Confession: From somewhere within my chest, my heart starts doing a sequence of crazy somersaults. Like it always does when he’s around.
rule number 2:
Trust your instincts.
The last time I saw Jaime was over a year ago, during my sixteenth birthday party at my house, where his first girlfriend Olivia made a huge scene with Anna. It was the ultimate Battle of the Exes, with Anna convinced that she had been cheated on, and Olivia convinced that she owned Jaime and had a right to rub it in as much as she could. Olivia is very persistent in pursuing him when he’s unavailable (and vice versa), and their on-off relationship baffles and fascinates everyone around them. I heard they split again a couple of months ago, and I contemplated calling him to make sure he was okay, but I wasn’t sure if it was something I was allowed to do. I was sure though, that calling him would mean more to me than just the standard act of checking up on a friend.
Anna, of course, has no idea about my crush on Jaime. Bryan hints at it sometimes, and I think Chrissy started suspecting something when I chickened out of participating in her revenge tactic of pouring Coke on Jaime’s pants (which, let’s face it, isn’t a very genius move to begin with). But nobody knows for certain, because I have never admitted it to anyone, and when Jaime and Anna were still together, I swore I would take this secret to my grave.
But tonight, it is an entirely new ball game, and before you start accusing me of being an ex-boyfriend stealer with no sense of loyalty or sisterhood, let me make several things clear: Number one, I saw Jaime first. We were at an inter-school party, and he introduced himself to me while Chrissy and Anna were in the bathroom. We were getting along fine, and I was getting the impression that he might be into me, until the girls came back from the bathroom and Anna started making him laugh. “I had a bunny named Jaime when I was five,” she had said. “But I fed it orange peel and Cheetos, because I figured if rabbits like carrots, then they must like other orange-colored stuff, too. You can guess what happened after that.” Jaime hung on to her every word the whole night, and I went off to find somebody else to talk to.
Number two, I never flirted with Jaime while he and Anna were a couple, and I never did anything to jeopardize their relationship. I may have enjoyed flings with attached guys in the past, but I promise I respected Anna as a friend, and as a person. All those months they were together, I never even batted an eyelash at Jaime. Not once. Not to brag or anything, but I had plenty of other options to make me forget, and it wasn’t like I was desperate.
And number three, if you could see how happy Anna is with her boyfriend Miguel these days, there would be no doubt in your mind that she is completely over Jaime. They are almost the same person, with all their inside jokes and meaningful glances and comfortable silences. (Chrissy and her boyfriend Nathan are different—they work to keep what they have. With Anna and Miguel, it all just comes naturally.) They are absolutely perfect for one another, and being Anna’s friend is difficult because it makes me wonder why, out of all the guys I have dated, I have not encountered even a fraction of that perfection. It makes me wonder why she deserves this much warm fuzzy happiness while it seems like I never will.
So tonight is an entirely new ball game, and nobody has any right to accuse me of anything. “Hey, guys,” Jaime says. “This is my buddy, Diego. Diego, these are my friends, Rickie and Bryan.” Friends. He called us friends. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Never mind. I’m taking it as a good thing, based on my theory about the available resources and everything.
“Nice to meet you,” Diego says, standing up to shake Bryan’s hand, then mine. His grip is strong and firm, and his fingers brush mine a few more seconds than necessary. He makes eye contact with me, then his gaze travels down toward the neckline of my low-cut dress, but he forces it back up. Yep, definitely straight. A gentleman with good control of his hormones, yes, but straight as a ruler nonetheless. I shoot Bryan a triumphant look.
Bryan rolls his eyes at my victory, and excuses himself to get something to drink. Knowing him, he’ll be off searching for a potential boy toy for most of the night, thus staying out of my hair until it’s time to go home, which suits me just fine. Before he sashays off, he tells me, loudly enough for Diego and Jaime to hear, “You can’t have the best of both worlds, Hannah Montana.” The two boys look confused, and I fake a coughing fit to distract them. When I’m done, I ask Jaime, “What have you been up to? You must have so much kwento for me.”
“I do,” he says. “Well, for starters, Olivia and I broke up. Again.”
“I heard about that,” I say. “I hope you’re okay.” I also heard about the many girls he dated afterwards, but I don’t bring up this detail because, let’s face it, I’m not exactly the poster child for sticking to one guy, am I?
“I am, don’t worry. It’s not healthy to mope,” he replies. “I’ve been keeping myself busy, you know, trying out things I’ve always wanted to do before. I joined this photography club recently, and I’ve been meeting a lot of new people through it. That’s how I met Diego.”
“That’s great!” I exclaim. I turn to Diego. “So, do you already know where you’re going for college? ‘Cause I’m having such a tough time deciding.”
“I used to be torn between Ateneo and La Salle,” he says, smiling. “I’m a college sophomore in UP now. But thank you for implying that I still look like I’m in high school. I get that all the time.”
I laugh. “You look young. That’s always a good thing.”
“Well, you can pass for a college girl,” he tells me. And then, he gets flustered. “But no, I mean, I don’t know, maybe looking older isn’t always a good thing, but I think...with you, it is.” His cheeks are slightly red and he is stammering, and I immediately know what this means. I smile at him.
Jaime looks at Diego, then at me, catching on. I can almost see the wheels in his head turning, and I hope he is starting to feel jealous. But his eyes drift away from us to scan the room, and he says, “I think I saw someone I know. I’ll just go say hi. I’ll be right back.”
Minutes later, while Diego is in the middle of describing his college life to me (I kind of lose interest when he begins talking about teachers and tests), Jaime comes back, a slender girl hanging on to his arm. She is in a tight white tee showing off her incredibly flat tummy, and her lips are red and glossy. “This is Clara,” he tells us with a flourish, and invites her to sit down. He looks satisfied with this pseudo-double date, and after two minutes, proceeds to make out with the skinny skank, right in front of me and Diego. Gross. I hope her lipstick smudges all over him and they both end up with clown faces.
I get up and pull Diego to his feet. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
“So,” Bryan says, the minute we step inside the car on our way home.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“Don’t play dumb with me, honey,” he says. “I totally busted you sneaking out of the bar with Straight Boy. You were gone for hours. Don’t try to deny it—I timed it.”
“First of all, his name’s Diego,” I tell him. “And second, we did not ‘sneak out.’ We just needed some fresh air.”
“Riiiiight,” he says. “Fresh air. Your nose is twitching, like it always does when you’re lying. Spill, Rickie. Where’d you go?”
“We had coffee,” I say. “And we sat there, having a real conversation, and I was actually listening and not just nodding and saying ‘Uh-huh.’ He’s pretty cool once you get to know him.” Technically, I could like Diego. He was pretty cool, and maybe I did want to get to know him better. He is sweet and honest and charming, and he seems like the type who would genuinely care about me. But we all know things rarely work out between me and the sweet, honest, charming guys. (Believe me, I’ve tried. But somehow, they always expect to transform me into the bring-home-to-Mom-type, or to save me from myself. I don’t need any rescuing, thank you very much.) We all know he’s too into me for me to be into him. And, well, we all know who tonight was really
about.
“Interesting.” And then Bryan asks, “But what about Jaime?”
“What about him?”
“What about him?” he echoes, imitating me. “Come on, like it’s not obvious how you’ve been obsessed with him since the Anna days?”
“It’s obvious?!” I screech.
“Only to me,” he says. “I’m very observant, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Yes, and because you’re a horrible person too, you know exactly how this goes.”
“True that,” he replies. “So you start dating this Diego guy, right?”
“Yes.”
“And then you wait for this to eventually make Jaime jealous?”
“Yup.”
“And then you hope he acts on his jealousy instead of just stepping aside?”
“Affirmative,” I say. “What do you think?”
“I think,” Bryan says, pulling to a stop in front of my house and giving me a parting beso, “That you are smart enough to decide for yourself.”
I feel someone pulling my bed covers away from me, and I tug back with all the strength I can muster in my half-awake state. I hear Lexi’s voice insisting, “Get up. We need to talk.”
I open one eye and peer at her. “How important is this? On a scale of one to ten, one being get-out-of-my-face, ten being life-altering?”
“I don’t have time for this right now,” she sighs. “Get up.” This is her favorite line in the world: a weary, resigned I don’t have time for this right now. I think it makes her feel all busy and in-demand, like there are too many things going on in her life that she has to rise above the uselessness and idiocy of certain people so she can maintain inner peace and super-human calm. I hate people who are always complaining about being busy—if you’re really that busy, wouldn’t you have zero time to complain? I bury my head under my pillow and shoo her away. She sighs and repeats, “I don’t have time for this. Get up.”
Oh, what the hell. I sit up, if only to make her leave me alone. I look at her but don’t speak, as if to say, Well, just spit it out already and stop wasting my precious hours.
“What time did you get home last night?” she asks.
This conversation has barely begun and I’m already seeing that there is absolutely no point to it. “Twelve-thirty,” I lie, becoming extremely self-conscious and trying to prevent my nose from twitching (thanks a lot, Bryan).
“No,” she says. “You got here a bit before three, way past your one AM curfew. What is wrong with you?”
“What is wrong with YOU?” I retort. “You come here to ask me what time I got home, and then when I tell you, you don’t believe me.”
“That’s because you didn’t come home at twelve-thirty. I checked your room at one-fifteen and you weren’t there. And I didn’t come here just to ask what time you got home.”
“Then why did you come here?” This time, it is my turn to sound all weary and resigned.
“Ericka,” she says. She never calls me Rickie. She always uses Ericka, the way my parents and titos and titas and teachers do. She thinks she’s some sort of authority figure in my life, and I don’t see how the fact that she’s four years older gives her the right to act like this. “I don’t understand why you have to keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know, breaking the rules for the heck of it,” she says. “You know Mom and Dad are out of town and have left me in charge. Do you think you can come home anytime you want to just because they aren’t here? What if I call them right now and tell them?”
“Go ahead,” I yawn. “I don’t care.” Of course she wouldn’t call them. Being the considerate daughter that she is, she wouldn’t want to upset them while they’re on vacation. Besides, they’d never ask about me anyway, so she wouldn’t even have to lie on my account, unless she volunteers all this information. Calling them would just cause unnecessary tension for all of us—and isn’t she way too busy for that?
Her mobile phone rings, and I can tell she’s debating whether or not she’s going to pick up in front of me. She knows I would eavesdrop and make faces while she’s talking. But she also knows that if she leaves my room to take the call, I would lock her out and win this little round. She refuses to lose, so she sits on my desk and answers, “Hello, Timmy.”
My ears perk up. Timmy is calling her on a Sunday morning? Oooh.
“Yeah, I know,” she giggles. “Yeah... That’s what I said nga...” I clear my throat and she turns her back to me. “What? No, no, I’m not busy. Yeah... Okay, I’ll be there. Lunch, right? Okay, see you.” She hangs up and tries to conceal the goofy grin on her face.
Timmy is inviting her to Sunday lunch? Oooh.
“You are totally in love with him,” I tell her accusingly.
“No, I’m not,” she says, blushing furiously.
“Doesn’t he have a girlfriend? Pauline or something?”
“Paula,” she says. “Yes, they’re still together. She’s studying in Singapore.”
“Oooh, long-distance relationship. I hear those things never work,” I coo. I hear the very distinct still in “still together.” You know when you talk to a couple going through a rough patch, and they always tell you they still love each other? If they were truly happy, they would tell you they love each other; the still wouldn’t be part of the equation. Because the still represents a looming deadline. Because the still means that although there is something left—remnants of love or respect or trust—it is rapidly, undeniably diminishing.
“Whatever,” she scoffs. “He’s just... he’s lonely. He needs a friend.” She pauses. “Why am I explaining myself to you? I have to go.”
“You are such a hypocrite,” I mutter under my breath as she leaves the room. The chances are high that she had heard this, but maybe she just doesn’t want to pick a brand new fight with me, especially since the one about my curfew isn’t even over yet. She doesn’t have time for this right now. After all, Timmy is waiting.
I pick up the phone to dial Anna’s number. When she answers, I say, “Are you aware that Lexi’s coming over to your house for lunch?”
“Yeah, Kuya Timmy invited her,” she replies. “My parents are celebrating their anniversary, and they told us to invite friends. Chrissy and Miguel are coming. Why, did you want to come, too? Sorry, I figured you were out late at that party with Bryan last night.”
“I was,” I say. I try to ignore the fact that she automatically assumed I wouldn’t want to come to their family lunch. Which was true, actually, but still. She could have at least asked. “Listen, doesn’t Timmy have a girlfriend?”
“Yeah, so?” She sounds confused.
“So, don’t you think it’s strange that he and Lexi are spending all this time together?”
“Ric, they’ve always been friends.”
“Yes, but they’ve never been this close.”
Anna sighs her exasperated sigh that she seems to reserve only for me. I hear her drumming her fingers impatiently. “Ric, they’re Philosophy classmates. They’re working on a paper for school. So they’re spending all this time together—nothing unusual about that. What are you trying to say?”
What am I trying to say? Now that I think about it, it occurs to me that everyone sees Lexi as Little Miss Perfect, including my own friends. How am I supposed to tell Anna that my sister is trying to steal her brother away from his girlfriend? I don’t even have concrete proof. And why do I even care? Let her crash and burn. Karma will catch up to her and bite her on the butt someday.
“Never mind,” I tell her. “I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”
Rule number 3:
Don’t take things too seriously.
“I’m thirsty,” I say, holding up my empty cup and looking at Diego expectantly. We are hanging out in a coffee shop with Anna, Chrissy, Miguel, and Nathan—a triple date of sorts in which I am sticking out like a sore thumb. Diego stands. “I’ll get water for everyone.”
“I like him,” Chrissy t
ells me, once Diego is out of earshot. Usually, Chrissy takes months to approve of someone I’m dating, which means by the time she even considers approving, things are already over and I have moved on to a new guy. But Diego seems to have made a good impression on her at this early stage, probably because he’s so clean-cut and polite, like a guy version of herself. “How did you guys meet again?” she asks.
“Oh, we were introduced by, uh, Bryan.” No way am I telling them he’s Jaime’s friend. They’d sense something was up and instantly demolish my battle plan. No way am I letting that happen.
“Cool,” Chrissy says. “He seems really into you.” Nathan nods in agreement.
“Yeah, well,” I shrug. “We’ll see.”
Anna asks, “What do you mean ‘we’ll see?’ Why, what’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing,” I brush her off. Diego comes back with a pitcher of water and glasses for everyone, and Anna pretends to zip her lips and throw away the key. Miguel laughs like it is the funniest thing in the world.
Diego doesn’t notice, or if he does, he pretends not to mind. We’ve been going out every day for the past two weeks, and it has been difficult to carry out the battle plan because Jaime is never anywhere near us. Diego always makes the first move and asks me out, and because he’s always the one making plans for us, I can’t exactly twist them around to accommodate Jaime. I’d often ask, “Who else will be there?” and he’d say, “No one. Just the two of us,” and I’d say, “Oh.” He’d detect the disappointment in my voice and ask, “Why, who else did you want to be there?” and I’d reply, “Nobody.” After a long pause, I’d add, “Will Jaime be there?” and he’d say, “No, why would he be there?” and I’d say, “I don’t know, because you guys are friends?” And then I’d just tell him to forget it, and start telling myself that I have to suck it up for now, that I have to go through all these dates with Diego first before I can get Jaime into the picture. I remind myself that Diego couldn’t possibly be on a mission to sabotage my chances with Jaime because he doesn’t know what I’m trying to do here. Boys are so dense they can’t even tell that you like them unless you spell it out in big, bold letters; how could they possibly notice when you like their friend?
Every Girl's Guide to Flings (Every Girls Guide) Page 2