January 15, Tuesday

Amabelle's house wasn't very big. It had a small courtyard, and it was a luxury for the less affluent neighborhood of Harriswood, but the internal spaces were calculated to the centimeter and allowed only a few people to enter and be comfortable.

Amabelle's room, therefore, had the same principle, and the girl was also particularly messy, so it was only used for one person at a time.

In a few minutes, by the time Petra reached the house, there would have been three of them.

The girl didn't think she would be able to breathe.

Why couldn't she say no to her best friend?!

While walking, she reread the messages sent on the “Matchmakers <3” group the day before.

Normal guy: I don’t know how useful it will be, but I’m right outside university and I just saw Denny talking to Mathi.

Baelle: WHERE?! WHERE?!?!?

Normal guy: …right outside university, as I just said.

Baelle: WHAT ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT?!? SPY ON THEM!! I’M COMING!! 

Normal guy: I’m not seeing them anymore, and I have an exam in less than half an hour.

Baelle: Dollies! Ugh! Whatever, it’s still something! We have to figure out how to proceed for the date. How are you doing with exams? 

Normal guy: After this one I have one on the 18th.

One tomorrow, one the 28th 

Baelle: Hi Tray!!

Good afternoon

Going back to studying bye 

Baelle: Okay! Tomorrow afternoon you’re coming here to my house. We have plans to plan!!

Normal guy: Fine, but I can’t stay much

And there Petra was, after a complicated written exam which she believed she had passed, and without knowing absolutely what awaited her that afternoon.

Arriving in front of the doorbell, it took her at least a minute to convince herself to ring, and Rose, Amabelle's mother, opened the door without even asking, holding one of her numerous cats in her arms.

“Petra, nice to see you! It’s been a while since the last visit! Amy is waiting for you upstairs. Make yourself at home” she welcomed her affectionately, gesturing for her to take off her shoes and pointing to the stairs.

Petra complied, noting that she had arrived before Norman, and with a nod and a polite “It's a pleasure for me to see you too, Rose” she hurried to reach her best friend's room.

Not that she had anything against the former Mrs. Rosenhan, now Lewitt again, but the cat in her arms, the foundling Key, had always hated Petra, and seemed about to pounce on her.

Arriving at Amabelle's door, she knocked and entered without waiting for an answer, as she always did, the few times she was the one to go to her friend's and not the other way around.

For the first time, however, she remained at the door, wide-eyed, surprised by the situation in which her friend was.

And then also because it was almost impossible to enter, given the disorder that enveloped the already little room.

“Ames... are you okay?” she asked her friend, who was bent in front of the laptop and sobbing. Around her, handkerchiefs soaked in tears, a few history books that didn't seem to have ever been opened, empty chips bags, candies and lots and lots of bottles of iced peach tea.

Amabelle turned to her, with tears in her eyes and her glasses —since when did she wear glasses?— misted up.

“Tray… he's dead!” she explained, without explaining herself completely.

Petra blanched, wondering who on earth could be dead. She hadn't received any news about it. Was it a relative of hers that she didn't know? Oh God, it couldn't be her father, could he? Petra didn't know how she could ever comfort her.

And to think she wanted to stand her up.

She tried to get closer, avoiding the garbage and empty bottles, and starting to ask herself many questions and concerns. Why hadn't she said anything before? Surely if she was in that pitiful state she knew it for a long time. And Rose hadn't briefed her on anything either.

Wait, she was holding a cat in her hands. Perhaps one of the kittens had died. Well, that was a better guess than her father, but still terrible!

And in any case, Amabelle had taken it very badly.

“What happened?” she tried to investigate, hoping not to be too abrupt but too confused to worry too much about her own manners.

“Pablo! He died again! Just now that he was getting married to Francisca, finally!” Amabelle explained, wiping away her tears.

Pablo? Francesca? But above all… again?!

Petra froze, glanced at the computer, then at Amabelle, and slapped her forehead.

“Please tell me you're not talking about a television series” she whispered, incredulous.

“It's not a television series. It's THE TV series. The series of the decade, no, indeed, of the century. And I think it's been going on for a century. Okay, well, not quite a century, but definitely at least fifty years. And there's a reason. The characters are so interesting, and the story is captivating. Pablo may seem like the classic bad boy full of stereotypical admirers, but in reality he also has a heart of gold, and even if he's stereotypical it doesn't mean anything, because if this stereotype is strong there must be a reason, right?! And the reason is that it works. He's the perfect boyfriend for Francisca. Although I admit that if Francisca and Anjelica got together I wouldn't be against it. Come on, at least a flirt. In fact, they could be poly and have a threesome. Or a foursome, adding Kyle too. Kyle is strong, and has incredible chemistry with Pablo. And... where are you going?” Petra in fact, after having listened to her with her mouth open for too long, in disbelief, had turned around and decided that she could no longer bear her friend's fangirl crisis. After the exam and especially after that unprovoked scare, she had reached a breaking point.

“I’m going home. You startled me. I thought someone really died!” she exclaimed, taking an empty packet of chips, crumpling it and throwing it at her friend to make her point better.

“Ouch” Amabelle commented, even though she hadn't even been grazed “Do you think Pablo isn't worthy of my tears?” Amabelle got angry, making puppy eyes, and looking at the image on the computer.

Petra gave her a meaningful look, which made Amabelle retrace her steps.

“Okay… it is true that he will surely come back to life, but his death was still tragic, and last time he had forgotten everything, so I fear that Francisca…” Amabelle restarted the commentary, and Petra started to leave again.

“No, no, wait! Norman is coming. We need to make a plan”

Amabelle motioned for her to come over and sit on the bed.

Petra glanced quickly towards the stairs, but when she noticed that Key had freed himself from the woman’s arms and was aiming at her, she decided that Amabelle was the lesser evil. She closed the door and walked with great difficulty towards the bed.

“First of all… since when have you been wearing glasses?” Petra asked, changing the subject, and pointing to the pink glasses on her friend's nose.

“Oh, I don't wear glasses, I put them on because they give me a smarter and more professional look. Perfect to illustrate my evil plans” Amabelle explained, adjusting her glasses on her face in an exceptional imitation of Mirren.

Petra shook her head, surprised that she was so incredulous. She'd known Amabelle for years now, she must have been prepared for all his weirdness. She didn't have the heart to inform her that the pink teddy bear glasses didn't look professional in the slightest, and she changed the subject.

“So since you took the exam on the 11th you've only watched this garbage?” she inquired, taking a history book and leafing through it. It was pristine.

“It's not garbage. It's Gorgeous. In the sense that it is called Gorgeous. And it's the best series ever created, despite all the plot holes and deaths and resurrections and time travel and clichés and…” Before Amabelle could resume her careful analysis, Petra cut her off, pointing at the chip bags and the pajamas she was wearing.

“And you haven't been out since then?” she asked, incredulous.

“Well, everyone’s busy studying or working. But Felix came two days ago and we watched a few episodes together. I had to recover from the grade” she took a pillow and squeezed it making her usual sad smiley face that no longer pitied anyone.

“You didn't inform us it was out” Petra observed, a little offended.

“Well, I don't know yet, but I don't think it went well. It was a written exam, and you know I can't write. I'm much better at talking. Passing it will be a miracle” she complained, glancing afflicted towards the screen, as if seeking comfort from fictional characters.

“Come on, the beauty of university is that you can always do it again, and also, admit it, it's not like you to worry so much about something like that. What happened, really?” inquired Petra, who didn't buy the matter so easily.

“Okay, you're right. I don't care about the grade at all, but I didn't know who to hang out with, so I took the opportunity to make plans” she rubbed her hands, stood up and with great difficulty reached the wardrobe, which she opened with even greater difficulty, showing a detailed map of Corona Crew programs throughout the year.