A/N: We're back to the start—way before the QED Club became the QED Club that we know today and we've come to love—but this time, in Loki's POV!
LOKI
IF I could solve complex mysteries, then I could solve this pesky problem.
It had been a year since I founded the QED Club. To quote Charles Dickens, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Now that the new academic year had begun, I was required to submit an annual club renewal form to the Office of Student Affairs. All clubs on campus needed to undergo the same tedious process. No exemptions. Jeez! This was such a hassle. I could have spent the time filling out that form and attaching relevant documents to solving mysteries on the first week of classes.
But I was in luck. The OSA director appreciated the work that I'd done for Clark High last year. Because of me—and my club—missing students and items were found, vandals were caught, and cheaters were exposed. She also owed me for finding her stolen laptop (an OSA student aide took it). Her memory must still be sharp as she didn't forget my good deeds. She gave me an express approval, and voila! My club was renewed for this academic year.
Problem solved, right? Not really.
The club had been renewed, but the clubroom was in dispute. By default, small clubs like mine weren't entitled to our own space in the high school building. But I was able to make it look like my club was big enough that we needed a room for ourselves. How? I kindly asked a couple of my classmates and schoolmates to sign up as dummy members. Once I was given a clubroom, I kicked them out since they'd already fulfilled their purpose.
Last year, that trick worked. This time, it wouldn't.
Why? Because of the troublesome student council. They created this committee with a long ass name that got the power to assign rooms to clubs as long as they met the required minimum number of members. A club must have at least five. As of writing, my club only had one member: me. That alone automatically disqualified my club.
If only the person in charge of that committee was kind and generous to me, I wouldn't have any problems at all. Unfortunately, the chairperson was not a friend of mine. He's not even friendly to me to begin with. He's close to being my enemy.
"Mr. Mendez, how many members does your club have?" asked a towering student who was seated across me. If a midget were to see him, they'd be intimidated by his height. They'd think that he's standing even though he's comfortably sitting in his makeshift throne. He sat against the light, making his face dark.
"Only one," I replied confidently. "Me and myself."
Most fringes of his hair reached his eyebrows, but not long enough to cover his dull, gray eyes. His face was akin to a marble statue's, no hint of expression or whatsoever. In a not so strange way, it felt like I was looking at my own reflection. He had a metal badge pinned on his lapel, a symbol that screamed "Kneel before me, mortals! Coz I'm part of the all powerful council." He's the vice president of Clark High's student council, but his actual role was bigger than being a spare tire.
"Do you have any prospective members?" he asked next, raising his gaze from the piece of paper he's holding to me. If I were an ordinary student, I would have looked away instead of meeting his eyes. They said they could send shivers down anyone's spine. "Students who have expressed intention of joining your club?"
"I have a long list," I lied. "As much as I wanna give you their names, I can't recall all of them right now. I'm also not really good with names."
I'd met a number of people in my seventeen years of existence on this earth—classmates, schoolmates, teachers, school personnel, clients—but I barely remembered ninety-nine percent of them. I didn't develop a habit of memorizing the names of people that I met unless they're important to me or to the case that I was investigating. If it's a useless piece of information, I wouldn't store it in my mental hard drive.
On the afternoon of my third day back to school, I was summoned by the committee with a long ass name to discuss about my clubroom's status. I normally skipped these boring formalities, but I made an exemption this time. Was I afraid to lose my small office? I could take clients and listen to their problems anywhere on campus. But the comfort of a clubroom—a place where I could go to whenever I cut my classes—was something that I didn't wanna lose. Hence my appearance in this unnecessary hearing.
There's also a personal reason why I didn't want to give it up.
"You had a list of five registered members last academic year," said the towering guy. I always found his glacial voice annoying, but I must endure it for half an hour. "None of them submitted their individual accomplishment reports. There was also not a single documentation of their engagement in your club activities."
"They're camera shy—"
"We cannot help but assume that you've only used their names and signatures to make your club a qualified beneficiary of our room assignments. You must be aware of the criterion that a club must have at least five members to qualify. You found a loophole, and you exploited it."
"Look," I held up both of my hands, "I know that there's an issue with the minimum number of club members needed to apply for a clubroom. But my club has helped a number of students and faculty members over the past year. Shouldn't you take that into consideration?"
"Rules are rules, Mr. Mendez." He regarded me coldly, but his gaze wasn't chilling enough to intimidate me. "We can make an exemption to this rule, but only if we deem you worthy of it. At the moment, I fail to see any justifiable reason why you should keep the clubroom. There are other clubs with more members that are waiting to have their own space. I am certain that they would be delighted to occupy Room 315."
"I hope that you're not taking this personally, Mr. Mendez," I spat his surname like poison.
Yes, that's right. We're both Mr. Mendez in this room. No, it's not a mere coincidence that we happened to share the same surname. I wished that I didn't. But some things in life couldn't be changed easily. For example, the family that a person was born into.
We're brothers, unfortunately. I'm Loki and he's Luthor. But those were just our nicknames. My dad's a huge fan of Norse mythology that he patterned them after those gods. Our full given names were too fancy.
"I am not taking this concern personally," my dear brother replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "I am only trying to be just and fair in this particular matter. It will be unbecoming of me to involve our personal issues here."
"It must be so nice to have an excuse to bully me," I replied after letting out a sigh. "Today, you're taking away my clubroom. What's next? Are you gonna expel me?"
"Maybe we can give him a chance?" said the female student on his right side. She got a full fringe and jet-black hair that reached down her shoulders. Her black-framed spectacles shone. Like my brother, she also got a metal badge pinned on her lapel. She's the chairwoman of the student executive committee. "Look. He went out of his way para mag-attend sa hearing na 'to. He badly wants to retain the clubroom. Hindi siya pupunta rito kung hindi siya desperado."
"Students may see that as unfair." My brother cast a sideways glance to his bespectacled seatmate. "Giving my younger brother a special treatment while denying others the chance will not look well publicly. Augustus and the Clarion will have a field day once they get wind of it."
"May merit sa sinabi niya kaninang nakatulong ang kanyang club sa school. We can't just dismiss that fact," the female student insisted. I didn't expect her to be on my side. Oh, wait. Maybe she wasn't. "That might be enough to give him a special condition."
"Very well." My brother nodded, his eyes transfixed on me. I got a bad feeling about this. "If you can recruit one more member to your club, we will not evict you from the clubroom. We will only give you until next week to find a new club member. If you fail, you have to vacate Room 315."
"The vice president is generous. He asked you to recruit only one. I would have suggested two." Margarette Fernandez, the student in spectacles, looked at me with a smirk across her lips. She's enjoying this moment. "That's not going to be difficult for you, is it?"
She didn't make that suggestion to give me a real fighting chance. She made it to embarrass me. My brother saw that opportunity and went along with the idea. They wanted to see me struggle in finding a member. They knew very well that I was not that good at convincing people the normal way.
And that's the root of my petty problem. I'd rather be pulling my hair and drowning myself in a quagmire of mysteries than talking to people and begging them to join my club. I needed only one person to sign up, but that wasn't easy as it sounded.
When I returned to my clubroom, I locked the door, walked across, and stood behind my swivel chair. Nothing's special with the interior design. It's the same as the other neighboring rooms. There's a long wooden table surrounded by five Scuola chairs, an almost empty bookshelf in a corner, and a whiteboard on the wall.
What made this room special was not the furniture, but the memories that came along with it. I'd entertained a lot of cases here, heard various stories from clients who desperately wanted our help, and, more importantly, built a friendship that's irreplaceable.
My eyes stared down at the vacant chair on my right. Someone used to occupy that spot. Someone used to share this table with me. Someone dear to me.
Ever since her departure, the clubroom was never the same again. This place became lonely. Empty. Forsaken. Light passed through the open windows, but I never felt its warmth. The door sometimes creaked open and people came inside, but I still felt alone.
"Good morning, Loki! Nag-breakfast ka na ba?"
I quickly raised my head and frantically darted my gaze around, searching for the source of that gentle female voice. I locked the door from the inside. No one else could and should be in this room. And no one was. Only me.
My lips twisted into a faint smile. I wished I could hear that voice again. For real.
I spent the next few days strategizing how to get out of this dilemma. I didn't have any friends in my own class. They failed to meet my threshold standard to be considered as such. I didn't have any friends outside the class either. Could anyone blame me? I wasn't the type to talk to just anyone, unless they're clients of mine.
Thus my suffering extended until the next week. Clock was ticking. My efforts were, unfortunately, not fruitful. I failed to see any way out so I thought of giving up. Perhaps I should let my brother win this round. He better savor his short-lived victory while it lasted. I wouldn't let him pull one over me next time.
Then something unexpected happened. Something that could turn this grim situation around. It's as if the heavens sent me a hint on how I could solve the clubroom conundrum. I didn't realize it at first. I only realized it halfway through.
One Wednesday afternoon, I was enjoying my lunchtime by reading a crime fiction novel in the clubroom. If this was going to be my last week in this place, I better make the most out of it. Three knocks caught my attention. I swiveled my chair away from the door and faced the window. I was intently listening to the footfalls of the person who knocked.
There's a noticeable gap between the knocking and the door opening. There's also a gap between the opening and that person coming in.
Hesitation?
The approaching footfalls were also lighter compared to the sound that my black leather shoes could produce.
Flat shoes? A female student?
She's obviously not from student council or the student executive committee. If she were one of them, she would have been walking in with such confidence. There's no reason for any hesitation.
So . . . A female student who got lost on the third floor? No. She had surely read the sign outside.
It's safe to assume that she's a client. She's not sure whether to trust me or not, whether her problem was worth to trouble me or not.
"Excuse me? Is this the QED Club?"
I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. Wasn't it clear in my handwritten sign that this was the QED Club? Was she illiterate? Was she blind? Should I put Braille cells next time so she'd be certain?
"If you're familiar with the English alphabet and you know how to read, the answer to your question is obvious." I wasn't in the mood to play nice today, not now that I was in danger of losing my clubroom. She came at the wrong time. I might lash out my frustrations on her.
I swiveled my chair to my visitor. I recognized her face instantly. The fringes, the brown eyes, the chest-length hair. No, she's not my classmate. She's someone else who I had met about two weeks ago.
A hint of recognition flashed across her face. She must have remembered me too. She'd already introduced herself to me. But I couldn't recall who she was. Her name's at the tip of my tongue.
"You're my roommate, right? What's your name again?" I asked bluntly. There's no reason for me to pretend to know her. I told you, I wasn't good with names. "Lorraine? Lorena?"
"My name's Lorelei," she introduced herself again. I'd try to remember it this time. Just kidding. If she wouldn't be significant in my life, I'd treat her the same way I treated everyone else: Just a random person who passed by and never deserved my attention. "Sorry, pero mukhang nagkamali ako ng room na pinasukan."
I sensed in her voice the reluctance to confide in me. Could I blame her? We started off on the wrong foot after all. She might not have a good impression of me.
It all began in the apartment unit that she and I had been sharing.
—to be continued—
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