Neighborhood Drama

Chapter 1: Neighborhood Drama

Eliana Maxine

Summer break had finally arrived, and for me, that meant one thing: absolute, uninterrupted laziness.

No exams. No last-minute cramming. No back-to-back lab reports. Just me, my bed, and a long, glorious list of dramas and novels I’d been dying to binge since the semester started.

Being a Human Physiology major was no joke, and after months of juggling lectures, practicals, and dense textbooks that read like ancient spells, this break felt like the breath of fresh air I desperately needed.

Right now, I was sprawled across my bed, completely tangled in my blanket like a human burrito, the soft morning sunlight streaming through the curtains. It was already eight in the morning, but I had zero plans of moving anytime soon. I had my iPad in hand, fully immersed in the fantasy w******l on screen.

The protagonist, a battle-hardened regressor, was knee-deep in a brutal fight against grotesque monsters, and I was living for it. The snarls and screeches practically leapt off the page, and I couldn’t flip to the next chapter fast enough.

Just as he was about to land the final blow, a sharp knock on my door shattered the moment.

“Eliana!” Aunt George’s voice rang from the other side of my door, followed by another round of knocks—harder this time. “Get up, lazybones! I need your help in the kitchen!”

I groaned and sank deeper into my bed.

“Five more minutes?” I called out, hoping my voice would carry enough charm to buy me some time.

“Five more minutes, my foot!” she shot back. “If you’re not up in ten seconds, I’m coming in, and you know I will!”

Ugh.

With a dramatic sigh, I shut my iPad with flair and flung my blanket off. “Fine, fine! I’m coming!”

Dragging myself out of bed like a reluctant zombie, I shuffled toward the door and swung it open.

There she was. Aunt George, standing with her arms crossed, wearing her usual worn t-shirt and leggings and that look that said, ‘I love you, but I will not tolerate nonsense today.’

“That was fast,” she noted, raising a brow. “I was expecting more resistance.”

I yawned. “Like I even had a choice.”

“Exactly.” She smirked and turned on her heel. “Now chop-chop. We’ve got lumpia and palabok to make. One of the resident doctors at the hospital is having a birthday and ordered from me.”

Ah. That explained the urgency.

My aunt works as a janitress at the nearby hospital and sells packed meals on the side. She also takes food orders to earn extra income. I didn’t complain anymore. She worked hard every day, and helping her out was the least I could do.

I tied my hair up, rolled up my sleeves, and got to work in the kitchen. I was in charge of the lumpia, which meant mixing the filling—ground beef, chopped carrots, minced garlic and onions, an egg, and just the right amount of seasoning. The familiar smell of spices filled the air as I mashed and folded everything together, the bowl warm beneath my hands. It was strangely comforting, almost therapeutic.

Meanwhile, Aunt George was busy with the palabok. She heated oil in a large pan, sautéed garlic and onions until fragrant, then added ground pork and shrimp. The sizzle of the pan was music to my ears.

As I scooped portions of meat onto the lumpia wrappers, carefully rolling and sealing each one, Aunt George casually started a conversation.

“So…” she said, lowering her voice like she was about to reveal classified information. “Did you hear about Mrs. Smith’s son?”

I raised a brow, wrapping another roll. “What about him?”

“He got caught sneaking out last night.”

I paused mid-wrap. “Wait. Isn’t he, like... twelve?”

“Exactly.” she shook her head in mock disappointment as she added the soaked noodles to the pan. “Trying to meet up with some girl. Can you believe that?”

I gaped. “What kind of middle school Romeo and Juliet nonsense is that?”

“Right? Kids these days.” Aunt George scoffed. “Back in our time, we weren’t even allowed out after sunset without getting grilled like fish. Now these kids are out here plotting love affairs like it’s a K-drama.”

I laughed under my breath, still focused on my lumpia rolls.

“Oh, and you know Mrs. Gomez?” she added casually, stirring the palabok noodles into the thick, orange sauce.

I raised a brow. “What about her?”

“She got into another fight with her husband because he spent all their grocery money on gambling. Again.”

“Jeez. That’s, like, the fifth time now. Mr. Gomez seriously needs an intervention,” I said, shaking my head. “Poor Mrs. Gomez, though. I bet her blood pressure must’ve spiked through the roof.”

“Oh, it is. She came to the hospital yesterday for a check-up.”

I burst out laughing. “No wonder you know about it! You’re the unofficial hospital grapevine.”

Aunt George winked. “What can I say? The nurses love to talk during lunch breaks.”

“So, what else have I missed?” I asked, amused.

“Well…” She dragged the word out, amusement thick in her tone, “remember Mrs. Prescott’s son?”

“The one who walks around like he’s some male lead in a K-drama?”

“The very one.”

“What about him?”

“He got dumped.”

I gasped in mock horror. “No way!”

“Oh, yes,” she confirmed with a dramatic nod. “Word on the street is that his girlfriend found out he’s... not as blessed as he likes to act.”

I stared. “What?”

“Apparently,” Aunt George leaned in like she was telling a ghost story, “his dick’s the size of a pinky.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth but couldn’t stop the laugh that exploded from me. “Oh my God! Are you serious?!”

“That’s what I heard,” she said with a shrugged.

“Well, serves him right!” I grinned. “He always acted like he was God’s gift to women. Imagine the embarrassment.”

“I know, right?” she agreed with a smug nod. “And speaking of neighborhood drama... remember Mr. Brown?”

“The one who thinks he’s a real-life Sherlock Holmes?”

“Bingo. He’s convinced the new couple who moved in are undercover spies.”

I stared at her. “You’re joking.”

“Dead serious,” she said, raising both hands. “Says they’re ‘too quiet’ and ‘too polite.’ Like since when was being polite a red flag?”

I snorted. “Our neighbors are absolutely unhinged.”

“You don’t say.”

We shared a look before breaking into laughter again.

“When do you even find the time to know all this?” I asked, wiping my eyes. “You’re always at the hospital.”

Aunt George gave me a mischievous look. “Honey, the hospital is basically a gossip hub. Nurses, patients, cafeteria ladies—we’re all part of the daily tea spill.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “You’re probably more updated on neighborhood drama than the people actually living here full-time.”

She held her chin high. “I take my job very seriously.”

I snorted. “Clearly.”