The poster said that we should attend the First Quarter Bash to "celebrate our sports supremacy!"
It was nice to see that even the Bash organizers, usually students who would rather party than be in school (hence joining the club that organized parties), had a sense of irony. Ford River was not big on sports. They tried, but it just wasn't that fun. Technically the school wasn't based in Manila, and didn't compete with other metro colleges in their sports leagues. Our gamesâwhen there were gamesâweren't televised, and it required some effort to actually see them. And yet (as if there was a memo) the jocks of the basketball team still ruled the school, even though they'd never even won a championship.
They were the most good-looking team there, though, usually. I had to give them that.
But none of this mattered, because any excuse for a party was embraced by the Ford River crowd. The Bash was usually held somewhere off campus after a big basketball game, never mind if we won or lost. I only knew this because of post-Bash gossip, by the way. I hadn't gone to one yet.
"Ouch," someone said, from somewhere just off to my right.
It was Robbie, Quin's friend, another basketball player.
"Sorry?" I automatically asked.
He pointed to the exact phrase that I was fixating on. "The Bash people are making fun of me."
"I'm sure they don't mean you."
"They just mean the guys who play basketball. They kind of mean me."
I always liked Robbie. Not that way, but you know what I mean. In this popular-guy "boy band," Quin was the leader, Diego the rebel, and Robbie the cute one. He just seemed to be the most approachable, and he actually had a sense of humor. Whenever I saw him wearing his basketball uniform on campus, I had the impression he was at practice but forgot something at his locker. Not like the other guys who wore the jersey to show off.
"It ends at nine-thirty?" I said, pointing to that detail on the poster. "I don't go to parties, and I know that's boring."
"You've never been to a Bash?"
"No."
"They say it ends early to get the school to approve putting up the poster. It doesn't end at nine-thirty."
"They lie?" That sounded much more likely then. "Wow. I...totally expected that."
I thought about what would happen if this big party actually did end at nine-thirty. Robbie laughed a little, probably because I was too, and he wasn't like Quin who never laughed with me on anything.
"So are you going?" he asked, a beat later.
"Huh?"
"Are you going to the Bash?"
And then I saw it, a memory of Robbie's, and it was weird. I saw me.
...I was wearing the pink top with my dark jeans and white sandalsâan ensemble I threw on for the first time just last week. Apparently it was a good hair dayâsoft waves ran down my back. A good skin day too, no breakouts, and from that particular distance, the afternoon sun was actually flattering. I had my usual afternoon snack combo: buko juice (coconut water only, no sugar) in one hand, turon in the other. I was on my way from the cafeteria to probably the guidance office and I just started biting into the turon. It was nice and crunchy.
Robbie was on the second floor of the East building, and he had looked at me just as a breeze blew a lock of my hair over one shoulder.
It was very fabulous, if I may say so myself.
In that moment, he experienced another memory of me, and I felt pulled into a memory within a memory.
It was at the basketball court in school. He had just gotten into basketball varsity and it was his second day at practice. I was standing at the other end of the court, in my uniform, and the hairstyle I had in freshman year (bangs, bob) and I waved in his direction. He thought for a second that I had waved to him and almost smiled back when a movement next to him caught his eyeâand it was Quin, running past him to meet me.
He watched us talk. He was wondering if I was Quin's girlfriend. He noticed that we didn't kiss and didn't hold hands. A minute later, Quin started jogging back to the middle of the court, and I sat down on the ground and pulled out a textbook.
"Who's that?" Robbie asked Quin, trying to be casual.
"Hannah. She doesn't have a boyfriend," Quin said.
Embarrassed, Robbie wanted to say that he wasn't going to ask that, but Quin was already talking to Diego about something else.
So now there we were, in front of the poster advertising the Bash, and Robbie was asking me if I was going. I had never gone. I did want to go. What would happen if I said I did? What would that lead to?
"I don't know yet," I squeaked, probably blinking furiously. "I... I think I'm watching something on TV that night."
"TV?" Even he didn't buy that, I could tell.
"Are you going?" I asked instead.
"I'm sure it'll be fun," Robbie said. "I got your number from Quin. Maybe I'll call you next week to ask if you're going."
"Okay."
"Just in case you want to skip that thing you want to watch on TV."
"Okay."
Dammit. I had never not known what to say to Robbie before. This was Robbie! Quin's friend Robbie!
And Quin was nowhere in sight to save me from this super awkward moment.
"Hannah!"
Oh thank God. It was Kathy, and I had never been this happy to see her. I didn't even know what she wanted but I excused myself from the talk with Robbie and grabbed her like I was saving her life. And promptly dragged her in the direction of the Guidance Office.
She didn't mind the urgency. She kind of looked a bit shell-shocked, but it wasn't my fault.
"Another gift?" I asked.
Kathy showed me the thing that she had been holding up to her chest. It was a picture frame, nice and heavy, and behind the glass was a black and white photo of an old house.
"It's an old house," I said.
"Label says it's an ancestral house in Silay, Negros Occidental," Kathy said. "Probably belonged to a family with a sugar plantation, although I haven't looked it up yet."
Silay, I would find out later, is near Bacolod. It's in the province of Negros Occidental, and it was known for sugar plantations that went way back to the Spanish period. Today I guess they still grew sugar, but the grand old houses that the plantation owners once lived in are now heritage sites and museums.
It didn't explain why a secret admirer would take a photo of one and give it as a gift.
"Is it your family's house?" I asked.
Kathy looked confused too, but not in the same way I did. "No it's not. But, Hannah, this is something I do. I collect photos of ancestral homes like this one. I started when I was a kid, when I was given my first camera, that summer when I visited my grandfather's childhood home. But my photos are not as good as this. This is... amazing."
'Who knows that you collect this, Kathy?"
She was still looking at the picture, somewhat entranced by it. "I can't even... I don't think I've ever told anybody. It's a weird hobby, and I was pretty sure no one would really be interested..."
"Have you looked at the card?"
"What?"
"It's taped to the back."
She hadn't even noticed it, and had to peel it off with shaking fingers. "It's...an invitation to go to the Bash next week."
"Is it signed?"
"No."
She was so scared. Excited and scared. I wanted to be happy for her but couldn't because my own belly was doing sympathy flip-flops.
"You should go," I said.
"It's weird. This is too... it's too intimate. I don't even know who he is!"
As she spoke I felt it, felt her walls coming up. This guy had just revealed how much he knew her and it was equal parts creepy and impressive. The creepy bit was leaving her vulnerable, and the instinct to protect herself was kicking in.
She was making up her mind as she spoke, talking to herself more than me. "I shouldn't go to the Bash with him. This is probably just a stalker."
How would I have advised her, as a friend?
I would have said, this is creepy. Report him to the admin now.
But I wasn't just a friend. I was the goddess of love and I felt that this guy was sincere. We just had to find him, because Kathy was going to shut down from fear.
"Kathy," I said, "Your secret admirer guy. Who do you wish he could be?"
"What?"
"You know what I said. Tell me."
"It doesn't matter who I want it to be. It's not like it'll change anything."
"Humor me."
"He doesn't like me."
"How do you know for sure?"
"I know for sure."
"Tell me."
Kathy sighed. "It's not possible. He's popular and... he probably doesn't know I exist, anyway."