by Frejas,Tara
“Four, then.”
“All right. See you tomorrow,” he said, then added, “Stop watching that game and get some rest.”
Like I could.
FOUR
Head-to-Head
I was at Café Buena fifteen minutes early. I chose a table that wasn’t too near or too far from the entrance and sat myself facing the door so I could see Charles come in. Coming here, I had an index card’s worth of rehearsed lines, but as four o’clock loomed nearer, the words abandoned me one by one.
It had started to rain. Not too hard, but enough to get you drenched if you ran in it for more than ten seconds. I found myself hoping Charles brought an umbrella.
My heart dropped for a second when my phone screen lit up. False alarm. It was only Justine, asking if I’d already met with Charles. I ignored the message for the meantime, not wanting to feel antsier than I should be.
“Sorry, Garns. Nat threatened me with a tantrum if I didn’t get her a Happy Meal.”
It was Charles, twenty minutes late. He wore a Henley shirt that had become two shades of blue, thanks to the downpour outside. He shook rainwater off his hair as he approached, and I had to divert my gaze to my untouched cup of coffee because goddamnit, did he have to look so attractive?
“Spoiler.”
He sat in front of me, ran a hand through his hair. Stop that, I wanted to say.
“Speak for yourself,” he mumbled. “You were the one who bought her that girly thingamajig last Christmas.”
“It was on sale.”
“Whatever.”
I chuckled at the mental image of nine-year-old Natalie crafting bracelets with sparkly heart-shaped beads for Charles and demanding he wear them for me to see. Best holiday memory.
He eyed my coffee cup. “I thought I was buying.”
I needed something to warm my fingers, I thought, touching the cup just as the words came to mind. The air conditioning inside the café and my anxiety froze my hands. “You were late.”
Charles flashed me an apologetic look, then excused himself to head to the counter. I willed myself not to admire how strong his shoulders looked, further highlighted by his partially wet shirt. A text message from Colby arrived, distraction of the helpful kind.
In hindsight, I guess it made sense that Justine and Colby were as invested in this as I was. At some point in our friendship, each of us had expressed liking Charles in a more-than-friends kind of way, only no one ever acted on the feeling, so to speak. It was only when Nica came into the picture that we became vigilant, acting like protective mother hens who didn’t want to see him break his heart.
“So—what’s up?”
He ripped open a sugar packet, poured the granules into his cappuccino. I watched him do the same to a second packet, only his hands became suspended in midair for a second when I asked, “Are we going to pretend yesterday didn’t happen?”
I saw the perennial smile on his face fade a bit as he continued pouring sugar into the cup. “I’m sorry about Nica... I was so shocked, I wasn’t able to pull her aw—”
“You’re being weird about this.”
“Weird how?”
“You’re supposed to be mad at me.”
“Why would I be?”
“Because I kissed you!” I raised my voice. It angered me that he was being so cool about this while my unease ate me alive. “Because I might’ve… ruined your relationship!”
There was a fleeting look on his face, a look that meant he finally understood why I was making such a fuss. But he only shook his head and sighed, then reached across the table to wrap his fingers around my wrist. His touch was as warm as the cup of coffee I nursed between my hands.
“Garnet, listen. Nica and I had a talk, and we’re cool. We’re okay.”
“No... it’s not okay.”
“Garns.”
I wrapped my fingers tightly around the cup as I spat out the words. “She’s cheating on you, Charlie! She’s cheating on you with Kelvin from the soccer team! I don’t know how—”
As if he got burned, Charles’ grasp on my wrist quickly loosened. Briefly, I wished he would just get up and leave, but he remained seated, gaze challenging mine.
“This feels like déjà vu.”
“God, Charlie! How long are you going to let her play you?”
He slammed a fist on the table. “What did Nica ever do to you?”
I knew I struck a nerve, but I wasn’t about to back down. “Come on, Charlie—wake up! She’s no good for you! And if you think for one second that this is nothing more than character assassination, then we should stop being friends. I don’t want to be associated with an idiot. It was Nica who said it herself. I was merely there, and I heard it.” Tears stung my eyes as I spoke, voice trembling. “Did you think I’d sit down and do nothing?”
He scoffed. “So you kissed me... so what? So she’d break up with me?”
“Charl—”
“You really are something, you know that?”
I cringed at the scraping of wrought iron against tile when Charles pushed his seat back and got up. Without another word, he bolted out the door and disappeared into the pouring rain.
FIVE
A Slump
After losing two big games in a week, Coach Castro felt compelled to sit me down for a talk. I considered it a feat, coming out of the locker room without shedding a single tear after getting yelled at so hard. Coach almost popped a vein.
Yes, it was my fault we lost. My dismal statistics would tell you that. For two straight games, my field goal average went from 70% to 30%. For two straight games, I cost the team crucial turnovers, gave away useless fouls, and was unable to convert decent points at the free-throw line.
A mess on legs was what I was, Coach Castro told me.
Justine and Colby knew why I suddenly seemed to have lost my mojo, but I refused to admit it. I’d already lost two games for the Lady Hunters; I wasn’t going to lose whatever shred of pride I still had in me.
“Garnet, it’s almost ten,” Colby pointed out. The sports teams that occupied the courts, as well as the cheer squad, had already gone home, but I was still hell-bent on getting my free-throw shooting right. I couldn’t afford to lose another game, especially not when a big game with the Scorpions was up next.
“You can go ahead, Colbs.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
I dribbled the basketball, hard and deliberate, against the wooden floor. I wanted to drown Colby’s words out.
Aim. Shoot. Miss.
Damn it.
“You’re burning yourself out.”
I was burned out, but what I felt was so much more than physical exhaustion. My last conversation with Charles sapped a lot of my strength. I couldn’t sleep well thinking how mad he was when he left the café, couldn’t eat well realizing he’d been actively avoiding me around campus, acting like I didn’t exist.
I retrieved the ball and threw it hard against the backboard before I let myself collapse onto the floor. My heart pounded violently in my ears, and I shut my eyes tight, if only to keep myself from getting blinded by the lights overhead.
“Let’s go home, okay?” Colby dropped onto her knees beside me and placed a hand on my arm. She probably saw the tear that rolled out from the corner of my eye, because she sighed, “Oh, Garnet,” and took my hand in hers.
“I’m just tired.”
“Charlie’s just being stupid.”
“Me too.”
“You were only trying to help. If he can’t see that, I can’t be friends with him.”
I lifted an arm to hide my face when I began to sob. “I think I like him, Colbs.”
“We all do.”
“No. I think I really like him. I might be giving myself too much credit, but I think I’ll be better for him than Nica ever will.”
I felt Colby pull my arm, forcing me to sit up and face her. She reached for my face, the glint in her eyes firm. “You are better for him than anyone ever w
ill, Garnet. Justine and I have been rooting for both of you to end up together all these years!”
“What?”
“You’re great people, and together, you’re a wonderful team. We see how you support each other selflessly, how you have each other’s backs no matter what. You share jokes we’ll never ever get, even your quirks complement each other’s... and I sincerely believe Charlie is happier and more himself when he’s with you.”
“Well, it’s too late now. I’ve ruined everything.”
Colby shook his head and hugged me tight. “Oh shush. Nothing is ever too late.”
* * *
The Lady Hunters defeated the Scorpions the following week, but not because I was able to up my game. In fact, I warmed the bench eight minutes into the second quarter because, as Charles had predicted long ago, my land and pivot resulted in a badly sprained ankle.
Bad news: No basketball for at least two weeks, which sucked because that meant I’d miss the semifinals. Perhaps it’s the universe’s way of giving us a hand, I thought.
Worse news: I had to navigate the campus in crutches, which sucked even more because it made me feel vulnerable. But thank God for Justine and Colby, who patiently took turns walking me to my classes. They helped me carry my stuff and made sure I didn’t slip and fall on the wet, rained-on floors.
“Call me when you’re ready to leave for your next class,” Justine said as I struggled to take a seat. She placed my knapsack on my desk, took my crutches, and leaned them against the window beside me.
“Yes, Mom.”
“Shut up. If you leave this room on your own, I swear to God...”
“I won’t. I promise.”
As Justine left to get to her own class, she bumped into Charles, and I looked away. I heard him mumble a greeting that went unreciprocated.
I focused my attention on my Philosophy notes, only looking up when I sensed someone take the seat beside me. It was Charles, who wore an deadpan expression on his face as he flipped through his own notes. I scanned the rest of the room and saw several more vacant chairs.
Call me crazy, but I expected something to happen. Small talk or something. Anything.
But nothing happened. No small talk, no exchanged notes. I wanted to say something, but eloquence and I seemed to have stopped being friends too. When the class ended, Charles left the room without a word.
So much for expectations.
All of a sudden, I didn’t feel like calling Justine. Or Colby. I didn’t feel like attending my next class either. All I wanted was to be alone for a while, so I gathered my things, grabbed my crutches, and went on my way.
As I stepped out, however, I saw Charles standing idly by the door. He had both hands in his jacket pockets, and it seemed like he was waiting for someone.
“I distinctly remember Justine telling you to call her…,” he said matter-of-factly, holding his hand out to me. Confused, I just stood there, staring at him as though he were a cosmic anomaly.
He stepped forward and took my bag, slung it over his shoulder in a quick second. It felt strange to see him smiling at me again. It was faint, but it was there, and it was more than I could ask for.
“Come on. You have Calculus next, don’t you?”
SIX
Pep Talk
Charles was waiting outside my classroom after Calculus.
This surprised me, and not only because things were still awkward between us. It was a Friday, and I distinctly remember him taking Nica out on quick dates every Friday afternoon just before cheer squad practices.
“I don’t see Justine anywhere.”
“I didn’t call her.”
“She’s probably worried you haven’t called since Philo.”
“I told her you walked me to Calc.”
He only smiled then and took my bag, as well as the thick Calculus textbook I borrowed from a classmate. I was still unsure where this was going—he only walked me to class earlier and never said anything—and I lost the confidence to ask, so we walked down the hall without so much as breathing a single word.
Still, I found it sweet how incredibly patient and thoughtful he was. As I struggled with stairs, he made sure the students who were running up or down the building wouldn’t accidentally knock me over. When we walked on wet floors, he made sure to steer me toward an area that wasn’t so slippery. He even asked if I wanted to grab merienda.
At the back of my mind, I wondered if this was payback for the thing I did for him two years ago.
* * *
“Charlie, you look like shit.”
“Gee thanks.”
Charles didn’t actually look like shit, just disheveled, so unlike the friend I was used to seeing. Even in sweats, Charles Crisostomo always seemed so put together with his neat haircut and clean-shaven face. That day, I saw him with unkempt hair and a five o’ clock shadow, his pambahay shirt all wrinkled like he’d been lying in bed for days.
This was sophomore year, two weeks after Charles underwent tendon repair surgery. Miserable and in pain, he’d skipped enough classes to be held back for a semester, but I attempted to lobby his case to our professors and asked that he be given special projects for credit. They were nice enough to give him a chance, under the condition that he submit all the requirements on a specific date (strictly no extensions) and score at least 80% on the final exams.
They were tall orders, but I believed they were worth a shot.
Charles let me into his room, and I watched him nervously as he hobbled from the door to his bed. His crutches were strewn on the floor, along with some sports magazines and copies of the latest issue of the school paper. I walked toward his bedside table and pushed aside a small tray that held bottles of medicine, making space for the folder of photocopied notes I brought along.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve got everything covered,” I said. I flipped the folder open and leafed through the pages while enumerating its contents.
“You shouldn’t have.”
“This isn’t much.”
“Garns, I’m dropping.”
There was nothing playful about the way he said the words, but I stared at him for a good long while, expecting a punch line. No way was I going to let Charles fall into a rut, I thought, but I wasn’t good with words.
Instead, I sat with him on the edge of his bed and took his hand in mine. I squeezed it tightly, the same way the words “The doctors said I can’t do track anymore” squeezed my heart. As I glanced up at him, I saw a tear fall from his eye and linger on his cheekbone. I kept a whimper in and wiped that single tear away. When I couldn’t stand seeing his pained face any longer, I pulled him in for a hug and cried with him.
I dropped by the Crisostomo household every day for two weeks. Sometimes I brought study materials, sometimes I brought Charles’ favorite snacks. Soon, I realized he had finished all the requirements each professor had asked of him. He eventually began coming to school as well, just in time for the final exams, all of which he easily aced.
* * *
When he got rid of his crutches, Charles began showing up at my practice sessions. At first, he brought me some baked goods, like cookies and brownies. “Mama made this for you. Thank you raw,” he said. “She told me to invite you for lunch with us on Saturday.” This went on for a while until I ran out of excuses to skip Crisostomo family lunch. And it wasn’t as awkward as I’d imagined it to be. I got to meet Charles’ parents—Tito Raoul and Tita Helena—as well as his brothers Arthur and Francis and little sister Natalie.
He’d also found a new hobby, one that involved pointing out my hard-court mishaps. Like how I wasn’t running very well or how I had a tendency to fumble with the ball after a high-speed bounce pass.
“How do you manage to land on the wrong foot all the time when you do a lay-up?”
“Sorcery.”
“You’re going to hurt y—”
I brought a hand up to his face and shoved it away before I turned to head toward the drinking fountains. He fol
lowed me. “And you still keep fumbling with the ball during fast breaks.”
I glared at him. “Are we friends, Charlie?”
“Of course we are.”
“So could you be more like a friend? I mean, come on. Not even a word of praise?”
A smirk lined his face then, the way it usually would when he had something up his sleeve, like a joke or a bad idea. That dimple on his left cheek was deadly, I wanted to smack it away right that moment.
“Your reverse lay-up? Thing of beauty. But that fake pass lay-up you did just now? That’s the stuff of legends.”
“Huh,” I simply uttered. For someone who had never really played basketball seriously in his life, Charles impressed me with his good grasp of technique. I couldn’t help but grin as he offered information about reading and watching “basketball stuff” so he could catch up with me.
“You could be a coach, you know.”
“Figured if I couldn’t play, I could still be of help.”
“By being annoying?”
“Sort of.”
“I like that.”
Charles’ eyes lit up as he threw an arm over my shoulder, only to pull away and comment about how gross and sweaty I was. He deserved a smack, and I landed one, square on the chest.
* * *
Somehow, we naturally found ourselves walking toward the sports complex that afternoon. He was headed for cheer squad practice, and I still attended basketball practice even if all I had to do was sit around and watch everyone do drills.
Charles kept looking at the overcast sky, possibly wary that the rain would start falling while we were walking at a snail’s pace. I felt him put an arm around my shoulder when a car skimmed past, splashing his pants with a bit of mud.
His gaze fell on my bandaged foot. “How long are you supposed to be out for?”
“Hopefully no more than two weeks.”
“Ouch. You’re gonna miss the semis.”
