n. the default expression that your face automatically reverts to when idle—amused, melancholic, pissed off
You'd know instantly that a bitch face works when someone refuses to look into your eyes as you wait for them to stop talking. Or when it makes people stop what they're doing after you express annoyance with a single deadass look into their eyes.
It's an entertainment that I get for free because respect can really be earned with the way you look. Thick-rimmed glasses, impeccable vocabulary and a look that screams professionalism can get you somewhere. You gain respect, fool them that you're intelligent and make them follow orders.
"Market day is such a pain in the ass."
Banging my head on the calculator wasn't so bad. I can feel the individual keys make a mark on my forehead but at this point who really cares anymore. Why am I bothering to do the Maths, am I this much of a masochist?
Looking around, I try to spot anyone just absolutely anyone that is a lot more capable in doing the list of possible expenses. She grins and waves a hand a bit too much as she beckons the person closer. This classmate of hers was clearly doing fairly well in their Calculus class. Manages to have the willpower to look at his test paper in the subject after it has been graded. Only those who know they have the chance to pass the Calculus test has the guts to look at their score. I do observe that he looks at it with a satifisfied nod.
He's there with an arm wrapped around his girlfriend as they converse with hushed laughter and cheesy smiles. They're eating lunch together. I quickly squash the bitterness already rising in my slightly dry throat. With all the unfortunate luck in the world, he catches her eye. Bingo.
"You can do the Math, right?" I asked as I tidy up the sketches of what our booth may look like, want it to look like using the remaining funds we'd get to buy some cheap materials for decorations.
Her classmate that is priveleged with Math knowledge walks hesitantly towards her. He blinks a little bit more than normal seemingly confused with why he was pulled out of his lovey-dovey lunch date.
It's understandable, it was a lunch break and people do eat when it's a lunch break.
But it's me we're talking about. A person like me is married to her career. Eating and socializing is not an option when they're swamped with so much shit to do.
As I tuck all the stray papers away in a plastic folder, I look up to him and give him a single look. No words need to be exchanged, really, as I tilt my head towards his girlfriend's direction. He gets it immediately as his eyes widen just a fraction and started nodding while taking a seat in front of the notepad and calculator.
His girlfriend is my best friend and really his significant other can do the same job as accurate as he can but who would want to do that. "I'll call her over here, you can still eat together, you know? Just make sure she hands me the paper after you both finish."
He doesn't have to see the small smile I flash towards the back of his head as he works out the calculator. With a shake of my head, I call his girlfriend over and give her a wink. "Eat well, babe," I tell her. She laughs and sits down beside him and proceeds to take his cheeks and mouth gently in her hands and make him take the spoonful of spam and rice. Dorks.
For some strange ass reason, her boyfriend is still so scared of me despite my blessing and approval of him being her smol bean.
---
Market day will always be that time of the year where being a mother figure pays its price.
Sitting down, on another side of the classroom, I start to list down another set of possible items that can be sold. A clatter of noise is heard as Jess, my sister not by blood, sits down beside me with a packet of chips in hand. "He's going with you, guys, right?" she exclaims with a gleam as if she knows a huge national secret.
Oh, right. They'd be scouting for cheaper ingredients and decor to buy later around the neighborhood and it was only going to be the goddess in art as the designated booth designer, a couple more guys as the so-called help and there's me. Of course, there's also him. Someone I have some sort of gravitational pull over despite being painfully in love with an unsuspecting pain in the ass.
Professional, my ass, I thought to myself. Acting like a cold-hearted bitch but has feelings like a goddamn schoolgirl high on dreams and fantasies. Nice one.
"Hm, there's a bunch of guys going, yes. So I don't know the 'he' you're specifically weeding out."
I can feel her rolling her eyes at me as she munches on another piece of potato chip. "Oh, cmon, this is like the only time you actually profess attraction to another piece of ass and you're there denying it. This is your chance," she whines, shaking my writing arm. The word 'table cloth' slide off the edge of the line with the letter h unfinished.
I had no other choice but to sigh and admit defeat. It's not like she's in full denial of the surge of strange emotion here and there. This was absurd. "First of all, I'm not attracted to him." I say with forced assurance, knowing that shorter comments would be the best thing do as of now since I'm smart enough to know that a lecture is about to come.
"Yeah right, look here sis, you pretty much don't know a lot about his personal life unlike that jackass you're crazy over. Saying you're not physically attracted to him when half of the batch is smitten with him," she says the last sentence a lot more quietly. "Point is, you say you fell in love with the jackass because of his personality, correct? Despite all that shit with his fangi-" she shakes her head with much more indignation because she is clearly going away again with her point.
"Jeez, why do I keep on bringing up how hot the jackass is. It's so degrading. Anyway, you see, this new guy in your life probably has been the brightest ray of sunshine you have seen after all those years of pining you had. He manages to make you bring out all those random comments about how red he becomes after laughing or about how he looks so sad all of a sudden and you'd get weirdly worried about him or how he looks like when he's stressed about the math lessons?" she argues all in one take. It's amazing how she still manages to finish the packet of chips after having a plethora of emotions.
It is quite true. The unusual comments start pouring in during the the time I was starting to glance more and more in his direction inside the classroom. The time where I'd turn my head around after a loud guffaw of a laughter was heard and he's there goofing around with his friends turning him into a ripened tomato with glasses. The time where it was a cloudy day and you're there alone, staring into the table with an expression so down it can rival the dark clouds outside the sky. The time where I'd glance at you with a confused expression when we have to solve a math problem and you'd be wearing an expression much worse than I was. And just because well...
"Fuck, I am attracted to him."
"Yes and the sky is freaking blue. Hallelujah, finally she gets it. Took you longer than an algebra problem, huh?"
She starts to detach herself from my arm and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Gently unfurling my fingers to remove the pencil around my clenched fist that I barely even noticed was trapped in my tight grip, she scribbles down the word 'table cloth' in a much more neat handwriting. "My therapist fee is free of charge. You can thank me later. Message me how it goes."
She leaves me there to fend for myself.
- - -
I unlock my phone faster than usual as I get myself connected to the WiFi at home. The shopping trip was over and she's exhausted an absolutely-
'i am so fucked'
I type in with rapid fingers as a reply.
'the therapist is at service. how may i help you?'
Trying to breathe normally after running towards the apartment door, I settle down into the cool covers of my bed.
'tell me, my child, your problems.'
Another message pings again. And this time she really does.
It goes really well except for the sun blazing its heat over our heads and we're dumb fucks for not bringing an umbrella but besides that everything was fine.
It goes well even if they expect me to lead the way and know what steps to take after descending the metro train. Clearly, having no clue, I shrugged and said the truth.
"I don't know where to go."
Saying it with a blank stare, I look the same regardless of whatever situation so they definitely didn't know that I was already tired from the commute, lack of lunch and the blazing heat. There's also that lingering feeling of disappointment because the ability to lead despite tired is way better than not leading at all.
It's frustrating when I know for a fact that he's one of the people who lives around this area. Now she thinks, Maybe he doesn't want to step up? Doesn't know where to exactly go first? Maybe he's tired too and-
"We can go straight ahead and turn left. There's a supermarket there that we can start with?"
Thank fuck her inner monologue of making excuses as to why he's not speaking up is broken by him actually speaking up.
He looks at me with such a questioning gaze and a nervous smile appears, his stance was apprehensive, clearly not used to speaking up to lead something like this. He was asking for my permission and she doesn't understand how in the ever loving fuck she finds it adorable.
This is clearly because of the hunger, right?
He leads like how you'd expect him to lead. He's not quite used to be followed around by a group of people so he still blends in with the guys, laughing with them and talking about the latest status of the basketball game ongoing. He'd point out towards the other possible routes we can take to get a shortcut. The area they're in is a hub of supermarkets lined up next to each other and everywhere you'd turn you'd see the bright lights of the display boards blinding people with its store name.
It all went into somewhat my downfall when we entered the stores and he'd weave through the tight and narrow pathways of the tall shelves filled to the brim with food and other supplies. He would pronounce the prices of the items and state how it's cheaper than the same item compared to the other stores without batting an eyelash.
Coincidentally, he once held up a packet of hotdog franks and he'd rattle off with how the price of that specific hotdog was better than his bro squad's discovery of cheap hotdogs in the previous store. May God bless his soul because, well, he did defend his hotdog was definitely better than the other guys'.
And I was legitimately almost this close to crying as he took the responsibility of being the one assigned to buy some of the frozen items the day before the actual market day. Barely sane, I think a tear almost escaped my left eye when he also took care of making the corndogs, batter included.
---
The early opening hours of the market day already starts as a mark of judgement and criteria so basically they're already more or less prone to be fucked over.
With all the non-edible materials, haphazardly shoved under the display table where it seems like even if I was the one who knows where the items are, I wouldn't be able to identify where what is.
They could have had a game plan.
But they didn't.
And I have to suffer.
With my hair already in a tight bun and my apron already half on, I start to bark out orders of who's going to be who. Sellers, cashier and the cooks. It's not like they'd notice how resigned I sounded. It's a job I have to step up to.
It's not a big surprise to me that I'd take on the cooking shift since the heat from the portable stove and the heat coming out of the hell we call the sun when mixed together isn't an appealing idea. Throw in the fact that some of the students I call my classmates are missing in action and some of them chose to abandon the food stall in favor of helping out in the other stall where all the fun stuff are done. I mean, I get it, seeing kids pay to get their faces thrown at with shaving cream (whipped cream was too expensive to be wasted) and see the kids smile as they get their face painted is clearly better than being stuck in Hell's kitchen.
My depressing thoughts disappear as a tap on my shoulder wakes me up. He's there in their assigned dress code. Black shirt and black pants, thick-rimmed glasses and the slightly more massive than normal ice cooler. There inside were all the frozen items they had to fry greasily. French fries, squid balls, fish balls, all other kinds of whatever balls that can be eaten. He raises one huge plastic tub filled with something that can be recognized as batter. "Here's the corndog batter. The hotdogs are all cut up into right sizes as well just so the work would be easier."
There he is again. A smile in place. This time one that's much more at ease and radiant. The heat does him no good as the sweat that glistens on his forehead slides down to his face and makes his glasses fall a bit lower on his nose. He reaches a hand up to place it back as he requested politely, "I'd like to take over as the cook, though? For the shift, I mean." Grabbing the arm of another figure clad in all black, he gestures towards the face of his best friend. "He'd join in with me." How can I not have noticed another person standing next to him in close proximity?
Maybe because you're too busy ogling.
Shut up.
I blink at the both of them and it takes a few seconds longer than necessary for me to process the suggestion. "Right, that's great, actually, um I'll give you the aprons." Dropping down to my knees, to find the dreaded aprons in the pile of who the fuck knows, he said with full earnestness, "There's only two cooks allowed, we'll take over first. You don't have to stress yourself too much this early."
I look up at them and I can see his best friend flash me a toothy smile and a thumbs up. "My bro and I can do this. He's used to cooking for his family all the time. I can seriously help him out here. I promise."
He nods and puts his hand out gesturing for me to hand over the apron. I stand up listlessly and remove the apron around me. The both of them start to rid themselves of any traces of sweat and put on the hairnets and gloves that I already laid out.
"But, wait, I'm the one who knows where all the stuff are. What if I just stay around here for a while?"
He shakes his head and tells me I practically already set up all the utensils and equipment they would be needing. With an eager nod, he tells me they got this and proceeds to open the portable stove.
So I follow. Stepping aside, I observe the two of them working together. He clearly knows what he's doing, asking for his best friend to hand over some of the things he'll be needing. And soon enough they succeeded in frying up the first batch of french fries and fish balls. It wasn't burned. Cooked just right.
A guy that can handle things in the kitchen. He can cook. I won't have to slave over and worry about feeding the kids-
What the fuck.
I need Jesus.
Since I wasn't really needed elsewhere, I had the chance to roam around with my friends and visit the other class' booths. Saying enthusiastic greetings of a hello or a hi and the genuine good luck right after was a routine I come across with as I see friends all around.
All of this didn't stop me from worrying so there I was barreling my way to our food stall after a wholesome walk around the collection of different booths.
Thank God it was still up and running. The food on display was looking good and edible. There was a demand for the corn dogs and some of the customers were waiting patiently. However, it's a bit different when reaching the kitchen.
The two guys were frenzied since the process of cooking the corn dogs was clearly not only a two-man job. Especially when they have to cook more things at once. Stretching my neck, side to side, I pull out a pair of gloves and start impaling the hotdogs with barbecue sticks to be dipped into the batter.
He acknowledges me with a nod and the three of us work in silence buzzed with adrenaline, the shitty heat and the angry hiss of the oil inside the pots.
After the demands and orders subsided, the adrenaline dies down. "Hey, I can sub for you guys now," I said while removing the corn dog batter-stained plastic gloves before chucking it into the black garbage bag.
The two guys look at each other for a moment and refused. With my forehead scrunched up, I asked them why.
He shrugged saying he's enjoying the moment of cooking and his best friend says they're not tired.
They both don't say anything else after that. So I took my leave.
It's the first market day I had the chance to actually not worry about the booth. It was doing well and I treasured every moment of it. This must be what it feels like for a mother to be on a day off from taking care of the children.
Market day ends with the afternoon sun showing no mercy and the customers and parents coming to visit start to decrease in number.
Returning back to the stall, I see the two guys already starting to fry up all the remaining pieces of food unsold. I enter the makeshift kitchen and start to seal some of the opened packets of salt and sugar on the table. As I turned around, he turns around as well and well that's not something too awkward. Right?
"Geez, you're sweating a lot."
Seeing him up close, it's not hard to miss how sweat slicked his entire face was and how he didn't have any opportunities to wipe his face because he had gloves on. I turned around again to find the almost empty box of tissues and started to go a bit closer and wipe the sweat off instinctively.
If I caught myself off-guard, what more could he be? He stays still, letting me touch his face with the tissue and he starts to laugh a bit when I reiterated how much he sweats. His face is red again and his glasses skew a little bit to the left.
We look look way too similar to how Korean dramas replay the scenes that are supposed to induce the feels within the audience. Similar to how a capable man comes home to a sweetheart after a full day of physical labor.
Yep. I definitely need Jesus.
I laughed with him, of course but after that dies down too, I can sense my expression reverting back to the powerful bitch face it possesses and I'm grateful for it. No one has to know how mushed up my insides are for fuck's sake.
It ends like that.
---
Sometimes he has this capability to make me feel all flustered that my brain starts to shut down the button of a rational and composed girl and switches on the button of making me look like a blubbering idiot instead.
I was carefully explaining to him the missing process his group still has to do to finish off the written report. The laptop settled on my lap and he's there sat beside me literally facing my way as he turns his body towards where I was. He has a hand tucked under his chin as he opts to look at the laptop intensely as if it's that interesting as I type out alternatives for words used in the report.
God, please let me think clearly. I'm a capable woman. Words are my weapons. But why of all days, am I too self-conscious about my writing. Of all days.
Doesn't help that he's there patiently waiting for me to do whatever it is I'm doing.
I explain to him that the trick to making it sound like it was a meticulously done and thorough research was to make sure you state things outright but not quite. Spice things up with a flair of uncommon vocabulary, a hint of different sentence structures and a sprinkle of descriptive adjectives.
He doesn't really show any reactions as I type and with that I couldn't help but ask if he's okay with what I was writing and if he understands it all okay.
He nods with a warm smile filling up his features. "I do understand everything. It's just amazing how you can do all of that."
That was unexpected. It's just that something as making a piece of writing lean towards a more pretentious tone was not something she expects to be amazing.
He then continues to explain that it's a useful skill to have especially during the nearing years of college where you can't just bullshit academic writing. This progressed into talks of where we'd both go for colleges which then went a lot further as the subject of him looking all too sad before was uprooted by my insensitive curiosity. He was hesitant clearly not expecting the question. A stream of apologies and reassurances that he doesn't have to explain tumbles out of my mouth.
Luckily, he just shakes his head and tells me with a tone of raw honesty. "It's just that I never have talks like this with my friends not even with my best friend, I guess. I usually just lock it in and wait for the waves to die down."
"You don't have to always lock it in when there's people here who wants and can listen."
From there on, listening was what I did. His family was beautiful. Broken but beautiful. Strong and toughened up with love despite some of it being missing from some family members. Imperfect but genuine.
He finishes and there was a pause in between them. "Thank you, though. It feels great to talk."
I look at him and he looks at me back. Shaking my head hoping he'd get the message. No need to thank me.
It's lighter this time around. Instead of looking just at the laptop while I was talking, he was gazing at me directly now. Eye to eye and it's still indescribable how he would be able to look at you like he wants to understand every bit of it. He will always have this fond look that makes you believe you have known him for years. This is why I'm so goddamn comfortable with the boy looking at me and me only.
It's amazing how I'm still able to talk like I pretty much still know what's going on and that I'm not having trouble concentrating with how he's concentrating on me.
"You're wearing contact lenses."
My mouth clamps shut. I was just talking about the conclusion, right? Did I manage to stray off the topic? Did I ramble aga-
He laughs it away to cover it up. He's doing a great job. But I can tell I'm not the only one flustered. He's an actor no doubt but when you're a pale person who attempts to fool a pale person into thinking you're not embarrassed you'd start to understand you wouldn't be able to do so because fair-skinned people just don't get the tips of their ears red that easily. It wasn't even hot in the room at all.
"It's just that you're not wearing any glasses and it's just now that I notice you're in contacts."
Chuckling lightly, I replied, "Yeah, I'm blind as a bat without it but thanks for noticing."
My facial expressions don't really give anything away at all. I exude the serious vibe all too easily.
But soon I realized that he's one of those people who can actually identify the red ears.
My ears were definitely red.