigh of frustration. "You're a power tripper. A jerk whose ego is bigger than anything else. That kind of character isn't attractive. It's exasperating!"

He stopped his workout and furrowed his brow, raising an eyebrow as if my words had affected him. He scoffed heavily, his body glistening with sweat as he headed towards his locker at the far end of the room.

He was undeniably handsome, but his personality left much to be desired. Men like him were a turn-off - all looks and no substance, just overflowing with arrogance.

When he returned, he held my music book. He looked at me seriously as he handed it over. Before he even let go of the book, he spoke, "There's a condition."

Of course, there was. "What is it?" I asked with restraint, still holding onto the music book that he wasn't letting go of yet.

"Attend my birthday," a devilish smile slowly spread across his lips. "Not as a guest, but as my attendant."

"W-wait, what?" I stammered in surprise, still tugging at the music book.

"Be my attendant. Can't handle it? Fine, I'll take this instead!" He tugged the music book forcefully, and I inadvertently let go of the other end I was holding. This guy was infuriatingly cunning.

"I'll do it. Give me that!" I strained to reach the music book, but he swiftly lifted it. Before I could even touch his sweaty body, I managed to step back and avoid him.

He laughed and pressed the music book against his chest. "I have no idea what's in this music book of yours apart from a bunch of piano pieces, but I think I'll hold onto it for now. I'll give it back when the deal is done, okay?"

I almost lost my temper. My vision blurred as I struggled to control myself. That music book was precious; it held memories of my parents. Because I wanted to retrieve the book while concealing my inner turmoil, I composed myself and attempted to reason with him. But I needed to secure the book first.

Phelan was a jerk, so he turned down my proposal. Conversing with an idiot was truly challenging. "Fine, I'll be there, and then you'll return this. We're done! I'm leaving." I lifted an eyebrow as he pulled out a card from the music book.

He handed me a black envelope with "P. Vargas" elegantly written in golden font. Suppressing my irritation, I accepted the envelope, which I assumed was an invitation, and shot a glare at the grinning man.

I heard Phelan's laughter again as I exited the workout room. I closed the door with a forceful push. I might have broken the latch, but I brushed it off.

Almost out of breath, I stopped to open the envelope given by the devil. I quickly pulled out the card and read its contents.

*******

Toot the horn!

Bang the drum!

It's a party!

Can you come?

For: Phelan Vargas' 18th Birthday

When: August 23rd at 7 p.m.

Where: Vargas Residence, Old 7th Street, Diamond Hill

*******

I was utterly stunned by the date that was elegantly written on the card.

I blinked, hoping that the numbers would rearrange themselves or perhaps transform into something more favorable.

But no such luck. The date remained stubbornly fixed, a cruel reminder of the collision between my responsibilities and the whims of fate.

I let out a frustrated sigh, feeling a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. It was as if the universe itself conspired to make things as complicated as possible.

How could I possibly attend the guy's birthday when that very day marked the commencement of a crucial mission alongside Kelvin and Rumina, the crowned ones? The weight of the responsibility pressed heavily against my chest.

Phelan's impeccable timing, if anything, was a constant force of disruption, a character trait that was as predictable as it was infuriating.

It was a comically tragic situation – a clash between duty and a sudden twist of social obligations. Of all the days, Phelan had to choose that one.

I couldn't help but let out a wry chuckle, realizing that even in this life, timing could be just as whimsical and inconvenient as in the real world.