I flunked my history test. Sorry if you expected something more dramatic to be the price of love. It probably even wasn't that I didn't know the answers. I was just so tired from all the dancing that I probably ticked the wrong answers during the multiple choice part and wrote 'washing machine' instead of 'Washington' in the essay and stuff like that. Secret late night rendezvous definitely had their drawbacks. Of course those paled in comparisons to the advantages, I thought, as I sat in class, daydreaming of my date and my dance last night, too enraptured by my memories to notice Jen's repeated attempts at conversation and kicks on the shin. But the reason for my distraction during the test, I realized when I came home, would be difficult to explain to my parents, seeing as they didn't know anything of my dance, my date or, for that matter, my boyfriend.

“A D-?” My dad shouted as I timidly told him my result. “What in God's name were you thinking?”

To answer that question truthfully would probably have caused him to have a heart-attack. Therefore, I just sat and let his rage rain down on me. Words like 'unacceptable', 'disgrace', 'lazy' and 'young people nowadays' played a great role in his rant. My mother had already retreated into the kitchen, with that look on her face that means she's utterly disappointed in me but doesn't want to show it and fails absolutely. Cathy just sat in the background, looking smug. Something she is really good at, by the way.

My thoughts drifted back to Giacomo, and for once they weren't all too happy. Our next date wasn't going to be nearly as exciting as our last one. If I wanted to keep my Dad from sending me to military school, I had to pick my grades up. And that meant something I was highly allergic to: studying.

“... is this sort of behavior, that is responsible for the sinking fortunes of the United States. If young people nowadays would just emulate the example of their forefathers and apply themselves to their work, none could rival this great nation.”

Oh-Oh. My dad had touched on his favorite subject. I wondered idly how long it would take for him to blow off all his steam. Probably long enough for me to go to my room, get to my secret book bag and read another chapter of 'Dangerous Desire'. I figured, though, that my Dad wouldn't take kindly to such a course of action. So I just sat still. From time to time, I even tried to listen. I never actually managed, but I tried. You see? I'm really a good girl.

All the stuff I got to hear wouldn't have mattered to me. Sure, my Dad was mad, but that was sort of his usual state. When he wasn't mad at me, he was mad at somebody at work, or at driver in front of him on the road, or at people who spit their chewing gum on the sidewalk. If none of the above were available, he could always be mad at democrats and illegal immigrants in a general way. There were always plenty of those to be had.

“... and it is simply irresponsible of you – are you listening to me?!”

“Sure. You were saying that I have to pick my grades up because I will never get into college and get a decent job if I carry on the way I do.”

“Exactly!”

Whoopee! I had guessed right.

“So remember it, will you?” he huffed.

“Of course, Dad. You know that tutor I told you about? He's been... em, busy for the last few days, but I'll be seeing him again tomorrow.”

This seemed to surprise him.

“Well, em... good. See to it that something like that,” he pointed to my marked test papers, “doesn't happen again.”

“Promise. Scouts honor.”

Cathy chose that moment to chime: “Dad, did I tell you that Football training has been postponed till next Friday? So I would like to invite Mark over for dinner, if that's all right.”

I knew what my Dad's reply would be before he'd so much as uttered a single syllable.

“Of course, Cathy, my dear. We're always happy to see Mark here. Such a nice, quiet, well-behaved boy.” He shot me a look that undoubtedly said 'just the sort I'd like you to date. When you are about ten years older and have at least a bit of sense in your skull.'

I shot Cathy a venomous look, and she seemed elated at how angry I was. She'd forever been trying to make me jealous of her fabulous football-playing boyfriend, and it had always worked to some extent. Not that I ever harbored any feelings towards Mark the magnificent. No, he was far too boring and conservative. I guess I'd always been jealous of the fact that she had a boyfriend and I didn't. But... that wasn't the case anymore. So why was I still feeling jealous? As I watched Cathy call Mark, and watched my mother watch her out of the kitchen, maternal pride shining in her eyes, I knew why. It was because Cathy could invite her boyfriend to dinner – and I never would be able to.

Mark came, Mark was seen, mark conquered. His innocent smile and his baby-blue eyes were enough to win any parents' hearts. He shook hands with my Mom and Dad, then kissed Cathy on the cheek knowing very well that anything more would have to be reserved for school, and then walked passed me, ignoring my outstretched hand. To be fair, he might not have noticed me. After all, I am quite small.

If I hadn't felt so miserable, the dinner with Mark might actually have been funny. He had to keep his cheesy grin on his face, no matter what my mother served him. Every now and then, Cathy kicked him under the table, at which point he made a compliment to my mother about her fabulous cooking skills. Well, it was obvious who wore the pants in this relationship. Cathy had him firmly in her grasp. One could see that from the way he gulped down every extra helping my happy mother put in front of him and still somehow managed to keep a grin on his face. I had no such problems. Nobody paid enough attention to me to notice what I was doing, so I just stuffed as much of my dinner as possible into my napkin and pecked at the rest. So why, you might well ask, was dinner so terrible, if nobody paid attention to me?

Because nobody paid attention to me. It was as if I weren't there. They talked of Football, and Cheerleading, and the decline of the American economy. They asked how Mark was doing, and he said he was doing great. He smiled at Cathy, and Cathy smiled at him. My parents smiled at each other. It was making me sick – and not because I begrudged anyone happiness, even if that anyone happened to be my bitch of a sister. No, it was because they truly seemed to have forgotten that I was there. I was the fifth wheel. And I knew that was what Cathy wanted me to know.

I bit on my lip, wondering whether they would notice if I raised my hands and shouted: 'Hey, I'm here! Do you remember me? Your other daughter?' Maybe. Maybe not. It was terribly painful. Not half as painful though, as the pain that really tortured me right now, the one Cathy couldn't know she was inflicting. If only Giacomo could be with me right now! If only he could sit beside me, like Mark sat beside Cathy. Then I could see him smile, and it wouldn't be a cheesy smile like Mark's, it would be a smile of warmth and passion, directed at me. Then the most important person in my life could finally really be part of my life, in every way I wanted him to.

I closed my eyes, and for a moment I could almost feel his strong fingers interlocking with mine.

“Mark, do you want some more casserole?” my mother asked, brightly. My eyes snapped open, just in time to see Mark's answering smile.

“Yes...please, Mrs. MacAllen. You are a wonderful cook.”

So, at least lying couldn't be that bad. Other people did it, too.

Mark managed to gulp down the remainder of what my mother had optimistically called 'casserole', said grace with us, and then got up. I watched him carefully, but no green smoke was coming out of his ears, and no explosions could be heard from his stomach. Amazing. He was resilient, one had to admit that much.

“It was wonderful seeing you again, Mr. and Mrs. MacAllen,” he said, shaking hands. Cathy was beaming beside him, proud of how well she had trained her favorite puppy. “Bye Cathy.” He gave her another careful peck on the cheek. Then he turned to leave... and stopped. “Oh, and bye... Angelica?”

The door slammed shut.