Bola-Bola

Chapter Two

Chapter TwoApple Tart

sometimes just a pastry

sometimes a bribe

St. Louise’s College, Quezon City is a Catholic private school for girls run by nuns. I’ve been enrolled in St. Louise’s from preparatory school to high school and so have my best friends. We expect that on graduation day, we’ll all be receiving a loyalty award. After all, we’ve been studying in St. Louise’s for ten years. And we know everybody! All the students, all the teachers, all the sisters, all the manangs and manongs. Sometimes we even know a bit of everybody else’s personal life—only the scandalous parts, of course.

Even if we moved up from one grade to another, everything stays the same, the muted cream-colored walls, the mosaic brown tiles down the corridors, the crucifix affixed on top of the blackboard. From preparatory school to high school, every classroom we have ever been in had the exact same look. It’s maddening, but it’s familiar.

The preparatory school, grade school, and high school are found in different parts of the campus. St. Louise’s high school is composed of five three-story buildings, forming one solid cream-colored pentagon. In the middle is one huge expanse of land, the lawn, where the flag pole stands and where some demonstrations are presented during flag ceremony. The freshmen and the sophomores share the St. Elizabeth wing. Right across theirs, the juniors and the seniors share the St. Faustina wing. Between the two said buildings, the administration and the faculty take up the St. Catherine wing. The labs, library, chapel, cafeteria, and other facilities can be found in the last two wings, the St. Felicity and St. Perpetua wings, forming a downturned “V.” As seniors, we take up St. Faustina’s.

Like any other year, it’s the same old routine. Same faces, same activities. Nothing really changes in St. Louise’s. It’s no wonder why the week following the EK gimik is uneventful. The teachers are handing out assignments like they’re food and we’re in a boot camp. When, really, we’re bloated from the amount of work they’re having us do. And as students of a Catholic girls’ school, we can’t really start a revolution and ask them to throw the whole lot of papers out. Though it’s tempting to do just that. A hunger strike, if you will. But since the fear of Sister Agnes has been instilled in us since we were six, the best thing we can do is negotiate with the deadline, if not outright plead for an extension.

Since the beginning of the school year, as per the norm for all seniors, there’s the usual talk about CET preparations, like who’s enrolled in which review school, who met whom where. Some are boasting that they met cute boys, which is totally irrelevant to passing in one’s college of choice. I mean, come on, how can knowing a boy’s number help me out with physics?

I didn’t enroll in any review school, and didn’t meet any cute boys over the summer, which is fine, as I explain to Dani each time she brings up John and how they met. I self-studied at home for two reasons. One, to save money. Two, I wanted to study at my own pace and review the subject matters that I know I find difficult.

School’s a bit boring, but with no boys and no distraction, it’s the best place to flex my academic muscle. All I have to do is keep my grades up, stay in the honor roll, get into UP, and have a better life in college. I hope. I can’t wait to leave high school behind with all its morning prayers, reflection papers, and mandatory nail and skirt-length inspections. College means freedom. Besides all the female hormones in a confined place is driving me insane! But then college also means meeting new people, making new friends, and there are days when I find myself freaking out, because what if my old friends give me up for new ones? College means change, and sometimes, I’m scared of change.

I want to get into UP just like Kuya. But unlike Kuya, I want to take up an English course. UP’s a premier state university, and it’s so much cheaper compared to other schools. I came from a middle-class background, and we’re not as cushy as my friends’ families are. Issa wants to get into ADMU to pursue a pre-law course, Dani, into UST to take a pre-med course because she wants to be a doctor just like her parents, while Summer wants to go to DLSU because she’s figured out that marketing is her calling, and La Salle boys are calling her, too. They all want to get into private universities known in the metro. Just a year of tuition at one of those universities costs at least a hundred thousand pesos; and I don’t want Mama and Kuya to pay as much. Even if the tuition fee is cheaper in UP, it’s one of the best universities in the country. We all know that by graduation day—if we’re lucky and we actually get into our dream schools—we’ll go our separate ways. But ever since Summer brought it up last year during career orientation, we haven’t really talked about it, and I doubt we’ll be talking about it anytime soon.

Friday, at our lunch table, Summer continues to act all passive-aggressive towards Issa for cancelling on us. It’s been six days! I should be the one to lash out. But since I’m not the prima donna of the group, I decide to read my book, and stay out of the clique politics, thank you very much. I’m two chapters in when Summer takes the book from my hands and beams at me. Even Dani, who’s eating her slice of apple tart, has the same smile. Issa’s mouth is set into a straight line.

Something’s up.

And it’s not good. What did I miss?

“Guess what,” Summer leans in, my book held captive in her hand.

“What?”

“Gio has a friend who—”

Not again. Gio has a friend. Carlo has a friend. Migs has a friend. I get it. All her boyfriends have friends, and she’s pimping me to them. Again.

“No,” I reach for my pocketbook when Summer raises it in the air.

“Hear me out! Gio has a friend who loves How I Met Your Mother and Glee! Aren’t those your favorite shows? What if he’s your Ted, T? What if he’s your Finn? Don’t tell me you aren’t interested?”

Part of me is interested, and it scares me a little. Summer may be a b***h sometimes but she knows me well and she wants “what’s best for me.” I know she’s trying to be a good friend by keeping me in the loop, but Kuya Anton said no dating. And the girls know that, especially Summer.

“He likes the same things as you. What do you think? A group date. Tomorrow.” Summer’s grinning with a twinkle in her eye. She’s been planning this for days.

Kuya would never approve.

“Summer,” I say through gritted teeth.

“We’ll tell your brother we’re going to eat lunch with my family.”

Kuya would be so angry.

“No.”

“With Dani’s then.”

He’ll ground me for a month.

“No.”

“It’s a match made in heaven. And he’s cute!”

Scratch that, a year. At least a year. I’ll be living like a nun in a convent.

“You know I’m not allowed to date.”

“Dani’s not allowed to date.” Summer points out to Dani beside her.

“I’m not,” Dani agrees, licking her spoon. “Want some?” she asks as she pushes the rest of the slice of her apple tart in my direction. Suddenly, I’m reminded of that forbidden fruit. You know, that one fruit that got Eve kicked out of Eden. The thinly sliced apples look tantalizing, glazed as they are, resting on the sweet slice of golden flaky pastry crust. My mouth waters just a bit, almost getting me to surrender.

“It’s really good,” Dani says.

Sometimes, Dani doesn’t even try. Even when she’s doing nothing, she’s clearly for Summer’s plans. If it’s between me and Summer, she would almost always pick Summer’s side. Summer’s the one who drew her to the dating scene, to Starbucks and to Moonleaf to meet some boys from the all-boys school a few blocks away. She didn’t even budge, not even a little. She’s been dating boys for the past two years, unbeknownst to Dr. and Dra. Dizon, her loving parents.

I look at Issa, begging her to intervene with my eyes. She blatantly ignores me as she packs her lunch.

“What about Issa?” I ask, grasping at straws, pushing the apple tart back to Dani.

Issa has never gone to any of the group dates, and when we were alone, she told me she would never go to one. When I asked her why, she said it’s just not her “thing.” Whatever that means. I’m starting to worry about her, to be honest. For the past few months, it had felt like Issa was pulling away and keeping some distance between us. I kept texting her and bugging her, asking her if anything was wrong, because worrying over my best friends seemed to have been my pastime over the summer. But all Issa ever told me was she’s fine and that there’s nothing to worry about, and you know there’s something to worry about when a girl tells you she’s “fine.” I’ve been meaning to talk to her about it, but I just can’t seem to find the right time with Summer and Dani with us all day. There are just some things that are better left between the two of us.

“Already asked her. She said no.”

As I watch my two best friends battle in their cold war, I massage my forehead with my fingers. I swear, I’m going to have an aneurysm one day and it’ll be because of them. They are my best friends, but there are times when they take things a little too far.

“We have a paper due next week. I have Glee Club responsibilities. I’m swamped.” Not really. My brain’s like a well-oiled machine when it comes to scheduling these things, but I just don’t have it in me to say one crisp and solid “no” to Summer’s face.

Summer’s eyes narrow as she grinds her teeth, and I almost recoil at how sharp they are at the moment. The school bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. Summer bangs my book on the table and pushes it my way with a scowl. She hates me. Jesus, I’ll pay for that one.

“Dani, let’s go.” Summer shoulders her lunch bag and tows Dani out of the cafeteria.

The half-eaten tart is left on the table, unguarded, staring me in the face. Mustering my resolve, I throw it away along with the other contents of my tray in the waste bin. Issa follows me and pats my back.

“You did the right thing. She can’t always get her way,” says Issa as she fixes her glasses.

We walk back to our classroom side by side along with all the students rushing in the hallway. Since we’re seniors, we walk just a little bit slower, so sure we are of ourselves. I feel so much older walking down these halls with Issa.

“I know I haven’t pestered you about it. But why didn’t you go last Saturday?” I ask.

“Because it’s not a real girls’ day out.”

I knew it. Issa knew that we would accidentally run into chinitos in Enchanted Kingdom. She knew and she didn’t tell me, or maybe she thought I’d know, too. Either way, I feel betrayed. Out of all my friends, I trust her the most. The only one I’m comfortable enough to tell all my secrets and insecurities to. Ever since she let me cry on her shoulder when we were six, on the first day of classes because of first-day blues, I knew we would be best friends. We are two peas in a pod. We are as close as Summer and Dani are. Without Issa, I would never have known how to say “no” to Summer. I figure maybe now’s the time to ask her what’s on her mind.

“You know if there is something wrong, you can always tell me, right?”

We go up the stairs. Issa pauses halfway up the staircase, ignoring all the scuttling students behind us. It takes Issa two seconds to give me a nod, and I worry.

“Issa, you know I’m here for you, right?” I say, holding onto her arm as we walk side by side.

“Yes, Thea. I know,” she replies dismissing me as she enters our classroom, leaving her lunch bag on her table and hollers at our classmates to line up.

“Line up, everybody!”

She’s the class president, and it’s her responsibility to keep us in line, literally and figuratively.

“Come on now! The prayer’s about to begin. Line up! What are you waiting for? Christmas?”

Issa directs two of our classmates to go to their post. We’re supposed to line up alphabetically and in no other order. Issa’s strict but effective. She comes off strong and intense like molasses but you know she’s good for you. All our classmates respect her for that. It also doesn’t hurt to take orders from the second smartest girl in class.

Just like me, Issa’s heavyset compared to Summer and Dani. We’re chunky and overweight, but I’m much taller than Issa. Issa’s pretty when she smiles, but scary when she scowls. It’s the eyebrows, Dani told me once.

Alphabetically, our group of friends line up side by side: me, Issa, Summer, and Dani. Balderama, Cabral, Dela Vega, and Dizon. But there are days when Issa doesn’t go to her post and simply lines up with the last girl in class, Alexis Yu, all the way at the back. I guess that’s got to be one of the perks of the position. Issa would just say she’s conferring with the class president of the class right beside ours. No one calls her on it, not even the teachers. Now is one of those times. With the rift between Summer and Issa, I doubt I’ll be lining up beside the class president anytime soon.

The empty space between Summer and me seems bigger somehow. Summer’s still snubbing me for saying “no” to her. She knows I’m not comfortable with her pimping me to her boyfriends’ friends. She knows I’m not allowed to date. She knows I’m insecure with my body. But she just keeps on pushing and pushing. Summer being Summer, maybe she’ll talk to Issa and me next week.

Dead set on ignoring her, I fix my eyes on the St. Catherine wing where the prayer leader is standing. I’m in the right in this rift.

After the prayer, we go quietly into our rooms and wait for our teacher. As soon as Mrs. Pisaro enters, I try my best to stop thinking about my “Summer problem.” Easily enough, taking down notes takes my mind off things. The hours tick by, and the last three subjects pass without incident. Physics, trigonometry, and economics, all of which are equally boring and draining. By the time the school bell rings for dismissal, dozens of high school girls are rushing to their lockers, itching to go to the newest milk tea place around the corner or home, like me.

With my backpack on my shoulder, I catch Dani’s and Issa’s eye and say goodbye. I don’t even try talking to Summer. That’s a lost cause. After leaving our classroom, I go straight to Gate four and ride the school bus to take me home.