Chapter 1

(Anj’s POV)

I need a miracle.

I looked heavenward, closing my eyes and praying as the heat of sunlight kissed my face. I could not help myself from wincing as I covered my face with my hand and lowered my head right away. I hissed as my fingers grazed my cheeks lightly, wanting to cry as I felt the red spots, looking like pimples invading my face.

My lips pouted, wanting to hate Mrs. Antonetta for insisting on sharing her meal last night with me, unaware there was crab meat in it. When I woke up this morning, I could hardly see, and I bet Aunt Rose would confess at the church after cursing under her breath seeing my face puffy and red. She and Anya, her daughter, panicked that they had to apply a cold compress to the swollen area of my face before Sister Grace could see me.

Sister Grace is my legal guardian, but I lived in Aunt Rose’s home, her biological sister, for as long as I can remember. I was not related to any of them, but they were the only family I knew in my sixteen years of existence. Sister Grace found me wailing inside the old carton box, very sick, and there was nothing to identify me.

Breathing out, I walked to the mulch and gravel walkway, carrying a basket of potatoes I gathered in the backyard and bringing them to the nursing home. After school, I had to go to The Nursing Home of St. Mary to help Sister Grace despite the tons of homework I had and the upcoming examination. Despite my unpleasant look today, I must work not because I am hardworking but because I have to be good to be allowed to go with Anya.

Anya wanted me to join her at the party she got invited to. I am not a party person or the outgoing kind, but except for the events at the nursing home, I have never been to a real party, and my heart is hopeful that they will allow me to go out this time. Anya is optimistic that they will consider it their birthday gift for me.

Yes, I think… I think it is my birthday tomorrow.

My seventeenth birthday.

I was humming the I Hope You Dance song that Anya and I had been singing for days when I heard a loud honk. I turned around to check it out, only to gape, my eyes and mouth wide open, shocked to see a car was coming my way.

I shut my still puffy eyes tight, waiting for the car to hit my petite body, but it stopped with only an inch of space away from me. It was not the miracle I was hoping for, but the divine agency up there must have saved me from being crushed by a gorgeous red Ferrari sports car.

My whole body was shaking in fear as I stumped my feet toward the driver, but before I could scream at his face, he went out immediately, not to apologize or check on me, but to walk in front and check the damage to his car.

The nerve! What kind of person would be more interested in the car than the life of the person he almost killed?

I growled, walking toward him. “Are you blind? Didn’t you see me?” I said angrily as I poked his back with my pointed finger to notice me.

He turned around to face me, but heaven was my witness that we had different reactions. He raised his eyebrows and moved one step backward, looking at me with disgust from head to toe. I understand because right now, my face looks like the female version of Quasimodo.

In my case, I knew my heart skipped a beat, seeing a Greek god in front of me. He was taller, so I had to raise my head to look directly into his eyes, and I bet I had forgotten to breathe as I gazed at his gorgeous face. I have completely forgotten that this man has almost squashed me with his beautiful red car.

If love at first sight existed, then this must be it. I closed my eyes and inhaled his intoxicating scent, probably from an expensive men’s cologne, and imagined that I was kissing his lips.

“I’m in a hurry, so how much?” he asked in a serious tone.

My eyebrows raised, snapping me from daydreaming. I watched him take his wallet filled with cash.

Is he talking about the potato which innocently rolled on the street, or me that he didn’t even ask if I was alright?

“Are you kidding me?” I sneered at him.

“I have no time for you,” he took all the paper bills in his wallet, took my hand, and placed a large amount of money on my palm. “Here! That’s for you and your…” he sighed, looking at the scattered potato on the ground, “potato. If that is still not enough, here’s my lawyer’s card.”

He handed me the business card, but before he could turn his back on me, I grabbed his wrist and returned the money and card to him.

“You should have at least asked me if I was okay!” I snarled at him, picking up the basket.

He stared at my face, and if my face was not a bit swollen and without the red spots on my face, I bet I was as crimson as a red crayon. He pressed his lips as if suppressing himself in bursting a peal of laughter.

“I don’t think I did much damage on…” he pointed his fingers at my face.

I was sure my still aching eyes opened wide as my anger outburst with his insult. Without thinking, I took the potato left in the basket and threw it in his face.

He groaned angrily, not caring where the potato hit him. “You crazy and ugly -”

He stops as I squat, picking up another potato on the ground. “That makes us two!” I screamed at him, lifting my hand and aiming to throw another potato at him. When I saw him advance to me, I released the potato in my hand but targeted his beautiful car.

He halted like his heart stopped beating as he heard the thud of the wasted vegetable on the hood, creating a not-so-visible dent but enough for him to panic.

“You’re really crazy!” He barked at me as he dashed back inside the car.

My heart hammered inside my chest, realizing he might hit me after damaging his beloved possession. He started the car, driving it backward before speeding up to me. I screamed at the top of my lungs, closing my eyes, praying, calling all the saints, gods, and names of deities I could recall from my books, and hoping I would still look beautiful after this.

“Go back to the hell where you belong, you ugly demon!” he roared at me, driving so fast that I almost wet my underwear from fear when I felt the air when he went past me.

As soon as I heard the sound fading in the street, I opened one eye, peeking to see if he was gone already. I screamed again, but this time I was expressing my anger toward the driver, who was handsome on the outside but a monster on the inside.

“Then I’ll wait for you in hell!” I yelled and cried as I started picking up the potato on the street.

“Angela?”

I hear a gentle tone calling my name, a voice that makes my heart flutter whenever I see the owner of the voice. Dylan was standing, looking curiously at me, when I turned around.

“Are you okay?” He asked curiously, picking up the vegetable he almost stepped on and looking at the other potato on the street.

“No! A lunatic almost hit me!” I said, realizing I was still on a high pitch when he chuckled. I heaved a deep sigh and smiled sheepishly at him when he approached me and took the basket from my hand.

“Umm… What happened?” He asked worriedly as we started walking toward the nursing home.

“To me or the potato?” I grinned at him but pressed my lips when I realized I probably looked like a grinning Edna Mode.

He chuckled. “Anya already told me about what happened to you,” he said, stopping and lifting his hand, carefully holding my chin. “How long does it wear off?”

“I looked cute, right? A week or maybe a few days for the red spots, but my face will return to its normal size later,” I grinned. “I hate taking meds because it’s making me dizzy for days.” I sighed.

Dylan chuckled softly. “You hate it when your brain’s not working, huh?”

“I actually love it when it stops working even for a while,” I told him, glancing at his handsome face.

He released my chin, sighing. “Yeah, better stop for a while. It’s hard to keep up with you academically.”

“Just academically?” I batted my eyelashes, forgetting that my face looked like an imperfect-shaped balloon.

He leaned his head toward me, making my heartbeat thump faster. Anya told me why Dylan stuck with us in the nursing home when he could use the hours working in the convenience store to earn money. He liked me.

No. He doesn’t just like me. He likes like me, but for some reason, something is stopping him from admitting that.

“With almost everything, Anj,” he smiled at me, then shrugged his shoulders. “You still look beautiful.”

I released a good laugh. “Even if I look like the female version of Quasimodo?”

He placed his arm on my shoulders, pulling me to his side, closer to him. “Yes!”

I tilted my head, looking at him. “Dylan, are you sure you don’t like me?” I remember asking him before, and he clearly told me that he thought of me as his younger sister, but it was four years ago. I didn’t care much about it that time, but if Dylan would say the exact words, I was not sure what to feel.

He tapped the tip of my nose. “I don’t have to answer that question now, right?” he smiled, showing that adorable smile and sighing as he continued to walk with me on his side.

I nodded.

“If I tell you I like you, what would you do?” He asked, catching me off guard with his question.

I glanced at him, shrugging and sighing because today, surprisingly, my heart seemed to have been confused by the monster riding in a red Ferrari car.