Some said that Vincent Fajardo was the ring leader of a notorious high school gang. Some rumors hinted that he was sent to the Juvenile Center at the age of fourteen for robbing a bank. Or was it robbing a 7/11 store? I also heard he had sold half of his liver when he was twelve years old, and yet he could still drink cans of beer as if it was water quenching his thirst.
The most ludicrous story I had encountered about him was one describing him as the illegitimate son of a multi-billionaire tycoon, born from a hired-help mother, and was later on abandoned inside a forest and was raised by wolves. They said he even had a tattoo of a wolf on his arm.
One thing I knew for sure was Vince, as what he would rather be called, would die at an early age. With the way he was puffing that stick of cigarette he held, or how he was expertly blowing white smoke out of his mouth, I would not be surprised if his lungs were already covered in black soot.
I studied his faded blue pants and the rumpled gray shirt he wore under his equally rumpled white polo he kept unbuttoned as he flicked his lighter open and held the tiny fire against the end of another cigarette clasped between his lips. He was wearing a pair of black sneakers, which was against school policy since students here in St. Bernadette Academy were only allowed to wear black leather shoes. His slightly long black hair was tousled and messy. He had piercings on one ear and another one on his eyebrow.
He looked exactly like how I imagined a ring leader of a gang would be.
Vince Fajardo was trouble. And as a member and chairperson of the disciplinary committee, I, Francheska Dizon, bore the sole duty and responsibility to inform him of his penchant for rule breaking.
"Sigurado ka ba Miss Cheska sa gagawin mo?" Bernard, a co-member of the DC, short for disciplinary committee, asked me.
I took a deep breath and glanced warily at the object of our discussion. Vince had an air of danger around him. He was tall and muscular than most boys here in school. And perhaps since he was already eighteen years old, he was more of a man than a mere boy. He was held back two years from school due to his outstandingly low grades, and was kicked out of his previous school twice before he ended up in St. Bernadette Academy.
I took another deep, long breath before I found myself walking towards him. He was alone, leaning against the wall of the back building of the school's gym. As I neared him, I pursed my lips when I saw him throwing the cigarette ashes on the ground. I decided that littering would be added to his list of crimes.
I stood beside him, but he did not even move or indicate that he was aware I was near him. I glanced back at my co-members, Bernard and Jerome, who were motioning for me to stop whatever I planned on doing. They were two lanky boys who had come running towards me early this morning and reported that Vince had caused trouble again. So I had decided that morning I would no longer tolerate any more of Vince's aggressive behavior and his vandalism activities he called art. Of course, my friend Dave Espiritu was a bully through and through, but one bully was enough. Besides, at least Dave agreed to reform his ways when I spoke with him about his behavior. But Vince was beyond redemption.
The DC was only organized this year when Benjamin Lucero took over as President of the Student Body Government. So it was now my task as the chairperson of DC to make sure that everything in school was in perfect order.
I cleared my throat, hoping this time Vince would take notice of me. And he did. Finally.
His response was a raised eyebrow.
I squared my shoulders and braced myself. "Hello. Uhm. Ako si Francheska Dizon. Nice meeting you."
He cocked his head to the side. I was really making a fool of myself, I know. But I really had no idea how to sound strict and firm.
I tried again. "Ako ang chairperson ng disciplinary committee. At bilang chairperson, it is my duty to inform you that you are breaking school rules." I was proud of myself for that speech.
He began to move; he pushed himself off the wall and stood straight. And I realized I felt like a dwarf beside his tall frame. He threw the cigarette to the ground and crossed his arms over his chest, intimidating me with his smug look.
I swallowed hard before I continued. "Smoke-free zone ang school. Kaya bawal ang manigarilyo. Hindi rin tama ang uniform na suot mo. Polo must be buttoned down, neatly pressed and ironed. Bawal ang gray T-shirt underneath the polo. And hindi ka puwedeng magsuot ng sneakers as school shoes."
He looked at me with a scowl on his face, making him look too frightening for me. I held my stance and looked at him levelly in the eyes. And as I stared at him, I couldn't help but notice how pretty his coffee brown eyes were or how his incredibly long lashes complimented his eyes. My gaze fell to his lips, which suddenly tilted to one corner.
"Cute ka," he suddenly said, his low masculine voice sent chills down my spine.
"W-what?"
"Cute ka sana," he repeated still with a smirk on his face. "Kaso..."
"Kaso ano?"
"Kaso mukha kang maarte."
I gave him a glare. What he said was really uncalled for! Nobody ever called me maarte before. "You are so rude Mr. Fajardo!"
"Pero cute ka pa rin. Type ko ang mga cute." I was surprised when he leaned forward ang whispered low in my ears. "Kapag hindi mo 'ko tinantanan sa sermon mo, baka gawin kitang girlfriend ko..."
I almost thought he was about to kiss me when he leaned further towards me. But then Vince did the most strangest thing: he closed his eyes and... smelled my hair! I could see the ghost of a smile on his lips as he pulled away from me and opened his eyes. His face registered something akin to tranquility, as if the smell of my hair relaxed his senses.
He turned around and sauntered away from me, his hands on his side pockets. He kept on walking without turning his head back no matter how much I willed he would, until he made a turn to the side and disappeared behind the building.
Vincent Fajardo confused me. I should definitely stay away from him, and yet I had a strange feeling I wouldn't be able to.
***
