“We grew up together,” I remind her.
“Yes,” Rickie says. “And then he moved away.”
I look down at my soggy waffle, take a few bites, and chew slowly, letting the three of us simmer in our own silence for a few minutes. I am trying to come up with a valid response to Rickie’s last statement, and the best I can manage is, “But he’s back now.” I sound whiny and self-absorbed, like someone who is used to having everyone cater to her demands the minute she makes them, used to everyone working around her versions of the truth. I almost expect them to reply, He didn’t come back for you. But we all know he could have, maybe just not for the right reasons.
Anna waves the white flag first. “Okay. We’ll leave you and Nico alone. But we hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I do,” I say firmly.
Rickie looks like she wants to push the subject, but instead, she says, “So are we done fighting now?”
I smile. “The question is, are you done grilling me to a crisp now?”
Anna smiles, too. “You felt like we were grilling you?”
“Of course we weren’t grilling you!” Rickie exclaims.
I jump up from my chair, rubbing my butt and cringing. “Really? ‘Cause that sure felt like the hot seat!”
They groan at my lame joke, but I start giggling, and pretty soon, all of us are doubled over in laughter. Then, like a corny scene from a teen movie, we get up and squeeze ourselves into a cheesy group hug, and it feels like my best friends are back to being on my side again.
Most people’s problems revolve around their inability, or unwillingness, to listen.
Exhibit A is this girl named Megan, who always asks me for advice but never seems to take it to heart (actually, she never seems to take it, period—all she does is argue with me). I don’t know why she keeps writing to me, but I do know she’s one of the site’s most loyal visitors, which makes it hard to get mad at her and tell her to stop wasting my time. This is how a normal correspondence between us would go:
Dear Chrissy,
I saw you talking to Nathan in the canteen the other day. I know it’s none of my business, but you guys seem miserable without each other. Don’t worry, I’m not judging you. It was just an observation.
Anyway, the real reason I wrote is because I think my best friend Kevin is in love with me. I say this because his world seems to revolve around me—he’s always fixing his schedule around mine, changing his plans just to be with me, and basically being willing to do everything for me. I have a feeling if I tell him to drop out of school and be my homework slave, he’d agree in a heartbeat. I don’t know what to do. I don’t really like anybody else right now, and I could sort of see myself with him, but I’m scared I’m just taking advantage of him, that I just keep him around because I like the attention. I don’t want to be that kind of girl. It doesn’t seem healthy or fair, and I’d like to be able to set things straight.
Love,
Megan
Dear Megan,
Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s not like you’re forcing him to do all these things for you. He’s doing them voluntarily and sometimes we just need to take things as they are. Sometimes we just need to trust that other people’s intentions are good and true, and be thankful that there are people who love us, instead of doubting their motivations and checking behind their backs for hidden agendas all the time. You’re not being selfish, and you’re not using him. The very fact that you’re writing to me for advice is proof that you care for him, too.
But what you need to ask yourself is this: do you deserve everything he’s been giving you? Sometimes, fairness is not strictly a matter of reciprocity—I’m sure he’s not asking you to fix your schedule around his and change your plans just to be with him. Maybe all he’s asking for is that you show how much you appreciate him. Another thing to consider is that maybe he’s treating you just right; maybe it’s not too much. Maybe you’ve just been around jerks all your life, and you’re not used to someone treating you the way you should be treated. Think about it. Good luck, Megan. I wish you well.
Love,
Chrissy
Dear Chrissy,
Thanks for your speedy response. I hate to disagree with you, but unfortunately, I don’t think anyone else our age is mature enough to understand the concept of fairness that goes beyond reciprocity. I get your point, that just because he’s doing all these things for me doesn’t mean he expects me to do them for him as well. However, I’d just feel too guilty leading him on when I’m not even sure if I like him as more than a friend. And as for me being around jerks all my life, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but isn’t that a bit harsh coming from someone who’s dating a guy who sneakily but publicly stole her from somebody else?
Peace,
Megan
See? She. Does. Not. Listen. I don’t even know what to say to her next time. Maybe I should just pretend I haven’t been getting her letters.
Exhibit B is Justin. He knocks on my door and calls out, “Ate, are you busy?” I am browsing through all the other letters in my inbox, but I turn off my computer and open the door to let him in. He always drops by my room before going to bed, and I smile because he looks adorable in his red and white striped pajamas and fluffy teddy bear slippers. He settles into my purple beanbag and pointedly asks, “Why did Gio leave?”
“Oh,” I say. “I’m not sure, sweetie. I think his Mommy and Daddy were having problems.”
“What problems?”
My parents have never fought in front of us (I don’t think they even have serious, major fights at all), so I struggle to think of a way to make him understand that doesn’t involve outing Mr. Diaz’s adulterous ass. “Well, you know how sometimes Daddy teases Mommy too much about her tummy, and Mommy stops talking for a while? It’s sort of like that.”
“What did Gio’s Daddy tease Gio’s Mommy about? She’s really skinny.”
“Uh, yes. Yes, she is. But that’s not what I meant, it was just an example.”
“An example of what?”
“Of... well, you know how Mommy and Daddy love each other very much?” I wait for him to nod. “Okay, well sometimes, other kids’ Mommies and Daddies stop loving each other.”
“Oh,” he nods again. “So break na sila?”
My jaw drops. “How do you know anything about breakups?”
He shrugs. “Mommy says that’s the reason why Kuya Nathan doesn’t come around anymore. I miss Kuya Nathan. Why did you stop loving him?”
I stare at him with my mouth hanging open. Mommy and I are SO going to sit down and talk about this. “I... I didn’t. I mean, we weren’t together. Officially. You know, like a real couple? Oh God, do you know anything about this too? You are way too advanced for a five-year-old.” I can’t believe I’m discussing this with Justin. This is all very, very surreal.
He puffs up with pride. “Teacher says I’m very smart,” he tells me.
I laugh. “Of course you are, you’re my little brother!”
He smiles smugly, and then, like he just remembered something, narrows his eyes at me. “You hurt Kuya Nathan,” he accuses.
“What?! No, no, no, listen to me. It wasn’t like that. I didn’t hurt him. Or I didn’t mean to. And hey, he also hurt me. But we’re okay now. I think. I’m not so sure. Yes, I think we’re okay. He just doesn’t come around anymore. I know this isn’t making sense to you. But I’m your sister and you’re supposed to be on my team.” I am aware that I am babbling, and he is looking at me like I am speaking an alien language.
“Are you friends?” he asks me.
“Yes?” I say. But it is a question, not a declaration, and Justin catches on.
“You’re not friends,” he tells me. “I think it’s my fault, because sometimes I don’t share my toys with him. Like when he asks if he can borrow my new Lego Batman, I say no.”
“Wait, are we talking about Nathan or Gio?”
“Both.”
“Listen,�
� I tell him in my best Big Sister voice. “It’s not your fault, okay? Sometimes people leave because they have to. It’s nobody’s fault.” I’m not sure if this explanation is good enough.
Apparently, it isn’t. Because he looks at me in the saddest way anyone has ever looked at me and says, “We hurt Kuya Nathan.” And then he leaves my room without even kissing me goodnight.
Last but not the least, Exhibit C is Nico.
I am about to go to bed when I hear Dad calling my name from downstairs. I peek over the railing and see Nico sitting on the couch with his knees together and his hands on his lap, like he is a grade-schooler waiting for his turn at the principal’s office. Dad doesn’t look too happy, and he tells me sternly, “It’s pretty late. Make it quick.” Under normal circumstances, I would have asked, Make what quick? Be more specific, Daddy. But whatever Nico came here for, I just want to get it over and done with. So I nod and say, “I will.”
Nico gets up to hug me hello, and I flinch. My arms stay glued to my sides for about two seconds too long before I hug him back. We sit down and he says, “I have to tell you something.”
“Go ahead,” I mutter. Usually, when people say this, they either mean, a) Go ahead and do what you have to do, I am right behind you, ready to provide support and encouragement anytime, or b) Go ahead and do what you want, I don’t really care, bahala ka sa buhay mo. However, in that peculiar dialect called Girl Talk, “go ahead” can only mean one thing: Don’t you even dare. I want to take two throw pillows and use them to cover my ears, because I already know what Nico is about to say, and it is something I’d rather not hear.
“I’m St. Andrew’s varsity basketball team’s new assistant coach,” he says with a flourish, like he expects me to start jumping up and down in celebratory glee. I do not want to hear this because I do not want to acknowledge that it is happening. I do not want to hear this because I do not want to pretend that I’m happy for him.
“Congratulations,” I mumble. “I’m so proud of you.” I sound like Anna, when she’s congratulating Rickie on submitting a paper she should have accomplished writing days ago, or congratulating Miguel on showing up ten minutes late instead of fifteen. In other words, I sound sarcastic and insincere, but Nico hardly notices.
“Thanks,” he beams. The clueless satisfaction on his face irks me, and I shock the both of us by snapping, “Don’t you get it?”
“Get what?” he asks.
“I don’t want to see you every day.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to become too attached to you.”
“Why can’t you be too attached to me?”
“Why can’t we be together for real?”
He actually laughs out loud. “That’s what this is all about?” He says this the way you would when a kid throws a tantrum over a piece of candy, or when a teacher gives you a big fat F over one misspelled word, and other instances where someone makes a colossal fuss out of something so insignificant.
He takes my hand and explains, “Chrissy, just because we’re not together officially doesn’t mean what we have isn’t real. I just don’t want to rush into anything we’re not yet ready for. I don’t believe in labels and I don’t want us to be defined by them and confined within them.” His little speech sounds pompous and rehearsed, and I retort, “Nico, just because I’m two years younger than you doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. It sounds to me like you just don’t want commitment.” I have never been the confrontational type, but now I have a feeling I’d get into a shouting match with him if he were to provoke me just a little bit more.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he says, putting an arm across my shoulders. I want to jab my elbow into his ribs, but I am suddenly, surprisingly jittery. I try not to fidget as I look him straight in the eye and tell him, “No, you’re not.”
He holds my gaze and says, “Yes, I am.” And then he pulls his arm tighter around me and starts kissing me, and I am a bundle of nerves but I find myself actually kissing him back. I always thought my first kiss would be weird and honestly kind of gross, but this is incredibly romantic and overwhelming in a good way and... well, exactly how a first kiss should be. After what seems like ages, we pull apart. His right hand rests on the back of my neck as he tells me, “I really, really like you, Chrissy. I need that to be enough for you, for now.”
“It is,” I say. He draws me closer to him again, drowning out all my words, and I allow him to.
Rule number 7:
Be honest with yourself.
“So isn’t there like, some sort of rule against student-assistant coach relationships?” Rickie asks me while walking to the Chem lab. We just passed Nico in the corridor (he was on his way to basketball practice and was looking very athletic and manly in his workout clothes), and she had seen the loaded look we had given each other.
“Relax, Ric,” Anna says. “It’s not like they’ll be making out in the hallways or something. This forbidden romance is strictly off-campus. Right, Chris?”
“Of course,” I say, turning red. “Besides, we’re not really together, so it’s not a relationship. You guys worry about me too much.”
“Why are you blushing?” Rickie asks suspiciously.
“Yeah, what did I say?” Anna puts her hands on her hips, frowning in concentration as she tries to remember. “I just said, it’s not like you’ll be making...”
“A-haaa!” Rickie screeches. “OMFG, Chrissy Legaspi, did you make out with Nico?”
I grab her arm. “Can you not yell?!”
She twists her arm away. “Can you not be violent? Get your claws off me, woman. Jeez.”
I can feel Anna’s disapproving stare. “Is there something you’d like to tell us, Chris?”
“Okay, okay,” I say. “Hold on to your horsetails.”
“Did you just say ‘hold on to your horsetails?’ What are you, eight?”
“Shut up, Ric!” Anna hisses. She closes her eyes and inhales, like she is trying to suck in all our immaturity through her nostrils. We wait for her to wrap up her meditation exercise. “Go on,” she tells me.
“Alright,” I say. “Nico and I kissed.”
“I KNEW IT!” Rickie shrieks. Subtlety is definitely not one of her strong points. A teacher pokes her head out of the nearest classroom door and glares at us. “Sorry,” we all mumble.
The bell rings and we run towards the laboratory, making it just in time. As we gather our materials from the supply closet, Anna gives me a look that says, This ain’t over yet, Missy.
“Well, if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you,” Anna says, when I finish filling her in on The Kiss. We are killing time in the Starbucks near school—she is waiting for Miguel and I am waiting for Nico. Rickie is off having her nails done and getting her weekly hot oil treatment.
“Thank you,” I say. “I am happy.”
Miguel walks in, hugs Anna like he hasn’t seen her in months, and tells her he missed her. Then he turns to me and says, “Don’t worry, Chrissy, I think you are still way hotter, and although you are my girlfriend’s best friend, this is still an unbiased observation from a male point of view.”
Anna looks as confused as I feel. “Okay, first of all, you only miss me because you go to an exclusive boys school, and you don’t see girls too often,” she tells him matter-of-factly. “And second, what are you talking about? What do you mean, Chrissy’s hotter? Hotter than whom?”
Miguel’s eyes widen when he realizes he has given away something he wasn’t supposed to give away. “Never mind. Please ignore what I just said.” He reaches for Anna’s half-eaten banoffee pie.
She swats his hand away. “Miguel,” she manages to make his name sound like a threat. “Spill.” It is not a request.
“Queenie Cooper.”
“Queenie Cooper? The model who was rumored to have dated half of last year’s batch of Candy Cuties? What about her?”
“She’s my classmate’s kabarkada and she’s, uh, going out with Nathan.”
/>
“WHAT?!” Anna sounds livid. “That slut!”
I blink. “Um yeah, I think they did a print ad together when they were kids. I didn’t know they were still in touch.” I make it a point to sound as detached as possible. After all, what do I care? Nathan can date whoever he wants. It’s not like I’m jealous or anything.
Miguel says meekly, “I’m sorry, Chris. I figured you’d already heard.”
“Oh, don’t apologize,” I brush him off. I am cool, collected, and the epitome of nonchalance.
Miguel turns to Anna with a tentative smile, as if to say, See? She’s fine! Please don’t strangle me.
Nico appears at my side at that moment, looking fresh from a shower in a clean white tee and plaid shorts, a gym bag slung over one shoulder. He asks, “Apologize for what?”
“Nothing,” the three of us reply in unison.
“Okay,” he says, shrugging. He holds a hand out to me. “You ready to go, babe?”
I take it and try to ignore Anna as she makes a face at me and mouths, Babe? She knows I hate it when guys call me that. It sounds so condescending. Miguel snorts and stuffs a forkful of pie into his mouth.
On the way home, Nico says, “Guess who’s coming to town this weekend?”
“The Jonas Brothers?” I ask, grinning. “No, wait, don’t tell me. Christian Bale? Rodrigo Santorro? Michael Cassidy?” I rack my brain for my celebrity crush who is least likely to come here.
“No, silly,” he laughs. “Remember my cousin Enzo?”
“Wow, really, he’s coming? That’s great!” I gush, sounding convincingly enthusiastic. The truth is, I do remember Enzo, but very vaguely, and only because when I was ten, I attended his thirteenth birthday party and he spilled grape juice on my brand new white canvas sneakers and made me cry. I still think he did it on purpose.
“Yep,” he says. “He wants to check out the gimmick scene, and maybe hit the beach. And of course, he can’t wait to see you again. You can go with us naman, right?”
Every Girl's Guide to Boys (Every Girls Guide) Page 5