Club openings had always excited and frustrated me at the same time. Everyone looked forward to the Athletics Club tryouts the most because it is where the official players who would represent St. Matthew's for inter-school sports competitions were picked. Those who didn't make it to the cut would already be equally assigned to different teams in preparation for the Intramurals.
Over the years, I had always enlisted for volleyball because there were no sign-up sheets for basketball for girls. Given my height, I'd become a middle blocker for the volleyball team by default.
Lexi, the star player of the volleyball team since time immemorial, had already told me playing middle blocker was a lot like playing center in basketball. I'd take care of blocking the opponent's attacks, or I could hit the ball for a spike which was volleyball's equivalent of slam dunk. But no matter how I tried to rewire my brain to understand volleyball, my limbs were accustomed to playing basketball. More often than not, I'd be called for lifting, over-reaching, or numerous net violations. Suffice it to say that even with my height, I wasn't much of a help inside the court. I was the perpetual bench player they'd only allow inside the court when we were ahead by a lot.
That's why this year, I made up my mind. I didn't want to play volleyball anymore. I told myself it was basketball or nothing. Our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Alviejo, knew this from when we had our first one-on-one talk. Though she didn't promise me anything, she told me she'd talk to the new Athletics Club moderator about it. But the club applications were drawing nearer and I had not gotten any updates from her yet. I was getting anxious. I was hoping if I could already start looking for a non-sports club that would fit my lesser interests (if there were any. Worst case scenario would be me club-less for the rest of the senior high). So as soon as we got dismissed from our last class, I decided to drop by the Faculty Room for a quick chat with her.
"Hi Ma'am, this is Seven Ventura. I'd like to speak with Mrs. Alviejo please," I requested over the intercom.
Moments later, I was allowed entry into a small cozy waiting room with two chairs, a couch, and a low table stacked with educational magazines. Someone left the door to the inner office open and the conversation spilled through the gap.
"Who's that?"
"One of my students, Seven."
"Who?"
"Seven. Younger sister of Six Ventura. Gentle and silent kid. Same tall and athletic build. One look at her and you'd see she's got potential waiting to be tapped. Girl's just dark-skinned..."
Heat crawled up to my face and my ears started to ring, drowning out the rest of the conversation. When Mrs. Rita arrived, and sat across me with a smile on her face, I tried to be cheerful. I pretended I understood what she was saying, nodding every now and then even when everything she had said sounded like a low hum. Before I knew it, our brief meeting was over and I left the Faculty Room with my fists clenched tight.
What did my being dark-skinned had anything to do with having the same potential as my brother anyway? Was that the reason why I couldn't get into the basketball team and not because there wasn't any other female players? Simply because I was a morena?
In my frustration, I headed to the empty gym to vent out. From the rack, I picked up a ball and started dribbling around the half-court. And whenever the urge to scream became too strong to ignore, I'd take a shot.
Why was it so hard to pursue something you were passionate about anyway? While numerous doors opened for others, why did it seem like all the doors for me were locked? It was unfair.
I did the dribble and shoot drill. Dribble and shoot. Pick up the ball. Dribble, fake, shoot. Over and over until my tight jaw loosened. Until my anger drained out of my system through sweat and was replaced by sheer joy at being able to play the sport I was born to play even if I wasn't given the chance to officially participate in.
"Nice shooting skills."
Even at the intrusion, I still made the shot. I swiveled around at the familiar voice to see North go after the ball that had bounced off. "What are you doing here?" I asked in between huffs.
"Lexi said she's got a group meeting and that we both could go home if we want to," he shrugged. He dribbled the ball and aimed for the basket without warming up. Swish. "If you want to do some shooting drills while waiting for her, I'm down for that too," he grinned, running after the ball then passing it to me.
Great. Just when I needed someone to talk to, Lexi couldn't make it. I threw the ball from the free-throw area and without looking at the ring, I turned around, sure that it didn't miss the basket.
It didn't surprise me anymore when I heard footsteps echoing mine. In no time, North fell into step beside me. "Anything bothering you?"
I didn't want to talk about what I heard at the Faculty Room. I just badly needed to rehydrate. "I think I'd take you up on that offer for a drink."
🏀🌞🏀
Since it was still a week night, the closest food park wasn't as crowded as it would be during the weekends. Save for kiosks that had best-selling food and slash or beverage, the others did not open shop. Which made it easy to look for a spot and narrow down what we would like to get. I only wanted a drink and North bought me a large cup of cucumber-lemonade juice. He also insisted that we try the Liquid Nitrogen Ice Cream to know if it was any different from the kind they had in Manila. I gave in, thinking it was a good way to kill time while we both waited for Lexi (because apparently, they both had to go home together as their Tito Sam had ordered perhaps fearing that North would get lost, or kidnapped or something).
I inhaled the scent of a mixture of spices and grilled meat permeating the air. The loud conversations filled the silence between me and my companion because I didn't know what to talk about with North. Blindly, I took him up on his offer for a drink without realizing the implication of my decision.
For the first time in my life, I was out with a boy my age. Was this what a date felt like? Although it hardly counted as one because there was nothing remotely close to romance between me and North. Would I even allow myself to be linked with someone who had placed me in unpleasant situations? No way! That would take a lot of groveling from him to even make me consider him as a friend. Or acquaintance. This was nothing but returning the favor. Right.
"Jeeze," he muttered under his breath. I had noticed he kept looking behind him for something. Or someone. Maybe he didn't want to be seen with me. Ditto.
"You can already leave, y' know. If you're so uncomfortable being with me." I slurped loudly from my glass of cucumber-lemonade juice.
His eyebrows met as he looked straight at me. "What? What are you talking about?"
I wasn't going to tell him this was my first time to have a casual drink with a guy. I wasn't insane. "You don't have to be polite. You can already leave if being with is a mark against your cool image," I shrugged.
North's face hardened, his gaze intensifying. "I'm not maintaining any image at school. And you do not make me uncomfortable. It's the..." he looked around him again, at the group of adults bursting into a chorus of cheers then talking all at the same time. "Is this normal? The noise?"
I couldn't help but smile at his discomfort. Looked like Manila Boy lived a quiet life back in his city. He wasn't going to get the same peace here in Tarlac though.
"Yes," I chuckled. "It is normal. You should get used to it. You're staying at a place where there are more Kapampangan residents."
"You don't say," he deadpanned and swiveled his head once more, probably wondering why the food park was so noisy with just a handful of customers. "I don't wake up from my alarm clock at the compound. It's the shouting and screaming from the neighbors that wakes me up because I think there's always a fight going on, or a fire engulfing someone's house..." he trailed off. "How do you even understand each other when you talk?"
I shrugged, stirring my glass with the plastic straw while keeping him in my peripheral vision. "Pick one conversation that you want to join in and block out the rest. Or wait for someone to rope you in on the discussion."
"Right. The thing is, everyone wants to talk to me. Half the time, I don't know what the conversation is about. Much less when they shift to Kapampangan."
"I'm pretty sure they do," I mumbled, understanding what he was pointing at. This moment with him, no matter how casual it was, made me understand the effect of North to most girls.
Sitting right across him, with his face taking up my field of vision? He was impossible not to stare at.
While he marveled at the smoke rising from the base of the large serving of liquid nitrogen ice cream bowl he bought, or when a sudden eruption of laughter would make him turn his head, I wondered what his mother ate or looked at when she conceived him. I remembered asking Mama the same thing a long time ago and she said she ate a lot of eggplants, duhat and mangosteen. No wonder I turned out darker than my brother.
Eventually, North gave up on the noise and started to play with the smoke by blowing air to distort it, the haze providing a good screen so I could take in his features that got the girls at school (and those in the very food park we were in) dying to get a glimpse of (which was easy to do considering his height).
North's hair was cut shorter on the sides than the top that looked like he had something applied to it to achieve the messy look. I had seen him wear it lazily— his hair parted to the side, probably with less products that he had on now. His eyes looked black, but up-close, they were brown framed by thick lashes that were even thicker than mine, high nose bridge, and a pair of lips that almost seemed like he put faint lipstick on because they were pinkish. It didn't take a genius to deduce that he had foreign genes. He looked almost Caucasian than Asian. Tito Sam had a reason for fearing if this guy would be kidnapped. North looked like he was a prince of some far-flung place. Or a princess. If not for his angular jaw, he'd easily be mistaken as a girl. Actually, if he were a girl, I bet he'd be as...
"...pretty," I mused. It was too late when I realized I said that aloud because the smoke had already thinned and North was looking straight at me with a sly grin.
"I think the word should be handsome, but thanks." He even had the gall to wink at me before shoving a spoonful of smoking chocolate ice cream into his mouth.
"I wasn't talking about you," I retorted quickly and nodded to the first girl I saw on the table behind him—a petite girl with fair skin, long hair, clad in a flowery mini-dress, and wearing a pair of pumps.
North turned, nodded in appreciation then faced me again, giving me a quizzical stare. "Seriously? You chick-hunt? Are you gay?"
"Wow," I scoffed in disbelief. "I didn't expect to be judged so easily like that." I forcefully dug into the bowl and shoved a scoop of ice cream into my mouth. It was the least I could do so I wouldn't speak my mind and tell him what an ass he was. Afterall, he paid for the food.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." North trailed off, at a loss for words. He scratched his nape before speaking again. "Brandon told me you were one. I decided not to believe him until you tell me yourself. I'm not judging you or anything. That was just a slip."
One of these days, Brandon's really gonna get it from me. Looked like his own community service back in sixth grade for lifting Lexi's skirt hadn't taught him anything.
I swallowed the ice cream before talking because I could already feel the nitrogen stinging my tongue. "Just because I know how to appreciate the female beauty doesn't mean I'm gay. I just feel happy for them that they can be girly-girls, wear colorful dresses, apply makeup on..." In short, they could wear stuff that I dreamed of wearing but knew would be downright fugly on me.
Lines marred North's forehead as if he couldn't understand what I just said. "So...you're saying, you're envious of them?"
"What? Of course not," I scoffed, evading his eyes. How dare he close-caption my feelings so easily?
"Is there a good reason why you can't be girly, don dresses or makeup?"
Was he humoring me? Did he actually want me to spell it out for him? Or was he simply playing dumb or genuinely interested to know my stand? Either way, I wasn't in the mood to talk about my many insecurities. It was high-time for a change in topic. "How's your knee, by the way? You don't seem to be limping anymore."
"Took you weeks to notice that?" he grinned.
I wanted to tell him I had already noticed that on the first day of classes. But due to the incidents he had sparked made me forget I was once concerned about him. I meant, his knee.
"It's only a case of dislocated kneecap," he smiled as he absent-mindedly rubbed the knee in question.
Though that couldn't compare to Papa's injury, my chest still ached at the memory of seeing Papa's photos in rehab. Swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat, I asked him. "H-how did you get it?"
"Twisted my knee when I was out drinking with the bunch that didn't make it to the varsity team. I was killing the videoke machine and was trying to do some dance moves. I slipped," he chuckled briefly. "Thankfully, it didn't require any surgery. Just had to wear the immobilizing cast to prevent my kneecap from getting re-dislocated."
The concern that I initially felt quickly dissipated. What a senseless way to incur an injury like that. "Good for you, then," I managed to comment, keeping my reaction neutral.
North smacked his lips together and tapped his knee. "Yep. Tito Sam suggested we go to his province because they thought I was going through a rebellious phase. So here I am."
"So, were you? In a rebellious phase, I mean?"
"No. Just tagged along with the wrong bunch. My grades suffered which led to my getting kicked out of varsity for this year," he shared with a hint of bitterness. "I almost entertained the idea of rebelling because I didn't want to leave my school, my neighborhood. But considering the state of my leg, I couldn't do anything. At first, I despised the decision and Tito Sam for even talking my mom into it. If it weren't for my brother who begged me to go so I could recover, I wouldn't be here," he chuckled without humor before his gaze returned to me. "So far though, moving here doesn't seem so bleak at all."
Seriously, what was with his habit of looking people in the eye as if he could peer into their souls? It's unnerving.
I blinked just so I wouldn't be sucked into his charm, and poked at the ice cream we were sharing, all of the smoke gone. "Let me guess, your brother's name is South?"
North barked a laugh. "Try again."
I squinted my eyes at the two remaining options I had. "East?"
"West. His name's 'West' and he's half my age."
"He's enrolled in St. Matthew's too?"
"Nope. He's with his mom," he shrugged.
Ack. A landmine. In my attempt to divert the topic about me, I unknowingly stepped on one. Steering the conversation to a new direction required care to be able to backtrack and walk around the landmine I was afraid might go off if prolonged. But I was so preoccupied with choosing a lighter topic that he started asking questions.
"I heard them calling you 'Seven'. Sounds so different from Felicity."
Half-heartedly, I told him the history of my nickname. I used my template from the common 'introduce-yourself' part back in grade school and I still knew it by heart. North seemed interested with it judging by how he held my stare while I talked, nodding at some point in the story.
"What about you? How did your parents come up with your and your brother's names? Sounds unique," I asked back.
He snorted and shook his head. "It's a thing for motivational speeches. You'd fall asleep."
I motioned to the half-full bowl of ice cream that had started to look like milk shake. "We've got time," I encouraged.
"If you say so," he said and he cleared his throat. "The short version is that in my Dad's dictionary, my name meant working hard for your dream."
Cricket sounds invaded my head. For a few seconds, I was stumped, waiting for him to add more. But he didn't. "So, you're saying that your name was derived from a foreign word that meant..." I hesitated.
His cheeks flushed which I found cu—erm—interesting. "I guess the long story is inevitable," he mused, passing a hand through his hair. "Okay. Let's do this my dad's way. What comes to mind when you hear the word 'north'?"
My mind conjured his smiling boyish face and I immediately squashed the thought. "Cardinal direction? Compass...?" I rattled on.
Smiling, North pointed to the ceiling with his index finger. "Up, or forward, or ahead of you." When he brought down his hand, his eyes focused on something beside me that I was tempted to look at what it was. "My Dad used to remind me: When you're down, you look up because up there, there is hope. Up there is your dream. It's like climbing a mountain, he said, you must keep moving forward, climbing upward, until you realize you're close to the peak and your dream..." He extended his left arm a few inches beside my right ear. "...is just within your reach," he mused and I felt his hand closed into a fist, before pulling it back to his lap. "That's what my name meant. For my Dad, at least."
His gaze didn't leave the empty spot beside me. He seemed to be immersed in the memory of his biological dad. I wanted to ask what happened but it might be another landmine.
"Wow, that's so...profound," I mused instead and he blinked, as if waking up from a trance. "What about your brother?"
"West? Oh." His smile widened and I could sense he adored his little brother. "Well, the sun sets in the west. No matter how long the day had been, we all need to sleep, rest and prepare for another day. When picking yourself up gets too tough, take a breather and try again the next day."
What incredible naming sense their father had. After hearing his short motivational speech just by sharing what his name meant, suddenly, being the seventh member the family with a name that started with 'F' and that meant 'fortune' and 'happy' seemed childish.
I couldn't help but feel a bit envious, wishing I were given a name that had the same deep meaning.
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Duhat = Java plum