CHAPTER 4

Michael's Point of View

The classroom buzzed with the usual cacophony of chatter and rustling papers, but my attention was riveted on Chrisnah. Her voice cut through the noise like a blade, each word sharp and laden with frustration. The room fell eerily silent, all eyes on her as she launched into a passionate tirade.

Watching her, I felt a strange mix of admiration and something else—something more potent. Chrisnah commanded attention effortlessly, her brow knit in concentration, her words echoing off the walls with an authority that was both intimidating and awe-inspiring. It was like witnessing a storm unfold, its fury both captivating and humbling.

Chrisnah was mesmerizing. From the moment I saw her, I knew I was in the presence of someone extraordinary. I’m as gay as they come—heart, soul, and every molecule of my being. Yet, there was something about her that made my pulse quicken. She was the kind of beauty that could stop traffic: delicate features, plump cheeks, a nose that could cut glass, and eyes so dreamy they seemed like they could pull you into another world. And her lips—oh, her lips were like a sweet, forbidden fruit.

But let’s be honest—her voice was a bit of a letdown. It had a gruff, almost butch quality that clashed with her otherwise ethereal appearance. Even so, there was something undeniably magnetic about her, something that made me want to be near her, to be part of her world.

The moment came unexpectedly. Chrisnah abruptly grabbed my hand and yanked me out of the classroom, leaving our classmates stunned and whispering. Her ponytail swished with each determined step she took, and I couldn’t help but marvel at its glossy sheen. Why did she keep it tied up? It was gorgeous, and I felt a pang of envy.

As we navigated the labyrinth of hallways, I couldn’t shake the thrill of being defended for the first time. It was as if Chrisnah’s fierce stance was a shield, protecting me from the harsh words of others. I followed her, my heart a mix of excitement and confusion.

We finally arrived at the school garden, a serene space of green and tranquility. Chrisnah released my hand with a sigh of relief, and I nearly collapsed from the sudden cessation of the brisk walk. My feet were throbbing, and my precious hair ribbon—one of my most prized possessions—was slipping.

“Hey, you!” Chrisnah snapped, her voice breaking the tranquil air.

I gasped, clutching my chest. “Uh, me?” I stammered, heart racing from the surprise.

Chrisnah’s gaze was intense, her furrowed brow a sign of serious discontent. I wasn’t sure what was coming next.

“What’s up, girl?! You startled me!” I said, attempting to compose myself. My heart was pounding like a drum.

Chrisnah was silent for a moment, then sighed heavily. She settled onto the Bermuda grass with her knees drawn up and her hands resting on them, adopting an informal posture that looked so nonchalant it was almost defiant.

“Hey girl, it’s in fashion to sit properly! Don’t open the heavens!! I’m gay, I won’t be seduced!” I said, exaggerating for effect. Chrisnah shot me a puzzled look.

“Oh, my slow grandmother!” I muttered, watching as she shifted uncomfortably.

“What are you saying?!” Chrisnah demanded, her annoyance palpable. I gestured at her open legs with a dramatic pout, and she immediately folded her knees, her eyes widening in surprise.

“Rude! I’m cycling, you idiot!” she retorted, giving me a look that could melt steel. I clutched my chest, feigning injury. “Oh! G, girl?! How was I supposed to know you were cycling, duh!” I said, plopping down beside her.

She glared at me, and I couldn’t help but wonder what had gotten into her. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words. I busied myself with cleaning the dirt under my long, manicured fingernails, a habit I refused to give up despite our teacher’s orders.

“Why didn’t you fight back earlier?” Chrisnah broke the silence, her voice tinged with frustration.

I shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, nothing. I don’t like fighting, you know!” I said, still focused on my nails. “Tsk! Just because you fight back doesn’t mean you’re going to start a fight. You’re just going to defend yourself; what’s wrong with that?” Chrisnah’s irritation was palpable.

“Why? I mean, there’s nothing wrong with defending yourself against bullying!” she insisted, her gaze piercing through me.

I sighed. “Eeeeh, I don’t like it, girl. I’m not used to defending myself against other people.” I looked at her, noting the deep lines of concern etched on her face.

Chrisnah’s stern expression made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. She looked so fierce, like a warrior caught between worlds, and I felt a strange connection—a sense of understanding that transcended words.

“Why?” she repeated, more gently this time. “There’s nothing to gain by being a doormat. Defend yourself. Stand up for yourself.”

I shook my head slowly. “I’ve been bullied since elementary school. It’s something I’m used to. I don’t let it bother me. I just let it go in one ear and out the other.” I pointed to my ears, trying to lighten the mood with a forced smile.

“I don’t need their acceptance. If they don’t accept me for who I am, that’s their problem. They’re ugly inside, and I don’t owe them an explanation for my existence. They can think they’re beautiful all they want, but even my calluses are cuter than their attitudes.” I chuckled, trying to inject a bit of humor into the conversation.

Chrisnah’s eyes remained cold and unreadable, but I could sense a shift—a subtle change in her demeanor. Her gaze softened just slightly, and I wondered if she was starting to understand.

“Girl, stop staring at me. I’m melting. And I know I’m handsome, but uh, I’m gay, girl. No matter how much you stare at my beauty, you won’t capture me.” I teased, but the playful tone was met with a sudden, sharp smack to my head.

“Ouch!” I cried, clutching the spot where she hit me. My head throbbed with a dull ache, and I felt a rush of dizziness.

“You’re so painful, you know?!?!” I complained, trying to keep the mood light despite the sting of her hit.

Chrisnah glared at me, her face a mixture of exasperation and concern. “What was that for?!”

“I’m hitting you because you’re annoying! You talk too much!” she snapped, her voice rising in frustration.

I didn’t have a retort. I just stared at her, feeling a tear slip down my cheek. The pain from her words and the physical sting seemed to blend into a painful reality. I didn’t understand why this beautiful lesbian had to be so harsh.

I stared at her in silence, feeling a growing unease. There was something unspoken between us, a tension that crackled like electricity in the air. I sensed it, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. Maybe it was the same feeling I had when I first laid eyes on her. A mix of curiosity and something deeper, something I couldn’t quite grasp.

As I looked at Chrisnah, something strange happened. She suddenly stood up, her face a mask of resolve and something else—something almost desperate.

“I can’t just let this go,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something important.”

Before I could respond, she turned abruptly and began walking away, her ponytail swinging behind her like a dark, glossy banner. My heart raced as I watched her retreating figure, a sense of foreboding settling over me.

What was she going to say? Why did she look so conflicted?

I stood there, the unanswered question hanging heavy in the air, as the garden seemed to close in around me. The weight of the moment pressed down, leaving me with a gnawing anxiety and a burning curiosity that wouldn’t be quenched until I knew what was coming next.

Chrisnah's voice broke the silence. Her words, though calm, were charged with a truth that cut through the air like a blade.

"But you know, what you said is right. No matter how much you defend yourself, there will always be people who won’t listen and will continue what they’re doing to you. You're right, we can't please everyone to accept us, the real us." She gazed off into the distance, her eyes reflecting the weight of her words.

I nodded, feeling the gravity of her statement.

"You’re absolutely right, girl! Like, big check! So just don’t mind them. Don’t ever stoop down to their very low, I mean, very, very low levels! Eewww!" I added with a dramatic flick of my fingers, trying to lighten the mood.

Chrisnah shot me a bemused glance, her lips curling into a small grimace.

"Do you really have to do that?" she asked, clearly unimpressed.

I laughed, giving her a playful tap on the shoulder. "Of course, girl!" I giggled. Her scowl softened, though she remained silent.

As I looked at her, a deep sense of gratitude filled me. Chrisnah was the first person who’d ever truly defended me. The first friend I’d made in my entire life.

"Hey, lesbian!" I said, reaching out to poke her cheek. It was so soft, so smooth—like something out of a skincare commercial. I couldn’t help but envy her flawless skin.

Korean skin, maybe?!

"What’s up, gay?" Chrisnah shot back, her tone half-serious, half-playful. I chuckled, my fingers absently playing with each other—a habit I fell into whenever I felt shy.

"Well, I just want to thank you. I know I’ve said that I don’t need to prove myself to everyone," I started, my voice softer, "but really, thank you for being the first person to stand up for me. I really appreciate it, Chrisnah." I managed a sweet smile, hoping it conveyed my sincere gratitude.

Chrisnah's Perspective

"But thank you for being the first person to defend me in front of everybody. I really appreciate it, Chrisnah."

I froze, my gaze locked onto Michael as he offered me a sweet, almost ethereal smile. His hair fluttered as if kissed by an unseen breeze.

Everything around him seemed to blur and shimmer, like some surreal anime sequence. What was happening to me? I must be watching too many anime!

My heart raced, pounding in my chest with an intensity that made me wonder if it was the coffee I’d had earlier. Maybe my palpitations were just a side effect. Yes, that’s right! Coffee—bad idea.

I shook my head, forcing my attention back to Michael.

"Tsk! That won’t happen again because no one else is allowed to bully you! Only I am!" I declared, struggling to regain my composure.

Michael’s expression shifted into a dramatic pout. "So that’s it! No wonder you’re really a lesbian! You act all defensive! Turns out you just wanted to bully me too!"

His pout was so exaggerated, so comically endearing, that I couldn’t help but laugh. He looked like a duck with that long, sulky expression.

"Of course! You want me to be your friend, right? So you’ll have to endure my bullying!" I grinned, finding his pout even more amusing. How could someone look so adorably ridiculous?

"You’re such a mean lesbian!" He exclaimed, his voice filled with mock indignation. I stood, brushing off my skirt. Our morning classes were about to start, and I had no intention of facing the glowering faces of our classmates.

"I know, right!" I smirked at him. He rolled his eyes and stood up, his flick of the butt so theatrical it made me laugh.

Such a show-off, but undeniably good-looking. Did I just praise him? Why do I keep doing that?

We started walking back, Michael still pouting but clearly enjoying the attention.

"Is this how you treat your friends?!" he demanded with a scowl. I turned to him, my smile mischievous.

"No. You should feel special because you’re the only one I treat like this. Consider it an honor, gay." I teased, raising an eyebrow.

Michael’s frown deepened. His annoyance was entertaining, and I couldn’t resist teasing him further.

"Oh, you’re acting all high-and-mighty?!" he snapped. I merely flashed him another playful smile.

"Gay, hurry up! We’re going to be late! So extra!" I called over my shoulder as I walked ahead. I heard his snort, and my smile widened.

Today, I saw another side of him—the annoyed side.

Annoyed side, huh?!

...

Days passed, and Michael had seamlessly woven himself into our group. He became inseparable from my friends, who were all thrilled by his flamboyant charm. Especially Zoey, who clung to him, much to her own irritation. Mwahahaha!

Michael’s presence was like a breath of fresh air. Every moment with him was filled with laughter, and I found joy in having someone who shared my sexuality. My friends welcomed him with open arms. Even my twins were fond of him, and Kuya Crane enjoyed his company.

The only one Michael seemed to fear was Kuya Chad. He described Kuya Chad as a gangster because of his numerous piercings, worrying that Kuya Chad might punch him at any moment.

Kuya Chad was indeed a bad boy, notorious for his frequent visits to the principal's office due to his fighting tendencies.

But Michael was a breath of fresh air. He was fun, engaging, and there was never a dull moment. The bullying had stopped since I’d taken a stand. Our classmates seemed to have developed a newfound respect—or fear.

"Chrisnah!" Zoey’s call interrupted my thoughts. I looked up, raising an eyebrow.

I walked over to my friends at the cafeteria table.

"Does Zoey really need to shout?" I asked, a frown forming on my face. I sat down between Zoelle and ate Chary. Zoey grinned at me, her excitement palpable.

It was lunchtime, and we were all present except for Michael, who had gone off to some room nearby. I had left because I was starving.

"Where’s Michael?" Zoey asked, her smile widening.

I gave her a poker face. "Do I look like someone who’s searching for a missing gay?" I said seriously, causing my friends to burst into laughter. Zoey pouted. I suddenly remembered Michael’s duck face—an uncanny resemblance to Zoey’s pouting face.

"Hey, I heard that, you attitude-filled tomboy!" Michael’s voice cut through the laughter. We turned to see him with one eyebrow raised.

I didn’t respond, just glared at him playfully.

"Michael!!!" Zoey jumped up from her seat, but Michael stopped her with a theatrical gesture.

"Hey, hey!! Stay there, you fish! Don’t come near me or I’ll let Daddy Chad beat you up!" he threatened with a smirk. We all laughed heartily.

Zoey pouted and returned to her seat, clearly defeated.

"Looks like Michael didn’t miss you, Zoey." Kuya Crane commented, still absorbed in his book. Zoey shot him a scowl, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Kuya Crane was teasing her about her long-time crush.

"C-che! Just read your book, bookworm!" Zoey shot back. She glanced at me, and I grinned in response. Her blush was adorable.

"Okay guys! Can I have your attention, please?" Michael called out, his voice filled with flair. We turned our attention to him.

"Oh, Michael has a chick with him!" Kuya Clive remarked with a grin. Allison shot Kuya a jealous glance, her envy clear.

"Hey, buddy, that’s so rude!" Michael retorted, his smirk widening.

That’s when we noticed the girl with Michael. I squinted at her. She was beautiful—fair-skinned, petite, with slightly curly hair that framed her face perfectly. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her.

Michael began to speak, but the girl interrupted him.

"Girlfriend," she said, adding her own twist to Michael’s introduction. She turned to face us with a sweet, confident smile.

"Hi everyone. I’m Xylene, Michael’s girlfriend. Thank you for being his friend." She said, her voice laced with sincerity.

A stunned silence fell over us. Was this for real? This flamboyant gay had a girlfriend?