“And why not? Can’t you grace us mere mortals with your presence?” Mr. Rodriguez raised his bushy eyebrows.
“Melissa’s beauty is binding me to my seat.”
It wasn’t that far from the truth.
Under other circumstances and with any other teacher, the class would’ve tittered with laughter by that point, but their Physics teacher was like some dark, pulsating thing that sucked joy out of the atmosphere.
No one even dared to smile.
“I’m not kidding.” Mr. Rodriguez said, narrowing his eyes. “Come here and answer this problem before I make you.”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Well, then, I don’t have a choice, Mr. Ordonez.” Mr. Rodriguez’s face hardened, a line forming between his eyebrows. “Get out of my classroom.”
He scratched the back of his head, looking at his teacher in exasperation. “I can’t do that, either.”
Then class went so still you could hear people breathing. It was common knowledge that no one in his more than twenty years of teaching had ever defied Mr. Rodriguez. The man had no mercy when it came to failing students and was quite trigger-happy with his red pen.
“And why not?” A dangerous look glinted in Mr. Rodriguez’s eyes. He started bouncing a stick of chalk in his left hand, almost salivating at the prospect of kicking him out of Saint Agnes Catholic Academy.
Lance had no other choice but to tell the truth. He sighed. “Because, Mr. Rodriguez, I happen to be glued to my chair.”
***
The principal last summoned Lance because he’d been caught drawing the most interesting parts of the male anatomy on the walls of the 3rd floor boys’ bathroom.
The office didn’t look that different when compared to his last visit. Sports trophies won by various student athletes throughout the years lined the shelves behind the principal’s desk, their gold plates ranging from brand-new to tarnished. Hardbound books about the education system filled up the remaining shelf space.
Mr. Ortiz, the man sitting behind the gigantic mahogany desk, didn’t look that different, either, but somehow, he was.
Being glued to a chair by the man’s daughter might have changed his perception.
“Mr. Ordonez, I assure you that the unfortunate soul who glued you to your chair will be severely punished,” Mr. Ortiz started, forming a steeple with his fingers under his chin. “Suspension, at the very least.”
The man was going to shit a brick when he found out who he was talking about suspending.
A framed photo of Melissa and her parents on the right corner of the desk caught his attention. It must’ve been taken on Guimaras Island about a year or two ago, most likely during the summer when the thunderstorms stayed away and the sun beat down with too much enthusiasm. Melissa’s parents had their arms around her, and she was smiling in an open-mouthed way that wasn’t the least bit self-conscious.
He remembered what she said about her father always being on her case.
Lance almost groaned. Now was not the best time for all those years of Christian Living lessons to sink in.
Yes, he did want revenge for the superglue incident, but ratting her out to her father wasn’t the best way to get it.
It wasn’t the right way, either.
Before he could even question himself, he stretched his legs out in front of him and placed both hands behind his head, acting like he was sunbathing by the pool and not about to be grilled by the principal of one of the strictest Catholic schools in the city. “You don’t have to punish anyone, Mr. Ortiz. I had the superglue in my back pocket, and the cap fell off.”
“The cap fell off?” Mr. Ortiz repeated, not buying what he was selling. A line appeared between the principal’s eyebrows.
“It did.”
“You’re saying it was an accident? That nobody played a prank on you?” Mr. Ortiz gave him a look that was the visual equivalent of truth serum.
It probably made someone like Melissa cave in seconds.
Lance, however, grew up in a house with a father who took great pleasure in hostile takeovers and a big sister who would’ve made a world-class lawyer. That I’ll-wait-you-out-until-you-tell-me-the-truth routine Mr. Ortiz was currently feeding him? It was child’s play.
“I honestly can’t think of a single person who would glue me to my seat on purpose.” He shrugged for added emphasis and grinned at the principal. “The people at this school adore me.”
Except your daughter.
He hadn’t figured out how or when yet, but he was going to make Melissa pay. As much as his fingers itched to trace the curve of her neck, nobody got away with supergluing his ass to a chair.
He was pretty sure there were still splinters on his butt cheeks.
Chapter Five
Had one of the World War II ghosts rumored to be haunting the old buildings of Saint Agnes Catholic Academy possessed Lance?
Did he suddenly discover that—wonder of wonders—he had a conscience?
For the life of her, Melissa could not fathom why he didn't tell her father she was guilty, that she'd been the one who spread superglue all over his seat two minutes before the end of lunch with Cam as her lookout. She simply could not think of one good reason why he hadn’t turned her in.
Unless he had something else in mind.
She hoped he did, because if he didn't, that meant one thing. He had done her a huge favor. The thought made her as uncomfortable as the horribly itchy sweater her Aunt Aida made her for Christmas.
A red cap shaded most of Lance's face when he walked into their classroom the next day, so she couldn't see the expression on his face.
Was he seething? Whatever he was, he was most definitely not amused upon seeing her perched on his assigned seat. Feeling his shadow fall over her, Melissa raised her chin to speak to him about changes to their seating arrangement but decided to shut up upon seeing his face.
God must have indeed been in a good mood when he made this boy. Lance was still gorgeous when hung-over, but he was really something after eight hours of sleep.
The image of him with wavy hair falling over one sleepy eye flashed in her mind. She mentally slapped herself at the same time her mouth went dry.
"I love these little chats of ours," Lance said, "but after yesterday's events, I suggest you get out of my chair."
She almost flinched. Sweat had spilled down her back yesterday as she watched two janitors attempt to pry him out of the same chair she was currently sitting on.
But she persevered and put on her brightest, most innocent expression. "I already spoke to Ms. Mendez about my farsightedness, and she agreed to let us trade seats."
"You're one row behind me." Lance raised one perfect eyebrow.
"And what a huge difference it makes," she said, tone dripping with honey sweetness.
“The problem is I didn’t agree, Mel.” Lance splayed his hands on the desk and leaned forward, his face mere inches from hers.
Against her will, Melissa’s eyes focused on his lips. They were the kind that made you wonder what it would be like to kiss them.
Not that she ever wondered about that.
She raised her eyes to meet his. “Your agreement was never required.”
“Think about what you’re going to lose, Mel.” Lance inched his face so close to hers that she could feel his every breath. His eyes held her captive, locking her in place. “You won’t see me every time you look behind you. Aside from the blackboard, the only thing you’ll see is the back of my head. That’s still an impressive sight, but my face is far more appealing, don’t you agree?”
Unflinching, she turned around to look behind her.
Louie Carlos, known for his deadly silent farts, stared back at her, a Snickers bar clutched in his right hand. He watched them with rapt attention.
“No, thanks,” Melissa said with a smile. “I’d rather look at Louie.”
Shaking his head, Lance turned away from her, dropping his backpack on the ground beside wha
t used to be her assigned seat. Before sitting down, he made a huge show of checking the chair and under it to the delight of their classmates.
"Still have splinters on your ass?" A voice said from the doorway.
Jace Hernandez stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of his navy blue slacks. If God had been in a great mood when he made Lance, then he'd been downright ecstatic when he made Jace. He was all brooding eyes and quiet confidence.
If he were a dessert, the entire female population of the school agreed that he would be Rocky Road.
For obvious reasons.
It was too bad he had been assigned to another class section.
"You should know if there are still splinters in my ass." Lance responded, his eyes sliding from Jace to Melissa and back. "You were the one who pulled them out."
"I know. You even cried at one point." Jace's tone was as dry as a bougainvillea shrub that hadn't been watered in weeks. When he saw Melissa ogling him, a rare smile curved his mouth. "You make Lance crazy. Keep it up."
"First of all, he's lying," Lance said, walking over to the classroom door and slamming it in Jace's face. He turned back to face her. "Second of all, the way you were staring at him like a piece of meat was shameful. Wipe that drool off the corner of your mouth."
I can't help it if he's prettier than you.
The retort was on the tip of her tongue, ready to jump out and make its presence known, but she stopped herself. They had been down this road before, and it had almost ended in her getting suspended. Letting him under her skin wasn't a smart move.
With that last thought firmly in place, Melissa snapped her mouth shut. Hyacinth del Rosario and Margaret Ong, two girls she and Cam sometimes ate lunch with, were already giving her odd looks, matching expression of curiosity on their faces.
"That's it?" Lance towered over her. "After calling me a male prostitute and gluing me to my chair, you're not going to say anything?"
He almost sounded disappointed.
"You're not even going to apologize?" Lance said, goading her one more time.
He may have been an expert manipulator when it came to females and teachers, but she had a few tricks up her sleeve, too. Arranging her features into the picture of utter boredom, she flicked her eyes up to his.
"No," was all she said, hoping she sounded half as cold as Jace did on a normal day.
"Suit yourself," Lance said, taking his seat in front of her.
Ms. Mendez soon entered the classroom and started the day's discussion. As if he'd finally gotten bored of messing with her, Lance stared at the blackboard the entire time. He only looked away once to retrieve something from his backpack. Back straight. One hand taking careful notes with the gold pen he stole from her.
What was up with him?
When Ms. Mendez had her back turned, Melissa caught Cam's eye. She nodded in Lance's direction, silently asking if he was up to something. Cam shrugged in response.
She almost sighed in relief.
Maybe Lance had decided to move on to another target.
A sliver of disappointment burrowed into her chest at the thought. She crushed it before she could examine it any further. There was no way she was going to miss being the center of Lance’s attention.
As Ms. Mendez wrote down their homework on the board, Melissa grabbed her backpack from the floor, unzipped it, and reached inside for her pen.
Every single hair on her neck stood on end when a cockroach scurried out from the depths of her backpack and up her arm, spreading disease from God only knew where. She stared at it. It stared back with its beady eyes.
A loud shriek burst from her lips, and she shook her arm to dislodge it, flailing wildly around her seat. The cockroach landed on the floor, crawling as quickly as possible to hide under the nearest shelf.
With the cockroach gone, Melissa realized that all eyes were on her. The entire classroom was deadly silent.
Except Lance.
His shoulders shook with silent laughter.
He planned this.
Every disgusting part of it.
The urge to launch herself at him and rake her nails all over that pretty face became so strong that she had to grip the edges of her desk.
“Are you alright, Ms. Ortiz?” Ms. Mendez finally broke the silence.
If she wanted this whole thing with Lance to be over, Melissa knew the right thing to do was to avoid making a big fuss. She should nod and say, yes, she was perfectly fine. No permanent damage done. Then, the two of them could forget about the brief period they decided to make each other’s lives as miserable as possible.
Screw doing the right thing.
Knowing that Lance was eagerly awaiting her answer, she put on her brightest expression. “I’m okay, Ms. Mendez. I was just surprised when one of Lance’s relatives crawled out of my bag.”
***
Jace pushed open the doors of the 7-Eleven the same way another person would’ve stuck their hand inside a garbage can overflowing with rotten cabbages. His nose wrinkled in distaste, especially at the sight of the group of sweaty boys in jersey shorts and flip flops joking around by the cash register.
Lance was not far behind him. However, unlike Jace, he surveyed the place with curiosity in his eyes. When he inhaled, the scent of cheap brewed coffee assaulted his nostrils. Bright fluorescent lights bore down on him.
He had not planned this detour on their drive home from school, but when he saw the 7-Eleven, he swerved the car and parked before he even knew what he was doing. Saying Jace was not pleased would’ve been the understatement of the century.
“Remind me what we’re doing here again.” Jace stood by the magazine rack and picked up a new issue featuring the latest celebrity couple divorce. He raised both eyebrows at Lance.
He shrugged. “I heard they have great cola Slurpees.”
It wasn’t a total lie.
He had indeed heard that the cola Slurpees were delicious, but Jace didn’t need to know who the source of the information was. It would have snowed in hell before he let his best friend have that kind of ammunition.
Three girls sitting on the benches near the glass wall eyed them with interest. The prettiest one in the middle smiled at him and took a sip of her drink, her pink lips curving around the straw in a way that suggested a lot of things.
A week ago, Lance would not have thought twice about walking up to her, asking for her number, and saving it in his phone amidst the numbers of other girls he’d been sort of interested in. They filled up his phonebook like too much spare change in a tiny pocket.
But the purple headband in the girl’s hair stopped him cold.
Melissa had one like it.
Unlike her, the girl who still happened to be staring at him obviously didn’t think he belonged to a family of cockroaches.
That was supposed to be a good thing, wasn’t it?
Somehow, he couldn’t quite convince himself, so he turned away and walked into the nearest aisle. He realized he was surrounded by feminine products with pink and sky blue packaging when Jace snickered behind him. Snatching a tiny rectangle package proclaiming to be extra absorbent, he hurled it at Jace’s head.
Jace caught it with one hand, much to his annoyance. “Stop being a dick, and go get your Slurpee.”
Grumbling the whole time, he made his way to the cash register and paid for his Slurpee. The experience of shoving his large cup under the machine that delivered cola-flavored goodness was a novelty. When he finally had a taste of the drink, he understood why Melissa loved it so much.
It was heavenly.
Jace waited for him on the same table the three girls were sitting on earlier. When Lance arrived, his best friend began wiping the already clean table with a piece of tissue folded in two.
“Watching your germaphobe tendencies in action is fascinating,” Lance said, plopping down his Slurpee on the table. “Tell me, does being that anal ever get exhausting?”
In response, Jace pulled his phone out of his back p
ocket, his thumb scrolling through what was probably his news feed. “I sent Melissa a friend request. I hope that’s okay.”
Lance took a sip of his drink just then and choked on some of it. “W-what?”
“It doesn’t really matter if it’s fine with you or not, since she already accepted it,” Jace continued, his eyes still on his phone screen. “Did you know she plays the ukulele?”
For the first time in his life, Lance who was known throughout the female population of Saint Agnes Catholic Academy for his pretty face and six-pack felt… unattractive. A few days ago, Melissa had stared at Jace like he was the last cupcake in the box. He was still trying to sort out how that made him feel.
No, jealous wasn’t right.
What then?
He preferred to use ‘slightly annoyed’ to describe his feelings.
For Jace, however, Lance had a more colorful description in mind. Why hadn’t it occurred to him to send her a friend request himself in the first place? Maybe because he’d always been the one doing the accepting, never the sending? Maybe because he had chosen to do something stupid like put a cockroach in her backpack instead?
Suddenly, he was gripped by a desire to see her profile, to find out if she liked posting funny cat videos or motivational quotes.
“Give me that.” Lance snatched the phone out of Jace’s grip.
In her profile photo, Melissa stood against a yellow wall, her red dress standing out in stark contrast. She was smiling into the camera, a real one that she’d never condescended to aim in his direction, her hair cascading down her shoulders in loose waves. His fingers itched to run through those waves, to find out if they were as soft as they looked.
Her birthday was on October 19, a couple of months away. He filed that away for later use. He continued scrolling down her profile, realizing that he was wrong on both counts. There were no cat videos or cheesy quotes.
Instead, it was filled with videos of ukulele covers she liked and obviously wanted to learn. If she was into playing the ukulele so much, why had she never joined school programs? He was willing to bet she was pretty good.
Keeping the Distance (I Heart Iloilo Book 1) Page 4
