Chasing Waves

by Bianca Mori

  Dammit.

  I should’ve recognized the signs.

  Thirty-two years on earth and I still fall for it, so blind to the classic signs it’s like it’s hasn’t happened to me eleventy-million times before.

  First I bust myself for practically running away from him at the mall as if he were an axe murderer.

  Then that Sunday night I start wondering which of his paper-thin T-shirts he’ll wear to training on Monday.

  And Tuesday.

  And the day after Wednesday.

  And for weeks after that.

  My senses go on high alert whenever he enters the room. I watch him from the corner of my eye, and a thrill like an electric shock shoots through me when he glances my way.

  Then I notice that he rotates his lunch companions at the cafeteria, and while I think it’s so generous of him to ensure everyone in the wave gets their own fair share of Luke-time, I can’t help but feel a little jealous when I see him at another table and not across from me to banter about Cinematic Bread.

  That’s when I realize that this is serious.

  I’m infatuated with Luke. And it’s not just your run-of-the-mill attraction.

  Lordy lord, I have an honest-to-goodness, legs-in-a-panty-squirming-twist crush on my training manager.

  And of course it just has to get better. Because two weeks later, on a Friday, the faculty decides on the training teams.

  Tina, Luke’s boss, gives us a little speech on the progress we’ve made and how excited she is that we’ll be growing Star Contact’s training and learning department. She tells us how they’ve been tracking our strengths and aptitude, and from there matched us with our mentors.

  “Peter!” she calls, and our resident Wally Bayola-lookalike gets partnered with Chantal from data analytics. Lisa the adobo lunch girl goes to curriculum design. Matt, who has a bachelor’s degree in statistics, partners with the smug Six Sigma heavies.

  The names get called and my palms start to itch. Maybe this is it, the end of the line. My utter lack of skill will be revealed to everyone. Tina will keep on calling out the names until she gets to the end and then she’ll eye me and ask, ‘Oh. I thought we cut you two weeks ago?’

  The fear is so vivid, my breath sticks to my chest and I struggle to blow it out. Suddenly I really, really want to stay in the training team, never mind my original reasons for transferring.

  “Mags?” she calls out, and the breath rushes out of me. I ball my hands into fists, bury my nails deep into my itchy palms.

  Tina smiles. “You’re with Luke on the communications coaching track.”

  Of-freaking-course.

  I hastily close my mouth as Luke practically bounds to me, eyes almost nonexistent at the force of his big, wide smile.

  “All right!” He offers me a high-five and I take it with a cracking slap. “Yikes, you’re strong!” He shakes his palm. “I’m so excited to start next week! Are you excited?”

  “I am?” I squeak.

  “Awesome!”

  My brain feels like it’s trying to drive down three roads at once. It takes a few moments before it occurs to me to ask, “What exactly are we doing, again?”

  He smiles even wider, if that were possible. “We get to revamp one of our core communications offerings!”

  He looks at me like Christmas came early and all I can think of is how hard it is to swallow past the giant lump of I am so not ready for this that’s formed in my throat. I squeak an inarticulate reply, which he takes for excitement, and, grasping me by the wrist, steers me outside the conference room, away from where all the training mentors and mentees have started discussing their projects.

  He only lets go to lean against the wall and rub his nape, which of course makes his flimsy shirt ride up his abs and oh my God this guy is going to kill me with sexual frustration.

  “See, I’ve been thinking that our Public Speaking class needs the most intervention,” he starts. “Our scores have been declining since the middle of last year. I really think it’s time to do an update, and not just bits of the material. We need to change the activities. Shake it up.”

  “Good, I guess?” It’s so hard to keep eye contact with that shirt hem fluttering over his worn jeans. I would like to anonymously donate a thick fat sweatshirt to the Stop Luke From Distracting Peoples With His Flimsy Shirts Cause. “I haven’t taken it before though, so I don’t know what I can suggest.”

  “I’m facilitating that class tomorrow, so you’ll get to check it out!” He actually rubs his palms together, like Dr. Evil hatching a nefarious plan. “I’ll need you to do the usual training assistant duties--run the sign-ups, help me with the breakout groups. But watch everything with a critical eye, too. Tell me what doesn’t work? What feels ‘done’? I’d really value your inputs.”

  “Sure.” My voice has reached helium-huffing levels. “Awesome?”

  “Awesome,” he reaches a hand up for a high-five, and now I take care not to crack it open.

  “So which project are we facilitating tomorrow?”

  He’s already started walking back to the conference room and throws, casually, over his shoulder: “Your old project. Clausen.”

  ***

  Mags: SOS. HALP.

  Cass: What is up, Mamu?

  Mags: I’m training Clausen tomorrow.

  Cass: Shit.

  Mags: I KNOW. UGH.

  Cass: I’m sorry, Mamu. But you were bound to train us sooner or later.

  Mags: I was hoping later.

  Cass: Heh.

  Cass: You can do it, Mamu. Show those pigs up.

  Mags: Thanks Cass.

  Mags: But that’s not all.

  Cass: ?

  Mags: Cass.

  Mags: CASS.

  Cass: WHAT

  Mags: I have a giant crush on my boss.

  Cass: Holy shit.

  Cass: Maaaaaagggggsss.

  Mags: NOT HELPING, CASS.

  Cass: MARGARITA SONIA ABARQUEZ.

  Mags: I KNOW. Help me!

  Cass: Just avoid him? IDK.

  Mags: I can’t. We need to work together. One-on-one. For a month.

  Cass: ….Ree-hee-heeeaaallllyyy.

  Mags: YOU ARE SO NOT HELPING.

  Cass: Why do you need to hang out with him for a month?

  Mags: I can’t ‘graduate’ from training until I do this on-the-job project thing, and I’m partnered with him.

  Cass: Hahahahaha.

  Mags: Angry Face Emoji.

  Cass: I can’t believe you typed that out.

  Mags: That’s how annoyed I am!

  Cass: All right. Listen. Just relax, okay? Work with him, but keep it profesh. No flirting.

  Mags: Gotcha.

  Cass: I mean it. No off-work socializing. No grabbing dinner to kill time and definitely no drinking alcohol.

  Mags: Thank you, mommy.

  Cass: You know I need to reign you in, Mamu.

  Mags: I know, babe. Thank you.

  Cass: GTG. BE A GOOD GIRL.

  Mags: I’ll see you tomorrow

  Cass: I miss you Mags. Can’t wait.

  Chapter 5

  SURFING SPEECH

  DRAFT (cont)

  I learned to surf when I was 17, on a chance beach trip during college sem break. I was, and still am, what is called kaladkarin—easily dragged off to wherever. A couple of classmates I’d met at PE class that previous sem had asked if I were interested in going to La Union one weekend, and I said yes. My mom had a fit, as she usually did. How well did I know this people? Was it safe there? Etcetera.

  I went anyway.

  I never knew what I wanted to do—liked to do—until Mang Gary taught me how to surf. Back then, there were no fancy surfing schools, just locals who hung out at the beach and let you borrow their boards for a beer and some stories. He taught me how to ride the waves, and suddenly it clicked. This was the one thing I was passionate about. I wanted to surf forever.

  Too bad it wasn’t an adulting kind of thing to do.
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  I finished college a year late and by the skin of my teeth. The BPO industry was just starting to boom then, and I was the perfect candidate. I spoke and wrote English well; I was highly trainable. And honestly? There wasn’t really anything else I wanted to do with my life. No grand plan, no magic passion. I hopped from call center to call center, chasing the higher salary, the signing bonus, the better benefits. I didn’t care enough to be promoted to team lead or supervisor. I certainly couldn’t imagine myself as one of the many managers I’d encountered—young yet highly strung Type As who could spout alphabet-soup metrics at the drop of the hat. As long as my lead wasn’t a dick and the people I worked with were cool and I got paid on time, I was great.

  What mattered to me was simple. There were only the weekends, and the sea, and the board.

  Until there weren’t.

  ***

  We set up early the next day in the old Project Clausen conference room, across the hallway from the production floor, which was behind locked doors because the agents handled sensitive financial information.

  “Mamu!” someone screeches in my ear as I test the videos to play for later.

  “Cass!” I hug her tightly. “Why are you still here? Your shift should’ve finished an hour ago!”

  “Because I wanted to see you, hello! Viber-ing just isn’t the same.”

  “I like what you did with your hair.” She’s chopped off the algae green locks into a conservative bob. That is, until you notice that the bob’s been undercut on one side and slashed with Rihanna-fierce stripes. “Are you joining the session?”

  “Ugh, no!” She wrings her hands in disgust. “Strictly for leaders-in-training. And don’t you start on me on joining the Village of the Damned.”

  “I wasn’t going to!”

  “What village?” asks Luke, crawling from underneath the conference table, where he’s plugged in the speakers and our laptop.

  Cass’s mouth drops open as his back muscles slip and slide underneath the threadbare fabric of his navy t-shirt. He gets up in one smooth movement. I press a fingertip to her jaw and push it up.

  “Hi! I’m Luke,” he waves.

  “Cass.” Her head swivels from me to him, then drags me outside with a hurried “Will you excuse us?”

  Then: “That’s your boss?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Giiiiiirrrl. No wonder you’re off the wagon.”

  “Cass!”

  “Why did you not tell me Hot Training Manager is the boss you have a crush on?”

  “You mean Hot Younger Training Manger.”

  “Details, details.”

  I frown at her. “That’s really what you call him?”

  “It’s a thing! Becca started it before she transferred. How could you not notice him before?”

  I shift my feet. “You know I was...distracted, Cass.”

  She sighs and pulls me into a tight hug. “Are you staying strong?”

  “I am.”

  “No flirting, no monkey business?”

  “I’m doing my best to stay on top of the wave.”

  She laughs. “I missed your weirdo surfing metaphors.”

  Two of the session’s attendees clomp down the hallway and into the room: Lara, the second shift supervisor, and Jeric, the quality team lead.

  “Oh!” says Lara, barely hiding the surprise on her face. “Are you training us today, Mags?”

  “Assisting,” I smile vaguely. Jeric just looks blankly around the room, but then again he’s taken to pretending I don’t exist. They step inside and Cass rolls her eyes at his back.

  “He is such a little bitch.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “Knock ‘em dead, Mags. Especially Clarence, if he’s joining the class.”

  Thankfully, he doesn’t. The class goes according to schedule. I do all my assistant duties, running the slideshows and facilitating the group activities. I watch Luke work the trainees with charm and ease and definitely try not to sigh at him with moony eyes like half the girls in the classroom.

  As he’s asked, I pay close, critical attention to the material. While Luke is engaging enough, I have to agree that the material sounds stale. One bit of the presentation focuses on something called ‘locus,’ and while I got what it meant when Luke started explaining it, I couldn’t help but notice the attendees starting to get glazed looks in their eyes.

  At tea break, I settle in a booth in the pantry with a slice of mamon, a cup of coffee and the worksheets for one of the breakout activities. Halfway through checking the pile, someone slides into the bench across from me. Strong, sharp, familiar cologne invades my nostrils and dread coils in my stomach.

  “Clarence,” I say, before I look up at his face.

  It’s still the same, still fair and perfectly egg-shaped, with his shaved head and deep-set eyes. It’s weird that I used to think his bland, mestizong hilaw muppet features were attractive.

  “Mags. You look good.”

  “Thanks.” I shield the papers, start checking again. Clarence’s presence is as palpable a thing as his obnoxious cologne, invading my space, oozing over the tabletop and into my seat.

  “So it’s like that now? You’re not even talking to me?”

  “What’s to say?”

  His laugh sounds sharp, like the crack of a whip. “I just want to talk. You don’t have to be a drama queen about it.”

  “Clarence.”

  “Listen. I authorized your move--”

  “Thanks, by the way, for denying my request to move my rest day. I just love those 24-hour shifts.”

  “You know I could’ve said things, but I kept quiet.”

  “You were protecting yourself too, hello? You want to blab now? Go for it.”

  He leans back, shaking his muppet head. “You were drunk and getting everyone else drunk; we all saw you.”

  I look up for the first time, the pen clutched in my hand like a knife. “That’s not an excuse, and you know it.”

  He still looks at me like I’m the one who’s crazy -- Iike I’m a liar and a fool, and most importantly, like it’s all my fault. My insides clench with anger. I can’t stand that look and I want to wipe it off his face. With my foot.

  “Mags?” Luke’s head pops over the booth wall. He takes one look at my face and frowns. “Are you alright?”

  Clarence gets up, arrogant smirk on his egg-pale face, and he thrusts a hand out at Luke. “Pare. Clarence. Clausen project lead.”

  Luke takes his hand like it’s a rotting fish. “I know, pare. You signed off on the training plan.”

  Clarence grins tightly. “You better watch out for Mags here. She’s a wild card.”

  I dive back into my sheets, cheeks burning, as Clarence saunters off. I feel Luke standing by my elbow and reluctantly look up at him.

  “Are you okay?” he asks again.

  “Uh-huh.” I get up and march back to the conference room. “C’mon, lots of work to do.”

  He catches up to me, and I sense concern wafting off him in seismic waves. I stop at the door and give him my best smile.

  “Luke. I’m good. Really. We better get back to the class, okay?”

  He gives me one last searching look and nods.

  We finish the rest of the training without incident. I gather the scorecards--as Luke warned, they’re mostly threes and fours when the comms courses usually average straight fives--and, while he’s occupied with a simpering Lara over the finer points of ‘locus,’ I slip out of there like a cheating husband.

  I don’t give our building’s tired elevators enough credit, because just when I’m dying to go home and wash the literal and psychological grime of the day away, they take their sweet time climbing to the 23rd floor.

  “Mags!” Luke calls as he badges out and joins me by the elevator bank. “Are you heading home?”

  There’s that smile again. The government really ought to look into regulating where and when it can be deployed. The elevator finally arrives and we stuff ourselves
inside the crowded car.

  “You live up north, right? Near the big mall?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you want me to give you a ride?”

  “Do you live near there?”

  “No,” he smiles sheepishly. “My condo is about five minutes away.”

  “And you drive here.”

  He gives me a ‘well, duh?’ look. “Only when it looks like it’s going to rain like crazy.”

  I nod, suppressing relief as the elevator finally opens to the lobby. “This is my stop.”

  He sticks his hand out to stop the doors from closing. “You sure? Going once...going twice…”

  “Good night, Luke.” I inject my tone with a command I don’t really feel.

  I take a steadying breath as I cross the lobby. If only he knew how hard it is for me to stay on top of my wave of self-control when he’s this persistent.

  Still, I congratulate myself on having the cojones to resist his offer of a ride. If nothing went right from today’s encounter with Lara and Jeric and egg-faced Clarence, I at least accomplished this. However small and trivial, I did my part to keep my crush on him manageable. No longer am I the emotion-led Mags of years past; this Mags can say no to a free ride with a hot guy on principle. It is an empowering feeling!

  The feeling lasts halfway across the street when, without warning, the gray, overcast skies suddenly split open. It doesn’t just rain; water buckets down from the heavens. I am drenched to my skin even before I realize what’s happened.

  I scurry back to the office building. The AC blasting from the open lobby doors will surely freeze me to death, so I hang back under the awning near the basement parking exit and pray for the rain to stop.

  Luke just has to roll right out at that exact moment in his gray hatchback.

  “Don’t say a thing,” I snap as he rolls down his window.

  “I wasn’t going to!” He stifles a laugh as he opens the passenger door from the inside. “Come on in.”

  So much for my principles.

  Chapter 6

  “Told you it was going to rain like crazy,” he says brightly, driving into the downpour.

  “I thought you weren’t going to say anything?” I pull at the hem of T-shirt and wring it. “Are you some sort of weather witch?”