“Um, are you okay, babe?” Michael, my first boyfriend, briefly turned his head of midnight-colored hair. His light eyes met mine.

Was he serious? Through the Wormhole just won 3rd place in the Aureate Awards (my very first win) on Wattpad! I was more than okay!

“Michael,” I said, still beaming and sobbing, “Through the Wormhole just won 3rd place.”

Perhaps it wasn’t a bad idea that I joined a Wattpad contest, after all? I wasn’t sure about it at first. My writing was still babyish, but apparently, my low self-esteem didn’t mean I was a bad writer. I mean, I did have ten years of experience under my belt now.

My cursed self still had yet to be free from the witch. After ten years, I started to understand that not all curses were bad. I just won a contest! I did exactly what the siren told me to do, and now I was ready to get myself out in the world more.

***

Is it weird to say I liked the COVID-19 Pandemic? I was living my world, peeps—stuck at home with nothing to do but write.

“Keep writing, Vika,” the writing gods told me twenty-four hours a day. “This is who you are.”

And it was. I found my new favorite hobby, rather than school. My very first 1st place win, which came from the Moonstone Awards late 2020, killed it for me.

“Matthew!” I cheered, hurrying to my older brother, who sat in the kitchen with Mom, Dad, and T-Meister. “Through the Wormhole won 1st place in the Moonstone Awards on Wattpad! I beat someone who usually always wins the sci-fi genre!”

“OMG, that’s amazing, Vika!” With one hand, Matthew ran his meaty, tan fingers through his short, black hair. He took the blue certificate away from me with his other one. “It’s a merry Christmas, indeed!”

“I know!” I threw myself into my older brother’s arms. “This is a sign that 2021 is going to be a whole new step in my writing career.”

Little did my family know that I had failed Fall 2020 semester,—three freaking Fs—all because of my addiction. They were so happy for me. I did not want to ruin that for them. Just like a drug, flaws come in waves, all which sweep you out to sea.

The Green Guardian. That was the name I gave my new novel. Confidence blinded my being, leading to not much improvement in the Spring 2021 semester. The Green Guardian was all I cared about.

I needed to return Matthew’s favor. He gave me the next book in one of my favorite series, Keeper of the Lost Cities, for Christmas. The past year had been so hard for him, but I was eager to show him I had his back. He was going to move in with me in the fall, so my novel had to be done by then. Mateo was the name of my protagonist. That was “Matthew” in Spanish.

My curse ticked away like a time bomb. With each passing day, it grew stronger. I knew that when the time bomb went off, it would be the best day of my life.

“Vika,” Matthew would say, when he saw The Green Guardian for the first time, “you wrote this for me?”

And I would answer, “I sure did, Matt. Happy birthday, from the little sister who loves you.”

I would then read the story to him, just like those good, old days with Dad when I was a kid. It would make up for all the years Matthew spent ghosting Timothy and I, all because he was so much older. It would be my way of telling him I forgave him, and that I was ready to live the life we were supposed to live, as brother and sister.

“You’re still writing, Victoria?” my co-worker asked me at work one day, when I was supposed to be monitoring the movie theater’s small box office.

“Yes, I am.” I spread my papers out on the empty, wooden table and stuck a few of them under the touch-screen computer. There was hardly a fingerprint on the surface, because it was so slow. Then again, it was a Sunday night the third week of August.

My co-worker clapped her hands together. “You’re amazing, girl!” she announced. “We’ll hold a special reservation for you, when your book becomes a movie!”

I chuckled at her words. She wasn’t the first one who told me my screenwriting-like writing style would come in handy in the future.

Strangely, the second she left, my insides suddenly squeezed together—like when a woman had her tubes tied. For some reason, I couldn’t breathe. For some reason, I cried. But why? The only thing I had to worry about was starting school in a week, and maybe Hurricane Henri that was supposed to clip the state in the next few days.

Why did I feel so shaky? It was August 15th. I still had a whole week before I had to put up with professors, who forced their pupils to participate in class activities. Yet, I still couldn’t help but to feel like something was going to happen.

***

“Matthew! How are you, dude?” Mom and I asked at the same time, two days later, while we were on our way to Old Navy to do some back-to-school shopping.

My older brother’s voice came loud and clear on Mom’s Bluetooth audio in her red Acura.

We shivered when a blast of cool air passed through our dirty hair.

“I’m pretty tired,” Matthew replied, “but I’m doing well. I had a good trip.”

He sounded good… the best ever in two years. “So, Vika,” he chuckled, “I’m excited to move in with you in a few weeks.”

“Me, too! Me, too!” I cheered, as thoughts of The Green Guardian rushed through my brain. “Are you going to teach me how to cook?”

“I certainly can try,” Matthew said. “Oh, Vika, we’re going to have so much fun together.”

“I know! I know! I have everything planned out!” I said, kicking my legs like I was a little kid.

The time bomb continued to tick away,—tick, tick—and then… Boom! It went off, just like that.

“I love you guys,” were the last words Matt told Mom and I before he hung up.