“I didn’t technically break it, you know. I only said I’d try. And I did try,” I say, joining her.
“Fair enough.” Pepper gives me a nudge. “But you know I’m right. Aren’t you feeling a bit better now? I mean, you were such a mess yesterday. Even worse than my clay masterpiece!”
I nudge her back. “Nothing’s worse than that awful thing.”
We laugh, eventually lapsing to a cozy silence.
This strip mall is one of newer buildings in the area, quite like Ate Nadine’s school. An open-air pedestrian walkway connects the two establishments, overlooking public jeepneys and private cars traveling in moderate traffic.
Garish decorations and graffiti-like paintings adorn the jeepneys. They provide a stark contrast to the college’s modern buildings, color-coordinated flower gardens, and manicured, tree-lined lawns.
Like Ate Nadine, Mom and Dad went to San Jose Pignatelli College as well. It was also the place where they first met. Pepper and I had talked about studying there together one day. She’ll take up a business course, while I’ll pick the one that suits me most—something related to the arts.
“Psst!”
There’s no one else on the strip mall lanai but my friend and me. Pepper continues to watch the clouds as though she can’t hear anything.
“PSST!”
Against my better judgment, I look down to the parking area below. Instead of passengers waiting for the next jeepney to stop, a group of boys my age are hanging out under a waiting shed. Their shirts and shorts are dirty and tattered, making my after-art-session clothes seem neat and clean. Most of them carry white garlands of sampaguita flowers. The others, a tower of pot holders or pirated DVDs.
A boy, who looks just a few years older than Pepper and me, meets my gaze. There’s a huge scar running down his right cheek, like somebody tried to slash his face. The boy points at me, then at Pepper, puckering his lips.
“Gross!”
The other kids laugh aloud and give each other high fives.
“Ugh.” I turn around to face the salon, leaning my back on the balustrade. Pepper does the same. “I thought Tito Ed said that the president ordered the police to get the batang hamog off the streets.”
Batang hamog is a directly translated as “children of the dew.” It sounds poetic, and very appropriate to describe children who live on the streets exposed to evening dewdrops. But Ate Nadine said the term batang hamog is now unfortunately associated with streets kids causing mischief and committing crimes.
Over a year ago, there was news about a gang of batang hamog high on drugs terrorizing drivers in the middle of traffic. If caught, the batang hamog and their parents would threaten the cops with child-abuse lawsuits. The police would then have to let the bad kids go.
Well, that is until the new president came to office. No wonder there are a lot of adults like my stylist who idolize him.
“They’re not batang hamog. Just jerks,” Pepper says, shaking her head. “Papa used to bring me in with him to his missionary work at a rehab center. There were often new kids who came in—most of them batang hamog—when they were still high. You could see it in their eyes—they all had this scary look in them. Like they’re dead inside.”
I reach over to take Pepper’s hand and give it a squeeze. We look through the clear glass windows of the salon, where there’s a commotion behind the cashier. Ate Nadine’s frown has turned to a scowl as she continues to wait in line.
“They better let Ate Nadine pay before she explodes,” Pepper says with a wry smile. She lifts the front of her shirt. “It’s so humid, and I’m icky. Wish I had your hair.”
“I feel like I’ve gone bald,” I say, touching the shaved area above my neck. I try to tuck hair behind my ear, but the short locks just fall back to my forehead. “Tell me again why I ever thought a pixie cut was a good idea.”
“It’s gorgeous! Stop touching it.” Pepper takes my wrist and gives it a playful slap. “I would have gotten a Mohawk if I didn’t promise my cousin I won’t have any makeovers until after her wedding this coming Saturday.”
“Really?” If I were her cousin, I wouldn’t want a junior bridesmaid with a Mohawk either.
“Why not? It’ll grow back. Besides, it’s summer. My hair gets sweaty at night even with the AC—I mean, aircon—on full blast.” Pepper wipes the sweat off her brow. “We’ve been friends for three years already, and I’ve never seen you do something this different till now.”
“I know.” When a supernatural insect warns you of possible death, you can’t help but be a little bit braver and actually do things you’ve always wanted to do.
The chimes above the salon door tinkle, and we see Ate Nadine emerge.
“It’s still early,” she says, checking the time on her phone. “Who wants ice cream?”
Pepper raises her hand. “Me!”
As I’m about to agree, my eyes wander down to where the rude boys are. They aren’t there anymore, except for one.
Like the others, his green shirt and red basketball shorts are worn and full of holes, hanging on his thin frame like a scarecrow. He’s much older than the rude boys, probably as old as Ate Nadine. He has thick eyebrows, dark brown skin, and a high-bridged nose. His black hair is longer than my newly short cut. He doesn’t look like he’s selling anything, sitting on the bench as though he’s waiting for something. Or someone.
There’s something off about this guy, and he’s staring at us.
Could he be one of those kids who managed to escape the president’s purge? Lola Cordia had warned my father about them. I overheard her tell Dad about a TV news report on a group of batang hamog so out of it they stabbed and killed a child.
My heart rate jumps to asthma-episode levels. I exhale slowly, trying to control my breathing.
Is this guy the one to seal my fate? Is he the one the Butterfly warned me about?
I hadn’t thought about how I’d go, but now I wonder if this is it. He doesn’t have big muscles or anything, but he’s not sickly thin either. I’m pretty sure he’s strong enough to harm me if he wanted to.
“Sab.” I feel a hand on my back. It’s Pepper’s. “Ice cream?”
“Ah. Yes. Sorry.” I tear my gaze away from the boy. “Of course I want ice cream.”
“What were you looking at?” Ate Nadine walks to the railing and looks down. “There’s nothing there.”
I blink. My sister’s right. The boy’s gone.
“There’s no point trying to make sense of something that makes no sense in the first place.” With a sigh, Ate Nadine takes me by the shoulders. “You really need to stop worrying about this Butterfly. I’m here. I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
My breathing slows. I’m wary of promises, but something tells me she’ll keep this one. Ate Nadine has always taken care of me ever since Dad left and Mom started going on business trips. Tito Ed’s around, but it’s Ate Nadine I depend on.
I twist the chain of my locket around my index finger. “Does the ice cream place have cheese flavor?”
“Of course.” Ate Nadine smiles. It’s reassuring and calming somehow. Like it can lift the weight of the world off my shoulders. And it does.
For the time being.
THE STRIP MALL HAS RESTAURANTS with unique specialties. It also has a shop selling sporting goods and a bookstore where college students hang out. I want to go in and replenish my art tools, but I don’t mind waiting until we’ve eaten. We pass by a café, where my sister greets classmates smoking cigarettes and sipping lattes. My mouth waters at the smell of steaming hot cocoa and freshly baked donuts coming from a pastry shop, but Ate Nadine keeps on walking.
Pepper’s face falls. “Oh, I thought we were having dessert.”
“We are.” Ate Nadine takes our hands as we cross a narrow side street, navigating parked cars and vendors. “Stay close to me.”
I don’t argue, nor does Pepper. We all know I’m the worst when it comes to crossing a street. I doubt cars he
re would stop for me the way they do in our neighborhood. We aren’t far from home, but it’s not a place where Mom would usually allow Pepper and me to roam. I don’t blame her.
When I was four and Ate Nadine was the same age as I am now, Dad brought us along to a place much like this alley. Full of people, parked cars, and goods for sale. Maybe it was because Dad left us with his friend at the bakery while he went to his meeting, but alleys like this are just way too scary for me. They’re chaotic and wild, so unlike our peaceful gated subdivision.
My sister doesn’t let go even after we’ve turned right into an alley between two low-rise apartments. One is stark white, with a simple, modern design. The other seems like it hasn’t seen the cleaners since the day Ate Nadine was born. I feel like I’ll get hives just by looking at its algae-covered walls.
Vendors litter the sides of the buildings. They sell stuff from cell phone accessories to pirated DVDs. Unbranded beauty products, cheap gadgets, and knickknacks are spread out on wooden trays. Rubber phone and tablet covers hang on display racks.
There’s a food cart halfway down the alleyway, but it’s still too far to see what they’re selling. There’s smoke snaking up from the cart. I doubt that’s where we’re going.
My tummy grumbles. “Where’s the ice cream?”
“We’re near. It’s right there at the corner.” Ate Nadine lets go of our hands and points to a corner shop at the end of the alley. “Are you tired? Do you want to rest—”
“Miss! Come and take a look.” A scrawny woman approaches my sister, waving a plastic bottle at her face. “For thirty pesos, you can become as beautiful as this white girl. Generic only, but it’s better than the skin whiteners you buy at the grocery. Here, try some!”
“Get away from me,” Ate Nadine growls. “It’s because of people like you that we Filipinos can’t ever get past this awful colonial mentality. Just because someone’s white doesn’t mean they’re prettier or better.”
I feel the need to hide whenever my sister gives me that look. But the woman vendor simply shrugs and proceeds to hound other passersby.
“I keep telling her the insults will not get customers,” says another vendor, a man with graying hair. He gives us a warm smile. Upon closer look, he’s got a couple of teeth missing. “I believe your brown skin makes you even prettier. You do not need whitening lotion.”
“Salamat po, Mang Larry,” Ate Nadine thanks the vendor, referring to him as Mr. Larry. My sister seems to know a lot of people here. She gives the man a smile. “You leave me no choice but to buy from you.”
Mang Larry laughs. “Be my guest.”
“Are those stickers?” Pepper asks as she looks over my shoulder. Her breath is warm on my ear.
“Some.” Mang Larry nods. He waves his hand around the left half of the merchandise. “These are temporary tattoos.”
If not for the label in almost-unintelligible scrawl, it’s hard to distinguish the stickers from the tattoos. They come in all different colors and designs—cartoon characters, dragons, flowers, and cute animals. There’s even a llama sticker and temporary tattoo. Why anyone would want a llama on their skin, I have no idea.
“Ohh! Can we get some, Ate Nadine?” Pepper exclaims. She points to a tattoo between an angry lion and a cute cat. “Look, Sab! It’s perfect for you.”
It’s an image of a butterfly. It has wings of intricate swirls and florals. Definitely not the Butterfly. Still—
“Nope.” I don’t need a constant reminder that I’m going to die. “Not that one.”
“Aw, come on.” Pepper rolls her eyes. It’s the same look Ate Nadine gives me whenever I say something she finds ridiculous. “You need to face your fears. I mean, if you really are going to die—”
I give my friend a pointed look. Sure, she finds the idea of the Butterfly silly. I can’t stop her from feeling that way, but I wish she’d talk about my impending doom with a little more care.
“Sab’s not going to die.” Ate Nadine snorts. She picks up the butterfly tattoo. “You’re not afraid of butterflies—you’re scared of dying. Not all butterflies bring death.”
I study the tattoo in Ate Nadine’s hand. It’s so much smaller than Dad’s Butterfly, and its colors are mint green and purple, my favorites.
Ate Nadine’s right. This butterfly tattoo won’t bring me death. It’s just a tattoo, and a temporary one at that.
“Okay, I’ll get that one.” I point to the tattoo, as if daring it to come and take me.
“Awesome!” Pepper lets out a loud whoop. “Lemme pick mine.”
“Ate, do you remember that tattoo parlor in Libis, the one where Dad used to get inked?” I ask, holding out the back of my hand as my sister dips the butterfly stick-on tattoo in Mang Larry’s cup of water. “I wonder if it’s still open.”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. Hold still,” my sister orders. She rubs the wet tattoo facedown on my skin. It’s surprisingly cold, considering the hot afternoon weather. “And don’t even bother. Mom’s never going to let you get anything permanent.”
As if I’d have the courage to get one. Like Mom, needles terrify me. The very thought of a pointy object poking my skin repeatedly makes me want to faint. “Mom never liked Daddy getting inked, did she?”
“With good reason.” Ate Nadine peels it off like a sticker, leaving behind the butterfly image on my hand. “Those tattoos are expensive.”
A frown etches across my face. I feel like I missed something. “So why did you keep accompanying him?”
“So he wouldn’t spend all our money on those pesky tattoos.” Ate Nadine’s eyes narrow dangerously. She avoids my gaze, looking over my shoulder. “Somebody had to be an adult when he obviously didn’t want to.”
I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. That’s not how I remember it. Dad cares about us. He would never have spent money if it meant making it difficult for our family. Ate Nadine’s wrong. “But Dad didn’t—”
“Enough, Sab.”
“Hey.” Pepper puts down the llama tattoo. “Sab’s just asking questions. You don’t have to—”
“I said, enough!”
I wince at Ate Nadine’s tone and take a step back. Pepper, on the other hand, simply shrugs. She wets her llama tattoo in Mang Larry’s water cup and proceeds to apply the design on her left arm. How she’s able to remain unaffected by Ate’s temper, I have no idea.
“You keep putting Dad on a pedestal, like he can do no wrong.” Ate Nadine pays for my tattoo and Pepper’s. She doesn’t even bother counting her change. Her nostrils are flaring, her eyes blazing. “Don’t make the same mistake I did, Sab. There are things about him … You have no idea—ugh!”
The fury leaves my sister’s eyes, like flipping a switch. Her frown remains, but it looks worried now instead of angry. She’s looking off down the street. “Stay here. I won’t be long. Mang Larry, my sister … could you—”
“I’ll look after them.” The vendor nods. “They’re safe with me. Do what you need to do for that article of yours.”
“Ate, what’s wrong?” But my sister doesn’t seem to hear. She hurries into the crowd of shoppers and disappears.
“Let her go.” Pepper pats my shoulder. “She’s just upset.”
“It’s not that.” It’s hard to keep my voice even. My breath comes out in between gasps. I reach behind me, trying to get the inhaler without removing my backpack. Ate Nadine said while we were at the salon that Dad’s lies became the reason why she took up journalism. I didn’t really believe her. But now? I don’t know. “What do you think Ate meant? She said something about Dad doing bad things.”
“You look weird, all twisty like that. Here.” Pepper gets the medicine from my bag, handing it to me. I take a puff and let her continue. “Ate Nadine said ‘things about him.’ She didn’t say they were bad. You’re worrying yourself for nothing again.”
It’s my turn to frown. “It’s usually bad when people do things that make you not talk to them for a year.”
&nb
sp; “That’s true.” Pepper tilts her head to one side, the way she does when she’s thinking. She counts her fingers. “We only have six days left before your birthday. If we’re to figure out why your sister hates your papa, we need to hurry. Because, from the looks of it, their issues might be bigger than we initially thought.”
Actually, I knew the issues between my sister and dad were serious. Pepper was the only one who thought otherwise.
We hang out near Mang Larry’s cart for only a moment more, and then Pepper’s blue eyes light up like a bulb. “Let’s follow Ate Nadine,” she says. “See what she’s up to.”
“Not sure that’s a good idea.” I want to know what Ate Nadine’s doing, but I’m not sure if I need to know. She’s probably doing some writerly thing, which I doubt has any relevance to her issues with Dad. It’s not worth risking her temper again, especially when she’s already mad at me. Ate Nadine is very particular about everyone respecting her privacy. Spying on her sounds like the opposite of that. Pepper is just being nosy.
“Here I am thinking you’re fun now,” Pepper says, rolling her eyes. “Your sister won’t see us. Papa bought a DVD collection of the entire five seasons of Chuck. I’ve been learning a lot about spying and stuff! There’s this episode where the CIA agent won’t tell Chuck about a case—”
Before I can tell Pepper I don’t really care about Chuck’s adventures, I see someone familiar across the alley. He looks at me, and I at him.
Green shirt, red shorts. Age eighteen or nineteen. Haunting eyes framed by pretty lashes.
He’s the same guy I saw under the waiting shed. The one who seemingly disappeared.
“Sab?”
I blink. “Can you see that man?”
“The one with the baggy clothes?” Pepper says as she looks over my shoulder. “Yeah. Why?”
I didn’t imagine him. The thought makes my stomach turn. “I think he’s out to get us.”
WHEN I TOLD PEPPER ABOUT the creepy guy, I knew she wouldn’t take me seriously. She thinks I worry too much about things I shouldn’t worry about.
My Fate According to the Butterfly Page 4