Angry tears swiftly spring to my eyes. This scenario feels all too familiar—it's like an instant replay of what I witnessed between Tiffanee and RJ last week. How does the saying go again? Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me? This makes twice that I've been fooled, at naiinis ka ako sa sarili ko.
I stumble blindly in the other direction, towards an unoccupied table for two, and flop onto one of the polished wooden chairs. I wave to get a nearby waiter's attention and order a pitcher of frozen margaritas and some buffalo wings. This may come as a surprise, but I'm actually a pretty impressive drinker, and Marga and I live by the wise words, "When life gives you lemons, make margaritas." And eat your feelings, of course.
My mind is a whirlwind of mixed emotions. He said that they were just friends—really old friends—and that they only dated casually from time to time. But the way she was leaning into him, and the too-close-for-comfort way he was touching her...it seemed more than friendly.
Am I just too conservative? I don't have many male friends, so I'm not an expert on male and female friendships; I don't know what the dynamics are supposed to be like. But even if it was nothing, even if it was just a harmless kiss (is that even a thing?) isn't it still kind of off that he would be hanging out with some other girl when he was supposed to be meeting me? Granted, this isn't technically a date, since he invited Marga too, but still.
Ugh, I hate how I feel right now. I hate overthinking. But most of all I hate how complicated my life seems to have become ever since RJ Faulkerson and I crossed paths. It's only been a little over a week since I interviewed him, but I've already been through more emotional turmoil than I usually go through in a year. Darn him and his stupid dimple.
My order arrives, and I hungrily dig into the buffalo wings. I use my fingers, not caring anymore about looking poised or ladylike. I'm vaguely wondering where Marga is when I sense someone staring at me and look up, feeling wary. A tall, slightly foreign-looking guy with thick, striking eyebrows is sitting nearby, smiling pleasantly at me. When he sees me notice him, he promptly comes over and takes the seat opposite me.
"Hi," he says in a friendly voice. "Ikaw yung nasa Campus TV kanina, diba? Si Shutanginamez?"
Oh, my God. He laughs as I let out a groan.
"Ang benta kaya nun," he goes on, chuckling. "Sobrang cute mo, although medyo halata na kinabahan ka. I'm Derrick, by the way."
He holds his hand out and I shake it reluctantly. I won't lie—he's very attractive, but I've decided that tall, cute, mestizo boys are way more trouble than they're worth, and I am done with them. I'm just going to stay far, far away from them all from now on. Still, this Derrick seems harmless enough, and I don't want to be rude.
"Ang awkward ko nga kanina eh," I say sheepishly, shaking my head. "First time ko kasi. I've never been on camera before."
He shrugs. "Well, I thought you were very charming." This makes me blush, and I look away, feeling slightly flustered. "Thank you," I mumble quietly.
He shifts in his seat and rests both elbows on the table, his arms folded. "Alam mo, feeling ko magkaka diabetes ako ngayon. Ang tamis kasi ng ngiti mo."
Hala. Ang cheesy ni Kuya. I'm not sure how to respond to this, and I can feel my cheeks heating up, so I merely let out a nervous giggle. Derrick continues, unfazed. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name. May I just call you mine?"
Emeged, I cringe. I'm feeling more uncomfortable by the second, and I'm wishing fervently that Marga would finally show up when RJ suddenly appears from nowhere, pulling up a chair and casually draping his arm over Derrick's shoulder.
"Derrick, bro," he greets the other guy in an easy voice. "I think she would prefer it much better if you called her by her name, which is Menggay."
"Uy RJ, brad. Sinong kasama mo ngayon?"
"You're looking at her, bro. I'm here with Menggay, nag-CR lang ako. You're kind of in my seat nga eh, bro."
"Ah, ganun ba, brad?"
They stare at each other briefly, both smiling genially, yet one could cut the proverbial tension in the air with a knife. This is utterly fascinating to watch, like one of those shows on National Geographic about animal hunting styles. Derrick is the first to look away.
"Sorry, brad," he says, keeping his voice light. He stands and claps RJ's shoulder. "I didn't know. Sige, you two enjoy your date. Menggay, nice meeting you. I'll see you around." And with a curt wave, he disappears into the crowd.
RJ chuckles and slides into the seat Derrick has just vacated. "Sorry about that. Kanina ka pa ba?" He asks cheerfully, observing my half-eaten plate of chicken wings. "Kanina pa kitang inaantay, why didn't you look for me? Pahingi ng wings ha, I'm starving."
He reaches for a buffalo wing and bites into it before looking expectantly at me, and a concerned expression crosses his face. "Hey, are you okay? Bakit ganyan ang mukha mo? Was Derrick bothering you? Did he say something foul? Pagpasensiyahan mo na yun, may pagka player talaga yun."
I let out a snort, annoyed. "Yeah, well, I guess it takes one to know one, right?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.
RJ frowns and stop chewing, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Huh?"
I swallow hard and will myself to speak without trembling. "I don't know why you invited me here if you just wanted to make out with Tiffanee. I mean, you don't need me for that, do you? I'm sure you two can manage just fine on your own."
Stop, Menggay, what are you saying? I am aghast at myself. I sound like a jealous, possessive girlfriend, and I have no right to—RJ isn't my boyfriend, and this isn't even a real date. But I can't help but feel played, as if he's been stringing me along for his own entertainment this past week.
"What are you saying?" His voice echoes my thoughts. "Making out with Tiffanee? I wasn't making out with Tiffanee, what are you talking about?"
"I saw you at the bar when I walked in! She was kissing you and you just let her."
"She wasn't kissing me, she was talking in my ear. Ang ingay kaya dito, you can hear for yourself. She's here with her new boyfriend, we're not here together, I came here for you, ano ka ba?"
You know that fish out of water feeling you get when you do something for the first time, like make a deposit at the bank or ride the MRT alone for the first time in your life? And everyone around you seems to know exactly what to do—where to line up, which slip of paper to fill out—and you're the only one who seems totally lost? That's how I feel right now. I know what I saw, and I know how it made me feel, and I thought my reaction was completely normal, but here comes RJ, turning the tables on me again, and now I don't know what to think. I don't know anything anymore, except that tonight is ruined and I wish I had never come.
I open mouth to speak without even knowing what I'm about to say when Marga finally appears, a little out of breath from weaving her way through the thick crowd. She collapses into her seat and exclaims,
"There you guys are!! I've been looking all over for you. Grabe, ang daming tao!! Uy, margaritas!!" She's about to pour herself a glass when she notices the tension in air, and that neither RJ nor I have spoken, though he is staring at me intently and I'm refusing to meet his gaze. She raises an eyebrow at me, and I shake my head imperceptibly. She puts the pitcher down and declares in a loud voice,
"Oh, my God, I love this song. We have to dance to it. Menggay, samahan mo ko, please."
This is why I love Marga, why she is my best friend. She's lying—she hates dance music, but she knows I need saving. I want to cry out of gratitude, but I pull myself together and let her drag me onto the dance floor.
"Bruha ka talaga, you know I can't stand crowded dance floors," she hisses, raising her arms to the beat of the pulsing electronic music. "I want the full kwento with details when we get back to the dorm."
I throw my head back and laugh, then I close my eyes and start swaying to the rhythm. Why do I always have to overthink things? Why can't I just relax and go with the flow sometimes, why does every move I make always have to be so carefully calculated?
I feel someone's gaze on me and open my eyes. RJ has followed us to the dance floor. He's standing a few meters away, half-heartedly bopping his head to the song. The looks he's giving me is so intense it makes a shiver run up and down my spine, and somewhere deep in my belly, a fire starts to grow. No boy has ever looked at me that way before. It's giving me a strange sensation; it makes me feel powerful somehow, maybe a little dangerous.
He cocks his head ever so slightly, asking me an unspoken question. He's requesting permission to approach. I remember how he asked me that day in the library if I ever do things just because they feel right, and I'd said no. And that was the truth—I've never done anything just because it felt right before. But right now, that's what I want to do. I don't want to overthink, I want to just do whatever feels right, and I think dancing with RJ Faulkerson will feel right.
So I nod—just once—and he immediately makes his way over, never taking his eyes off my face.
When he's standing right in front of me, I slide my hands onto his shoulders. He looks steadily down into my eyes, his gaze unfaltering.
"There's nothing going on between me and Tiffanee," he says firmly. "We're just friends."
I tighten my grip around his neck. "Let's just dance," I reply.
He hesitates for just a moment, then snakes his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. It's funny how well the curves of my body fit into the hard, muscular nooks and crannies of his, how familiar he feels against me, like I belong in his arms, like he belongs in mine. I can feel his heart beating fast—or is that my own? I can't tell, but the fire in my belly is now a roaring flame. I have never felt this way before. It's a delicious sensation, absolutely thrilling, yet somehow frightening at the same time.
We sway from side to side, his hands sliding upwards, fingers splayed across my back, and still he's staring right into my eyes. There must be at least a hundred other people on this dance floor, all closing in on us, but we are the only two people in the room who matter right now.
He lowers his head and presses his forehead against mine, our noses touching, and our mouths only centimeters apart.
"You are something else, Menggay Mendoza," he murmurs, and I don't know how I'm able to hear him above the pounding music, but I'm hanging on to his every word. "You could really make a guy forget if he isn't careful."
I look fearlessly back at him, still dancing my heart out, our forms in perfect sync. Then I close the gap between us and brush my lips ever so lightly against his—just a feathery whisper of a ghost kiss, not even a peck.
Oh, RJ Faulkerson. I could really fall for you. I'm already halfway there. And I think I could make you love me if I wanted to. We could change each other's lives, and it would incredible, but also terrifying, because we could break each other too, and I don't know if I could handle that.
I wish I was brave enough to say this to him out loud, but I've gone as far as I dare to for tonight, so instead I just rest my head against his shoulder and close my eyes again as we continue dancing.