Chapter II

My Sundays were the epitome of uneventfulness. No church, no chores, just plain old lazy-ing about inside my room. Watching the blades of the ceiling fan go round and round kept my mind occupied for the whole day. I don’t even remember if I ate lunch and dinner. I just remember it being hot and boring. So to say, it was Monday before I knew it.

Mondays bring about the start of another tedious school week. I was walking through the narrow corridor, with its dew-laden moss-covered walls, heading towards our lecture room. I was greeted with a high five by Barry, a classmate of mine, which I failed to greet back.

I can't say I am particularly enthusiastic about improving my social relationships but having someone I can casually talk to every now and then, be it about missed lectures or assignments, came in handy. It also proved advantageous in terms of finding a PE partner during stressful activities. I can’t say we’re friends, but I know he’d say otherwise

Barry Watson is a six-foot one, half-bred British Philosophies student with short blonde hair. He had an athletic build as he was also the captain of the School’s volleyball varsity. He had grey eyes that stared into people intimidatingly, but he is a gentle spirit.

Eight minutes past eight, our professor entered the room, marker in hand. Our Midterms were drawing near, though most of our exams were mostly never pen-and-paper tests. This maximized my speech skills and I barely had trouble with any exams. I wish the same could be said for physical fitness work-related tests.

"So, for your midterm examination," he started. "You are to perform a series of interviews with someone from a different course withing the Institution. All recorded data from these interviews will be compiled and laid down in an organized timeline and will be passed on the last day of the semester. Regarding materials asked during the interview, I have already sent out the files via emails. Check them as soon as possible."

Some of my classmates snickered, but out professor held his cool demeanor. "Now, now, this is not an opportunity for you to have your private kinky time with girls. Guys, please control yourselves." he said jokingly, as he knows controlling themselves were not the forte of my classmates who were failed samples of the human species.

Given the objectivity of the task, it was quite simple. All a student had to do was get one of his or her friends to come to an hour-long session at least once a week and put in random nothings on the notes. Most things that sound smart enough are enough to pass but our professors were still smarter that we take them for.

But on my part, finding someone from outside this class was very difficult. Given that I don't know many people, added to my lack of enthusiasm for human contact, finding a volunteer for my interview would prove to be easier said than done.

Barry came up to me and asked, "So dude, you have anyone in mind for the sessions?"

I laughed sarcastically. "You should know better than to ask me a question of obvious answer. Have you ever seen me talk with anyone?"

He closed his eyes, as if thinking of an answer. "Fair enough . . ." he said shortly afterwards.

"I'll get by just fine." I said, almost to myself. I wasn't sure whether I was convincing Barry or myself.

He waved his hand farewell as he came running towards the gym to attend varsity meeting. I headed towards the cafeteria to get my lunch over with. Out the corridor, down the stairs and through crowds of random students, I braver my way towards an empty table in the cafeteria.

I fix my lunchbox myself as it mostly consists of last night's leftovers or something that would have been easily cooked the early morning after. As a member of the group of students with limited allowance, I cannot overspend what little I had. Of course, my parents would send me tens of thousands worth of cash in a heart's beat, but I avoided contacting them long ago. It's a long story.

I quietly went on with my lunch, I got the problem regarding the sessions out of my head for now. But not long after I stared eating, I heard a voice call out, calmly and softly. But surely, there was a sense of firmness behind the softness of the sound.

"Is this seat taken?" the voice asked.

It was the sound of a girl. But then again, one can never be too sure of what they hear as I've heard plenty of guys pull off a girlish number.

"Uhm, excuse me. But is this seat taken?" it called out again, this time ever so slightly louder.

"No, go on ahead and sit." I said as I looked up. And of course, by some not so random coincidence seemingly out of the script of some cheesy movie, it was the girl I met by the ATM the other day.

She was wearing the school-standard uniform which was a white buttoned-down top laced with brown and maroon lines here and there with sleeves that reached a few centimeters above the elbow. Her skirt was a not-so-loose piece of brown and maroon clothing that did not fail to show off the curves on her lower extremities that I failed to notice last time.

Our eyes met for a second, a minute or probably more, I cannot really tell. My perception of time was slightly disordered at that time. Her eyes, which I thought at first was of thirteen shades of wonderful, turned out to be honey amber. She blinked and it was sugar brown. What the crud?

I looked down as I noticed I may have been staring at her for a moment too long now. I tried my best to get my lunch over with as peacefully as possible. Avoiding distractions as hard as I could, I cleaned up my lunchbox and returned it inside my bag as tidily as I could (which is to say, not much).

I stood up and started walking away as I headed for the water dispenser to get a drink. I turned around and saw her walking away, back towards me as she walks towards her next class probably. I was just about to do the same, but I caught a glimpse of something in the corner of my eyes along the table where we ate. It was a purse.

The purse wasn't all that bigger than a small-sized wallet. It was vinyl, mostly white but with thin lines of pink and violet and green and more colors I can't quite name. I darted to the main hall in hopes of seeing her. But my luck proved useless in times like this.

I rummaged through her purse and, as if spending the last drop of my luck, I found a piece of paper two-by-four inches in size with a contact number on it. It was named Joe.

I was now cut in a 50-percentage chance that this was her number. Why do people have gender confusing names like Sam, Tony, Alex, and Joe (I should apologize to all the people with those names)? I grabbed my phone and started dialing the number only to remember I have no cellular balance as of the moment. Why don't I have people to exchange texts with?

"Well, so much for my luck." I said to myself.

I checked my wristwatch and read 09:35. My next class doesn't start 'til half past ten, so I have less than an hour to go look for her. I still have 20 pesos in my pocket which can get me two rides from one compound of the school campus to another.

Our school wasn't exactly of normal size as it takes minicabs to take rounds inside the campus to transport students in need to go to one compound to another. Given that the Fine Arts building was the farthest from the Humanities Compound; that was where I should start, and I could just run my way back here. It would be the practical end-to-end sweep.

And so, I did. I got onto a minicab and got off at the Arts Building. It was a marble-white, forty-feet, two-story building with four or five rooms in each floor. There are about sixty to a hundred people currently in my field of vision: probably a lot more inside the rooms.

I wished that I hadn't run out of luck just yet. I dashed—walked faster than usual, I mean—across the corridor as I scanned the inside of the room in search for the girl. I don't have a clear picture of her face, but I think I can manage with what I have.

She was at least the same height as me, if not shorter. She had perfectly straight, red-dyed hair paired with her wonderful-shaded eyes. I tried listening harder to my surroundings in hopes of hearing even the faintest sound of her voice; I have a vague idea how it still sounds.

But luckily, as if God wasn't all that crossed with me, I found her by the first room to the stairs on the second floor. She was alone in the room, a canvas, dozens, and dozens of wooden armed desks. Amidst the dust and the pail rays of the modest noon sunlight struggling their way inside the room, the picture of her was subconsciously burned permanently in the back of my head.

Something made me not want to bother her. But I had class in about ten minutes, I had her vinyl purse and I had to give it to her. I still had second thoughts of calling out "Joe" in fear that that wasn't her name. So, I stepped into the room (not like anyone else was there) and approached her.

This might've been creepy, given that a scrawny looking person with a maroon hoody on suddenly approached you. But I tried to give her the purse as casually as I could. She turned around, and looking surprised, she gave the best awkward smile she could manage.

"I think this belongs to you . . ." I managed to say.

"Yeah, thanks." she said, as if sounding rehearsed.

"Joe, is it?" I asked.

"Uh-huh. Wait, did you get my number?" she asked back.

"Maybe . . ." I said nonchalantly.

She puffed her cheeks and stared at me. I thought it was pretty adorable. I looked away, the sight of her sugar-brown eyes seem to swirl around in a caramel vortex, making it hard to breathe. The scent of her hair seemed oddly close given the half-a-feet distance between us.

I waved my hand goodbye as I hurried off to get to my next class. As I turned around, something metallic hit my head. It was a 10-peso coin. I turned back to look at Joe and she stuck her tongue out.

"I don't want to owe you anything!" she said.

"I know . . ." I said dismissively.

She then smiled and bowed gently. "But still . . . thanks."

"Don't mention it." I said as I walked out of the room. I arrived late to class that day.